|Slash Pervert (slashpervert) wrote,|
@ 2012-04-12 01:10:00
|Entry tags:||fiction, stalking malfoy|
FIC: Stalking Malfoy - Chapter 1: Poofter Virus (Severus/Draco/Harry)
Title: Stalking Malfoy
Authors: slashpervert and pierrot_dreams
Betas: Jake and Mini Mouse.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Length: 41,780 words (15 chapters)
Pairing: Severus/Draco/Harry (Severus/Draco, Harry/Severus, Harry/Draco as well as Draco/others in backstory.)
Summary: Harry is determined to catch Malfoy and Snape plotting evil. What he finds shocks him even more than he imagined. The worst shock isn’t that Malfoy and Snape are shagging, but that Harry is more turned on by that than he has ever been. (Sequel to Stalking Malfoy's Arse, or Midnight Machinations.)
Warnings: (Mark to read.) Language, M/M & M/M/M sex including anal, oral, threesome, voyeurism, mild D/s, spanking. Teacher/student. Adult/teen age disparity.
Notes: PWP. Canon to OTP, AU from sixth year. Snape teaching potions. The first draft of this was written a couple years ago. Icon from, with permission, Veridari's art, Desired.
Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fan fiction intended for adult audiences only. No copyright or trademark infringement intended. (Full Disclaimer!)
Chapter Number/Total: 1/15
Chapter Title: Poofter Virius
Words: 2526 Words
Harry stared up at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. The light streaming through the windows of the Gryffindor boy's dormitory harked the unwelcome arrival of morning, but Harry hadn't slept. Not a fucking wink. Every time his lids drifted down the image of Snape rutting against Malfoy would appear. Better to pinch himself awake than witness that all over again.
His cock was sore from being ignored. Even if Harry had no wish to see the potion master's sallow arse, his baser self apparently had a mind of its own. Another reason not to let himself sleep: nocturnal ejaculation to Snape would be automatic grounds for suicide. The sheets were a mess of pre-come as it was, though that wasn't exactly a novel phenomenon.
"Sleeping in, mate?" Ron's face appeared above him, cheerful and well-rested. "Come on, we'll be late to breakfast and we still have to finish that Transfiguration essay for McGonagall. Think Hermione will let us copy hers?" He paused and sniffed the air, then grinned broadly. "You've been wanking, haven't you?" he said triumphantly.
Harry had to struggle very hard not to kill him.
Hermione, as it turned out, did let them copy from her Transfiguration essay, but was emphatically not happy about it. Harry was too exhausted to take as much creative license in rephrasing as he should have, but was also too exhausted to care. If McGonagall gave him detention for plagiarism, so be it. Perhaps suffering through an hour of writing lines under her glower of disapproval would be enough to shrivel his manhood completely, thus solving the problem of how in the name of God and Merlin he would get through another night avoiding Malfoy-themed wet dreams.
Draco slept well. His only dreams the kind that made the sheets sticky. He woke with a smile, laying in bed, letting himself enjoy the throb of his sore arse and the pulse of a morning erection against soft sheets. He slid a hand between his legs and cupped his balls, rolling them and sighing in pleasure. He could hear the other boys in the dorm moving about, but no one would open his curtain or disturb him lest they get a reminder of just how good he was at Puking Hexes.
"Malfoy, you going to wank through breakfast?"
Well, almost no one.
"Considering it," he answered Blaise.
"Snape might let you miss breakfast but not Potions Class."
Draco sighed and sat up, wincing. He wasn't looking forward to trying to focus in class while he sat in a wooden chair, with a hard-on no doubt. Thank Merlin for robes. He reached for his dressing gown and pulled it on, sliding out of bed. The feel of silk against his bruised flesh made him shiver.
Draco made his way to the bathroom. One of the benefits of waking up late was that the showers were empty. He stood under the spray, taps turned as hot as he could take, one arm braced against the wall and his hair plastered to his face.
He returned his hand to his still full prick, long fingers gently working the foreskin up and down the shaft, squeezing the head on each upstroke.
"Oh, yes," he whispered, letting his mind replay the hard fuck the night before.
He moaned, squeezed harder, moved his hand faster, shuddering. "Harder, yes," he whispered, his arse clenching around the cock that wasn't there at the moment. "Fuck yes!" He came, spilling onto the tiles, the water washing it down the drain. Today would be a good day.
It was not a good day.
Harry had nearly brained Seamus with a flying vase during Charms, was bitten by a fanged root during Herbology, and in Transfiguration had somehow caused the bluebottle they were supposed to be turning into a pin to swell ten times its natural size and float out the window like a balloon. McGonagall had not been sure whether to give him extra homework or award Gryffindor ten points for what had been rather impressive, if inadvertent, spell work. She settled for detracting five, and Harry trudged from her classroom feeling, if possible, even worse than he had that morning.
Lunch was spent half-listening to Ron and Dean bicker about the Chudley Cannons without really hearing them and mechanically eating whatever it was that Hermione had laden his plate with. Harry didn't taste it. Potions Class grew nearer and nearer like a dark cloud on the horizon.
And of course there was the presence of Malfoy at the Slytherin table, a blond sore at the edge of Harry's vision that he could not stop his eyes sliding towards.
The ferret was laughing at something Pansy Parkinson had said. Though his pose was one of nonchalance Harry noticed how gingerly he sat on his sure-to-be-bruised bum. This observation went straight to Harry's cock, and he spent the rest of lunch sitting almost as gingerly as Malfoy, hoping desperately that Ron wouldn't see the tenting of his robes.
This doesn't make me gay, Harry told himself firmly, shoveling more rubbery food into his mouth and chewing like an automaton. I've just got my wires crossed, that's all. Seeing them last night made my head go a bit odd, but it's only temporary. Like a ... a poofter virus.
Poofter virus or no, Harry walked to Potions like a man condemned. He forced himself to participate in Ron and Seamus' argument about the Cannons – intervening just in time to prevent serious physical violence, as it turned out – but when he entered the classroom and passed under Snape's frigid stare his mind was far from occupied with Quidditch.
"Today," Snape began when they were all seated, "we will be brewing a Pepper-up Potion. Can any of you tell me what the properties of this potion are?"
Predictably, Hermione's hand shot up, and predictably, Snape ignored her. Malfoy also raised his hand, wearing a self-assured smirk, but to Harry's surprise Snape didn't so much as glance at him. Harry watched Malfoy's grin falter and fade as the professor panned the room with an expression of acute disinterest and refused to acknowledge his favorite student.
"Miss Granger?" Snape sighed finally, lip curled in a sneer.
"The Pepper-up Potion was invented by Glover Hipworth as a cure for the common cold," Hermione said promptly, folding her hands on the top of her desk. "Side effects include a hot steam that issues from the patient's ears after drinking the potion."
"The main ingredient is Fluxweed," Draco interjected, not to be outdone.
"I do not remember calling on you, Mister Malfoy," Snape said coldly. Malfoy went pink and sunk down in his chair, still looking up at Snape with wide, entreating eyes.
"The Pepper-up Potion, while dull, will almost certainly appear on your NEWT examinations," Snape continued, oblivious to Malfoy's pleading expression. "It is not complex and I am confident that even those of you who could not brew their way out of a paper bag – " his glare fell on Neville, who wilted like a tarantula plant in the sun – "will be able to execute it with passable success. Materials are in the cabinet; you will work in groups of two. Begin."
Ron and Harry paired up, and a quick round of rock, paper, wand determined that Harry would fetch the materials. Fluxweed, ginger, knotgrass and horned slugs; Harry swept the herbs and powders into his arms, balancing a tube of pickled doxy livers on top. A thin pale arm brushed his reaching into the cabinet. Harry startled sideways when he realized that it belonged to Malfoy.
"Problem, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.
At this proximity Harry could see that Malfoy's eyes had dark shadows beneath them, and he held himself with the same care Harry did after a Quidditch practice had left him with aching muscles. Harry remembered the scarlet flush to Malfoy's arse and felt a similar hue light his face.
"N-no," Harry sputtered, and hurried back to his cauldron.
Snape hadn't been lying when he said that the Pepper-up Potion was fairly simple, especially compared to the almost punitively difficult potions he had been giving them lately to prepare for their NEWTs. But just like in all his other classes, Harry couldn't seem to do anything right. He sent the tube of Doxy livers flying with a misplaced elbow and had to crawl around on his hands and knees picking them up, much to Crabbe and Goyle's delight. After wrangling the livers he attempted to light the cauldron and accidentally set his own robe on fire.
"What's with you today?" Ron asked grumpily after helping Harry extinguish the flames.
"Nothing!" Harry said quickly. "Nothing's wrong, why would anything be wrong? I'm fine, just fine, really fine. Wonderful, actually. And how are you? Are you fine?"
"Why don't you let me light the cauldron this time," Ron said, eyeing Harry's manic smile with suspicion.
Their potion was doomed from the start. Under Snape's impervious gaze Harry managed to mismeasure the fluxweed, doubling the required amount. This forced them to double the rest of the ingredients as well.
"It's all right, we'll just make twice as much," Ron said cheerfully, pouring a liberal dose of ginger into the cauldron.
Harry wasn't listening. Malfoy was shifting from foot to foot, occasionally reaching back to rub his bottom. He didn't seem to have notice he was doing it. He examined the pearly contents of his cauldron and furrowed his brow, lips pursing. Harry watched transfixed as Malfoy readjusted his robe again before he sprinkled knotgrass into his potion, silver eyes reflecting the vapors rising from its liquid surface.
"Bloody hell!" Ron yelped. Their cauldron had overflowed.
"Incompetent fools," Snape snapped, Vanishing the spilled potion with an angry flick of his wand. "Fetch more materials and begin again."
This time Harry kept his eyes fixed firmly on the potion, but it didn't help. Though they measured the ingredients correctly this time, it turned out that they had used caterpillar eggs instead of doxy livers. The potion turned green, congealed, and started to smoke. Snape Vanished the mess before it could combust, took ten points from Gryffindor and gave both Harry and Ron extra homework.
"Harry, are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked worriedly as they left the classroom. Before Harry could respond he felt a sharp elbow jab him between the ribs.
"Nice one, Potter," Malfoy said, grinning. "Look on the bright side: at least you made Longbottom feel better. Now you're the most useless Gryffindor instead of him."
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped. Malfoy departed with another smirk at Harry.
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm still the most useless Gryffindor," Neville said, patting Harry on the arm.
Somehow, Harry didn't find this very comforting.
It had been a week and a half since Harry had seen Snape buggering Malfoy, and the poofter virus didn't seem to going away.
If anything, Harry was even worse than he had been. He spent his nights determinedly not wanking and his days staggering around in a haze of sleepless incompetence. The poofter virus had cost Gryffindor another twenty points, for smashing a window in Charms and accidentally killing his bubotuber in Herbology. Harry had skipped his last Potions class, terrified that he would somehow manage to blow the castle up.
Ron put it down to stress, but Hermione was getting suspicious. Harry caught her watching him sometimes with a look in her eye that he didn't trust.
Even Ginny had noticed that something was wrong. She cornered Harry outside the locker room after a particularly awful Quidditch practice in which Harry had flown directly into a Bludger after seeing Draco Malfoy crossing the lawn. "Do you have a girlfriend, Harry?" she demanded without preamble.
"A girlfriend," Ginny said impatiently. "Something's obviously distracting you. So who is she?"
Girls were so far from being the problem that Harry felt hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat at the thought.
"I don't have a girlfriend," he said truthfully.
"Well, maybe you should get one," Ginny snapped. "Perhaps getting snogged on a regular basis will improve your flying. Whatever the problem is, Harry, fix it fast. We can't afford to lose our next game against Slytherin, and with our captain running into bludgers and nearly falling off his broom at every loud noise I don't really see how we're going to pull off a win."
With that she turned on her heel and stalked away. Harry put his head in his hands and groaned.
The Maurauder's map had grown creased and finger-smudged from Harry checking it obsessively, watching Snape's office like a Muggle cop on a stake-out. Though the professor was often there until all hours, sometimes entertaining Dumbledore and less often McGonagall or Slughorn, Malfoy was never with him. Harry began to wonder whether what he had seen was the beginning and end of whatever teacher and student shared, but then he remembered the collar around Malfoy’s neck and Snape's possessive hands, not to mention the way Malfoy had arched back on the man and moaned his name, and felt sure that this went deeper than a one-off.
So why didn't Malfoy visit Snape? Harry crumpled his fist around the Map, frustration overwhelming him. He had to go back to Snape's office to exorcise whatever demon had possessed him that night, but he knew somehow that it would be useless unless Malfoy was there. He needed to watch them again and not be moved by it, not feel his cock twitch in his robes, not come at the order of a man he hated. He needed to prove to himself that he wasn't queer, but he couldn't do that without watching Snape and Malfoy have sex. Which made perfect sense. Right?
A few more days passed and Harry began to lose hope. His eyes burned from sleeplessness and he couldn't so much as glance at Malfoy without getting a hard-on. Worse, he'd begun to notice other blokes as well – Seamus' dimpled grin, the way Dean's dreadlocks fell into his dark eyes – even Neville's innocent moon face and plump bottom lip had him breathing a little faster. It was as though some inner floodgate had burst open, shattering the wall he'd built around those feelings long ago.
Harry was not happy about this. He'd liked that wall. It kept him safe. It made life as the Boy Who Lived as uncomplicated and predictable as it could possibly be. And he wanted it back, damnit.
He had his opportunity that night. Before turning off the light he unfolded the Map one last time, expecting to see Malfoy snug in the Slytherin dormitory and Snape burning the midnight oil in his office as usual. He caught his breath, hardly daring to believe it. The Map showed a black dot labeled Draco Malfoy moving towards the office of Severus Snape at a steady clip. Harry closed his eyes and opened them again. They hadn't lied. Malfoy was meeting Snape again.
Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from under his bed and started after him, ready to banish his demons once and for all.
Chapter 2: Malfoy's Mouth
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