This was also written to delight, amuse, and mortify my friends who find HP homoerotic material quite squirm-worthy. I can’t help it, I like to write stories that make you writhe like worm on a fishing hook. My sister reported that she couldn’t finish this story the first time because it was so embarrassing. Success!
False Alarm (PG-13, Harry/Draco)
Kat M’s first work of fan fiction.
Harry Potter meandered on his broom among the clouds, one hand clutching the glistening trophy against his robes. Below him, his teammates flew laps in celebration, but he was too high to hear their whoops and yells. As the thermal winds lifted him higher, he noticed that the clouds at this altitude emitted silver and gold light. There, just ahead of him, was a formation that looked exactly like the Ecstatic Cup of Victory, the trophy that his team had just won.
Harry looked down to compare it, but his hand was empty. Oh no. They’re all going to kill me. Harry tried to dive on his broom, knowing that he had dropped the Cup, but his broom lurched upward instead, speeding toward the cloud. Now, he could see that forms were pouring from the top of the cloud-Cup, but what were they? Imps? Angels? No, they were Cupids, and their bottoms were completely-
“Mr. Potter, it’s time to get… up.”
Harry tried to ignore the feminine voice teasing him awake and rubbed his face against the hotel linens. He had to find the Cup before his teammates found out.
“Come on, baby, don’t you want to play with me?”
No, I’ve got to find it, you daft bint, he thought. No matter how hot the woman sounded, Harry knew he’d had better.
“We’ll have lots of fun together, if you’d just open those sexy… hot… viridian eyes…”
Viridian? Sounds like a Snape word. Harry smiled. Now, he was in Potions, and his partner, a butchy Millicent Bustrode, brandished a vial full of smoking green liquid. “Now, open wide,” she said. When Harry just stood there, she shoved her fingers into the joint of his jaw. “Hey,” Harry said, and the potion went down his throat.
Christ, this is foul. “Bend over the table,” he heard his partner say. What? he thought, but his body jerked in obedience. Though his stomach burned in reaction to the brew, he shivered in reaction to Millicent’s large square hands on his suddenly-bare arse-
“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagal barked. “What do you think you are doing?” Harry jumped up with his hands clapped over his arsecheeks, and came down face first on the shag carpeting of his hotel. Right. That is the last time I drink the moonshine from a bar I don’t know, he thought.
Eyes still closed, he breathed in the smell of carpet solution and the musty air that always accompanied his belongings. Harry could tell it was past morning from the red glow that came through his eyelids.
“Detention, Potter, or are you too busy with one hand down your pants to attend?” said the voice of the professor he had hated most. It came from the direction of his suitcase.
Harry stumbled toward it with outstretched arms. He could only open his eyes a crack; the light hurt too much for more. He shuffled through bedclothes that he’d kicked off during the night, and his toe encountered a lamp. “Wozzat doin’ there?” he muttered. His mouth tasted like spoiled, sticky milk, and he hoped he could locate a bottle of water. His hip collided with the table that held his belongings, and he dug through his clothes by touch until he found his alarm clock.
Those utter wankers. Harry could just picture the ginger twins’ proud smirks as they thought of this current bit of utter wankery. Now how do I-
“Really, Potter, I never knew it was so small,” said the voice of Professor Snape. “No wonder you took up Quiddich.”
“Shaddup,” Harry said, feeling around for an off switch. Maybe he could just take the batteries out.
“I am sorry to see that there is little family resemblance in that regard. Your father, on the other-”
Harry’s higher brain functions shut down. Bracing one hand on the wall, he did his best to put a dent in the plaster as he bashed the alarm clock against it. At least he couldn’t hear ‘Professor Snape’ make observations about Potter anatomy. The clock showed no sign of breaking down, but he grew aware of another sound, probably the complaints of other guests, or management arriving with a straitjacket. He paused in his bashing, only to catch the tail end of Professor Snape’s sentence.
“-indescribably magnificent, an asset for any wizard, even a Potter.”
Another voice started speaking as Snape finished. “Why don’t you use your wand.”
Harry froze. There was someone in the room with him. His heart kicked into gear, and his muscles felt loose and ready as though it was just before a game. Issuing a silent command, Harry felt his wand materialized in his hand. He hoped that the intruder did not notice that little trick.
“Use. Your. Wand. Potter.”
Harry turned around, wand in one hand, clock in the other, and stared. I’m still asleep. He refused to believe he was awake, because it just wasn’t possible to have gone to bed with Draco Malfoy last night.
“Guten Morgan.” Malfoy snagged Harry’s pillow and propped himself up with it.
Harry could only think of how his old school rival had witnessed the entire alarm spectacle. Why did Malfoy always have to see him at his worst? They hadn’t seen each other in years, and this was his first impression of Harry? “I- I don’t know what to say,” Harry said, forcing his eyes to stay on the man’s face.
“How about good morning? Manners, you know.” Sitting up, Malfoy lifted his wand off the nightstand. The duvet started to slip off his lap.
Harry hissed and tried to step back, but the table was in his way. There were some things he didn’t need to see.
“Relax, Potter. I’m not naked.” As Malfoy stood and stretched, he revealed boxers with respectable coverage. He sauntered toward Harry and tapped the alarm clock with his own wand. “Charming device here. You bring it with you every away game?”
Harry was too busy trying to see if he hurt in mysterious places to respond properly. All his parts seemed to be in order. There was a chance that none of this was what it-
“Potter. You in there?” Malfoy tapped Harry’s forehead, right where his scar used to be.
Harry held back the urge to jump back. The other man was so close, Harry could feel heat radiating off him. Malfoy hadn’t changed much since still Hogwarts; he was still tall and pale, still wore his white-blond hair long, and still smelled like a sixteen year old boy’s cologne.
Harry bet he, himself, smelled like Quiddich sweat, beer, and liquor. He hadn’t had time to shower before the victory celebration with the rest of the team, and didn’t remember what happened after his second Firewhiskey. At least there was no hangover.
“I don’t remember last night,” Harry said, and winced right after. Malfoy or not, this was not the proper way to handle this kind of situation, but as usual, his mouth ran off without his brain’s permission. “I don’t suppose you could tell me if we…” Oh, very well done, Harry. He could do with a Time-Turner right about now.
“Fucked?” Smirking, Malfoy leaned his hip against the table, not six inches away from Harry, and fixed him with a steady gray gaze. “What do you think?”
Harry’s brain sputtered. Malfoy was certainly acting normal, even decent. Harry would have expected Malfoy to lord the whole situation over him, or at least chastise him for his lack of manners. “I don’t, er, feel any different,” Harry said. He tensed and relaxed various parts of his body to make sure. Yep, all clear. “I didn’t know you liked blokes.”
“I don’t.”
Harry couldn’t help it; he snorted.
“Alright, fine.” Malfoy tucked some hair behind his ears. “I’m not… well, you know. A ponce, or whatever. I just like…” He blushed and looked down, drawing patterns on the table with a finger.
“What?”
“Quiddich,” whispered Malfoy.
Harry leaned closer. “Was that Quiddich?”
Malfoy’s head snapped up. “Yes, Quiddich! I like Quiddich players, alright? Bird or bloke, doesn’t matter. But the brooms, the gear, all the strong hands.”
“Hm.” The idea of shagging a bloke didn’t repulse Harry, but it had never appealed either. Malfoy was an even height with him, and much more slim. Almost feminine, really, but wiry and solid in a way that women were not. If he had to shag a bloke, Harry supposed that there were worse choices in the looks department.
Raising his eyebrows, Malfoy continued. “Anyway, it was between you and that hot Chaser. The Indian girl.”
“Oh, Rosemarie?” Harry laughed and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but she’d never have gone with you. Married with children, for all that she never acts like it after games.”
“Ah. Too bad.”
“She is a nice piece, though, isn’t she?” Harry had always enjoyed watching her zip around on a broom; hell, he could definitely see Malfoy’s point about Quiddich players. His teammates were a fit lot.
Indeed.” Smiling a little, the blond touched Harry’s shoulder. “Well. Perhaps I came out ahead after all.” The grey eyes looked down, down…
“Erm.” Harry could feel himself flushing. He was completely naked, and how had he not noticed until now? It’s not anything he hasn’t seen already, he reminded himself. But still, Malfoy had watched him tripping and falling earlier, his bits swinging all over the place. Wonderful. “How- er. Was it, uh-”
“All that I hoped for and more? You were great. Honestly, Potter. A natural.”
“Malfoy, I- really? Because I’ve never…”
“Don’t worry,” Malfoy whispered, putting a hand on Harry’s cheek.
Harry couldn’t look away from those gray eyes. They were like mercury, or water, or something that never stayed the same from one moment to the next. Er, should I kiss him or something? he wondered, letting his eyes finally break away from Malfoy’s and wander to the parted lips. Those, too, were pale and nearly colorless. And trying not to smile. Harry’s stomach gave a lurch. “You’re having me on, aren’t you? You’re fucking having me on.”
The half-smile became a smirk, then a grin, and finally Malfoy laughed loud and long in a way that Harry would never have expected of him. “Of course I am. God, Potter, the look on your face!” He leaned against Harry as he shook with mirth.
A joke. It was a joke. Well, fuck. He’d almost gotten used to the thought that he was more adventurous than he’d thought. Harry thumped the blond’s shoulder. “I say! Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn’t figured it out?”
Malfoy shook his head, tickling Harry with his hair. He was still staggering with laughter. “That was worth every moment I had to deal with last night.” The blond straightened and wiped his eyes. “Look, I happened to be at the same pub, and you didn’t look too good. I told one of your mates we were old friends and I’d look after you, and he told me to stay in case you had nightmares. You didn’t, by the way, as far as I could tell.” Malfoy started cracking up again. “At least, not until you jumped out of bed holding your arse.”
Folding his arms, Harry waited for his companion to calm down. “Why am I naked, then?” He hoped Malfoy hadn’t dipped his hand in warm water during the night, except that Malfoy would have had to sleep in it, too.
“You didn’t see the state of your clothing,” said Malfoy, wrinkling his nose. “Merlin, how many Firewhiskies can you Quiddich players put away at once? Anyway, let’s just say that they weren’t fit to wear after those drinks came back up.”
Looking around the ruins of the room, Harry realized that his uniform was missing. “Where-?”
“I sent them to the hotel laundry, of course. Right after I shoved you in the shower.” With that, Malfoy started gathering Harry’s clothing into a tidier heap on his suitcase.
“What are you doing that for?”
“You’re a filthy pig, Potter.” Malfoy managed to find a clean pair of slacks, boxers, socks, and the nicest shirt in the pile, and launched them at Harry’s bare chest. “Here, make yourself human.”
Harry wanted to object, but he couldn’t see the fault in Malfoy’s reasoning. With skills honed from years of sleeping too late in the dorm, he wriggled on his socks, underwear, and pants in seconds. “So all that liking Quiddich stuff?” he asked, putting his arms through the sleeves of the shirt.
“False, naturally.” Malfoy stepped up close and reached for his collar. “Here, let me just…”
Every instinct was telling Harry to take a step back, but he just fiddled with his shirt buttons instead. Now that he was finally clothed, Harry did find the situation rather funny. It was quite well done of Malfoy to deliver everything with a straight face. “Thanks, mate.”
“Not exactly your best in the morning, are you?”
Harry couldn’t deny it; his teammates had said as much. “Look, why don’t I buy you breakfast downstairs? It was awfully decent of you to help me out last night.” Harry held out his hand and held his breath, remembering that day so many years ago. Malfoy had clearly turned out to be the right sort, after all.
Malfoy shook Harry’s hand and pointed toward the door. “Lead on.”
They went downstairs to the posh tea room. A smiling witch greeted them, and it wasn’t lost on Harry that they both checked her out for a second. Harry grinned and nudged the blond. “Not bad, eh?”
Malfoy just sniffed and glanced around the room.
Steaming tea was already waiting for them at a table, and Harry sat down with a grateful sigh. He was hungrier than usual, even after a game, and he snatched up a warm scone. But just as he had scooped up a dollop of butter on the silver knife, he saw it.
Malfoy clutched the arms of the chair and lowered himself down onto the cushioned chair. Then, he shifted, biting his lip in a gesture Harry would have missed had he not been watching. Quiddich players, indeed! Harry pointed a finger across the table. “You-”
Malfoy’s wand pointed back. His face was cherry red. “Not a word, Potter. Not. One. Word.”
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