ebethfic (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ebethfic) wrote,@ 2008-11-19 22:46:00 |
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Polyjuice Party, H/D, R, 2300 words
x-posted from http://ebethfic.livejournal.com/6797.ht
Title: Polyjuice Party
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: 2300
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I'm playing in JKR's sandbox for fun, not profit. Post-DH, so H&D are 18.
Notes: Written for![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif)
awdt's prompt they stole my idea. My spellcheck refuses to set itself to UK English.
Summary: When the upper level students Polyjuice themselves for a party, Harry takes the chance to be himself.
Harry grinned at his reflection in the mirror, glad he'd snuck out of the dorm so none of his friends would know he'd dumped the long-lasting Polyjuice Potion Hermione had brewed for the party down the drain. He hardly recognized himself with his hair tamed and his glasses transfigured into delicate gold frames that set off his eyes. Not to mention that he'd never worn a shirt as tight as the green spandex that clung to every curve of his torso. He was glad Ron and Hermione had stolen his original idea of Polyjuicing into professors; going as himself would be much more fun.
After the War he'd found himself in the spotlight as much as ever, every aspect of his appearance and habits fodder for gossip. Even some of the other eighth years treated him like a hero. Harry had been looking forward to this party for weeks: it was a chance to enjoy himself without all of Britain watching his every move.
Checking the Map to make sure no one was around, he left the restroom and headed to the Great Hall.
***
The party was in full swing by the time Harry snuck in, full of students who weren't who they appeared to be and more than a few professors who Harry hoped weren't really professors. (Hermione had managed to convince Headmistress McGonagall that students who'd fought in battle could be trusted to hold a non-chaperoned party.) Multicolored globes threw beams of light over the dance floor, and never-ending confetti fell in sparkling rain over the rest of the hall.
To Harry's amusement, by the time he'd reached the refreshments table he'd passed two other Harrys and three Malfoys. One of the Harrys was in black leather trousers; Harry made a note to find out who that was so he could borrow them. Not until after the party, though. This was his chance to be himself, out of the spotlight, and he needed his identity kept secret.
It was the Malfoys who really caught his attention, of course. One of them was in Wizarding robes, one in a rather slutty outfit of low-cut trousers and skimpy shirt---Harry had trouble pulling his eyes away from that flat, pale stomach---and one, oddly, wore perfectly normal Muggle clothes. The incongruity of Malfoy in Muggle clothing intrigued Harry, and he couldn't keep his eyes off the boy.
Or girl, he reminded himself. None of them were really Malfoy, any more than the other Harrys were himself. And if one of them was a girl, well, maybe she'd find Harry attractive, and he'd have a chance to do something about the thing he really, really didn't want to see in the papers. Being outed would be one thing, but exposing his crush on a former Death Eater, even one who'd been so ineffectual as to get only a slap on the wrist, would create a devastating scandal.
Tearing his eyes away from Muggle-dressed Malfoy, Harry took his plateful of sweets over to two people in school uniforms Polyjuiced as Ron and Hermione. "Thought I'd better come say hello to my best friends," he joked.
Not-Hermione looked him up and down. "I hope the real Harry's paying attention," she said with a smile. "He could use some wardrobe pointers."
Not-Ron, whose arm was slung around Not-Hermione's shoulders, gave Harry a wink. "Say, mate, I've always wondered...those three are so very close, don't you think?" He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner that nauseated Harry.
"Er," Harry said. "Can't say it ever crossed my mind. I'm going to get some punch." With that dubious excuse, he fled.
After playing guessing games with several students---Luna was easy to identify, as Justin Finch-Fletchley had never mentioned his fascination with Blibbering Humdingers before---and "pretending" to be The Great Harry Potter for some admirers he couldn't escape quickly enough, Harry wandered towards the dance floor, sipping the punch that Dean had apparently successfully spiked, and frowned at "McGonagall" and "Slughorn" dancing lewdly together. He envied Ron and Hermione. Why couldn't he have someone to dance with? If he weren't afraid of the Wizarding world's prejudices, he'd announce his orientation in The Daily Prophet and see if that got him offers from men, rather than women owling him their lacy underthings.
"Disapprove of the professors' idea of appropriate dance moves, Potter?"
Startled, Harry turned to see a Malfoy smirking at him. Merlin, Muggle-dressed Malfoy sounded just like real Malfoy.
"They stole my Polyjuice idea," he mumbled, afraid to admit how much he wanted to grind against Malfoy like that. Preferably the slutty-looking Malfoy, though this one, in his tight Muggle jeans, was also a tempting option. The jeans showed off his arse much better than robes did, and the tousled hair that framed his angular face just begged for Harry to run his hands through it. Harry smiled, realizing that tonight, in this room full of disguises, there was nothing stopping him from taking what he wanted. "I don't mind the dancing at all," he said, pitching his voice lower. "Care to join me?"
Not-Malfoy's eyes went wide. "Well, now I definitely know you're not the real Potter." He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, to laughter from the students around them.
Harry lost track of time as they danced, bodies swaying together in a rhythm that left them both breathless. For once he didn't mind the attention he was getting, since it wasn't really him the students were watching; it was the concept of Potter-and-Malfoy that entertained them, even more bizarre than Slughorn-and-McGonagall.
He ran his hands over the other boy's denim-clad arse, pulling him closer. Would dancing with the real Malfoy feel this good? Harry had only vague memories of seeing him dance, but given the way he walked and flew, he probably danced as well as this Malfoy.
It seemed like ages before they both grew too exhausted to continue and simply stood, leaning together, panting.
Not-Malfoy lifted a hand to Harry's head. "Your hair is getting wild again."
Harry sighed in frustration and started to smooth it down, but Not-Malfoy caught his wrist. "Don't," he whispered, cheeks pinking. "It looks more like the real Potter's that way. It always looks like he's just gotten off his broom. He's an amazing flyer. Though I think you dance better than he does."
"You're a lot nicer than the real Malfoy."
His Malfoy looked offended for a moment before smiling and saying, "I'm the new and improved version."
Harry tilted his head, eyeing the boy's curved lips. "I like it." He leaned closer and caught those soft lips in a kiss.
It didn't take long for Not-Malfoy to kiss him back. Harry forgot he was in the middle of a party until Ron yelled, in Professor Slughorn's voice, "You know they're Polyjuiced, no way would Harry snog the ferrety git like that for real!"
Harry grinned at the man in his arms, again glad he hadn't let his friends in on his plan for the party.
They left the dance floor in a daze, wandering hand-in-hand through the crowd. The Malfoy in wizard's robes attempted to sneer at them; Harry and his Malfoy laughed at the failure. The Harry in leather trousers peered at them closely, with a familiar expression that made Harry wish he knew who his ex-girlfriend had Polyjuiced into.
They couldn't keep their hands or their lips off of one another, and soon they left the party, stumbling into the nearest classroom. Harry's heart was pounding as he lifted up Not-Malfoy's jumper. Midnight, when the potion would wear off, seemed an eternity away as he kissed his Malfoy's bare chest. I wish it was real.
Not-Malfoy was undoing Harry's trousers, so Harry returned the favor, and soon they were both naked. Harry threw his head back and moaned as Not-Malfoy sucked him, and imagined that it was the real Malfoy's tongue swirling around him. He explored the boy's body, committing every inch to memory, because he might never get the chance to see Draco Malfoy naked again, and when Not-Malfoy bucked beneath him, Harry knew he had to remember that reaction forever.
Sated and sweaty, they curled together on a bed of their shed clothing. Harry stroked Not-Malfoy's hair, then dropped his head onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"I wish..." Not-Malfoy began.
Harry opened his eyes to see the other boy gazing down at him. "What?" he asked, tracing the curve of his jaw with his finger.
"Nothing. It's not important." Not-Malfoy kissed him fiercely, then closed his eyes and snuggled closer.
Harry wrapped his arms around the other boy. They had at least an hour to nap before the Polyjuice wore off.
***
Harry woke up with empty arms and panicked. With a sinking feeling he turned to the clock on the wall. It read well past midnight. Oh, fuck.
He looked wildly around the classroom, but his partner was gone. What were the chances he'd left before the potion wore off, and didn't know that Harry had never been Polyjuiced? He dropped his head into his hands. The other boy, or girl, probably knew. Someone knew that Harry was Harry, and had slept with someone who looked like Draco Malfoy. The press were going to have a field day, Ron was never going to speak to him again, and Hermione would have him committed. Malfoy himself would never let him forget this.
Or maybe whoever it was would simply blackmail him, Harry thought as he pulled his clothes on. Yes, blackmail was good. He could handle that. Trying to convince himself that his life was not over, he stumbled to Gryffindor Tower and his bed.
***
When nothing happened at breakfast, Harry grew even more nervous. Whoever his Not-Malfoy had been, they must be planning something truly humiliating. Harry tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but the next day Hermione, assuming he was brooding on the War, suggested that he talk to a mind-Healer. Ginny had tried to corner him several times, ostensibly for another "Are you sure you aren't just bisexual? I don't mind sharing" chat, and though Harry suspected she was the owner of the coveted leather trousers and knew what he'd done at the party, he didn't want to open up any discussion that might lead to admitting he wanted to sleep with Malfoy. After that Harry tried harder to act normal, but it was difficult to hide the fact that he wasn't sleeping.
He made it three more days before he cracked, unfortunately in the middle of Slughorn's class. He spent more time staring at the back of Malfoy's head than he did paying attention to the Synesthesia Solution he was supposed to be brewing.
"Mr. Potter," Professor Slughorn said after Harry's potion had boiled over for the second time, coating his desk and neighbors with multicolored letters and numbers, "Is the lesson not to your liking?"
"I'm not feeling well," Harry mumbled. Any day now the Prophet will print an expose on my Malfoy experience. Probably with a critique of my lack of skill and stamina.
"Why don't you go to Madam Pomfrey? I know with your talent for Potions you could brew this solution correctly if you were well, so I'll give you full marks."
"Er, thanks." Harry gathered his things, sneaking one last look at Malfoy. The boy was looking back at him with an odd expression.
Harry didn't go to Pomfrey, of course. He felt perfectly all right, aside from the exhaustion that came from lying awake every night and the ever-growing dread that threatened to smother him. Harry wandered the corridors, wondering why his Malfoy hadn't done anything yet, and who it had been. Was it one of his friends, trying to save him from embarrassment by pretending nothing had happened? The idea was disturbing, but at least it would save him from wider exposure, and the real Malfoy wouldn't find out. He just wished whoever it was would tell him.
"It was me."
For a moment Harry thought he was hallucinating. Then he turned. Malfoy, the real Malfoy in proper Hogwarts robes, stood in the corridor, shifting from one foot to the other. Harry stared at him, unable to speak.
"After the party. In the jeans." Malfoy was slightly pink. "That's what you've been so upset about, right?"
Flailing, Harry's mind latched onto something simple. "You weren't Polyjuiced!"
"Neither were you!"
The two stared at each other. Harry imagined the carefully coiffed hair tousled, the robes replaced by tight trousers and jumper. He swallowed.
"Why haven't you said anything until now?" he asked. "I'd have expected you to torture me with it."
Malfoy blushed. It really was amazing how red that pale skin could get. "You were doing a good enough job of that on your own." Then he mumbled, "You're cuter when you're not jumping at shadows. And I would not be averse to a repeat performance."
It took Harry a moment to process that. "You---what? Again? With me?"
"Yes, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes.
Harry grinned and lunged forward. As their lips met, he thought that even if the papers went wild, Ron yelled at him, and Hermione lectured him, at least he got his Malfoy.
x-posted from http://ebethfic.livejournal.com/6797.ht
Title: Polyjuice Party
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: 2300
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I'm playing in JKR's sandbox for fun, not profit. Post-DH, so H&D are 18.
Notes: Written for
awdt's prompt they stole my idea. My spellcheck refuses to set itself to UK English.Summary: When the upper level students Polyjuice themselves for a party, Harry takes the chance to be himself.
Harry grinned at his reflection in the mirror, glad he'd snuck out of the dorm so none of his friends would know he'd dumped the long-lasting Polyjuice Potion Hermione had brewed for the party down the drain. He hardly recognized himself with his hair tamed and his glasses transfigured into delicate gold frames that set off his eyes. Not to mention that he'd never worn a shirt as tight as the green spandex that clung to every curve of his torso. He was glad Ron and Hermione had stolen his original idea of Polyjuicing into professors; going as himself would be much more fun.
After the War he'd found himself in the spotlight as much as ever, every aspect of his appearance and habits fodder for gossip. Even some of the other eighth years treated him like a hero. Harry had been looking forward to this party for weeks: it was a chance to enjoy himself without all of Britain watching his every move.
Checking the Map to make sure no one was around, he left the restroom and headed to the Great Hall.
***
The party was in full swing by the time Harry snuck in, full of students who weren't who they appeared to be and more than a few professors who Harry hoped weren't really professors. (Hermione had managed to convince Headmistress McGonagall that students who'd fought in battle could be trusted to hold a non-chaperoned party.) Multicolored globes threw beams of light over the dance floor, and never-ending confetti fell in sparkling rain over the rest of the hall.
To Harry's amusement, by the time he'd reached the refreshments table he'd passed two other Harrys and three Malfoys. One of the Harrys was in black leather trousers; Harry made a note to find out who that was so he could borrow them. Not until after the party, though. This was his chance to be himself, out of the spotlight, and he needed his identity kept secret.
It was the Malfoys who really caught his attention, of course. One of them was in Wizarding robes, one in a rather slutty outfit of low-cut trousers and skimpy shirt---Harry had trouble pulling his eyes away from that flat, pale stomach---and one, oddly, wore perfectly normal Muggle clothes. The incongruity of Malfoy in Muggle clothing intrigued Harry, and he couldn't keep his eyes off the boy.
Or girl, he reminded himself. None of them were really Malfoy, any more than the other Harrys were himself. And if one of them was a girl, well, maybe she'd find Harry attractive, and he'd have a chance to do something about the thing he really, really didn't want to see in the papers. Being outed would be one thing, but exposing his crush on a former Death Eater, even one who'd been so ineffectual as to get only a slap on the wrist, would create a devastating scandal.
Tearing his eyes away from Muggle-dressed Malfoy, Harry took his plateful of sweets over to two people in school uniforms Polyjuiced as Ron and Hermione. "Thought I'd better come say hello to my best friends," he joked.
Not-Hermione looked him up and down. "I hope the real Harry's paying attention," she said with a smile. "He could use some wardrobe pointers."
Not-Ron, whose arm was slung around Not-Hermione's shoulders, gave Harry a wink. "Say, mate, I've always wondered...those three are so very close, don't you think?" He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner that nauseated Harry.
"Er," Harry said. "Can't say it ever crossed my mind. I'm going to get some punch." With that dubious excuse, he fled.
After playing guessing games with several students---Luna was easy to identify, as Justin Finch-Fletchley had never mentioned his fascination with Blibbering Humdingers before---and "pretending" to be The Great Harry Potter for some admirers he couldn't escape quickly enough, Harry wandered towards the dance floor, sipping the punch that Dean had apparently successfully spiked, and frowned at "McGonagall" and "Slughorn" dancing lewdly together. He envied Ron and Hermione. Why couldn't he have someone to dance with? If he weren't afraid of the Wizarding world's prejudices, he'd announce his orientation in The Daily Prophet and see if that got him offers from men, rather than women owling him their lacy underthings.
"Disapprove of the professors' idea of appropriate dance moves, Potter?"
Startled, Harry turned to see a Malfoy smirking at him. Merlin, Muggle-dressed Malfoy sounded just like real Malfoy.
"They stole my Polyjuice idea," he mumbled, afraid to admit how much he wanted to grind against Malfoy like that. Preferably the slutty-looking Malfoy, though this one, in his tight Muggle jeans, was also a tempting option. The jeans showed off his arse much better than robes did, and the tousled hair that framed his angular face just begged for Harry to run his hands through it. Harry smiled, realizing that tonight, in this room full of disguises, there was nothing stopping him from taking what he wanted. "I don't mind the dancing at all," he said, pitching his voice lower. "Care to join me?"
Not-Malfoy's eyes went wide. "Well, now I definitely know you're not the real Potter." He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, to laughter from the students around them.
Harry lost track of time as they danced, bodies swaying together in a rhythm that left them both breathless. For once he didn't mind the attention he was getting, since it wasn't really him the students were watching; it was the concept of Potter-and-Malfoy that entertained them, even more bizarre than Slughorn-and-McGonagall.
He ran his hands over the other boy's denim-clad arse, pulling him closer. Would dancing with the real Malfoy feel this good? Harry had only vague memories of seeing him dance, but given the way he walked and flew, he probably danced as well as this Malfoy.
It seemed like ages before they both grew too exhausted to continue and simply stood, leaning together, panting.
Not-Malfoy lifted a hand to Harry's head. "Your hair is getting wild again."
Harry sighed in frustration and started to smooth it down, but Not-Malfoy caught his wrist. "Don't," he whispered, cheeks pinking. "It looks more like the real Potter's that way. It always looks like he's just gotten off his broom. He's an amazing flyer. Though I think you dance better than he does."
"You're a lot nicer than the real Malfoy."
His Malfoy looked offended for a moment before smiling and saying, "I'm the new and improved version."
Harry tilted his head, eyeing the boy's curved lips. "I like it." He leaned closer and caught those soft lips in a kiss.
It didn't take long for Not-Malfoy to kiss him back. Harry forgot he was in the middle of a party until Ron yelled, in Professor Slughorn's voice, "You know they're Polyjuiced, no way would Harry snog the ferrety git like that for real!"
Harry grinned at the man in his arms, again glad he hadn't let his friends in on his plan for the party.
They left the dance floor in a daze, wandering hand-in-hand through the crowd. The Malfoy in wizard's robes attempted to sneer at them; Harry and his Malfoy laughed at the failure. The Harry in leather trousers peered at them closely, with a familiar expression that made Harry wish he knew who his ex-girlfriend had Polyjuiced into.
They couldn't keep their hands or their lips off of one another, and soon they left the party, stumbling into the nearest classroom. Harry's heart was pounding as he lifted up Not-Malfoy's jumper. Midnight, when the potion would wear off, seemed an eternity away as he kissed his Malfoy's bare chest. I wish it was real.
Not-Malfoy was undoing Harry's trousers, so Harry returned the favor, and soon they were both naked. Harry threw his head back and moaned as Not-Malfoy sucked him, and imagined that it was the real Malfoy's tongue swirling around him. He explored the boy's body, committing every inch to memory, because he might never get the chance to see Draco Malfoy naked again, and when Not-Malfoy bucked beneath him, Harry knew he had to remember that reaction forever.
Sated and sweaty, they curled together on a bed of their shed clothing. Harry stroked Not-Malfoy's hair, then dropped his head onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"I wish..." Not-Malfoy began.
Harry opened his eyes to see the other boy gazing down at him. "What?" he asked, tracing the curve of his jaw with his finger.
"Nothing. It's not important." Not-Malfoy kissed him fiercely, then closed his eyes and snuggled closer.
Harry wrapped his arms around the other boy. They had at least an hour to nap before the Polyjuice wore off.
***
Harry woke up with empty arms and panicked. With a sinking feeling he turned to the clock on the wall. It read well past midnight. Oh, fuck.
He looked wildly around the classroom, but his partner was gone. What were the chances he'd left before the potion wore off, and didn't know that Harry had never been Polyjuiced? He dropped his head into his hands. The other boy, or girl, probably knew. Someone knew that Harry was Harry, and had slept with someone who looked like Draco Malfoy. The press were going to have a field day, Ron was never going to speak to him again, and Hermione would have him committed. Malfoy himself would never let him forget this.
Or maybe whoever it was would simply blackmail him, Harry thought as he pulled his clothes on. Yes, blackmail was good. He could handle that. Trying to convince himself that his life was not over, he stumbled to Gryffindor Tower and his bed.
***
When nothing happened at breakfast, Harry grew even more nervous. Whoever his Not-Malfoy had been, they must be planning something truly humiliating. Harry tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but the next day Hermione, assuming he was brooding on the War, suggested that he talk to a mind-Healer. Ginny had tried to corner him several times, ostensibly for another "Are you sure you aren't just bisexual? I don't mind sharing" chat, and though Harry suspected she was the owner of the coveted leather trousers and knew what he'd done at the party, he didn't want to open up any discussion that might lead to admitting he wanted to sleep with Malfoy. After that Harry tried harder to act normal, but it was difficult to hide the fact that he wasn't sleeping.
He made it three more days before he cracked, unfortunately in the middle of Slughorn's class. He spent more time staring at the back of Malfoy's head than he did paying attention to the Synesthesia Solution he was supposed to be brewing.
"Mr. Potter," Professor Slughorn said after Harry's potion had boiled over for the second time, coating his desk and neighbors with multicolored letters and numbers, "Is the lesson not to your liking?"
"I'm not feeling well," Harry mumbled. Any day now the Prophet will print an expose on my Malfoy experience. Probably with a critique of my lack of skill and stamina.
"Why don't you go to Madam Pomfrey? I know with your talent for Potions you could brew this solution correctly if you were well, so I'll give you full marks."
"Er, thanks." Harry gathered his things, sneaking one last look at Malfoy. The boy was looking back at him with an odd expression.
Harry didn't go to Pomfrey, of course. He felt perfectly all right, aside from the exhaustion that came from lying awake every night and the ever-growing dread that threatened to smother him. Harry wandered the corridors, wondering why his Malfoy hadn't done anything yet, and who it had been. Was it one of his friends, trying to save him from embarrassment by pretending nothing had happened? The idea was disturbing, but at least it would save him from wider exposure, and the real Malfoy wouldn't find out. He just wished whoever it was would tell him.
"It was me."
For a moment Harry thought he was hallucinating. Then he turned. Malfoy, the real Malfoy in proper Hogwarts robes, stood in the corridor, shifting from one foot to the other. Harry stared at him, unable to speak.
"After the party. In the jeans." Malfoy was slightly pink. "That's what you've been so upset about, right?"
Flailing, Harry's mind latched onto something simple. "You weren't Polyjuiced!"
"Neither were you!"
The two stared at each other. Harry imagined the carefully coiffed hair tousled, the robes replaced by tight trousers and jumper. He swallowed.
"Why haven't you said anything until now?" he asked. "I'd have expected you to torture me with it."
Malfoy blushed. It really was amazing how red that pale skin could get. "You were doing a good enough job of that on your own." Then he mumbled, "You're cuter when you're not jumping at shadows. And I would not be averse to a repeat performance."
It took Harry a moment to process that. "You---what? Again? With me?"
"Yes, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes.
Harry grinned and lunged forward. As their lips met, he thought that even if the papers went wild, Ron yelled at him, and Hermione lectured him, at least he got his Malfoy.