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If only the Three Unforgivable Curses could be turned into the Three Forgivable Curses, Harry would gladly cast Avada Kedavra at Draco Malfoy time and time again. Not only that, Crucio would spill from his mouth every time that blond head came into view. Harry would also, in full possession of his wits, whisper Imperius into the ear of that wretched Slytherin snake so that he’d perform a ridiculous dance in the middle of the Quidditch pitch or, better still, jump off the Astronomy Tower!

For a moment, in those few seconds when Harry’s cruel side wasn’t taking over, the teenager actually slapped himself for even thinking of making Malfoy jump off the tower. But a flash of Malfoy’s mockery from earlier that morning at the Great Hall crept back into his mind, making Harry immediately pray to the universe that the arrogant bastard would fall down the moving staircase, tumble into the Chamber of Secrets and be cursed into stone forever!

“Well, well. Saint Potter. Your heroic tales soar high, but your height doesn’t seem to be keeping up, does it? Still as short as a house elf.”

Accompanied by that infuriating smirk that usually graced those curved lips. The Malfoy heir’s grey eyes looked down on him. Literally.

Damn it. Harry should be used to Malfoy’s taunts about him by now. He’d learnt to let the little devil’s words go in one ear and out the other. But just now, the taunt had managed to make the students who heard it laugh along.

This was about Harry’s self respect, for heaven’s sake! He could put up with being mocked by Malfoy and his cronies alone. But to be laughed at by a few students because his height had been brought up? Especially when that dragon was the cause? Harry’s patience was stretched to the limit.

Luckily, Hermione and Ron managed to drag Harry away before his fists landed on the arrogant dragon’s face.

What’s the big deal if he’s shorter? The difference is only 10 cm. With that difference, Harry could kick Malfoy so hard that the arrogant blonde's tall frame would tumble to the ground. Plus, it’d leave bruises on Malfoy’s knees and calves.

Just so you know, Harry’s muscle mass is far greater. He could easily pin the blond boy down until he couldn’t move. He could also hold both of Malfoy’s scrawny wrists above his head with just one hand. Besides, his wrists are so tiny, a sign that wealth doesn’t guarantee a healthy appetite.

With his short stature, Harry could terrify the Malfoy heir until he cried out, begging to be released. Meanwhile, Harry deliberately turned a deaf ear to those sobs. Malfoy would writhe and struggle with all his might, only to end in failure. Then, eventually, the spoilt child grew tired of struggling, so he fell silent, biting his lip, tears streaming down his flushed face, groaning in resignation as his body was held fast by Harry.

He would unhesitatingly mark Malfoy’s pale body with purplish bruises on every part his free hand could reach. His neck, his arms, his wrists and ankles, his waist, his thighs—

Harry James Potter, both internally and externally, had been torturing himself by hugging a cold stone pillar and repeatedly banging his head against it. Trying with all his might to erase the image of Malfoy crying beneath him.

Why had he become so obsessed? At first, he’d only imagined teaching that bloody blond bastard a lesson!

It was all Malfoy’s fault and that slender waist Harry’d accidentally glimpsed last week in the Quidditch changing room! Harry thought he’d burned that memory away long ago. But it’d merely been gathering dust in the corner of his mind and was now trying to break into his sexuality.

Sometimes, Harry felt tormented by being born bisexual.

And he suffers even more because the male figure in his imagination is Draco Malfoy. For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy is his enemy! Before that pale waist came into view, Harry’s only fantasy about Malfoy was smashing that aquiline nose with ten solid punches.

But Malfoy’s waist… that curve looked as though it could fit perfectly within the circle formed by Harry’s two palms. Ugh!

“Harry, stop it! If your glasses crack because of that bad behaviour, I won’t fix them!”

A feminine voice cut through Harry’s thoughts and managed to bring the teenager back to his senses. He sighed and leaned against the pillar that had borne the brunt of his forehead’s impact. Counting from one to ten in his head, Harry had to think of a reason for this sudden, irrational behaviour.

“I’m fine,” he replied before Ron could open his mouth to ask. “Just a slight headache.”

The red haired man pursed his lips as he looked at his lifelong friend with a pitying gaze. “Listen, mate,” he began in a friendly tone.

“If you’re still thinking about what that weasel said, know that what he said isn’t true. Don’t hurt yourself over that rude taunt.”

Hermione nodded. She pulled Harry away from the unfortunate pillar and walked down the corridor towards the Divination class, which was due to start in 10 minutes.

“Ron’s right. To be honest, I don’t know what the correlation is between soaring popularity and height either. In fact, height isn’t an issue that should be taken seriously at all!” The girl grumbled in her characteristic tone. Her messy brown hair bounced up and down as she hurried along, nearly dragging Harry across the stone floor.

Oh, actually, Harry was hurting himself with the dirty thoughts invading his mind. But how could he possibly say that out loud? So what came out of his mouth was a filtered version of the sentence.

“Thanks for your opinions, guys. That’s a bit of a help, even though the only height I can compete with here is Hermione’s.”

If this man weren’t his best friend, Harry would have kicked Ron in the groin without a second thought, as Ron struggled to stifle his laughter.

“Calm down, Harry. We all know Malfoy’s just talking rubbish. Provoking you is his idea of fun.” Hermione, being a good friend, turned briefly to elbow Ron until the tall man yelped quite loudly.

Serves you right, Harry grinned.

The girl resumed her brisk pace. As if being chased by Trelawney’s spirit, urging them to get to class on time.

“Tall or not, you’re still better than him. So don’t think about that, okay? Better to think about your grades dropping again this week.”

Okay, actually Harry didn’t want to think about either of them at all. So he just nodded without intending to argue.

Deciding that being dragged along would further lower his dignity, which was already as low as his height, Harry broke free from Hermione. The teenager walked off with a still frowning face. His heart was still burning with the insult from earlier.

Just wait. There’d come a time when he could get his own back on Malfoy.

His chance came less than two days later.

Gryffindor were in Potions class with Hufflepuff. A bright day on which Harry would meet the teacher he hated most of all. Severus Fucking Snape.

Who knows what punishment awaited Harry today, although most of the time, his marks were deducted simply because he’d mixed the ingredients wrong.

He was indeed weak at potions. So what? That bloody teacher should have guided him with more patience, rather than deducting points every time Harry took a breath.

But forget that. In Snape’s eyes, Harry was always wrong.

What a biased teacher. Just because Malfoy was his favourite student and he himself was Head of Slytherin House, he treated Gryffindor like a foundling just staying at his house.

The most recent example was today. Harry was concentrating on chopping moonstone. He was trying, with the grace of a Hippogriff, to make the powder as fine as he could. He was hacking at the large stone like a butcher, creating rough chunks that he was now pounding with every ounce of patience he’d mustered that day.

Everything should have gone smoothly. All he had to do was add the powder to the disgusting green potion in the cauldron and stir it ten times clockwise. Snape had said today’s potion ingredients were so simple that even a Dementor could make it. Harry snorted in disbelief.

He’d only just finished weighing out the powder to find the right measure when Snape came over. Harry did his best to ignore the teacher’s presence. His potion had to be perfect today. He had to prove Snape’s words right: if a Dementor could do it, then he, who was more intelligent than a Dementor, could too.

Snape glared at Harry with his usual contempt. Harry could feel the intensity of that gaze, as if it were burning into the side of his head, trying to bore a hole through his skull to reach his brain. But Harry chose to keep his head down, concentrating on the potion ingredients on the table, the names of which, he was ashamed to admit, he had forgotten.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Snape peering into the cauldron to assess his work. The teenager immediately looked away. He was fairly confident that today’s potion wouldn’t be that bad. He’d followed the steps carefully. Measuring the quantities precisely, even if he might have gone a gram or two over, boiling the potion for the instructed time and taking the ingredients that—

“Let me repeat this again,” Snape’s deep voice suddenly rang out. Deep and slow. Echoing off the classroom walls. “This potion is supposed to be bright blue. Not green like vomit.”

The man spoke, gazing at Harry’s cauldron with utter disappointment. Harry was left speechless. His green eyes glanced into the cauldron where the green liquid, which he was certain didn’t resemble vomit, was bubbling away from the heat of the boil. The bubbles popped, releasing a faintly burnt smelling vapour into the air.

Oh Merlin. Had he been so focused on chopping the ingredients that his nose hadn’t picked up the burnt smell?

Now Harry was absolutely certain Snape was criticising his potion. There was a tinge of annoyance deep down, because the potion Harry had brewed with all his heart wasn’t actually that green. Vomit should be yellow, shouldn’t it? Not green! Unless the vomit Snape was referring to was horse or cow vomit.

But still. Criticising his potion in front of the whole class and holding it up as a bad example was, indirectly, a personal insult to Harry.

All right. The potion was green now. But if he added this moonstone powder to it, the potion would turn blue.

Harry could guarantee it. How dare Snape mock a potion that wasn’t even a hundred percent finished.

After Snape and his ever dramatically fluttering robes had left, Harry added the moonstone powder. He’d measured it out perfectly. His hands were already white from the stone, so this bloody potion had better turn out well so Harry could hurl the bottle of perfect potion right in Snape’s face.

He grabbed the stirring rod and swirled it vigorously. The potion in the cauldron was still bubbling. The foam was increasing, and there was no sign that the green liquid was going to change colour. Instead, it was thickening like porridge.

A huge question mark hovered over Harry’s head. What else could be wrong here? The ingredients? The method? The cauldron? The flame? Or himself?

Harry was almost certain the cause was the latter.

But how? Once again, he’d followed the instructions to the letter! The ingredients he’d taken from the shelf were correct, assuming they were all still fit for use. The method was right, and the stirring—

Oh.

He was supposed to stir clockwise, wasn’t he?

Harry hurriedly grabbed the recipe sheet and read it more carefully. The required ingredients were Moonstone Powder, Hellebore Syrup and Alihosty Extract. First, bring the water to the boil over a medium heat, then add the Alihosty leaves and stir until the colour turns… blue…

Harry stared at his cauldron with a blank expression. What had he put in that made the colour turn green before the Moonstone Powder? He was absolutely certain his hand had reached for the Alihosty leaves on the shelf. Could the leaves have changed shape to resemble another ingredient?

No.

That was a ridiculous reason. Harry felt ashamed of himself.

The teenager wondered, what ingredient had he put in? It certainly wasn’t Alihosty leaves, judging by this unsatisfactory result.

The teenager groaned inwardly. If only the burden of his life didn’t revolve around Voldemort, Harry would happily have dunked his bird’s nest in the cauldron. Drowning oneself in one’s own failed creation shouldn’t be a crime.

Damn. Now Harry had to endure the burning sensation in his ears as he listened to Snape’s mockery of the failure of his efforts over the last two hours. But what could he do? The potion had turned to mush.

Goodbye good marks, hello 10 page essay.

Harry resigned himself to it. He stirred his potion with excessive irritation. To be honest, he was hoping for a miracle. Perhaps the liquid would suddenly hear the wails of Harry’s sorrow filled heart and transform into the potion it was meant to be.

Suddenly, however, the potion began to boil violently. Its surface bubbled and sputtered, sending plumes of steam shooting up towards the ceiling. Harry managed to take a step back to avoid the splashes from the hot cauldron.

The potion quickly formed a giant bubble that rose above the surface of the cauldron. Unfortunately, Harry was right in the thick of it, staring stupidly at the bubble as if waiting for his fate rather than running away immediately.

This was not the miracle he had hoped for!

Snape’s voice could be heard in the background, but Harry missed the rest as the bubble suddenly burst, dousing him in a shower of hot slime. Harry roared. His skin burned beneath the boiling potion. Even the skin covered by layers of uniform and robes was affected.

Harry thrashed uncontrollably. He knocked over several tables and chairs before collapsing onto the floor. His breathing was heavy and ragged from the searing pain coursing through his body.

He trembled, trying to bear the heat and the stinging that shot through every nerve in his skin. Tears began to well up in his eyes. A shrill, hysterical scream echoed in his ears. What was that? Was that Harry screaming?

He couldn’t think clearly! Intense pain shot through his entire body. His muscles strained, his bones creaked and his nerves burned. Every joint felt as though it were being pulled apart simultaneously. The pain, the searing agony and the intense dizziness had melted away all of Harry’s will to survive until it reached zero.

Hurt! Hurt! Hurt! In his entire life, Harry had never felt such extraordinary pain.

Vaguely, Harry could hear Hermione’s terrified screams in the background. He could also hear Ron calling his name in panic, but it sounded much closer.

Were his friends by his side in Harry’s final moments? Like in the films where one of a pair of friends dies?

Oh, the headline in the Daily Prophet would sound absolutely dreadful. "The Chosen One died after being doused in a failed potion".

What sort of ‘born to defeat Voldemort’ is that? He couldn’t even handle a boiling potion in a cauldron.

Blackness surged into Harry’s blurred vision. A heavy, lazy yet panicked voice sounded faint, as if Harry were drowning in water. The voice urged Harry to take a breath. Urged him to stay conscious.

Well, yeah. It’s a bit hard to stay conscious when you’re being burned alive. But never mind. Harry had tried and failed spectacularly.

A blast of cold magic touched his skin and Harry let out a shrill scream. It stung even more as the burnt skin came into contact with it. His teeth might have cracked from the force with which he clenched his jaw.

Let’s pray he doesn’t bite his tongue off.

Honestly, being doused in hot potion is far more painful than being doused in ordinary hot water. If Harry were to give it a score, it would be about 100 out of 10.

Amazing! An experience he’ll never forget.

Harry’s blurred vision once again caught Snape’s worried face. His words urging Harry to keep breathing and stay conscious faded into the background.

Harry fainted. Let’s hope he’s not dead.

“I don’t know what’s happened. I’m sorry, Dumbledore, but the potion I have is only for his burns.”

“Severus, can you make the antidote right away?”

“With all due respect, Professor. I don't see any problem with this incident."

“Well, although technically this is a good thing, strictly speaking, I agree with you, but it’s still an unintended effect of a potion.”

“We don’t even know if he wants it or not. I’m sure Mr Potter would be quite happy.”

“Severus.”

“Right, listen. Severus will make the antidote. Minerva, I trust you’ll keep the students from causing a commotion, won’t you? Madam Pomfrey, thank you for your hard work treating Harry’s burns—”

Harry groaned. The voices of the teachers he had been listening to quietly and respectfully were suddenly cut off as a terrible headache struck him. For a moment, Harry’s mind seemed to spin in darkness. Invisible thorns pricked the back of his eyes until he felt like vomiting.

Suddenly, his head was lifted gently and something slippery was pressed against his lips. A fresh, flower-scented liquid flooded his sense of smell. Slowly, the liquid flowed in through the gap in his parted lips and in an instant cool water swam down his throat.

“Harry, can you hear me?”

Dumbledore’s soft, aged voice pierced through the fog of pain. Harry struggled to nod, trying to open his eyes despite the heaviness.

His vision was initially blurred. All the colours were jumbled together and his head felt incredibly heavy. Green, black, white, blue, red and brown merged before slowly breaking apart into several figures once his glasses had settled back on his nose.

McGonagall, Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. Six pairs of eyes watched him anxiously. Harry glanced to the side and spotted another pair staring from a little further away with his usual lazy expression.

Snape.

Thanks Merlin, Harry was relieved the headache hadn’t affected his ability to recognise the teachers. He’d thought he’d suddenly lost his memory.

Madam Pomfrey finally stepped away from Harry’s side, carrying a small empty bottle that Harry thought was Dittany potion. That explained why his headache was gradually subsiding.

No longer feeling nauseous, Harry moved to lean against the edge of the bed. McGonagall helped her student by placing a pillow under Harry’s waist, causing the teenager to sigh with relief and whisper his thanks.

Neither McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey nor Dumbledore spoke. They gave Harry time to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Snape remained standing with his arms folded in the corner. He had no intention of approaching, as if Harry were a patient suffering from a deadly plague.

“Potter,” McGonagall placed her hand gently on Harry’s thigh, which was covered by a hospital blanket. “Do the burns still hurt? Madam Pomfrey has healed them, but please let us know if anything still stings.”

Harry nodded at that. He looked down at his hands, the very place where he was sure he’d been one of the worst victims of the boiling potion’s explosion. His skin was smooth, without a scar. Only a faint redness remained, which would fade soon enough. His wrists, arms and legs looked fine to Harry. Even when Madam Pomfrey held up a mirror, his face hadn’t been disfigured in the slightest.

Still Harry Potter, The Unlucky Chosen One, in his own opinion.

“Your body may still feel a burning sensation in a few places. But don’t worry, it will most likely subside by tomorrow,” said Madam Pomfrey gently. “The burns are quite severe. If Snape hadn’t brought you here immediately by levitating your body to minimise contact, I’m afraid the potion would have left permanent marks on your skin.”

Harry was sure Snape deliberately looked away the moment Harry met his gaze. It was as if the window pane showing the clouds was far more interesting to look at than Harry’s face. Although, to be fair, the clouds were more interesting.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” he said sincerely. Although the recipient of his thanks merely snorted in disgust.

Oh well. After all, that was Snape’s duty as a teacher. It turned out the old man still had a conscience, not letting Harry melt on the floor of the Potions classroom. Or perhaps he saved Harry because he couldn’t be bothered to clean up the body?

For some reason, Harry’s thoughts always went in two directions when it came to anything Slytherin related.

He swallowed with difficulty. His throat still felt dry. “Thank you very much, Madam Pomfrey. I’m fine,” he said softly, accompanied by a sweet smile.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. But she didn’t move from where she was standing. Neither did McGonagall nor Dumbledore. Snape himself looked ready to walk out, but held back, as if afraid Dumbledore would chase after him.

Harry’s brow furrowed. He looked back and forth between the teachers with a questioning gaze. But since none of them intended to speak, it was Harry who finally broke the silence.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a small voice, afraid to hear the answer. “Has anything happened to me besides the burns?”

The three exchanged glances. This only made Harry’s heart sink even further. It would have dropped into his stomach if the silence had continued.

Finally, Dumbledore looked at Harry with such intensity. Harry blinked, bracing himself for what seemed like bad news.

“Do you feel anything different about your body, Harry?”

Harry’s first reaction was to blink in confusion. Then he quickly looked down at his hands. He still had ten fingers, and they weren’t webbed. He looked at his feet, and that part of his body still looked the same as it had since he was born. Harry then reached for the mirror Madam Pomfrey was holding and looked into it. His face was reflected on the surface. There were two eyes and eyebrows, plus a pair of glasses. A single nose with two nostrils, a mouth and two rows of neat teeth.

What had changed?

His hair was still black and messy, with no strange additions. Just in case, he turned around and saw nothing growing out of his backside. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. Except for the nausea and dizziness that lingered.

“No, sir. I think my body is fine,” he replied firmly. Full of the same high confidence as in the potions room that morning. Before he’d mixed it up wrong and those mysterious ingredients had ruined his day.

Once again, the three of them looked at one another. Harry sighed inwardly. Why didn’t they just tell him straight out what was wrong? Harry wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. He wanted to go back to the dormitory and sleep. Judging by the sunset painting the sky orange, Harry felt as though he’d been here for hours.

Dumbledore then took his hand. “Can you walk, Harry?” he asked gently.

Harry, who certainly didn’t like being treated like a fragile object, nodded and immediately got out of bed without warning. His weak knees buckled under the weight of his body. Luckily, Dumbledore gripped his arm tightly. The old man looked at Harry with raised eyebrows, and Harry apologised sheepishly.

Dumbledore slowly led him towards a large mirror in the corner of the room, near where Snape had been standing all along. His dark eyes followed Harry’s faltering steps intently. As if Harry might burst at any moment.

They stopped in front of the mirror. Harry could finally see his own body clearly and, to be honest, it still looked the same. Even though he squinted repeatedly and scanned every inch of the figure reflected in the mirror, he found nothing.

His brow furrowed. Harry’s brain, which still felt like porridge, was forced to search for differences that he clearly couldn’t find anywhere. Did he need to wear five pairs of glasses? His body was normal! All his limbs were intact. If he was actually being asked to find something inside his body, Harry would have to ask for extra tools.

The lips of Dumbledore’s reflection in the mirror moved. “Found anything?”

And Harry still stuck to his first answer.

“No, sir. I still look fine.”

Harry could see Dumbledore smiling behind his long beard. He then pointed at Harry in the mirror with an amused look.

“My boy. You’re taller than me.”

If eyeballs could pop out, Harry’s probably would have done so right then. He was so startled that his eyes widened so much it made Dumbledore laugh.

Harry now looked back at the mirror, where he realised that the top of his head was above the headmaster’s. He could even see Dumbledore’s greying hairline!

With a look of disbelief, Harry studied the reflection in the mirror that was so unlike himself. The towering figure nearly reached the top edge of the mirror. His arms were long, his legs slender with strong thigh muscles. His shoulders were broad, and what was that? His chest had become more defined? He hadn’t known his body could have muscles like this.

That wasn’t all. His face had even matured if he looked more closely. His jawline was firm and angular. His gaze was sharp, with hair that had grown longer yet was tousled.

Goodness. Was the well built man in the mirror really him? He’d been so focused on his skin, fearing it might melt under the scorching potion, that he hadn’t realised his physical features had changed.

Harry really was like a sprout that had shot up overnight!

“How is that possible?” Harry asked. His fingers traced the surface of the glass, as if the figure reflected there were merely a shadow and not reality.

McGonagall appeared on the other side of Harry. Her reflection in the mirror offered a worried smile.

“It seems to be due to the potion that doused you, Potter,” replied the Head of Gryffindor House. “Your growth has been, how shall I put it—significant.”

Harry grimaced silently. For some reason, it felt strange speaking to his Professor, as McGonagall was now only as tall as Harry’s chin.

Not only that. But everyone in the room had become much shorter than Harry!

Madam Pomfrey folded her arms across her chest. She shook her head, whether out of concern for Harry’s condition or because of yet another magical mishap befalling Hogwarts, ensuring the castle never knew a moment’s peace.

“Thank Professor McGonagall. She enchanted your clothes to be larger to accommodate your suddenly elongated limbs. Otherwise, you might be naked by now.”

Harry thanked her, his face flushing, met by a faint, understanding smile on the Transfiguration Professor’s lips.

Dumbledore patted Harry’s broad back. The old man walked away, saying, “Take your clothes to Minerva to have them enlarged, Harry. Because I’m sure Severus will need time to find an antidote.” He turned, giving a mischievous wink to Snape, who once again snorted in annoyance and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that I’m underestimating your potion making skills, Severus. It’s simply that none of us knows what sort of potion has caused this.”

Severus, to his credit, merely nodded without disputing Dumbledore’s words.

He glanced at Harry once more. Staring him up and down with disgust.

“As usual. Mr Potter and his genius for creating new potions. I can’t wait to see what trouble he’ll get into next while he’s stuck in this advantageous situation,” he said sarcastically. His lips curled into a sneer, then he left. His black robes fluttered with every step.

Dumbledore prepared to follow. Only his steps were far more measured than his companion’s.

“Well then, Harry, I’ll leave you to it. Madam Pomfrey might need to carry out a few more checks before you’re allowed to leave,” he said. “Hopefully, whatever this is, it’ll be over soon.”

McGonagall automatically followed after wishing Harry well. In the end, all that remained was Madam Pomfrey with a teenager in the throes of an identity crisis.

Harry looked at the nurse, his mouth moving as if to ask something, but no words came out.

Madam Pomfrey snorted amusedly whilst gesturing for Harry to return to his bed. She took out her wand and cast a few spells to check Harry’s condition further.

“If you’re curious about your height now, it’s 188 cm,” she said casually.

Harry choked on his own spit. 188 cm?! That’s so tall! He was even taller than Ron.

Bloody hell, he must look absolutely ridiculous!

“Really? No miscalculation?”

Madam Pomfrey glared at him as if offended by the question. Harry muttered a quiet apology.

“If you don’t believe me, you can measure it yourself over there.” Madam Pomfrey pointed to a stadiometer in the corner of the room near the mirror. “I’m sure the result will be the same, 188 cm.”

Harry, at a loss for words, simply nodded awkwardly. In the end, the nurse took pity on the Chosen One. She then gently nudged Harry’s shoulder, politely asking him to lie back down.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Professor Snape said the effects are unlikely to last long. And if that assumption is wrong, he’s working on finding an antidote.” Madam Pomfrey patted Harry on the arm, offering her sincere support to the poor boy.

“You’d better get some rest. I’m sure your friends will come to visit once dinner’s over.”

Madam Pomfrey’s words proved true. Harry was now faced with a difficult situation involving Ron’s astonished stare, his mouth agape, and Hermione’s questioning gaze, the girl unconsciously wearing an expression of bewilderment that was so judgemental.

Harry, for the umpteenth time, groaned in exasperation. “Stop staring!” he said rather harshly. “You need to know, I’m not an illegal magical artefact or one of Hogwarts’ display paintings.” He hissed in disgust.

Hermione politely looked away immediately. Ron, however, continued to stare shamelessly. As good a friend as Ron was, sometimes Harry couldn’t resist the urge to hit his friend over the head with a flying broomstick.

“So—you’ve accidentally created some strange potion that’s caused your growth to skyrocket?” Hermione slowly broke the silence. She wasn’t staring openly anymore, but this time she was glancing at him with great caution. Harry felt that was even worse.

For some reason, he now felt like a protected animal.

Harry scowled as he folded several pairs of his trousers, which McGonagall had managed to enlarge. A few hours earlier, Harry had nearly died of embarrassment when the Transfiguration Professor had enlarged the size of his underwear.

He was allowed to return to the dormitory that evening. But Harry couldn’t bear the thought of appearing in public looking so drastically different. He was already attracting enough attention just with the scar on his head. He didn’t want to attract any more. Thank you.

His volatile emotions had largely taken over since the arrival of his two friends. Perhaps he was also driven by the strange and uncomfortable feeling caused by his new body shape.

“I don’t know why this happened either. I tried so hard to make the potion exactly as Snape wanted! But the potion exploded, and my growth spurt went haywire too!”

Harry threw all his clothes into the suitcase because he couldn’t be bothered to fold them. He slammed the suitcase shut and sat on the edge of the bed like a sulking toddler who hadn’t been bought sweets.

Well, a toddler standing 188 cm tall.

“I wonder why Madam Pomfrey won’t let me stay here until an antidote is found,” Harry said sadly. He’d tried to persuade the old woman, but she’d flatly refused, arguing that Harry’s education was far more important than mere embarrassment.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Ron was still staring at Harry as if he were a fossil worthy of study. Annoyed, Harry tugged at Ron’s hair until the teenager’s head bumped against the soft bed.

“OW! What’s the matter, mate? That hurts!”

“Stop staring!” Harry snapped. His green eyes glared from behind his glasses. He really didn’t like being looked at so intently. He was fine! He wasn’t some magical creature!

Hermione stepped in to prevent an argument. The sweet yet feisty girl stood in front of Ron, who was still groaning. Her brown eyes gazed gently at Harry. Her concern was always genuine; that was why Harry always gave in to Hermione.

“Ron’s just amaze because you’ve become even more handsome, Harry,” she said. Just like that, without a filter.

Ron choked, Harry stammered. An unwanted blush appeared on Harry’s cheeks at his female friend’s blunt remark.

“I—I didn’t say that!” Ron protested outright. He stared in horror at Hermione after being slandered so cruelly. “I was staring because Harry looks so different now!”

Hermione turned to Ron, glaring at him and muttering under her breath. “Oh, shut up. I’m trying to boost Harry’s confidence.” She turned back to face forward. Observing Harry, not as a fossil, but as if appraising a wizard’s Playboy magazine model.

“A lot has changed significantly about you. You’ve grown taller, haven’t you. Your shoulders are broader too, and your hair’s grown longer and messier than before. As if to match your growth. Your face is still the same, only it’s become more defined and handsome. Have you also noticed that your gaze has become sharper and more intense? No? Well, everything’s perfectly normal in my opinion.” Hermione nodded in agreement with her own assessment. Feeling satisfied.

“Harry, if the Daily Prophet saw you now, they’d probably snap you up straight away to be the cover model for their latest edition.”

Harry snorted. Even if what Hermione said was true, there was no way Harry would agree to be a model for the Daily Prophet. Not even if Rita Skeeter were to prostrate herself before him would he agree. That woman could rot in Hell.

Ron joined in, scrutinising him. He looked him up and down repeatedly. Harry resisted the urge to poke two fingers into Ron’s eyes. His best friend’s gaze felt different compared to Hermione’s judgemental stare.

“Mione’s right, Harry.” He finally said honestly. “You look far more handsome than before. Your aura is more—what do you call it, Mione?”

“Dominating,” Hermione said proudly. “I’m sure at least half the school will be chasing after you now!”

“In what context?” Harry asked lazily. He began to pick up his suitcase from the bed and drag it out. He had to leave immediately before Madam Pomfrey arrived. Otherwise, he might be the one being dragged out, not his suitcase.

“Is it because they want that potion recipe, or because of my good looks, as you put it, Hermione?”

He peeked out from the healing wing. It was quiet. Everyone must have gone back to their dormitories to sleep. Thank Merlin, at least Harry wouldn’t be mobbed any time soon.

The three of them hurried away from the hospital wing. The pale moonlight shone through the tall windows, accompanying their footsteps down the silent corridor. Harry didn’t know how long they’d spent in the infirmary. He’d been weeping too deeply, it seemed.

Without hesitation, Hermione answered Harry’s question with a confidence she’d somehow managed to muster.

“In terms of good looks. Trust a woman’s judgement. Besides, look on the good side, Harry. Snape is trying to find an antidote, isn’t he?”

Harry rolled his eyes. True, Snape had said he would find an antidote. But he hadn’t said he’d find it soon. As far as Harry knew, Snape considered this misfortune to be an advantage for Harry. So Harry’s hopes for Snape were very low, just like his Potions grades.

Ron, walking on Harry’s right, sneered too when Snape’s name was mentioned. There was now only a slight difference in their heights. Ron was at least 183 cm tall. Harry swallowed the strange feeling of finally being able to talk to Ron without having to look up.

They turned at the bend. Hermione looked like a dwarf sandwiched between two building pillars. Usually, they walked as if descending a flight of stairs. Harry grimaced at the image.

“The other good side, mate,” Ron’s voice broke the silence of the night. His blue eyes reflected the mischief usually seen in Fred and George. “is that you can get back at Malfoy for a few days ago, right? You know, about your height.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. Hermione glared at Ron so fiercely the boy could have withered on the spot.

“Ron!”

“What?”

“You’re giving him a bad idea!”

“Is that a bad idea?”

The answer lay in Harry’s smirk. Dangerous and, wickedly, incredibly handsome. All sorts of scenarios for getting his own back on Malfoy flashed through his mind. Involving a few flirtations, touches, and Malfoy’s slender waist, which still lingered in Harry’s thoughts.

Oh, how Harry would relish this sweet revenge.

Hermione held her breath as she saw the wicked grin appear on her friend’s face. Usually, that grin would spell trouble. Ron, for his part, was still lost in a fog of confusion. He was still wondering why taking revenge on Malfoy was a bad idea when the blond’s behaviour was far worse.

“Harry,” Hermione called softly. Trying to sort out the chaos that hadn’t even happened yet. “Just forget what Malfoy said. You can’t go on like this forever. Don’t give him any opening to fuel your anger.”

Harry’s green eyes looked deeply into Hermione’s brown ones. If it had been any other girl, she would most likely have melted on the spot. But Hermione was completely unfazed. She remained steadfast in her belief that one should not retaliate against a bully.

Harry flashed a sweet smile, typical of an innocent child. His face always complemented that smile perfectly.

“Don’t worry, Mione. Everything will be alright.”

The moment Ron’s backside hit the bench in the Great Hall, his cloak was yanked so hard he nearly toppled over. Fuming, Ron turned round to lock eyes with the most annoying person on the face of the earth.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

His subordinate were, as usual, behind him. Tagging along after Malfoy like a flock of ducklings.

“I heard Potty had a potions accident yesterday. Is that true?” Draco asked. There was no hint of curiosity whatsoever. All there was was a mocking smirk etched clearly on the sharp angles of his face.

Ron rolled his eyes. “None of your business,” he said lazily.

The teenager turned away, preparing to open the book Hermione had forced him to read before his grades plummeted as deep as a black lake.

But true to form for a Malfoy, the blond didn’t leave; instead, he sat down beside Ron. Taking care not to let his expensive robes touch Ron’s robes, which reeked of generations of bloodline. Ron sometimes wondered why Malfoy was so busy meddling in other people’s business. Was it because he’d been born clever and rich, so his own life was no longer interesting?

What a rude person. And this is where Ron questioned the so called ‘pure-blood’ etiquette that was held in such high regard.

“Come on, Weaselbee. Don’t be a killjoy. Tell me, what happened to Potty?”

Ron took a deep breath. He prayed to every deity in the heavens that he might be granted the fortitude and patience of the ocean, like Hermione, to deal with this spoilt child who was acting like a parasite.

“Why don’t you just ask him yourself?” Ron replied gruffly. He shifted his position further away. He was reluctant to be near that perfume that smelled of money.

Malfoy wasn’t offended. He simply sat back, chewing on a green apple he’d picked up from who knows where. Ron couldn’t recall that fruit being on this morning’s breakfast menu. But then again, Malfoy was rich. The fruit could well have come from the family’s own orchard.

“Oh, I’d love to ask. But he hasn’t shown up since yesterday,” said Malfoy, shrugging. “Why is he avoiding us? Was his accident so bad that he has to hide?” he asked, firing off the questions.

A nasty smirk was etched at the corner of his lips. Those grey eyes sparkled. Ron might have guessed that Malfoy’s latest plan was to make a badge reading ‘The Ugly Harry Potter’.

The Weasley let out a heavy sigh. If he were Harry, he’d be reluctant to show his face to Malfoy too. On top of that, his friend had vanished before sunrise to meet McGonagall to sort out something very important. Though Ron was sure it was just an excuse for Harry to avoid the public eye because he wasn’t ready to make an appearance.

Malfoy grinned even wider. Ron had a strange feeling that something terrible was about to come out of those uneducated lips.

“Well, how else am I supposed to find out about Potty if not from his loyal guard dog?”

Laughter rang out from the blond boy’s cronies. Ron restrained himself from glaring. He wanted to say that Draco had even more watchdogs than Harry. Loyal only for the money.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Ron clicked his tongue. The redhead felt that if one more taunt came out, he’d be out of there in a flash. He’d never been known for his long patience. “You and your sycophantic dogs are a nuisance,” he said bluntly.

Oh, bloody hell. Ron swallowed hard. He really hadn’t expected his thoughts to slip out so quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see Malfoy’s smirk fade. He winced inwardly. Ron didn’t want to get involved in any arguments today because he had to study. The young man could hear Malfoy’s hand slapping the table, ready to pick a fight with Ron.

However, a faint commotion could be heard from outside. A disturbance of unknown origin. It must have been quite a stir for those indistinct sounds to penetrate the Great Hall’s massive doors. Both Ron and Malfoy turned their attention towards the double doors, curious as to the source of the commotion beyond them.

For some reason, Ron’s mind immediately named someone who was most likely the main culprit.

The Great Hall doors opened shortly afterwards. A tall figure with messy black hair struggled to make his way in.

It was rather difficult for him to walk as he was surrounded by a crowd of little people. Seamus walked briskly on his right, firing off a barrage of questions about how someone could have grown so much in a single day. Dean was on the other side, staring with wide eyes that were quite unsettling. Several other students, a mix of different houses and year groups, trailed behind, eager to hear the answers to all of Seamus’s questions.

Hermione, a formidable woman with a fierce demeanour, walked briskly alongside the man with determined strides. She was like a deadly female bodyguard. She dragged the flustered, lanky teenager along with her with tremendous strength. Every now and then, she would unhesitatingly snap at students who were staring or asking questions too intently, aware that her friend was uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

All attention in the Great Hall was drawn to them. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared in disbelief at the figure striding in.

He was an incredibly handsome man. Tall. With tousled black hair. A fringe just above his eyebrows framed green eyes behind his glasses. A strong jawline with a slender neck where green and blue veins crossed beneath the expanse of tanned skin.

His face was haggard with fatigue yet still handsome, and his gaze, lazy yet clear, was enough to make anyone’s knees go weak after just a few seconds of eye contact. The round glasses and the lightning shaped scar on his forehead were more than enough to reveal the man’s identity.

Harry James Potter hurried over to Ron and sat down in the chair opposite the ginger haired boy. Hermione followed shortly afterwards, slamming a thick book down on the dining table so hard that the solid wooden surface shook. Her face looked absolutely dreadful; she seemed thoroughly disturbed by the crowd that had been forcibly dispersed.

The Chosen One, safe and sound despite his dishevelled appearance, let out a rough sigh.

“Sorry I’m late, Ron. I forgot to ask Professor McGonagall to have my school uniform altered.” He gestured towards the black robes that fell perfectly over his frame, accentuating his broad, sturdy shoulders. His collarbone peeked out from beneath the collar where his tie was loosely knotted.

Ron swallowed the urge to hit his best friend with a book. Did Harry realise that his appearance actually made him look even more attractive?

“But when I came out of the professor’s office, I was immediately mobbed by people. Luckily I bumped into Hermione on the way. She really is a lifesaver.” Harry chuckled and nudged Hermione, who immediately gave a wry smile.

“Gossip really does spread fast at Hogwarts, Harry. I suspect every wall in this place has ears.” Hermione replied, shaking her head. Her eyes never once strayed from the rows of text, whatever it was, inside the book. Ron’s headached just from looking at the thickness of the paper.

But the redhead nodded in response. He silently agreed with his female friend’s words. Ever since their friends found out Harry had grown taller, Ron had been constantly watched and bombarded with questions. That was why he’d slipped off to the Great Hall first, whilst those nosy friends of his seemed to be deliberately waiting for Harry outside McGonagall’s office. From what Ron’d observed of the crowd earlier, it seemed that curious group had grown. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were seen joining the throng.

Hah. His best mate had once again pulled off a fantastic new stunt. Ron just hoped that this latest breakthrough wouldn’t have to attract so much attention.

It was only then that Ron realised Malfoy was still standing beside him. The boy was so quiet; only his green apple had rolled onto the table. Ron turned to find Malfoy gaping at the golden boy he’d mocked just two days earlier.

Harry now towered over him. And his new look made the teenager look as though he’d just stepped off the cover of the hottest wizard magazine of all time.

Ron grinned.

Harry also seemed to notice the presence of a white haired weasel beside Ron. Those beautiful, clear grey eyes were fixed on Harry, his pale pink lips slightly parted in silence. His pupils darted up and down, disbelief and horror mingling together.

“What’s up, Malfoy?” asked Harry. His hand reached for the green apple rolling across the table. His long, thick fingers turned the fruit to find the bite mark Malfoy had left, and he casually bit into the same spot, making that side sink in even deeper.

Ron gaped, then grimaced in disgust.

“Did something bite your tongue? A Cornish fairy, perhaps?” Harry continued, tilting his head slightly. A grin that Ron only just noticed, one that looked both irritating and terrifying at the same time, curled on his friend’s thin lips.

And what was that? A fang? Had his canine teeth grown a little sharper? How was that possible?

Harry’s green eyes narrowed in delight. There was much hidden in his gaze, something complex that Ron couldn’t quite decipher.

But it felt satisfying to see Malfoy stammering with a red face. For once, his foul-mouthed, sharp tongued self couldn’t—

Wait, why is his face red? Is he really angry? Well done, Harry! Show him who’s superior here now.

“Y—you! Why are you so—”

“Tall?” Harry finished Malfoy’s sentence casually. He took another bite of the apple and then stood up. Even from across the table, Harry’s shadow still managed to obscure Malfoy’s pale face.

The morning sunlight streaming through the Great Hall’s glass windows was blocked by his sturdy frame, but the light falling on the edges of his silhouette shone golden, casting a shadow over Harry’s face. Eyes the colour of a forest canopy glowed faintly behind clear lenses.

Harry looked so divine.

The Chosen One then shrugged. Pretending to be indifferent, though he knew full well a million question marks were hovering over Malfoy’s head right now. It was time to play a trick on Malfoy in return, wasn’t it?

Harry tossed an apple into the air. The green fruit fell back into his hand in a perfect catch. He sighed playfully, acting as if he were weary in body and soul.

“You could say it was a potions accident,” he replied without a hint of embarrassment. The long black strands of hair that fell down to his eyelids concealed a strange yet meaningful glint. Harry held out his hand, handing Malfoy an apple that had been bitten into three times by two different people.

“Why? Don’t like the view?” The grin reappeared. Sharper. Wider. Harry’s voice, which had grown heavier and deeper, flowed through the open air.

It echoed in Ron’s ears quite softly. But Ron felt that, between Harry and Malfoy, Harry’s words rang out as clearly as the midday sun.

Malfoy took a step back. His gaze flickered. Blimey, did Harry now look as terrifying as the Hippogriff that had broken his arm back then? It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

Malfoy pointed at Harry with an accusing look. His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

“Nonsense, Potter! It can’t be you! You must be using a Transfiguration spell, haven’t you?” he said in a high pitched voice. “Or some other dark magic that’s changed your appearance! Oh, Polyjuice! It must be Polyjuice!”

Harry stared blankly for a moment before bursting out laughing at the accusation. His voice was deep yet sounded beautiful.

“Oh, darling,” he said sweetly.

Malfoy flinched at the term. Ron nearly threw up. How could Harry use such a sweet, affectionate word with Malfoy?

“If I’d been good at Transfiguration from the start, I might have been altering my body since First Year. Why would I have to do it in Sixth Year , hm?”

Okay. Ron was now certain that the potion had unconsciously altered the contents of Harry’s mind as well. Why was Harry’s personality so mature today?! The sun was still rising in the East, wasn’t it?

“And one more thing. If I really did drink Polyjuice Potion to turn into a man like this, can you tell me which man looks exactly like me? The one with the same lightning shaped scar.” Harry pointed to his forehead, where the lightning scar was hidden beneath a strand of messy black hair.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Malfoy, nothing about me has changed apart from my features becoming more refined and mature,” he said with an amused chuckle.

Malfoy stammered again. Finally, he remembered how the Polyjuice Potion worked.

Suddenly, the Slytherin boy angrily snatched the apple from Harry’s hand and rushed straight out of the room without even responding to the Chosen One’s final remark. His face was flushed red all the way to his ears.

Ron cheered. Good! Harry’s ability to stand up to Malfoy’s bullying had improved dramatically! Although Ron wondered why the apple had to change hands.

I mean, couldn’t he just have refused the apple? It had already been in Harry’s mouth.

Ron was too busy pondering trivial matters to notice his friend licking his lips. His tongue savoured the taste of the apple he’d shared with Malfoy.

The fresh tartness of the green apple mingled with the lingering taste of Malfoy’s lips.

“Sweet.”

And that was that. Who knows what crisis Malfoy was going through. Lately, he’d been avoiding Harry like the plague. Wherever the tall man was, Malfoy would immediately move away or pretend Harry was nothing more than a welcome statue unworthy of a second glance. Actually, that was a good thing, as his need for attention from Harry had diminished considerably.

But whatever crisis had taken hold of Harry, the boy actually started turning up more often wherever Malfoy was.

For example, if they were in the same class, Harry would drag Ron over to sit near Malfoy. Sometimes the rich kid managed to escape Harry, if he was lucky, by swapping seats at the last minute.

But often he didn’t.

Today, for instance. Ron and Harry were in a boring and unpleasant place for the sake of their beloved female friend: the library. Hermione, as usual, had vanished off somewhere in search of solace amongst the books. Ron himself was half ssleep on the table, chatting to Harry about how this place really ought to provide mattresses. The library would surely become the most popular sleeping spot in Hogwarts.

But Harry’s replies were growing fainter and fainter. Ron was slow to realise that his friend had vanished into thin air. Surely Harry couldn’t possibly have suddenly taken an interest in books? Books were way down on his list of life priorities.

After reluctantly getting up and scanning shelf after shelf, Ron finally found his best friend standing in front of a tall, old bookcase. A small but thick book was in his grasp. And standing before him was Draco Malfoy, squeezed between the sturdy shelf and Harry’s equally sturdy frame. It was a strange sight to see the top of the blond boy’s head barely reaching Harry’s lips.

The permanent scowl on Malfoy’s face looked awful. It was a common sight whenever Harry was around.

By the way, what were they doing?

It was a truly horrifying sight, in Ron’s opinion. From the gap in the shelves where he was peeking through, Ron could see Harry giving Malfoy the same smirk, which once again made Malfoy’s face flush with anger. There was no eye contact between them, which only made Ron more certain that Malfoy was now afraid of Harry.

“You should have said if you needed help, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, Potter. No one asked for your help in the first place. Get lost!”

“Unfortunately, I and my hero complex, which you’re always complaining about, can’t stand seeing someone in trouble.”

“I’m not in trouble.”

“You can’t reach this book, can you? I saw you had to stand on tiptoes just now.”

“So what’s your problem? Sooner or later I’ll still manage to get that book without your bloody help! Get out of the way!”

If this weren’t a library, Ron was sure Malfoy’s shout would have been far more shrill. The redhead frowned as he watched Malfoy try to push Harry’s chest, but his friend didn’t budge an inch. Not even a inch! Had that mysterious potion somehow boosted Harry’s strength as well? Should Ron ask for the recipe?

The blond snarled angrily once more. His thin fingers clenched the front of Harry’s robes until they were crumpled.

“Bloody Potter! Watch out! Your troll body’s in the way!”

But Harry just chuckled. Ron’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he watched Harry reach over Malfoy’s shoulder to brace himself against the hardwood, effectively trapping Malfoy between the shelf and Harry’s body with no way out.

Oh, the pure blood looked even paler.

“Where are you going, Malfoy? Not going to read this book after all? I went to all that trouble to fetch it for you, you know. Although I didn’t have to stand on tiptoes.”

“Shut up! Move aside! I refuse to touch the same book you’re holding!”

“Come on. Stop getting so worked up. Is this what a pure blood education is all about? Swearing and a short temper?”

Ron watched in horror as Harry leaned in. His friend’s lips were almost touching Malfoy’s white ear. That terrifying grin appeared again, Harry’s fangs peeking through the gap in his pale lips.

“As short as you are now, little dragon?” he whispered in a low, soft voice. Yet it rang out clearly in the silence of the corridor.

Then Harry’s green eyes shifted. He glanced straight at the spot where Ron was hiding behind the gaps in the dimly lit old books. It was as if he knew someone was watching Malfoy and him from there.

Ron’s breath caught in his throat and he reflexively ducked his head. His heart was pounding hard against his ribs. It was thudding as if it wanted to leap out of his chest, he was so startled.

Fuck! Why was he panicking like this? Harry was his best friend! He didn’t need to be afraid of Harry’s gaze! They were together almost 24 hours a day!

He wasn’t afraid. Not at all. He was just worried Harry was angry with him for being caught peeking. Yes! That was all it was!

…Goodness. Since when has Harry’s aura been blazing like a forest fire? As if the Chosen One had unleashed all the potential he’d been holding back all this time. Ron really must try to ask for the potion recipe one day!

Unfortunately, the Weasley remained crouched there for several minutes. Lost in random thoughts about how mighty he’d look after drinking the potion Harry’d created, he hadn’t a clue what was happening next between his friend and Malfoy. Because by the time he managed to stand up, the two of them had vanished.

Apparently, Harry had returned to their seats, greeted Ron, and innocently asked where Ron had gone.

Malfoy? Nowhere to be seen. But Ron could faintly catch the scent of a subtle apple and mint perfume on Harry’s robes.

The scent of the expensive perfume Malfoy owned.

However, there were also days when Harry had to make a run for it from his fans, whose numbers had doubled. Not only had their numbers increased, but their boldness had too!

In fact, it happened almost every day.

Cakes, chocolates, sweets, love letters and the scent of sweet perfume constantly flooded the Gryffindor dormitory morning, noon and night. Harry mostly just accepted all those gifts and then simply forgot about them straight away.

Both girls and boys have declared their love for him time and time again. In every strategic spot at Hogwarts that could be used as a romantic setting. But Harry always politely declined, saying he preferred to stay single.

His popularity was completely unhealthy, if Ron was allowed to comment. It was bad for his health due to the risk of a sugar overdose and perfume poisoning, and it was also bad in terms of disrupting his daily life because Harry was constantly being stopped in his tracks.

Ron suspected that his best friend was turning down all his admirers because Harry had someone he secretly fancied. And whenever his imagination drifted to the image of that platinum jaired, pale skinned figure, Ron would immediately search for a thick book to bash his own head with, in an attempt to stop the terrifying hallucinations swirling through his mind.

Speaking of Malfoy, the aristocratic had been avoiding Harry even more intensely. Much like Harry himself, he was also avoiding his admirers with the same tenacity.

That was Ron’s only daily entertainment. Sometimes Ron began to wonder if he should start watching ugly mermaids or giant squids in the Slytherin common room as a new way to unwind.

Once, on an ordinary day, Ron saw Harry cornering Malfoy against a wall. In a deserted corridor late at night. Just after Ron had relieved his urgent need to wee.

Oh, Merlin. Why did misfortune always befall him? And why did that misfortune always take the form of Malfoy and his friend?

From behind the dark recess where he’d immediately jumped to hide after accidentally catching sight of the scene, Ron could see the blond boy pressed so close to the wall, as if wanting to merge with the cold stone of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, Harry’s body loomed tall in front of Malfoy. Successfully making the weasel look small within the confines of the Chosen One’s arms.

Once again, in that same dangerous pose. What on earth was going on with those two?

Malfoy glanced at Harry’s face, his lips curving downwards. It was clear he didn’t like being cornered again. Meanwhile, Harry looked down with a broad smile on his face, revealing his white teeth. This time, Harry’s two hands formed a perfect cage. Barricading Malfoy right on either side of the blond teenager’s head.

175 cm versus 188 cm shouldn’t be that dramatic, thought Ron.

This was a blatant display of strength by Harry, the redhead remarked again. He didn’t know whether to nod in admiration or frown in confusion at Potter’s behaviour.

Indeed, ever since his physique had developed more significantly, Harry’s commanding aura had become more pronounced. To the point where even someone of Malfoy’s calibre was reluctant to deal with Harry. The exception being his fans, who swarmed around him like moths.

He had no idea what they were talking about. Ron wasn’t really listening either. He actually hated being in situations like this, which was why Ron preferred to gaze at the Forbidden Forest through the window rather than watch the soap opera starring the two legendary troublemakers of Hogwarts.

For a moment, it was quiet. But Ron didn’t want to risk going out straight away and being spotted by accident. So he kept an eye on the situation first.

It was a mistake for Ron to peek, because just then Harry bent down again, just like he had done in the library, whether to whisper or for some other reason.

Malfoy’s face flushed instantly and he darted away like a flash through the gap beneath Harry’s arm. His friend stared blankly for a moment as Malfoy left, then gradually broke into a broad, amused grin.

Ron chose to pretend he hadn’t seen anything. He went back into the alcove and sat there, who knows for how long.

Let him be, he thought to himself. Trying to think positively. Harry was entitled to a little victory over Malfoy after putting up with thousands of taunts from that spoilt brat. If Harry wanted to have a bit of fun with Malfoy, who was Ron to stop him?

Well, he was a good friend.

Let them be. That was the answer.

By the way, why is Snape taking so long to find the antidote for this potion? It’s been ten days already!

Although Ron liked the chocolate, cakes and sweets Harry handed out every day, he was getting a bit sick of the sweet smell of all those perfumes.

Hmph, Ron always knew that Potions Profesor wasn’t as competent as he seemed.

Harry stared lazily at the ceiling of his bed. From outside the bed curtains, there was a rustling sound where his friends were probably playing some other silly game. Harry couldn’t be bothered to join in right now. He had far more important things to do.

Looking at his own hands, for instance.

Harry smiled faintly. Almost lecherously.

The same hand that had touched Malfoy’s waist in the library a few days ago. The hand that had managed to feel the soft fabric wrapping the slender, delicate waist of the pure blood heir.

Blame Malfoy for always wearing so many clothes. Always covered from neck to fingertips. So it was no wonder that curiosity arose in Harry’s mind about the true shape of the blond boy’s body beneath those thick, expensive layers.

Back in the library, Harry had left Ron behind to follow a blond haired figure who had flashed past between the bookcases, which wound like a labyrinth.

In a split second decision that defied common sense, Harry had silently set off in pursuit of Malfoy. He was lucky to have spotted Malfoy trying to reach a book on a high shelf in such a short time.

Harry actually knew that Malfoy could reach the book even if he had to stand on tiptoes. But he couldn’t resist walking closer and pressing his chest against Malfoy’s back. His fingers slipped past the pale, slender fingers and grabbed the book first.

Realising there was another hand reaching for the same book, Malfoy immediately turned around with an angry expression, ready to lash out at whoever dared to steal the book from him. It was quite funny how that angry expression vanished the moment he realised the thief was Harry.

Even funnier still, in his surprise, Malfoy instinctively stepped back to avoid Harry. He’d forgotten that he had his back to the bookshelf. The look of horror on Malfoy’s face as he felt the hardness of the wood against his back almost made Harry laugh.

He ended up in a position that was very advantageous for Harry but extremely dangerous for Malfoy. The weasel was trapped there. He couldn’t escape as Harry’s arms held him in place.

Harry’s nose immediately caught the sweet scent of apples and fresh mint wafting from their close proximity. Malfoy’s neck, where his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with nervousness, had held Harry’s attention for a moment. For a brief instant, the dark haired teenager imagined the feel of that pale skin against the surface of his tongue.

Even if Harry were to shrink back to his former height, he didn’t think he’d mind. After all, at his previous height, he wouldn’t have to bend down to sink his teeth into the veins on Malfoy’s neck. Kissing his neck would be so easy whenever he wanted.

Rosy cheeks, a stiff body and panicked eyes sparked a sense of satisfaction within Harry. Something dark, which he knew existed somewhere in the recesses of his heart but was mostly ignored. Harry relished the image of surrender and fear on Malfoy’s sharp, handsome face. An expression that seemed to confirm that Harry had succeeded in stealing the reins of dominance that usually lay in the hands of the older, arrogant boy.

Harry remembered his hand drifting without permission to wrap around Malfoy’s waist at that moment. The boy, now shorter than him, flinched. Grey eyes stared in horror at the hand resting on his side.

Harry’s fingers traced the smooth surface of Malfoy’s uniform with his thumb. His calloused skin relished the indirect sensation of firm flesh beneath the silk weave. His green eyes savoured the blush creeping across both of Malfoy’s cheeks.

Harry could see a battle of emotions in those clear grey eyes, which might well be debating whether Malfoy should lean into Harry’s touch or pull away and punch the face of this special boy.

Harry felt that, most of the time, the latter desire won out. But fortunately, it was never acted upon. So Harry’s nose was always safe and sound from the experience of a broken bone.

The only downside to the incident was that the two of them, in a precarious position, were accidentally spotted by Ron. Harry hadn’t expected his friend to find them there so quickly. He could see a flash of red hair through the gap in the old bookshelf, which vanished the moment Harry’s gaze fell on the right spot.

After that, Harry let Malfoy go, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and immediately slipped back into his usual act of playing the innocent boy.

The second time, Harry intercepted the white weasel in a quiet corridor at Hogwarts late at night. Who knows where he’d come from. But Harry could catch the heady scent of flowers and ginseng the moment he once again managed to corner Malfoy against the wall. Judging by his fair hair, which was slightly curled at the nape of his neck and a little damp, Harry assumed the boy had just finished a shower.

Oh, Malfoy was using a different soap, it seemed. It smelled just as lovely, but Harry preferred the apple one.

But this scent was still extraordinary. It made Harry’s mouth water, risking him being seen as utterly repulsive and lowly by Malfoy.

But truly, Harry felt an overwhelming urge to press his lips against the junction of the pale shoulder and neck. To lick the skin that had been rubbed until it turned red. Would it taste sweet? Soft like candyfloss? Would even the slightest bite leave a red mark on that smooth, white canvas?

Has anyone ever tried leaving a kiss or a bite there? If so, who are they and where do they live? Harry would be more than happy to pay a visit.

A moment later, Harry almost slapped himself mentally. Snap out of it, Harry! Malfoy is nobody to you! If he’s ever slept with someone, it’s none of your business!

Forget it. Harry was nearly exploding with anger. Ridiculous.

People say communication is important. So after a brief row, because Malfoy didn’t like being startled and rudely demanded that Harry stop meddling in his life, which was completely at odds with Malfoy’s usual daily routine, Harry finally tried to tell Malfoy that he smelled lovely. But the boy immediately blushed fiercely and simply slipped away, slipping out from under Harry’s arm.

Such a shame.

Even though when he ambushed the boy in the middle of the corridor, Harry managed to slip his hand around that slender waist again. In fact, this time, his hand met cold skin. Malfoy was apparently only wearing pyjamas and they’d happened to slip open when Harry grabbed his body.

So smooth and cold. Even though it had happened two days ago, the sensation of that skin still lingered on Harry’s hand.

The younger boy had even managed to brush against a firm ass. Accidentally. It’s worth noting, because Harry felt the need to defend himself. At first, Harry’s hand was on his waist. But because Malfoy jumped in surprise, his hand slid towards his bottom. The tips of his fingers briefly enjoyed the firm, supple curve before Malfoy roughly brushed Harry’s hand away with a shriek.

A bit disappointed. But never mind.

Now Harry was actually quite obsessed. That accidental incident had led to one conclusion. That one of his hands could cup one of Malfoy’s firm ass! If he used both hands, groping, squeezing and playing with Malfoy’s ass wouldn’t be difficult.

Come to think of it, when you look closely, all of Malfoy’s limbs seem a bit smaller in his grasp. Perhaps it’s the effect of not eating enough? Skinny wrists. Skinny arms. A slender waist. The only impressive things are his height and his handsome face. Not that Harry is any more muscular. He’s just as skinny. But in terms of strength? Harry could carry Malfoy around the castle once.

Every time Harry caught up with Malfoy or loomed over the blond boy with his imposing presence, Malfoy would inevitably stammer out words, his gestures becoming less elegant and his temper flaring up even more than Harry’s. He even scolded Harry just because he’d moved his seat closer to Malfoy! It’s not fair. And yet, it was that boy who used to be so keen on approaching Harry just to hurl insults.

Now that Harry approaches him in return, he immediately runs off and gets flustered. Of course Harry wants revenge. Hahaha!

Unfortunately, Malfoy’s desperate desire to escape Harry’s reach only made the Chosen One feel even more challenged to bring the boy under his control. What had started as a mere desire to tease Malfoy had evolved into a desire to subdue him.

Harry really couldn’t believe he’d never thought of this before. He should have been able to control Malfoy. Whether he was tall or short.

Malfoy was a coward. Malfoy was a pushover. He just liked to act like a ruler. His true nature, that cowardly side, made it abundantly clear that the pure-blood was easily manipulated with just the right touch here and there. That was why he could be either a Death Eater or a spoilt child who obeyed all his parents’ wishes, even if their orders were terrible.

So that is what Harry has been doing lately. Getting close to Malfoy and following him everywhere. The sweetest revenge is to make Malfoy fall into his arms. He wants to be able to possess the boy he’s actually been longing for.

Yes. That’s right. No mistake. Harry Potter craves Draco Malfoy.

Harry longs for the sight of Malfoy’s handsome face every time he opens and closes his eyes. He longs for his sweet, fragrant scent beneath his nose every hour. He yearns for the time when he can make Malfoy cry, laugh, happy, angry and afraid. He yearns for Malfoy to greet him every day with tender kisses, warm hugs and sweet words that seem impossible but might just be worth a try. He also yearns for Malfoy to depend on just one person for his life: Harry, and Harry alone.

Unfortunately, those dark and unhealthy thoughts were cut short by Ron’s shout from outside the bed curtains. He was calling Harry’s name frantically, like a vicious debt collector. Harry groaned. He’d been thoroughly enjoying imagining far more risqué scenarios with Malfoy as the main character. Involving miniskirts, ropes and sweet pleas to be—

“Harry! Mate! Can you hear me?”

Was this the right moment for Harry to pretend to be asleep?

But there was a rustling sound shortly afterwards. It seemed Ron had got up and was intending to go straight over to Harry’s bed.

Shit. Persistent. But at the wrong time.

Harry’s head immediately poked out from behind the gap in the curtains. He stared lazily at Ron, who was already half standing. His glasses were slightly askew, having rolled around while he’d been grinning vaguely for the past few minutes. His uniform and tie were also creased and dishevelled. He hadn’t even showered after returning from Transfiguration class, such was his laziness today.

With a voice holding back irritation, Harry asked, “What?” whilst adjusting his glasses.

Ron smiled innocently. His hand simply reached out in front of Harry’s face.

“Can I borrow your Quill? Mine’s broken.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What for?” he asked stupidly.

Ron stared as if Harry’s head had split in two. Perhaps he was amazed at how slow his friend was on the uptake. His other hand shot up and pointed at Seamus right on the nose, almost reflexively.

“To poke Seamus in the eye, mate. To write, of course, what else?”

Hearing the dig, Harry almost laughed. He went back inside the curtain, grabbed his bag and rummaged for a quill. But after his hand had searched every corner, his only quill had vanished into thin air. Harry blinked in confusion. Now his head was inside the bag along with his wand.

“Lumos.”

Instead, he found other strange objects that shouldn’t have been in a student’s bag. Grass, stones, biscuit crumbs, wood and other items Harry was reluctant to identify, even though he wondered why so many odd things had found their way into his bag.

Harry suddenly realised something.

Oh, by Merlin’s beard…

He had an exam tomorrow morning. Outside, the sky was already turning to night. He couldn’t go out to buy a new quill at night. Borrowing one from his friends was out of the question. Harry doubted they had more than one quill each.

He stood still for a moment, trying to remember where he’d last left that wretched pen.

Harry’s schedule for the day was very simple. Wake up early, have breakfast, attend Potions class where he spent two hours being glared at with disgust by Snape, who hadn’t even found an antidote for Harry’s appearance, which ruined the Professor’s view, then there was a free period where he practised Quidditch with the newly recruited players, and in the afternoon, there was Transfiguration class.

Harry sighed. With heavy steps, he got out of bed. If he couldn’t remember where he’d left his quill, he would search every room one by one. Potions and Transfiguration were his main targets.

“Harry? Where’s the quill?” Ron asked, puzzled, as his friend, instead of pulling out a quill, pulled himself out from behind the curtain.

Harry shook his head. A frown slowly formed on his handsome face. “Use another one. Mine’s gone,” he replied.

Ron froze for a moment before nodding. However, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw Harry put his school robes back on and bend down to tie his shoelaces.

“And where are you off to?”

“To find my quill. I need it for tomorrow’s exam,” Harry replied. The boy groaned as he sat up straight again.

Ron’s face went pale the moment he heard the word ‘exam’. Harry guessed his friend hadn’t studied at all. Tsk tsk. What would Hermione say?

He hadn’t studied either, though. Based on his life experience so far, it would be better if Harry just relied on luck.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Ron offered. Just making small talk. Because Harry could see the urgent need in Ron’s eyes to study in the little time left before bedtime.

Harry gave a faint smile. “No need. I can manage on my own. Thanks, Ron.”

Ron nodded. His hand rummaged through the messy desk in search of a book. “Alright, mate. Hope you find it soon. And hope you avoid the misfortune of bumping into Filch.”

Harry glanced at the clock perched firmly in the corner of the room. A large wall clock that would chime like a giant gong to wake them all up at six o’clock sharp.

Right now, it was 8.00 pm. That should be enough time for Harry to find his quill. And if not. As usual, he’d just have to hope for the best.

Just in case, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and stepped out of the room. Better be safe. Better to be disguised in case he was unlucky and accidentally bumped into Snape or Filch!

It was now around 9 pm. Harry, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak, was on his way to Transfiguration class. He had already sneaked into the Potions classroom earlier and found nothing there. Even though he had peered under every chair and desk, and even crawled along the floor and searched every nook and cranny of the shelves. Nothing.

A complete waste of time, he thought.

This was the last place. If his quill was still missing, it had most likely fallen on the Quidditch pitch. And no, he wasn’t going to look there. Harry gave up. Tomorrow morning he would borrow a quill from Hermione, even if it meant having to listen to a short lecture first.

Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom, which he’d assumed was empty. But who’d have thought he’d find Draco Malfoy standing by the desk he’d sat at that afternoon. The boy had his back to the door, his slender fingers holding Harry’s quill and turning it over and over as if examining a rare artefact.

Ah. A stray dragon, it seems. Interesting. Need a handler?

Harry’s eyes narrowed in amusement. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips. Although he’d thoroughly enjoyed teasing Malfoy over the past few days, the boy he was teasing always stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost. And the flush of red on his pale cheeks always appeared whenever Harry drew near, driving the dark haired boy insane.

Actually, Harry had only just realised that Draco had always been like that, even before Harry’s height had shot up. Every time Harry acted a bit bolder towards the blond, a fleeting look of fear would cross his grey eyes and vanish in an instant.

It was only because of his ceaseless taunts that Harry had no time to admire or observe Malfoy’s face. His heart was already boiling with anger at the blond’s insults.

Fortunately, Harry had learnt a thing or two during his life in this different body. If he remained quiet and stared intently into the centre of Malfoy’s eyes, Malfoy would stammer, fidget and blush.

Funny, isn’t it?

Harry removed his Invisibility Cloak and draped it over the back of an empty chair. He didn’t forget to close the door with a soft click. Luckily, the hinges on the Transfiguration room door were always well maintained. For a few moments, he simply watched Malfoy in silence. Waiting for the boy to realise he was there.

A few seconds passed and Harry had drawn two conclusions. Firstly, he’d just remembered that Malfoy was a Slytherin Prefect. That explained why the boy was in an empty classroom at night. He seemed to be on patrol.

Secondly, Draco was completely absorbed in that quill and hadn’t noticed Harry at all. What on earth? It was just an ordinary quill. Harry was far more interesting than a quill. Again, in his own opinion.

Embarrassed. Harry finally broke the silence.

“Planning to take it, Malfoy?”

"Bloody hell—!"

Malfoy immediately swore. His scrawny body jerked so violently that the pen slipped from his grasp and fell onto the stone floor. The teenager quickly turned to face Harry. His expression was so comical, his grey eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He was surprised at how dramatically Malfoy had reacted. The dismissive smirk he’d recently developed to provoke Malfoy’s anger curled automatically on his lips.

“I thought my cheap things didn’t interest you at all. Is that quill different?” Harry asked, folding his arms across his chest. His towering frame blocked the doorway, obscuring the light from the torch across the corridor and casting a long shadow over Malfoy’s shoes.

The blond stammered for a moment before finally snorting in response. The teenager spotted the quill lying on the floor and deliberately kicked it under the table. Without a shred of guilt, he grinned back at Harry. In that typically infuriating way of a spoilt rich kid, it made Harry’s forehead twitch with annoyance.

Hey. That was the only intact quill Harry had. That little thing was the main reason Harry was here and not in his beloved soft bed.

Malfoy folded his arms. He tilted his head slightly before speaking in a playful tone, “Indeed. That cheap quill is only fit to join the dust on the floor. Or better still, in the bin.” He emphasised the last part with a condescending tone.

Harry remained silent. But inside his head, anger was raging. That insolent, arrogant boy. Not at all the behaviour of an educated person.

The blond boy picked up his bag from the desk, slung it over his shoulder and hurried out of the classroom. But as he tried to pass Harry, the dark haired teenager managed to grab Malfoy’s arm and clasp it tightly. Preventing Malfoy from taking another step to escape the irresponsible act he had just committed.

The Chosen One’s green eyes shot a sharp glance at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. The yellowish light from the torch illuminating the classroom doorway made the teenager’s eyes seem to glint with menace.

Malfoy shuddered. The thin arm in Harry’s grip went rigid.

“Give me back my quill,” Harry ordered firmly. “The one you just kicked. Give it back.”

Malfoy furrowed his brow. He tried to pull his arm away, but Harry’s grip didn’t waver at all. If anything, it tightened further, making Malfoy wince.

Okay, now he was a bit worried about the possibility of a bruise on his upper arm.

"What the hell? Let go, Potter!" Malfoy took another step forward. His fingers slipped between Harry’s, trying to pry free.

Harry clicked his tongue. He was running out of time here. Firstly, he hadn’t study.. Secondly, he didn’t want to be caught red handed by school staff patrolling during peak hours. Thirdly, he refused to feed Malfoy’s massive ego by letting him take the pen himself. The boy needed a lesson.

Harry dragged Malfoy along with ease. He ignored the blond boy’s protests and dumped Malfoy back where he’d been standing. Without letting go of Malfoy’s arm, Harry pointed to the floor where the quill had vanished under the table.

“Pick it up,” he repeated more firmly.

He gave the slender body a slight push forward. Harry’s towering height cast a shadow over Malfoy’s face, which was slowly turning pale. The Chosen One silently cheered inside. See? It was very easy to scare Malfoy with just a little pressure.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be Draco Malfoy if he simply obeyed. The teenager tried a rougher move, pushing Harry away. He landed a punch to the chest with his free hand, which Harry admitted stung a little.

“That’s your quill! Get it yourself, you bastard!” he roared angrily. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do! You’ve got no right!” he added.

That mouth was spewing nonsense again. Oh, Harry knew that pure blood wizards were raised with strict aristocratic manners. But in Malfoy’s case, the boy had grown up with a mischievous streak that was far more dominant.

As far as Harry knew from Ron’s stories, Lucius and Narcissa were more notorious for being cruel and cunning than mischievous. So where had the little devil picked up this behaviour? Teenage hormones? The effects of being spoilt from birth?

It seemed to be the latter.

Fed up with being used as a punching bag, Harry pulled Malfoy with more force until the boy’s scrawny body staggered and fell awkwardly onto Harry’s chest. Malfoy yelped in surprise as his face collided with a patch of warm, broad chest.

The dark haired teenager lowered his head and whispered right into the shorter boy’s ear. He tried to make his voice as threatening as possible, even though he himself didn’t like to threaten people unless it was necessary.

“You were the one who kicked it, you bastard. So take that quill back. Be a decent, responsible person,” Harry whispered. His grip tightened for a moment, drawing a pained hiss from a pair of soft, pink lips.

“Take it. This is your final warning, Malfoy.”

Unexpectedly, Malfoy’s body, pressed against Harry’s, trembled. The Chosen One smirked. The fine blonde hairs growing on his flawless pale skin stood on end. Malfoy’s hand unconsciously clenched Harry’s black robes. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Nervousness, fear and desperation mingled.

Slowly, the blond head nodded with a small, almost stiff movement. Harry stepped back, not forgetting to give a triumphant look that he hoped would provoke Malfoy’s anger once more.

But Malfoy didn’t look at Harry at all. He kept his head down. He just slammed his bag down on the table with a loud thud. It was a subtle way of letting Harry know he wasn’t happy about this.

But did Harry care?

The answer was crystal clear. No. Those flushed cheeks were proof enough.

Malfoy turned and knelt on the floor. Although his back was turned to Harry, Harry still had a good view of Malfoy’s silhouette from the waist down. As it happened, the teenager was wearing nothing but his white shirt. His robes and waistcoat had vanished. Harry didn’t want to know.

Malfoy’s body was pressed against the floor. His hand reached out, feeling around. He touched a pile of dust and other things he didn’t want to know what they were. But he didn’t find what he was looking for. This drew an exasperated click from his lips. Consequently, Malfoy had to bend lower to get his arm further under the table.

Behind Malfoy, Harry was busy watching the tantalising spectacle with rapt attention. His tongue slipped out, licking his lower lip as he felt utterly captivated.

It was a fine sight here. Better than the landscape of the Quidditch pitch when he was soaring high in the sky.

Malfoy’s arse was slightly upturned. His stomach and chest were almost level with the floor. In Harry’s filthy, lecherous mind, that ass seemed to be begging him to touch and squeeze it.

The pitiful whimper of Malfoy’s ass, begging for attention and touch, echoed through the delusional corners of Harry’s mind. These depraved thoughts succeeded in making his trousers feel tight.

Down there, Malfoy had, with great reluctance, pressed his cheek against the dusty floor, shuddering with disgust. It was all simply because he still couldn’t find that damned quill! The space under the table was dark, untouched by the light of the oil lamp. Malfoy was struggling to determine where the quill was. His field of vision was severely limited!

It had briefly crossed his mind that perhaps Potter had secretly taken the quill with magic and was deliberately making Malfoy crawl on the floor to humiliate him.

Just so you know, Malfoy. Harry had almost forgotten the quill even existed. He was busy with other things now. Like admiring the slim waist and firm ass presented before him.

It’s a shame Malfoy’s waist and ass aren’t on the menu at Hogwarts. Harry might well have signed up as a regular customer, even if it meant paying extra.

After toiling away at this dirty work for some time, Malfoy’s hand finally touched a hard, slender object. A quill!

Malfoy cheered inwardly. This inhumane punishment was finally over.

He was about to stand up, ready to hurl that rubbish pen at its owner,nwho was just as much of a piece of rubbish, when the sound of footsteps was heard from outside the classroom. So loud amidst the silence of the night and the deserted corridor.

Malfoy glared, Harry froze. Both of them froze in their tracks as the sound of footsteps grew clearer, drawing closer to the classroom where they were.

It must be Filch making his rounds!

In a tense split second, just as Filch’s lantern light came into view through the window bars, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s bag from the desk and shoved the boy back onto the floor. He pinned Malfoy beneath the weight of his own body.

Malfoy groaned softly. All the air was forced out of his lungs as Harry’s weight pressed down on his back. The boy’s chest felt warm, in stark contrast to the cold stone floor beneath his cheek and palms.

“Potter!” he groaned. It felt as suffocating as being crushed by a mountain troll! “You’re so heavy!"

Harry’s hand crept up and settled over Malfoy’s mouth. Stifling the emergence of a few unwanted words in this dangerous situation.

“Shh— If you don’t want to get into trouble, cooperate with me and keep quiet, Malfoy.”

Harry’s warm breath on Malfoy’s ear drew a moan from the lips he was covering. The soft sound travelled straight to Harry’s groin. Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes. His trousers felt even tighter.

Harry shifted slightly. He tried as much as possible to minimise contact with Malfoy’s body. But the table’s slightly low height made that impossible. Right now, Harry had to prioritise ensuring his backside wasn’t visible above the table’s surface.

Through the gap beneath the hollow door, Filch’s torch stopped right in front of the classroom. Both Malfoy and Harry held their breath. They turned to stone the moment they heard the creak of the door opening. The light from Filch’s torch grew brighter, a sign that the caretaker was peering inside.

“Who’s there?!”

Filch’s raspy voice echoed off the walls of the classroom, which should have been empty. Harry could feel Malfoy trembling beneath him. Harry’s lips, pressed against Malfoy’s earlobe, slowly grew damp as the blond boy’s body began to break out in a cold sweat.

Harry, as usual, acted on instinct. He hugged Malfoy tighter, intending to calm him down. But it seemed to be the wrong move, as Malfoy jerked violently. Harry clenched his teeth, startled by the sudden contact of Malfoy’s butt against his hard erection.

He could see those grey eyes staring wide. Glancing at him with an unreadable expression. Most likely wondering why there was a hard object pressing against his backside. Harry chose to ignore it and focus on the lantern and the pair of worn out shoes still visible by the door.

For a moment, a silence fell. Harry was too afraid to breathe and Malfoy was stiff as a board. The only movement between them was the throbbing of Harry’s cock pressed against Malfoy’s arse. As if Harry dick could pierce its way into the crease of Malfoy’s arse from behind the fabric of his trousers. 

Hopefully, after this, Malfoy wouldn’t cast Avada Kedavra at him. Harry had only ever fantasised about touching and squeezing that ass. But it turned out, he’d managed to touch it directly with his dick. Harry’s brain suddenly couldn’t think straight. Whether it was because his stupidity had increased or his lust had overridden his common sense.

Suddenly, a loud noise rang out from somewhere in the corridor. Whatever it was, it was so loud it caught Filch’s full attention and made Malfoy jump in surprise once more. His arse collided with Harry’s erection again. It was hard enough that the black haired teenager had to bite Malfoy’s shoulder to stifle the moan that was almost escaping him. Malfoy groaned again from the bite. Harry mentally slapped himself at the filthy image that had flashed through his mind.

The light of Filch’s lantern vanished instantly, along with his angry mutterings at whatever it was. The door then slammed shut. Yet for a few moments, neither Harry nor Malfoy dared to move. They were still worried Filch might not be too far from the classroom.

Only when he felt safe and was certain that the sound of Filch’s footsteps had vanished completely did Harry dare to breathe a sigh of relief. Without realising it, he rested his forehead against the back of Malfoy’s head.

Oh, how soft his hair was. Those blonde strands smelled of apples again tonight. Harry sometimes wondered whether Malfoy’s hair was really as soft as it looked, or if it was just an illusion. Fortunately, he’d found the answer without having to wait long.

Now, another matter. Harry peeked out slowly to check on Malfoy. The young man’s pale cheeks were perfectly flushed under the yellow glow of the oil lamp. His hair fell like a sheet of gold over his sweaty neck. The scent of apples and a hint of sweet candy invaded Harry’s nose.

It made him dizzy. It made him hungry.

“Malfoy?” Harry whispered. He lifted his head, trying to peek. Bravely summoning the noble intention to simply ask after the boy.

He was slightly self conscious. His large body might be a bit too heavy for Malfoy’s slender frame to bear.

“Are you all right?”

Silence. No answer. Harry worried Malfoy was plotting a thousand ways to kill him when Malfoy’s arse suddenly shifted back. Rubbing against Harry’s hard erection. Slowly and deliberately.

The Chosen One immediately moaned at the sudden movement. His forehead fell again, but this time onto Malfoy’s neck. The scent of apples and sweets mixed with sweat made Harry unconsciously stick his tongue out. Finally getting the chance to taste the white nape he’d been fantasising about all this time. Malfoy let out a sweet moan at once.

Harry continued to kiss and lick that surprisingly delicious spot. It was a mixture of salty and sweet at the same time, with the light brush of his lips.

Harry whispered. His voice was hoarse with desire, “Malfoy… are you alright?”

Harry’s hips moved forward. He pressed back, seeking more friction against the surface of Malfoy’s expensive trousers. It felt so good. Harry was suddenly overcome by the urge to tear through the fabric of Malfoy’s trousers and slip his cock between those tight butt.

His mind was starting to go mad.

“Malfoy?”

Once again, Harry didn’t get the answer he wanted. The teenager cursed inwardly. He was just about to turn Malfoy over when a faint voice was heard.

The voice was too faint. Even with Harry’s head so close to Malfoy’s face, he still couldn’t make out the full sentence. He had to reluctantly pull away from the back of Malfoy’s neck.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you.”

Heavy breathing was the only response Harry received.

“...yo...dick...pre...aga..my...ss...”

Harry’s brow was now deeply furrowed in confusion. He truly hadn’t caught the full sentence Malfoy was trying to convey. The blond was whispering in a voice so soft it might only be audible to himself.

Fortunately for Malfoy, Harry was born with a fluctuating level of patience. This time, driven by desire, his patience was no thicker than a strand of hair. Feeling unable to play word games amidst the fog of desire, he grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders and turned the boy’s body around. Intending to demand a clearer answer than just a few disjointed words.

“What on earth were you saying—”

Harry’s sentence trailed off. His green eyes gazed in awe at the new sight, far more beautiful than Malfoy’s waist and bottom when he’d been bent over earlier.

A gaunt face with high, flushed cheekbones, clear grey eyes glistening with tears. Golden blonde hair fell in disarray across his forehead and onto the dusty floor. His pale pink lips were wet and swollen from being bitten quite hard by their owner. Whether from suppressing his desire or simply fearing to make a sound whilst Filch was nearby. Beneath the dim light of the oil lamp, Malfoy’s expression of being overwhelmed by desire succeeded in arousing Harry’s own desire to its highest point.

From the way their chests pressed together, it was clear that Malfoy was struggling to catch his breath. His eyes fluttered with an unspoken please. Harry didn’t understand why he actually understood the hidden meaning behind that gaze.

Harry swallowed hard. He tried desperately to convince himself that the blond was simply overheating.

"Malfoy…"

The blond stirred the moment his name was spoken. His skin was sweaty and hot. Every nerve in his body was screaming, craving touch and friction. A small moan choked in his throat. Malfoy whimpered. Begging to be touched. To be satisfied

"Please…" he sobbed. Desperate. “I beg you, Harry—"

Black pupils dominated the grey eyes. Almost swallowing that beautiful colour in the boundless darkness called Lust.

“Touch me... Harry... Please! I need you now... I— Harry...”

And just like that. Those words were the green light. Harry flipped Malfoy onto his back before pouncing on the pure blood heir’s mouth. Lips met lips in a rough kiss between two people equally bound by the desire to touch one another.

Malfoy’s lips were thin but supple. Their surface was smooth and soft. A stark contrast to Harry’s chapped lips. The sensation was incredible. Exhilarating. The sweet moans escaping Malfoy’s mouth were like the song of Heaven to Harry after all those years the boy had spent listening to insults and crude abuse from that same mouth.

Harry’s hunger to taste every inch of Malfoy’s body was now more clearly satisfied as his tongue licked those pink folds with fervour.

Malfoy’s hands were pinned down on either side of his body. Pressed to the floor by Harry’s strong grip on his wrists, as if by iron chains. Meanwhile, Harry's lips and tongue were performing another task that was far more pleasurable for both parties.

Malfoy returned Harry’s kiss with equal passion. His eyes closed as he slowly lost himself in the sensation. His body arched as Harry’s unskilled tongue left a glistening trail of saliva on Malfoy’s parted lips. It tickled and teased until Malfoy slowly opened his mouth. Harry’s tongue immediately slipped inside. It twisted and probed, searching for a equal opponent.

Equal because they were both inexperienced. Harry could tell from the stiffness of Malfoy’s tongue as it coiled around his own. His movements were limited. He didn’t know where to press, which part to lick, or which side to push against. They were both in the dark.

The kiss was more like a presentation of themselves. Pressing against each other yet pulling away at the same time. Meeting again to clash, to suck on each other until a wet sound echoed faintly through the vast room.

Malfoy’s mouth tasted sweet. Like a chocolate cake with nuts. Was that the dessert Malfoy had eaten at dinner earlier? Luckily, Harry loved chocolate cake too. Thanks for the treat, Malfoy.

The blond groaned loudly, his fingertips pressing against the back of Harry’s hand, signalling that he needed air. Harry reluctantly broke the kiss. Their lips parted, leaving a wet trail, a bridge of saliva between them.

Now, the sight before Harry was perhaps unrivalled. Malfoy’s lips, which always spewed out nasty things, were swollen with a sheen of saliva, whose, he couldn’t say. Dripping and wet. Harry leaned down again to plant sweet kisses whilst sucking and licking Malfoy’s tempting lower lip.

Malfoy’s body writhed. His hard erection collided with Harry’s equally hard one. The pleasurable friction instantly halted the light kisses Harry had been busily planting on his lips. A moan escaped the golden boy’s throat. Harry’s head fell back onto Malfoy’s cheek, where he planted many sweet kisses.

Harry let out a small sigh. He lowered his hips to bring the two sensitive erections together again. It was just friction, but Harry thought he might just come right there in his trousers. How embarrassing.

"Malfoy…"

A sensual whisper rang out melodiously. Harry’s lips were busy exploring. He eagerly bestowed butterfly kisses on Malfoy’s smooth cheek.

“You smell so good.” He praised, sniffing the junction of the neck and collarbone. An area that always held his interest for longer. An area that was the object of his wet dreams to claim and defile.

Harry sucked without a trace of shame. He bit and licked the skin before his mouth with force. Soon, a purplish bruise bloomed on the porcelain skin. Unfortunately, it was still faint, not as dark as Harry had wanted. His remaining sense of decency reminded Harry not to overdo the display of ownership, as it might be difficult for Malfoy to cover up later.

"Ah! Potter—! Ugh—"

That sweet moan fuelled Harry’s passion, making it burn even more fiercely. His kisses travelled further and further down, until they reached Malfoy’s shirt, where his chest was covered by a piece of expensive white fabric.

Harry stuck out his tongue. He deliberately teased Malfoy’s nipple from beneath the shirt. He took the hardened nipple into his mouth to suck on it. The surface of his tongue rubbed roughly, then shifted to suckle like a baby. Malfoy’s chest swelled, automatically offering itself to Harry.

“Ugh—stop messing around—ahhh!—Potter! Ah! Just tear it! I don’t care!” Malfoy moaned in desperation. He was almost in tears. He craved more touch. What he was getting now wasn’t enough! Not at all!

Harry certainly didn’t comply straight away. He preferred to tease from behind the fabric of Malfoy’s shirt, right where his nipples were. Alternating between left and right. He tried his best to be fair so that both received similar treatment. Oh, Harry’s marvellous little toy.

“Oh! Harry— nghhh~ that feels so good… ah!”

Saliva from Harry’s fierce sucking made Malfoy’s clothes cling to his skin. The damp fabric offered a beautiful view of both deep red nipples, faintly visible from the outside. Malfoy’s chest rose and fell, overwhelmed by the indirect pleasure. His trousers bulged with a darker wet patch forming at the front.

Harry smirked at the results of his hard work. He was proud of his newfound ability to drive Malfoy wild with just nipple play. Harry blew on one of the protruding nipples before leaning down and biting the other.

The result was a stifled, shrill moan from Malfoy. His arms, pinned down on either side, tensed. His legs kicked out aimlessly. Harry groaned quietly as their erections rubbed against each other more wildly and roughly.

"Potter! Potter! Ahhh~! Mmmm~"

Sweet. That moaning was so sweet to hear. Who would have thought that a haughty pure blood heir could produce such beautiful sounds? Harry wondered what other sounds Malfoy might make if he pressed the right buttons.

Releasing that poor, sensitive nipple, Harry’s lips landed once more on Malfoy’s. He kissed the blond as if there were no tomorrow. So gentle yet intimate. Sucking in as much of the lingering chocolate cake flavour as he could into his own mouth. Harry swallowed the mixed saliva like a thirst quencher in a parched land.

“Malfoy—” Harry moaned. The veins in his neck tensed.

Their erections rubbed against each other more slowly. But the intensity was extraordinary. Malfoy could only respond with a whimper. His head tilted back, revealing a stretch of slender white neck ready to be marked further. The bruise Harry had left earlier had settled beneath his ear, slightly dark and somewhat conspicuous.

Harry took that gesture as an invitation. He lowered his head to kiss the skin of his neck. The salty taste of sweat mixed with sweetness blended on the surface of his tongue. It was delicious. It made him crave more.

His own cock throbbed painfully beneath his trousers. Harry exhaled deeply and counted to ten in his head. He tried as hard as he could not to come straight into his underwear. Through the flickering haze of lust, he took a moment to admire the dishevelled figure beneath him.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, that spoiled, insolent boy. Completely lost in lust. His slender wrists were held effortlessly by Harry’s broad palms. His cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, a thin stream of tears trickling down his face from the pleasure, his body writhing restlessly, silently begging to be touched more.

So submissive. Exactly as Harry wanted. Exactly as Harry longed for. He relished this vision. He wanted to spend days painting upon Malfoy’s pale skin and making the boy cry out to be taken on every flat surface they could find.

“Malfoy… I—I’m not sure I can hold out much longer…” Harry whispered. His body trembled as he endured the hot friction of their hard erections.

Malfoy was panting. His eyelashes fluttered as he tried to gather his scattered wits back into place. But the teasing sway of his hips didn’t lessen for a moment. Harry drew a heavy breath. His head was spinning with desire.

Whether it was because Harry’s eyes were growing dim or due to the lighting, the pink hue on Malfoy’s cheeks deepened. His lips parted, as if to speak, but he seemed hesitant. Harry encouraged him by kissing the pulse beneath his ear. A gentle touch that succeeded in coaxing another moan from him.

“Potter…” he called out, his voice laced with petulance.

“J—just put it in…” Malfoy’s trembling voice echoed softly through the classroom. “Just put it in, Potter… I—nghh! Ready…”

Harry looked up immediately. He gazed at Malfoy, who looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor, so ashamed was he of having uttered those words. But rather than feeling pleased, Harry could clearly sense jealousy bubbling up from beneath his skin.

What did Malfoy mean by being ready? Why had he prepared himself like that?

Without realising it, Harry’s grip on Malfoy’s wrist tightened. Draco winced. Hesitantly, he met Harry’s gaze. Silver Grey’s eyes widened as he realised Forest Green was ablaze with jealousy.

“Why?” Harry lowered his hips. Grinding their erections together more forcefully yet slowly. Deliberately shattering the pleasure they were experiencing. His tone was cold, no longer the friendly, sweet voice of before.

“Have you prepared yourself to be slept with by someone else?” The words just slipped out of Harry’s mouth. Laced with venom. Filled with curiosity and pent up anger.

“With what you prepared yourself, Draco?”

Draco, to his credit, ignored the warm sensation that flared in his chest when Harry spoke his first name. He chose to hide his face in his elbow. Trying to escape reality, though it was futile. Given that he was pinned to the floor beneath Harry’s sturdy body.

Well, even if he’d been given the chance to escape, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

"Draco..." Harry slipped between Draco’s long legs. He spread his own legs wide. Their erections were still rubbing against each other, before Harry replaced his own penis with his knee. “Answer me.”

"Ah!!"

Harry pressed Draco’s body harder against the floor. His knee applied extra pressure to Draco’s swollen cock. The blond gasped. He instinctively tried to close his legs, but was held back by the width of Harry’s body. The pressure moved up and down, strong yet gentle. Then it slowed. Frustration crept across his handsome face.

He couldn’t stand being teased like this. His cock ached, his nipples were sensitive and his hole clenched at the emptiness. He needed Harry. He needed Harry’s cock to fill him to the brim!

‘"...My fingers..." Draco replied in a soft voice. "...masturbating..." he said again, his sobs stifled.

But that answer didn’t satisfy Harry. He pressed his knee back down, so hard and suddenly that Draco let out a desperate yelp. The dark stain on his trousers spread, but his cock remained as hard as stone.

“Who were you thinking of, Draco? When you were fingering that little hole of yours, who did you make the object of your fantasies?”

Harry’s knee ground against him in a slow, circular motion. Then it stopped and lifted off the bulge in Draco’s trousers. The blond writhed. He was almost there!

“You!” Draco answered without a moment’s thought. His sanity snapped, replaced by a desperate craving to be touched. “You, Harry! I always think of you every time I pleasure myself with my fingers!”

The desperate vocal response sounded as loud as if broadcast over a loudspeaker. Draco’s cheeks flushed crimson again after he’d inadvertently revealed yet another secret.

Harry froze. Stupidly, his mouth hung open like a fish gasping for air. This embarrassing reaction only made Draco wish he’d been swallowed whole by the castle’s magic. What on earth was that daft look? Draco’s pride lay trampled underfoot right here!

“You—” Harry’s face flushed too. Something that had rarely happened throughout the days he’d been teasing and taunting Draco. The colour almost rivalled the blush on Draco’s face, which was already as red as a tomato. Harry’s stomach ached with butterflies fluttering about.

“—you were touching yourself with your fingers while thinking of me?”

Unfortunately, that sentence was uttered at the wrong time. Draco’s embarrassment had evolved into hurt, as he felt he’d been humiliated. Draco gritted his teeth. This time, his pure blood Malfoy heritage rebelled fiercely. So fiercely that he almost managed to break free from Harry’s firm grip.

“Let go, Potter!” Draco spat. “I should have known fucking with you was a mistake!” Draco hissed with hatred. Regret at having started this with Harry flashed in his grey eyes.

Realising the mistake he’d just made, Harry hurriedly kissed Draco again. His instinct told him that to prevent a dragon from rampaging, one must show sweet affection capable of bringing the dragon back to the brink of pleasure so that it would calm down.

Their tongues entwined once more. At first, Draco resisted. He pushed Harry’s tongue away, and every part of his body was still trying to break free. But Harry was more persistent. He wrapped his tongue around Draco’s in return, pressing and sucking all the struggle out of Draco’s body.

The dark haired teenager was almost certain that Draco’s favourite thing was being kissed. The blond calmed down immediately after a few kisses, creating a safe enough situation for Harry to guide Draco’s hands back above his head and hold his two slender wrists with one hand.

Avoiding the risk of Draco escaping or himself getting hit. Safety was the top priority.

While his tongue was busy kissing and caressing, Harry’s mischievous hand moved downwards. His journey began by caressing Draco’s smooth cheek with a gentle touch. Then lower still, towards his nipple. With newfound skill, Harry pinched and twisted the stiff nub until Draco melted back into pleasure. Sweet moans flowed out once more. In his heart, Harry promised he would make time to play with the twin next time.

That is, if there was another opportunity.

But the hand’s ultimate goal lay far below. With the deftness of a true man, Harry managed to undo Draco’s trouser buttons with one hand and pull down his zip. Immediately, Harry’s hand slipped inside to meet the soft, damp underwear.

The teenager took a moment to tease Draco. Pressing and groping his dick from outside the briefs. Draco groaned loudly into the kiss, his hips thrusting against Harry’s hand, begging for more stimulation. The wet patch was spreading, and Harry was terribly tempted to take Draco’s hard cock into his mouth.

All right. Once again, that’s for later.

If Draco didn’t want to, he could just drag him along, couldn’t he?

Good plan.

Not wanting to waste any time, Harry pulled Draco’s underwear down to his thighs in one swift motion. He briefly teased Draco’s cock with two slow strokes and a few gentle squeezes until Draco’s slender body writhed. His fingers then moved downwards, slipping between Draco’s tight ass. The blunt tip searched for the narrow hole that would—

—OH! 

Oohhh...

Harry grinned like a madman. Just as Draco had said, the hole was loose. Open enough for one of Harry’s fingers to slip in easily. Harry broke the kiss. The bridge of saliva formed again. Draco’s head moved forward briefly, chasing Harry’s lips to continue the kiss.

Damn, this weasel is so adorable.

Harry’s head rested on Draco’s chest. The rush of blood coursing past his ears didn’t drown out the sound of Draco’s pounding heart. Just like the sound of Harry’s own heart. The man was panting from the tight, wet heat enveloping his finger. His mind was racing with fantasies of staying inside Draco’s warmth forever.

"Harry! Eungh—" Draco’s hips moved, thrusting forward so Harry’s fingers could go deeper. "—I need— I need you now…. please..."

Harry drew a breath at that sweet please. He tried, truly, not to come in his own trousers. But Draco’s moans and the wetness of the warm hole down there were nearly shattering his control.

A second finger followed immediately, slipping in beside the first. The two moved in a scissoring motion to widen the space that his dick would enter later. Harry was absolutely certain that stretching with two fingers wouldn’t be enough.

Draco’s moans grew louder. His chest heaved, his body writhed. His lips kept begging for more, for something else, something bigger to enter his body.

“Harry—! Harry!” The name rolled off his tongue easily. As if that were the only thing Draco knew as the man plunged deeper into the map of pleasure. “Just put it in! Just put it in, I beg you! I’m ready—mhhh~ I’m ready!”

Harry was torn between morality and lust. He withdrew his fingers as he released his grip on Draco’s wrist, then hurriedly pulled down his trousers. His hard cock, with prominent veins and precum, sprang out.

Draco stared at the magnificent sight with his mouth agape, as if Harry’s cock were a sacred relic. Harry, prone to embarrassment, would almost have tucked it away again had lust not been ravaging his common sense.

“Merlin sake's, Potter—”

Well, where had Harry’s name gone?

"—if you don’t shove that giant monster inside me right now, I swear I’ll cut it off while you’re asleep and turn it into my very own dildo."

Blimey, even when he was at a disadvantage, Draco always had a way of making Harry shudder at the bizarre yet brilliant ideas in his head.

To save his future asset, which would likely become a valuable asset to Draco as well, Harry grabbed his wand and cast a lubrication spell. Don’t ask why he knew that spell. Just ask that bloody Seamus who taught it to him because Harry had trouble freeing his finger from a toy ring that was too small last term.

But at a time like this, the spell was incredibly useful. Thanks, Seamus. His fingers were instantly coated in a thick, cold liquid. Harry took a moment to stroke his cock, giving it a few unnecessary tugs for his own pleasure. The rest was a deliberate tease for Draco, who was practically drooling.

His free hand reached for Draco’s thigh. One of the blond boy’s legs was held by Harry’s knee, while the other was hoisted onto Harry’s shoulder. He also pulled Draco’s waist closer until Harry’s hips met the boy’s smooth white ass.

Harry’s assumption proved correct. The waist was incredibly slender. His fingertips could encircle it completely. His stomach was flat, with a hint of defined muscle. Everything about Malfoy’s body could only be described by Harry as “beautiful” and “perfect”. From the soft chest, the cute reddish nipples, to the slim stomach and the V-line etched into his hips down to the smooth groin and firm thighs.

Harry was acutely aware he was grinning like an idiot.

Draco covered his face with his arm again. A wave of embarrassment at his vulnerable position washed over him. Harry could see his pink, wet, slightly gaping hole flickering, teasing the head of Harry’s cock, ready to thrust inside.

It turned out this hole was just as naughty as its owner.

Harry stroked Draco’s inner thighs. In his heart, he was busy marvelling at his brilliant fate! Who would have thought he could get to this point. Thank you, Potions class. Because of his clumsiness in brewing, he had become taller than Draco, so the boy had finally fallen under his dominance. Even to the point of surrendering his body to Harry!

Harry moved the head of his cock up and down in front of Draco’s hole. Suddenly, another question struck his mind.

“Tell me, Draco. Have you ever done this before?”

Grey eyes peered out from behind his arm. His brow furrowed, clearly displeased by Harry’s habit of procrastinating. And what was that? Asking questions at the wrong moment?

“What do you mean?” Draco asked defensively.

Harry grinned. He slowly teased the head of his cock against Draco’s wet opening. His hand moved from Draco’s thigh to his dark pink, hairless cock. Goodness, how beautiful this Malfoy heir was beneath the layers of clothing covering him from neck to toe. Only Harry was allowed to see him like this, wasn’t he?

"Have you ever done this with another man, Draco?" Harry’s hips moved forward and the tip of his cock was almost inside. Draco’s hole hadn’t had time to clamp down because his cock had been pulled back quickly.

"Has any other man spilled his sperm inside you? Has anyone else tried the warmth of your hole?"

The blond’s body shivered. A distinct pleasure flared on Harry’s lips. He continued to tease the clenched opening, trying to coax the reluctant cock inside quickly.

Draco growled. He sat up, propping his upper body on his elbows. His eyes glared, impatient and unwilling to be toyed with.

"Hurry up, Potter! I don’t want to stay in this filthy place! Put it in!"

Oh, that nickname again.

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance. The man was still busily playing with the beautiful, soaking wet hole. His hand massaged Draco’s cock like a toy, moving up and down with an uncomfortable, loose grip. Draco bit his lower lip. Tears welled up in his beautiful eyes.

“Potter—”

"Harry." The boy cut him off firmly. "Call me Harry. And answer my question, Draco."

The head of Harry’s cock slid back in. This time, quite deep. But as the hole clenched, he immediately pulled it out again. Clear fluid dripped from Draco’s anus, and the whimpers of the pure blood, who so desperately craved Harry’s cock, were music to his ears.

A few seconds passed in silence. Harry was still waiting patiently. After all, he did have plenty of patience to spare.

Draco, in the end, would always be the one to give in.

“Bastard—” the blond cursed. He grabbed Harry’s arm, causing the taller man’s body to lurch forward.

They locked eyes, grey against green. Both dark. Lustful. Stubborn.

“You!” Draco shouted right in Harry’s face. “You’re the first bastard who’s going to take my ass virginity, damn it! I’ve never let anyone’s dick near there except my own fingers.”

Draco said angrily. Determination and honesty shone in his clear eyes. Harry wondered how he could read everything just from that gaze. All of Draco’s desires and longings, solely for Harry Potter.

But then, a nasty smirk spread across Draco’s lips. That typical Slytherin smirk, ready to play dirty. Harry was immediately on his guard. That smirk never ended well for him.

"Or perhaps, you’ll fail to be the first. Because that turtle slowness of yours infuriates me.” The taunt returned. Harry’s blood surged with the raging fire of jealousy.

Damn Malfoy and his knack for completely dismantling Harry’s emotions.

“Listen, Potter. I have to go now. I’m going to find another, more competent man and— AGH! FUCK!”

Draco would never be able to finish those words because Harry’s hips thrust in with a single stroke. His cock immediately sank into the blind, wet heat. Both of them groaned. Harry’s head rested on Draco’s shoulder and the blond’s head fell back.

“Oh—hhhh—shit! Ahh—"

Harry growled. Draco’s warm hole seemed to be sucking his cock in, squeezing almost grinding. So tight and burning. Harry’s hands swiftly grabbed Draco’s back, preventing the teenager from banging his head on the floor due to the sudden penetration.

Both tried to breathe steadily. Harry because he was out of breath, Draco because he was full. The dark haired teenager pulled Draco’s body into his embrace, whilst his hips still pushed to drive the remaining length of his cock into the blonde’s virgin hole. The heir’s short nails curled to scratch Harry’s back. His ragged breathing mingled with moans of pain, both blending together in Harry’s ears.

One of the Chosen One’s hands slid down to caress Draco’s neglected penis. Gently massaging it in a tight fist. Harry played with the sensitive head of Draco’s penis. Meanwhile, Harry’s lips and tongue carried out another task above, casually leaving red and purple marks on Draco’s pale skin.

To hell with the possibility that those marks might be clearly visible to others. After tonight, Harry would officially make Draco his own.

"Draco—" Harry sighed. His hips swayed slightly forward in search of warmth. "That’s good, baby. So tight for me. So warm. Fuck—" Harry thrust back with two hard strokes. This time his cock managed to sink all the way in.

"Amazing, Draco. So good. So tight."

Both slender arms moved up to wrap around Harry’s shoulders. Draco cried into his shoulder, sobbing at the sensation of being penetrated for the first time. Harry himself didn’t dare move, so he sat still and tried. Giving Draco time whilst restraining himself from thrusting brutally straight away.

It felt like an age had passed before Draco’s soft voice was heard.

"You can move..."

Harry gave a faint, affectionate smile. He slowly began to pull away. The movement triggered another moan from Draco. Fortunately, Harry quickly silenced Draco with a passionate kiss. His hands played with the sensitive nipples. Pinching and squeezing them between two fingers. Harry’s tongue pounced on Draco’s, delivering pleasure from above whilst his lower body adjusted to the new sensation.

Harry’s cock split Draco mercilessly, grazing the wet walls where the head of his cock had initially been lost, finally striking the area teeming with nerve endings. Draco jolted. A tantalising moan flowed like a torrential flood.

"Harry! Oh fuck! Yes— nghh— there! Again—! Ah! Ah! There! There!"

His hips began to move against Harry’s thrusts. The union of their bodies created a wet, tantalising sound. Harry stifled his own moans by biting Draco’s ear, kissing and sucking it until it turned red. His hand moved from Draco’s nipple down to his cock. He eagerly pumped the smaller cock towards come.

"Draco—! Damn, it’s so tight! Ah—! It feels so good. Fuck! So warm, baby. Do you feel—nghh— do you feel good too?"

Draco nodded uncontrollably at the question. His consciousness was cut off as he was rammed by the large cock, his moans swallowed by Harry’s mouth. Draco’s thoughts were in disarray. There was only one thing on his mind right now.

"Harry! Harry! Harry! Ah—! Har—mhhh~ Harry! Harder! Angh! Harder— please!"

Bloody hell. So cute! Adorable! That seductive, adoring voice sounded like a symphony of sirens in Harry’s head. His cock continued to ravage that little hole mercilessly, moving recklessly yet powerfully and brutally. He was fucking Draco so hard, as if the world were ending tomorrow and this were their last chance.

"Mine." Harry bit Draco’s shoulder. Sinking his teeth deep into the sweaty skin. “You’re mine, aren’t you, Draco? Your hole’s only for me, isn’t it?”

Harry thrust hard. Draco’s prostate was ground against him savagely. The blond’s screams echoed and bounced off the walls. His body jerked helplessly, following the rhythm of Harry’s hips.

Both his hands, with their short nails, clawed deep into Harry’s back. The burning yet pleasurable sensation in his hole, being brutally violated, felt too much to bear. Draco cried out.

This is too much! Too good! An incredible first experience!

"You’re mine!"

Draco sobbed. His cock stiffened in Harry’s hand, twitching, ready to come.

“Only yours! My body is only yours! Harry! I— I’m going to come—anghh! Ah! Please, I’m going to come, Harry!”

Harry buried his face at the base of Draco’s neck. His hips stuttered with erratic thrusts as the climax drew near. Sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, coaxing more sobs from Draco’s lips.

"Together— Draco!"

Harry held Draco’s slender body tighter. As if he wanted to become one with the man he’d longed for all this time.

"H—Harry! A—ahh!"

Draco came first. Warm, thick white fluid splattered onto Harry’s uniform and hands. His body convulsed with unending pleasure. Draco screamed as he clung to Harry tightly. His nails dug into Harry’s arm, his teeth biting into the skin of his shoulder until the Chosen One was certain a little blood might well seep from there.

"Draco, I—" Harry thrust a few times. His cock wasn’t used to the warmth of such a tight hole after years of only enjoying the feel of Harry’s hand. He wouldn’t last long.

"—fuck! Draco—!"

Draco’s legs immediately wrapped around Harry’s waist. Holding the Harry's hips back further. He sobbed. “C-come inside! Harry—! Come inside, please—”

With one powerful thrust, Harry came inside. Staining the walls of Draco’s anus with a generous amount of thick semen. He could feel the excess fluid seeping out from the cracks. Draco’s anal muscles clamped down on Harry’s cock so tightly it almost hurt.

Both fell silent to catch their ragged breaths. Harry’s own cock began to soften, and with a slight backward movement, it slipped straight out of Draco’s gaping hole.

Red. Wet. Soiled by thick white fluid flowing onto the floor, spilling over the edges of the stretched ring of muscle after being pounded inhumanely.

Silence fell between them for a while. Giving Harry and Draco a chance to reflect on the significance of what had just happened.

“That—” Harry drew a breath. His body shifted closer. He buried his nose in Draco’s shoulder once more. Strangely, the scent of green apple had grown even stronger. Harry felt he liked Green Apple now. “—was incredibly intense.”

The response he received was not a sweet kiss or a warm embrace in return. Instead, it was a light pat on the back. Shortly afterwards, a chuckle escaped from Draco. On the side, the blond was still clinging tightly to Harry’s neck, as if he would fall to the floor if let go, though Harry clearly wouldn’t let that happen.

Harry silently breathed a sigh of relief. At least he knew he wouldn’t be facing an Avada Kedavra any time soon.

“This is what happens when I let your virgin cock get anywhere near my ass,” Draco grumbled. To be honest, he couldn’t move yet because his whole body still ached. Also, because he was enjoying the little kisses Harry was planting on his neck.

It felt comfortable, even though he had to lie on the floor with only a thin shirt to cover him. One thing Draco didn’t want to admit out loud was the warm, safe feeling Harry always gave him whenever he was around.

The Potter lad mumbled indistinctly. He was too busy marking Draco’s skin. He had the urge to leave hundreds of love marks until his head was suddenly pushed back because Draco started protesting that there were too many marks to cover up.

They certainly couldn’t linger here. Someone might come looking for them. But Harry couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the pale skin he’d defiled. From the swollen lips, the red cheeks and the hole dripping with fluid. It was all too precious to miss.

“Do you like it?” Harry asked suddenly.

Draco responded to that vague question by raising an eyebrow. “What? What do you mean, like?”

Harry shrugged. His hands waved about. As if trying to explain something he hadn’t thought through properly. “My height. Because… well, it lets me dominate you better?”

Hearing that, Draco almost rolled his eyes. Almost. But instead, he kindly gave Harry a light slap on the cheek, causing the recipient to yelp loudly. What on earth?

"Don’t be silly. Your height has nothing to do with it."

Draco thought that was the wrong answer, because a second later Harry’s eyes lit up like a child who’d been given a free ice cream. He could almost see imaginary dog ears sticking out from above Harry’s bird’s nest hair.

“So if I go back to my original height, you’ll still sleep with me?”

If hot ears could make a sound like a steaming kettle, Draco would surely be boiling over right now. His whole face flushed the moment those casual words were spoken.

“I—I didn’t say that! Stop daydreaming, Potter! Does this potion not only make you taller but shrink your brain as well?”

Harry, far from being offended, just laughed. He reached for Draco to pull the blond into a warm embrace again. He was still laughing as he held the boy who was squirming, overwhelmed by the excessive affection from his arch nemesis.

"In that case, next time we’ll do it somewhere softer," Harry whispered in Draco’s ear, silencing the blond’s grumbling about the cold air.

“In my room, perhaps?”

Draco immediately pushed Harry away. “No way!” he protested loudly. How annoying it was to see Harry’s eyebrows moving up and down. Just wait, the time will come when those eyebrows go bald!

“Having sex in the middle of the Gryffindors? Are you mad? No?”

Harry laughed again. Deeply and soothingly. He leaned against Draco even though Draco’s palm was still pressed against his face. The blond grumbled, flatly rejecting the idea he deemed immoral.

“Slytherin’s just the same, Draco,” he said softly. Green eyes gazed lovingly from between Draco’s fingers. Harry’s own fingers preferred to play with Draco’s hair, admiring the softness of his expensive locks.

Draco sighed. “I’m not suggesting Slytherin either.” He then rolled his eyes.

Draco finally leaned against Harry’s shoulder, his cheek pressing against the cool skin, where he secretly felt a little guilty seeing Harry’s shoulder, reddened from bites and scratches.

“That’ll be a problem for later. Right now we have to get back before anyone spots us.”

Harry snorted with amusement. He pushed Draco away to plant a sweet kiss on his lips. A sacred kiss, more tender and deep than the passionate kisses at the start of their lovemaking. A kiss that made their relationship clear now, even without words.

Harry’s lips curved against Draco’s. He then whispered in a sweet voice, “As you wish, my love.”

Draco’s face flushed again. Damn, he blushed so easily at such pampering words and behaviour. Harry was half dead with frustration.

The boy was completely unaware that his behaviour was almost making the blond think he would shatter into pieces from the warm sensation spreading through his chest.

“You’re unbearable, Potter.”

"Hey! Where’s that spoilt ‘Harry’ gone?"

"That only happens when your big dick is inside me."

“How could that be? Draco~”

“Potter.”

“Oh, come on. My darling? My love? My Draco?”

Draco nearly died hearing that last word. Between dying of embarrassment and dying of emotion.

"You spoilt brat. Harry. Harry. Harry. Satisfied?"

Another tender kiss floated through the air. Harry’s long arms wrapped affectionately around Draco’s waist. Draco happily took refuge in that warm embrace, for once, letting everything happen exactly as he wanted.

“Very satisfied, darling.”