The Malfoy Guide to Productive Extortion by Mirabella

The Malfoy Guide to Productive Extortion Draco Malfoy was bored. Had he also been in a bad mood people would have been suffering in every corner of the Slytherin common room, but a particularly good care package from his mother had left him in a mood to look amiably on the world in general, and he just wanted something to do. All his homework was done, Pansy was off doing girly things with Millicent, Blaise had a week's detention for accidentally transfiguring Filch into a bran muffin, and Crabbe and Goyle had spent the last half an hour sitting across a chessboard from each other, brows furrowed in thought. They had yet to actually move a piece; Draco suspected that they were waiting for the pieces to declare a jihad pitting the Way of Soapstone against the Path of Cheap Imitation Marble and start beating the hell out of each other of their own accord. "I'm going for a walk," he announced, closing his book with a snap and untangling his feet from the couch pillows. There were various murmurs of acknowledgement from around the room – his Housemates had learned very early on that when a Malfoy spoke it was best to pay attention, or at least to do a bloody good job of pretending to. Satisfied, Draco shrugged his robes on over his clothes and ambled out into the hall, through the corridors, and out onto the grounds. The nights were just beginning to get warm again, and this bid fair to be a lovely one. Lost in vaguely contented musings, he had wandered nearly out to the gates when someone hissed "Shhh!" – apparently not at Draco, as the admonition was rather overlapped by what certainly sounded like drunken snickering. Which meant that Draco was going to hand out detentions, and really, could his evening get any better? Oh, yes. Yes, it could. Because it appeared that he was going to have to give detention to Weasley and Potter, who were collapsed in a sodden heap just inside the gates. Draco did a bit of snickering himself and headed over toward them. "Hey," Weasley said, catching sight of him. "Who're you?" "Well, let's see," Draco said thoughtfully. "Blond, Slytherin, devastatingly handsome, capable of giving you detention for the rest of your lives…" "Malfoy?" "Weasley?" "Malfoy," Weasley groaned. "Just what I bloody needed." Potter, improbably enough, giggled. Draco bent down and peered closely at the two of them. "Potter, you're pissed," he decided. Potter laughed harder, leaning bonelessly against Weasley for support. "Malfoy," Weasley began, then fell silent again. "Yes?" Draco inquired politely. "Malfoy." "Yes?" "I mean. Listen, will you pretend for a few minutes that you're a decent human being and help me out, here? I can't get Harry up into the Tower by myself, he's too heavy and his center of gravity keeps moving all over his

body." Weasley hiccupped and glowered. Draco stared at him in astonishment and glee. "Weasley! Are you asking me for help?" "Yes. You being the only other person around." "Well, why can't you just levitate him?" Draco asked reasonably. "Swish and flick, Weasley, swish and flick!" "Can't. I'm pissed too. I'd wind up flinging him into the lake." "Do him some good," Draco observed. Any minute now he was going to get around to handing out detention, but this was much too amusing to draw to such a premature close. "And anyway, you could get Granger down here and make her do it." Twin expressions of abject terror greeted this suggestion. "No 'mione," Potter said, as firmly as he could manage in such a gelatinous state. "She'd kill both of us," Weasley agreed. "But she'd kill me really slowly 'cause I was supposed to take Harry out and cheer him up, not get pissed and make him play drinking games." "An' anyway, I can stand up," Potter insisted, struggling to his feet. "See? 'M all righargh!" There was a sudden confusion of flailing limbs, something with the apparent tonnage of a bull elephant or Hagrid slammed into him, and Draco found himself on his back, wind half knocked out of him, staring into Harry Potter's startled green eyes while Weasley disconnected his nose from the back of Potter's head and rubbed ruefully at it. "Oops," Potter said, sounding utterly unrepentant, then grinned – not a mocking "Ahaha look at Draco Malfoy flat on his arse" grin but a friendly, fond, puppy-like grin. Draco stared at him in horror. Weasley peered over Potter's shoulder. "Oh, yeah, Malfoy – when Harry's drunk he gets a bit, erm –" "Horny and indiscriminate?" Draco wheezed. Bloody Gryffindors were heavier than they looked, especially with two of them dogpiled on top of him. "Cuddly," Weasley corrected sternly. "Do not," Potter protested, doing his best to wriggle a hand underneath Draco's waist. "Anyway, 's Malfoy. He doesn't like me. He wouldn't… wouldn't…" Potter's gaze fixed with alarming single-mindedness on the pulse point at the base of Draco's throat, and his lower lip crept between his teeth. "Both of you get off me!" Draco yowled, bracing his feet flat on the ground and shoving upward and to the side. Potter and Weasley tumbled off and onto the ground, and lay there apparently trying to reconnect with the universe while Draco stood and brushed himself off. Potter's eyes fell on Draco and cleared. "Hey, Ron, look. Malfoy," he said happily, as though Draco had suddenly materialized from a toadstool ring. "Oh, bugger," Weasley groaned, shifting onto his hands and knees. "C'mon, Harry, ups-a-daisy." It was possible that they'd completely forgotten the existence of sobering charms. If so, Draco certainly wasn't

going to remind them. Now that his dignity and breath were restored, he was having a marvelous time watching the two of them make fools of themselves. "Having trouble, there, Weasley?" "Malfoy's gonna help us get back to the Tower," Weasley said, glowering at Draco as he tried to haul Potter to his feet. Potter shot up and slung an arm around Draco's neck, leaning heavily against him. "Thass nice of you, Maf – Mafloy – Draco," he hiccupped. "No, Potter, it's really not," Draco said truthfully. "I'm only helping you because you two are the funniest bloody thing I've seen all evening." "Oh," Potter said in a tiny voice, looking woefully at Draco with huge puppy-dog eyes. "Malfoy!" Weasley hissed. "Oh, for the love of – yes, Potter, it's nice of me. Grab hold of Weasley and let's get you up to bed, shall we?" Draco was starting to suspect that it was a good thing none of his fellow Slytherins were about, and also starting to wonder what he'd gotten himself into and how. "'Cause if you don't like us you don't have to help," Potter insisted, stumbling along between them. "Yes, he does," Weasley groaned, trying to stagger in synch with Potter. "But I'd rather you liked me, y'know?" Potter plowed on, almost tripping over Draco's feet. "Oh, Potter, you are going to regret this in the morning," Draco said gleefully. "No, not that way, there's a tree. There you go." "No, listen," Potter argued, digging in his heels and pulling them to a halt. Shrugging free of Weasley, he turned to nestle against Draco's side, flinging his other arm rather ungracefully across Draco's chest and onto his shoulders. "Don' want you to not like me anymore." Draco blinked and tried to parse that sentence. It was more difficult than it ought to have been, what with Potter staring earnestly at him an inch from his nose. "Um, Harry, come on now, we need to get you up to bed –" Weasley said frantically, grabbing Potter's waist and trying to maneuver him gently backward. "Because the thing is," Potter began, then appeared to lose his train of thought. Draco wondered selfconsciously if he had something in his eyelashes. Weasley tugged harder, and he and Potter both went over backward in a tangle of limbs and skewed glasses. For a split second Draco considered catching Potter, and decided against it. "Need help?" he inquired, smirking. Potter blinked, confused, and held out a hand to Draco. Draco took it and pulled, not hard enough to overbalance Potter, and wound up with an armful of drunken Savior of the Wizarding World anyway. "Thanks," Potter mumbled, and he was cuddling Draco, both arms wrapped around his waist. There was definite nuzzling going on in the vicinity of Draco's neck. "Er, Potter –"

"You feel good an' all," Potter said, almost accusingly, and now he was apparently trying to climb inside Draco's clothes. "Weasley!" Draco screeched. Weasley, curse him, was rolling on the ground, clutching his sides and howling with laughter. "You should, you should see y'r face!" he choked. "Weasley, you penurious vulgar-haired blood traitor, get this drunken sod off me!" "Hey!" Potter protested, and bit Draco's neck. "No bein' mean t' Ron." "I am always mean to Weasley," Draco said between his teeth. "It's part of God on a Firebolt Potter is that your tongue?" "Shh," Potter soothed, petting Draco's hair clumsily. "Sorry, baby, din't mean to bite that hard. I think I'm a little drunk." Someone had just addressed a Malfoy – a Malfoy, of a long line of evil, vicious bastards, bespoke powersbehind-the-throne to generations of Dark Lords – as "baby." Any moment now the ground beneath their feet was going to tremble with the collective force of a thousand years of Malfoy ancestors spinning in their graves. Draco himself was so appalled that it was all he could do to stand there and try to recover his dignity. "Potter. Do not ever address me in that horrible way again. You, Weasel, get off your arse and get him moving if you want me to help," he ordered, diligently ignoring the fact that Potter's hands were wandering lower than they had any right to. "Sure thing, Ferret," Weasley said cheerfully, climbing to his feet. "No being mean to Draco either," Potter said sternly. "Bloody Gryffindors, you even get drunk more annoyingly than anyone else," Draco grumbled, prying one of Potter's hands off his arse so that Weasley could position himself under Potter's arm. "Do not," Weasley said in what he probably thought was a withering tone. "Thass Hufflepuffs. They get all giggly an' want you to be their best friends." "Whereas Gryffindors get giggly and try to climb inside your pants, yes, I can see how that might be an improvement," Draco snorted. "All right, Potter, steps ahead. No, you're going to have to lift your foot –" "Ow!" " – yes, Weasley, you too must lift your foot. Surprising how necessary that is to going up stairs." "Malfoy, are you going to snark at us all the bloody way up to the Tower?" Weasley demanded. "If I didn't, there would be no point to my going along," Draco explained. "You could be going along to take a'vantage of me while I'm pissed," Potter offered helpfully. "I could move to Tibet and take a vow of celibacy, too, but I don't see any saffron robes in my future. No, there aren't any more steps, but there will be soon so you just keep practicing." "You're bloody fit, Malfoy, y'know that?" Potter said suddenly, apropos of nothing.

"Harry!" Weasley almost shrieked. Potter shushed him frantically, and the two of them almost collapsed with giggles. Draco rolled his eyes and tugged them along; somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he wasn't nearly as annoyed as he ought to be at having a thoroughly shitfaced Harry Potter acknowledge that he was in fact bloody fit, and he quelled the thought sternly. He was a Malfoy; he was allowed to be vain. Encouraged to be, in fact. "'M just saying," Potter clarified, finally getting control of his giggles just as they got to the main staircase, "that it'd be a damn shame if he took a vow of cel-i-ba-cy. Because of being fit and all. Be even more of a shame if he was straight." "Well, I am straight, Potter," Draco said sternly, and not entirely truthfully. "You?" Weasley snorted. "You spend more bloody time on your hair than anyone I know 'cept Lavi an' Parvatil – I mean Larv – oh, buggrit, those two girls in our year, you must've seen 'em, go about the place in sparkly lip gloss." Potter stopped and peered closely at Draco's mouth with the air of a cartographer surveying the vistas of the New World. "No, I am not wearing lip gloss," Draco said firmly. "Oh," Potter said softly, and didn't look away. "Potter," Draco said with iron patience. "The stairs." "Oh, I know, bloody miserable things, always swinging about and –" "No, I mean –" With an annoyed huff, Draco disconnected himself from Potter. "Right, then, you two have at it. You know where your common room is." "Waitwaitwait!" Potter yowled. "Yes?" Draco asked sternly, disconnecting Potter's fingers from the front of his shirt. "We… um, I don't think we can get there by ourselves." "We really probably can't," Weasley said apologetically. "You two," Draco informed them, "are going to owe me." At least they had the sense to look alarmed, he thought smugly as he slung Potter's arm around his shoulders again.

"Right, here we are," he said as they finally pulled up in front of the Gryffindor common room. Bloody hell, how did they manage all those stairs every day? "Off you go." "You leaving?" Potter asked blearily. Somewhere between the third and fourth floors he'd started falling asleep on his feet, right in the middle of trying to teach Weasley every single bloody verse of "What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor". Draco had fully expected Mrs. Norris to charge them at any moment, full of the will to rescue her tortured kin.

"Yes." Draco tried to disconnect himself and found himself wrapped in Potter. "Look, let's not start this again –" "'S'okay, baby," Potter said, riling Draco thoroughly, and also petting his hair. "Kiss me goodnight, though." "What? Have you lost your mind?" Potter pulled back and looked at him soberly, or as soberly as he could while being three sheets to the wind. Then he blinked, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes and his lower lip was trembling. "Oh, Potter," Draco said wretchedly. No bloody wonder the Gryffindors fell all over themselves catering to Potter's every whim if he did that every bloody time he got balked. "Kiss him, Malfoy," Weasley said in a distinctly menacing voice. "You're not the one'll have to deal with him if you don't." "But I'm the one who'll have to deal with him if I do!" Weasley was tapping his wand against the palm of his hand. "Malfoy –" Draco sighed, closed his eyes, and puckered up half-heartedly, cringing in anticipation of a sloppy, drunken mauling. Potter's hands slid up to cup his face; and then there were lips on his, neither slobbery nor too dry, warm and soft and surprisingly… well, pleasant. "Mmm," Potter hummed against his mouth, then sighed and pulled back, looking rather smudged and glowy. He wound Draco's tie idly around his finger. "Feel nice, Draco," he said sleepily. "Come to bed." Draco offered up fervent, gleeful thanks to the God of Dumping Blackmail Material in Malfoy Laps and prayed that Potter would remember every word of this in the morning. "Well, if you're sure –" Weasley crowed in triumph, apparently having remembered the password; the portrait swung out and Weasley stumbled into the common room, dragging Potter after him and, by proxy, yanking Draco in by the tie. "Hoy!" he protested, and got no farther than that before a solid wall of metaphorical cold hit him like a freak ice storm. Arms slipped around his waist, and to his equally vast amusement and horror he saw that Potter was actually cowering behind him. "Ronald," said the source of the cold front, "Weasley." "Um," Weasley said, inching behind Potter and leaving Draco out in front to bear the full brunt of Granger's wrath. "Hi, Hermione." "You're drunk," she told him. "And you let Harry get drunk." "Brava, Granger, five points to Gryffindor for being able to smell them at a dozen paces," Draco said with a smirk. "I don't think they quite managed to get their robes clean after they fell into a distillery vat." There was a worried, whispered conference behind him that ended in Potter and Weasley tentatively deciding that they had not in fact fallen into a distillery vat during the course of the evening.

"And what is Malfoy doing in our common room?" Really, Granger was working herself up to a rather impressive fit. It would be ungentlemanly of Draco not to help her along. "It seems I'll be sharing Potter's bed tonight. He insisted. And so did Weasley." "'S'okay, H'mione," Potter said hastily. "Because he helped us up the stairs. And he's really hot. And he tastes good too." "Malfoy!" Granger bore down on him, and for a moment Draco was a bit worried that she was going to yank on his tie too. "How in – how does Harry know what you taste like? Have you been taking advantage of him?" "Me?" Draco exclaimed, injured. "I'm the one who was forced at wandpoint to snog my arch-nemesis. I'm going to smell like Old Ogden's for a week, and if you think Professor Snape can't smell alcohol on a Slytherin from four corridors away then you sorely underestimate his evil powers." "Don' make him mad, 'mione, I'd really like to snog him some more," Potter beseeched, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder. Draco really thought Granger was going to explode like a Christmas cracker. "First. Harry. My name is Hermione. Her. My. Oh. Nee. Four syllables." "Be patient, Granger, in his condition he's doing well to manage two." "You be quiet. Second, there will be no snogging Malfoys." "Well, he is pretty fit," Weasley said apologetically, nearly causing Draco and Granger both to shriek in horror. Really, it was bad enough having Potter hanging on him without having to worry about Weasley grabbing his arse too. "Harry. Ron," Granger said between her teeth. "Malfoy is going to say goodnight now and go back to his own common room where he can be as fit as he wants with his own housemates, and you two are going to sit down until I've woken Seamus and Dean up and got them down here to get you up to bed. Understand?" "No," Potter said mulishly. "Hermione, Harry's really got his… well, his heart, I suppose, set on Malfoy," Weasley warned. "You know what he's going to be like if you make him let go. He won't even remember why he's mad at us and there'll still be no living with him for days." "Jolly well done, Potter," Draco said, impressed. "I had no idea you ruled House Gryffindor with such an iron fist. Or an iron snit, as the case may be." Granger sucked in a deep breath. "Malfoy. If there is even the tiniest spark of decency anywhere in you, I am appealing to it now. Go home." Draco stared at her, amazed. If she really thought he was going to pass up the chance to see the look on Potter's face first thing in the morning, then she had apparently mistaken him for a Hufflepuff. "Sorry, Granger, the Boy Who Lived has spoken. I'm staying here tonight." Potter – and Weasley! – cheered, nearly taking his ear off. Weasley, at least, caught Granger's eye and cut off guiltily in mid-cheer.

"Even if it means having Harry paw you until he falls asleep and drools drunkenly on your shoulder?" Granger asked shrewdly. "Could be worse. It could be Longbottom," Draco pointed out. "Come along, Potter, you're looking knackered. Show me where I'm bunking for the night." "With me," Potter said with a sort of sleepy leer. "Up – oh, bollocks, more stairs." "Well, we've had plenty of practice tonight, haven't we? Up we go. No singing this time." Granger made an aggravated noise. "I wash my hands of all of you," she snapped, and stalked back upstairs to her own room. "Think she's upset?" Weasley asked idly as they navigated the stairs. "I think so," Potter answered, and cuddled closer to Draco. "Oops," Weasley said, then hiccupped. "Gonna be the cold shoulder for us for a few days." " 'S her own fault," Potter said sternly. "Can't deprive a man of his chance to get into Draco Malfoy's pants. There'ss something about that inna Geneva Convention." "The what?" Draco wasn't entirely sure he liked the turn this conversation was taking, and was beginning to suspect that his gathering of blackmail material had gone a bit pear-shaped. What he really ought to do was turn around and go back to his own dormitory, he told himself sternly, and then didn't. "Iss like… like the Statute About Underage Wizardry," Potter told him. "Is this our room?" Weasley drew himself up to his full height, eyed the door, and said decisively, "Dunno." Draco rolled his eyes and opened the door. There were two empty beds in the dormitory and a vaguely Longbottom-shaped lump in one of the other beds. "All right, then, in we go. No, no stairs. Yes, that's right. Which bed is yours, Potter?" Potter pointed with his wand. "That one. 'S not big enough, though. Engorgio!" The bed began to swell like a giant soufflé, pushing aside bedside tables and trunks at an alarming rate and with a worrisome amount of noise, and was probably going to fill the room and crush everyone in it before Potter realized anything was wrong. Draco whipped out his own wand and hissed, "Finite Incantantem! My God, Potter, it's certainly big enough now, isn't it?" "Oops," Potter said placidly. Draco grumbled under his breath – really, blackmail was shaping up to be more trouble than it was worth – and went over to the bed, shrinking it back down to a reasonable size. Once satisfied, he turned back to Potter and Weasley – and gulped, rather taken aback. Potter had an elbow propped on Weasley's shoulder, and they were both staring at him with whiskey-sodden grins predatory enough to do a Slytherin proud. Some treacherous part of his brain pointed out that they were both rather fit themselves, actually. A more familiar part pointed out that the only thing funnier than the look on Potter's face when he woke up to find himself in bed with Draco Malfoy would be the look on his face when he woke up to find himself in bed with his worst enemy and his best friend. "Come on, Potter, bedtime," he said in an innocent tone rather at odds

with his slow smile. "Weasley, give me a hand getting him undressed." "He wants me undressed, Ron," Potter observed. "My mum gave me words to live by in situations like this," Weasley reported, and the idea that he might be about to hear platitudes from Weasley Materfamilias on the topic of the birds and the… well, birds, and also birds, made Draco's vision swim and grow black for a moment. "What did she say?" Potter asked. Weasley grinned. "Guests first." Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right," he grumbled, reassuring himself that, as the only person present who wasn't pissed to the gills, he could easily head things off before they got to the point Weasley and Potter seemed to be aiming for. He raised his hands to the buttons of his shirt. "Thass no fun," Potter said, a distinct pout beginning to form about his mouth. "Could be fun," Weasley argued, looking speculatively at Draco. "He'd have to give us a bit more of a show, though." "Weasley, if you think I'm going to give you lot a bump and grind," Draco began, then trailed off as Potter came to stand very close to him and moved his hands away from his buttons. "This is fun," Potter asserted, sliding his hands up to ease Draco's robes back. They slid off his shoulders and into Weasley's waiting hands, and that shiver really, really wasn't due to the fact that Draco was finding it a serious turn-on being undressed by Potty and the Weasel. Because he wasn't. Not even when he had four hands fumbling with his buttons, Potter's with his shirt and Weasley's with his trousers. Feeling as though he ought to register some sort of strong protest, Draco said, "Er." "Quiet," Potter ordered, focusing with fierce determination on Draco's buttons. "'M having enough trouble with these bloody tiny buttons." "Lemme help," Weasley offered, and Draco's trousers fell to the floor. "Bugger, these are too small. Malfoy, you bloody great pouf, can't you wear buttons like normal people?" "This is a uniform shirt, Weasley," Draco pointed out. "You're wearing the same – hoy! Potter!" Potter gave another yank at Draco's shirt, clearly trying to tear it open at the front by main force. Unfortunately for him, those uniform shirts were designed to hold up under repeated wear by adolescents, and the buttons stayed stubbornly attached. "Potter. Potter," Draco said impatiently. "No matter what the letters to the editor in Playwizard might lead you to believe, clothes are really quite difficult to tear off." Potter reddened. "Um. I just read that for the articles." "He really does," Weasley seconded, his breath warm and whiskey-sodden on the back of Draco's neck. "Me, I read it for the tits." "Weasley, are you sure you're in the right queue?" Draco asked dubiously.

"If this is the queue to give you a proper seeing-to, I am," Weasley said cheerfully. "Queue forms behind me," Potter said in a tone that brooked no argument, and swallowed Draco's protest in an equally determined kiss. Well. This really wasn't quite what Draco had had in mind, but he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy and prided himself on his ability to come out on top of any situation… eventually. He leaned forward and kissed Potter back. He had to admit, the poster boy for all things Gryffindor was a bloody good kisser. Draco closed his eyes and let their mouths slide together, let Harry tug at his lip with gentle teeth before licking along it and slipping his tongue into Draco's mouth in a slow mimicry of penetration. Behind him, Weasley appeared to take the kiss as a signal that the evening's events had now commenced; he slid Draco's shirt off his shoulders and began kissing his way up Draco's neck just as Potter took an interest in the line of his jaw. They met somewhere in the middle, hesitated for just a moment, and dove into a slow, smouldering kiss, all soft wet sounds and murmurs and entangling tongues, and ohgoditwasthehottestthingDracohadeverseen. "Thought you were straight, Ron," Potter commented as he drew away, sounding mildly curious. "Am straight," Weasley answered placidly, in the face of some rather impressive evidence to the contrary. "Oh. 'Sokay, then," Potter said, and went back to snogging Draco. Weasley was pressed up against his back, reaching around him to help unbutton Potter's shirt, good-sized erection pushing against Draco's arse. Draco gave a slow hum of approval into Potter's mouth and Potter smiled, working his hips slowly against Draco's in a way that pressed Draco back into Weasley and reaching around Draco's back to undo Weasley's buttons. "So hot, Draco," Potter murmured, his breath warm against Draco's mouth, shrugging his shirt off. "Wanna fuck you while you suck Ron off." That was definitely more than he'd bargained for. Now if he could only convey that message to his cock, which was under the distinct impression that Draco was enjoying all this. Which he wasn't. Much. The fact that he was harder than he'd ever been in his life and pushing Potter's trousers down around his ankles was… Well, bollocks. In for a knut, in for a galleon, and all the better to bring about Potter's abject, humiliating downfall first thing in the morning. "Nice arse, Malfoy," Weasley breathed, running a hand over the aforementioned part of Draco's anatomy. "Think you can take two of us?" "Well, good god, not at once," Draco answered. For some reason Potter and Weasley found this utterly hilarious, and had to shush each other repeatedly. Even when Draco grabbed Potter around the back of his neck and kissed him out of sheer disgust, Potter kept giggling – giggling! – into Draco's mouth. Weasley's shirt went flying onto the floor beside them, and his trousers brushed over Draco's arse on the way down. Fingertips on Draco's chin tilted his face around and Potter's mouth was abruptly replaced by Weasley's, which was all right because Weasley was a surprisingly good kisser, though considering whose younger brother he was Draco really didn't want to know where he'd learned. Potter's mouth made its way down his chest to latch onto a nipple, circling it with his tongue and nearly making Draco moan. "We should be on the bed," he told them. "Easier to do silencing charms."

"'Sright," Weasley agreed amiably, and Draco kicked off his shoes. Unfortunately, Weasley and Potter had forgot that their trousers were down around their ankles, and an enthusiastic attempt to move things to the bed resulted in all three of them going down in a heap and nearly falling back off the bed again. "Ow," Draco complained in a loud whisper. "Get your elbow out of my balls, Straight Boy." "Think that's Harry's knee," Weasley told him helpfully. Potter had his face buried in the curve of Draco's neck, giggling helplessly. "Oh, for – how do the two of you ever get laid?" Draco demanded in exasperation. "Like this," Potter explained – and suddenly the tangle was less tangling than twining, bodies moving against and around Draco, and there was touching and kissing and Potter's hand doing wonderful things between Draco's legs, and some part of Draco's brain was shrieking with horror at his newfound ability to tell Potter and Weasley apart by taste but it was a part he found very easy to ignore. Especially when the two of them managed to shake off the last of their clothes and manhandled Draco farther up onto the bed, barely giving him time to grab for his wand and cast a silencing charm before he was half buried under Gryffindors, two mouths passing his own back and forth before Weasley and Potter drifted downward. Red hair and black mingled on Draco's stomach, making for a strange contrast with his fingers, lifting as Weasley and Potter kissed and falling back again as they turned their attention back to Draco. Draco wriggled and purred in contentment, nearly as turned on by watching them methodically lick their way down his body as by feeling it – they moved beautifully and surely together, and it felt rather like he was being tag-teamed by the Weasley twins, except without the imminent danger of being turned into a canary. Potter reached his cock first and Weasley was only a second behind, and then they were sliding their mouths up and down his shaft, licking him and licking each other around him as they ground against each other, sucking each other's tongues around the head of his cock, and how they were managing that was more than Draco knew but it needed to stop immediately despite making him feel like he was about to spontaneously combust. Or because of it, or… Draco bit his lip, thought hard about Dumbledore in a French maid outfit, and tugged pointedly at the hair clutched in his fingers, drawing twin yelps of pained protest. "Up here, both of you," he ordered peremptorily. Weasley and Potter smirked at each other, which would have been unforgivable if Draco hadn't been feeling generous at the moment, and prowled up the bed toward him in a way that would have been much more impressive if they weren't so drunk that they managed to weave a bit on all fours. "Demanding, isn't he?" Potter noted, invading Draco's personal space in a very pointed manner and licking underneath his ear. "Bet he's a pushy bottom," Weasley commented, nudging at him so that Draco was sandwiched solidly between them. "Hoy, Weasley," Draco said sternly. "Malfoys don't bottom." Fingers on his chin turned his face back to Potter, who was staring at him with a sort of smouldering, obsessive determination from about three inches away, and suddenly Draco had a good idea of what the snitch must feel like. "This Malfoy does," Potter informed him. Weasley patted Draco sympathetically on the arse, then draped himself over Draco's side, chin propped on his shoulder. "Save yourself some time and give over, Malfoy. Harry's got a way of getting what he wants." He reached over, ran his fingers through Potter's hair, and trailed them affectionately down the side of his face.

Potter tilted his chin and caught one of Weasley's fingers in his mouth, sucking it in and thoroughly laving his tongue over it, his eyes never leaving Draco's. Draco strongly suspected that he was about to bottom, and wondered if that meant that he wasn't very good at the blackmail business. Then Potter sucked in another one of Weasley's fingers, taking them so far down his throat that Draco wondered if he even had a gag reflex, and Draco had to wonder if he wasn't, in a perverse sort of way, really spectacularly good at blackmail. Especially when Potter nudged Weasley's hand closer and suddenly he and Draco were kissing around Weasley's fingers, finding all sorts of places to wind their tongues. Weasley gave a pleased purr and pulled his fingers back. "You two look really fucking hot, y'know that?" he whispered into Draco's ear, teasing for a minute before sliding a finger slowly into him. "Mmhm," Draco agreed around Potter's tongue, pushing back against Weasley's hand and forward against Potter's cock. Another finger, Weasley was impatient, but his fingers felt wonderful, filling and stretching, and they brushed a spot inside him that made him moan into Potter's mouth, and really, Draco was a blackmail god. His father would be proud. Well, or possibly not. Before he could get too far with that line of thought, Potter took a good solid hold on his cock, which seemed to require reciprocation, and Weasley leaned around and gave a good try at sticking his tongue down Draco's throat, and Draco rather forgot what he'd been thinking about. "Ready?" Potter asked breathlessly. "I, ah, yes," Draco found himself saying. There was a pause, and finally Weasley said, dubiously, "Er." Draco rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless, both of you. Weasley! Up against the headboard. Sit up a bit, that's right. Potter, down toward the foot of the bed, and you'd better have a good lubrication charm ready." He braced himself on all fours, one hand on either side of Weasley's hips, licked up the side of Weasley's cock, and then took it in in one smooth stroke that made Weasley yowl. Potter landed a stinging slap to Draco's arse. "Hey! Don't start without me." Weasley grabbed a handful of Draco's hair. "Do not even think about stopping," he said between his teeth. Draco snickered as best he could with his mouth full and rocked back against Potter. The head of Potter's cock slid inside him, pulling a strangled sound from him at the distinctly odd combination of pain and pleasure. "Oh, god," Potter said in a small voice, gripping Draco's hips hard. He pushed forward an inch at a time, balking Draco's efforts to shove back against him, until he was fully sheathed in him, and oh god if Potter didn't start moving in the next ten seconds Draco was going to kill him. He made an impatient sound around Weasley's cock and went back to swirling his tongue around the head. "Fuck," Potter gasped. "God. Nobody move. Ron, no, really, I meant nobody." Weasley snorted with laughter. "God, you two. It's like bloody sleeping with two of Hermione." Potter spluttered indignantly, and Draco, grievously insulted, gave a yowl of protest and sucked really hard – which didn't seem be quite the reprimand he'd been hoping for, but that was all right because Potter was moving inside him, thrusting him forward into Weasley's cock and then letting him rock back, and all right, maybe Malfoys did bottom because Potter's cock filling him was fucking brilliant, and the moans coming from behind

him strongly suggested that Potter concurred. He slipped a hand around Weasley's cock and put his wrist into it, trying to focus on something besides Potter making him see stars, and he must have been doing a fair job of it because Weasley was thrusting up into his mouth, hands falling away to clench in the sheets. Potter stretched an arm around Draco, leaning into him, and wrapped his fingers around Draco's hand on Weasley's cock, then trailed them upward; Draco met them on the way down and took them into his mouth, swirling his tongue over everything it could reach; Potter gave a tense gasp and tightened his fingers and Weasley snapped, coming with a strangled cry; Draco supposed that strictly speaking Malfoys ought not to swallow either, but it hardly seemed polite to spit. Weasley's orgasm had put Potter off his stride a bit, and when Weasley had stopped shuddering and melted into a boneless puddle, Draco disconnected his mouth from the various body parts it was attached to and said "Hoy, Potter! Pay attention!" "Fuckin' am," Potter gasped, and slammed into Draco so hard that Draco nearly head-butted Weasley in the stomach, making them both groan. "Waitwaitwait," Weasley managed. "Stop a minute." "Ron!" "Weasley!" "No, this'll be brilliant, trust me," Weasley insisted. "Harry, sit back. Malfoy, get on top of him." "Now who's bloody giving orders?" Draco grumbled, shifting to straddle Potter. "Oh, God," Potter whimpered as Draco slid back down onto him. His mouth latched onto Draco's collarbone, then down to tease at one of Draco's nipples. "Fuck, this is, yeah," he panted, pulling Draco into a grinding rhythm. There was skin against Draco's back suddenly and Weasley pressed against him, one hand coming around to wrap around Draco's cock and the other trailing over Potter's chest to toy with a nipple. "Yeah?" he mumbled against the back of Draco's neck, and bit lightly. "Yeah," Draco managed, and only had a moment to be a bit embarrassed at their communal lack of coherence before Potter was slamming up into him and Weasley's hand was pulling him hard and fast, and then he couldn't think at all, only hold on and keep up, arching into the hands on him and gasping into Potter's mouth, balanced so perfectly between Weasley's hand and Potter's cock and about to tip over – "God, fuck, I'm –" "You come before me, Potter, and I'll –" "Oh, stuff it, Malfoy," Weasley said with the smug good nature of the bloke who'd already gotten his, and Draco would have said something sharp but just then Weasley's hand twisted and Potter hit, god, just the right spot, and the whole world flared white; and Malfoys probably shouldn't be screamers either but Draco really thought they could make an exception this once, and then Potter was coming too, sinking his teeth into Draco's shoulder to muffle his cries, and even that felt so bloody wonderful that, really, blackmail, Draco had a new favorite hobby. When he could think again, Draco sagged back against Weasley, draping his arms loosely around Potter's shoulders as Potter, barely awake, found a comfortable spot to lean his head against just under Draco's collarbone. Weasley chuckled and ruffled Potter's hair, a thing that, had he done it to Draco, would have

earned him a righteous smiting; but really, there wasn't much that could make Potter's hair any messier than it already was, so Draco supposed there was no harm done. "Sleep," Potter yawned, and tugged ineffectually at the covers, trying to pull them back. Weasley and Draco pitched in, and before long Draco found himself comfortably ensconced under the blankets, sandwiched between Weasley and Potter. "Told you he always gets his way," Weasley murmured against Draco's shoulder, shifting his fingers a little to pet Potter, who was already snoring softly against Draco's neck. "You should do something about that, Weasley," Draco yawned. "You spoil him. No wonder he's such a prat." "Mm," Weasley said faintly, and fell asleep. Draco closed his eyes and drifted off, smiling at the thought of the consternation, annoyance, and drama he was going to bring about in the morning.

"Oh, God," someone said in a very small voice in his ear. Draco grumbled a little, not wanting to open his eyes. "Harry! Wake up!" the Weasel hissed, reaching across Draco to nudge Harry's shoulder. On second thought, maybe Draco wanted to open his eyes after all. "No," Potter answered quite definitely, burrowing further under the covers and burying his face in Draco's shoulder. "Morning, Potter, Weasley," Draco said cheerfully. Weasley clutched his head and moaned. "Malfoy, so help me God if you're bloody chipper I'm going to kick your arse out the Tower window." "Mal –" Potter stirred and raised his head, taking in the scene with wide, startled eyes. "Oh, God." Well, Draco had hoped for something more in the way of nervous breakdowns and suicide threats, but he supposed he had to make allowances for the egregiously hung over. "Um," Potter said. "We. I mean. Oh, God." "Yes, Potter, we did Oh, God," Draco said, enjoying himself immensely. "Was it good for you?" "I…" "Oh, don't tell me you don't remember." "I –" Potter went ashen and gulped. "Um. Yeah. I do remember. Oh, fuck, my head. Why did I have to wake up?" "You know what Hermione's gonna do to us?" Weasley asked glumly. "It's gonna be bad, Harry. Worse'n the time she caught us using her house elf hats to polish our brooms."

"Do you do a lot of broom-polishing together?" Draco asked, interested. Weasley glared at him. Potter was staring in horror past Weasley's shoulder and appeared not to have heard Draco. "Oh my God," he said in a strangled voice. "Tell me we didn't have a threesome with the bed curtains wide open." Weasley blinked, appearing to register the source of the sunlight for the first time, went pale, and then went green. "Right," he said with determination, more or less fell off the bed, grabbed his trousers and wand, and spelled the bed curtains closed on all sides. Draco heard him stumbling blearily out of the room. "Weasley leaving the party so soon?" he observed. Potter blinked painfully at him in the now-dim light. "Ron's straight." "Oh, really." "Yeah. Besides, I think he has to throw up." Draco eyed Potter in alarm. "If you're feeling the same urge, kindly –" "No, I'm okay. Well, I mean, actually I'm not. But I don't have to throw up." Potter made a small, fretful sound and moved closer, winding around Draco and startling him badly, and it was in no way cute that Potter was nuzzling under Draco's chin in a sleepy attempt to shut out more light. "Not straight, either," he added, apparently just in case Draco was dying to know. "Yes, I’m fairly clear on that." "Draco." "Potter?" "I had fun last night." "Er… that's nice?" Draco ventured, at a bit of a loss. He rather had to admire Potter's powers of equilibrium recovery. "Not having fun this morning, though." "Yes, that's also fairly clear." Potter wriggled fretfully against him, sending sparks through parts of Draco that probably ought not to be taking an interest in the proceedings. "Could be, though. If you hold me for a bit. And rub my head." "Rub your – Potter! Do I look like your personal masseur?" Potter moved back just far enough to look at Draco, startlingly green eyes filling Draco's vision. "No. You look like someone who's going to want sex when he's woken up a bit more. So you're going to have to lay the groundwork a bit, because I feel like arse, and a massage and a cuddle will go a long way toward making sure you start the day with a good shag under your belt." Draco gave him a slow smile. "Why, Potter, you're high-maintenance! I can't tell you how very surprised I am. Mostly because I am exactly the opposite of surprised."

Potter frowned at him. "Start rubbing, Malfoy." "Not so fast, there, Potty." Draco moved away and propped his head up on his elbow, prompting a definitely not charming pout from Potter. "Bit of an awkward situation, this, don't you agree?" Potter's frown deepened. "I –" "Almost as awkward as Gryffindor winning the House Cup again this year," Draco noted, examining his fingernails. "I rather think it should go back to Slytherin." "But –" "We're, let me see, seventy-five points down. Surely someone as gifted at landing his arse in the soup as you are can arrange to have a solid hundred points docked from House Gryffindor by the end of the month. Better make it a hundred and fifty, just to be on the safe side. Might take you and Weasley both putting your backs into it, but I have faith in you." "You want us to throw the House Cup?" Potter asked, outraged. "Bright lad. I'd give you House points but that would defeat the purpose. I want you to throw the House Cup." Potter raised an eyebrow, though the effort clearly cost him. "Or what?" "Or the whole bloody school is going to know that you and Weasley spent the entire night using me for your lascivious pleasures," Draco said triumphantly. Potter's gaze raked skeptically up and down Draco's body. "And that's supposed to reflect badly on us, is it?" "Well – yes!" Draco spluttered. "Wouldn't do the image of Gryffindor's Golden Boy much good if it came out that you'd been drunkenly groping the head of Slytherin House, would it?" "Ewww, Malfoy," Potter complained, face twisting. "Me, Potter, me, not Snape, do try to focus." "Mm." Potter looked thoughtful for a minute, then settled himself closer and nudged Draco's chin to the side with his nose. His teeth fastened gently on Draco's throat, nipping lightly; Draco sighed in spite of himself and decided that he might let this particular interruption go on for a bit. Until he realized that Potter was actually sucking rather hard, and Malfoy skin bruised very easily. "Hoy, what are you doing?" he protested. "Pre-empting your line of attack," Potter managed to say around a mouthful of Draco's skin. "Since bloody when does giving me a huge hickey count as pre-empting? Potter, stop that!" Potter raised his head. "I could always hex 'Property of Harry Potter' across your arse instead, you know. I think all other things being equal a hickey isn't so bad." "You – I – what? You want people to know about this?"

"Well, I'm not looking forward to Hermione finding out," Potter confessed, scooting closer and running his hand over Draco in very distracting ways. "But… y'know, yeah, I wouldn't mind. 'Cause then we could do this again. A lot. Maybe not with Ron, though, that would be a bit weird. Unless he really wants to, I mean, which he might not, because of being straight and all." Harry Potter, the wizarding world's golden boy, wanted to risk severe embarrassment and outraged lectures from everyone from Granger to Dumbledore so he could get in some serious shagging time with Draco. Draco really thought he ought to get some sort of prize for that, possibly something made out of chocolate with "Draco Malfoy Wins At Sex" written across the top. Ooh, or Potter could just keep doing that. "So?" Potter whispered, nibbling at Draco's ear. "Hm. I suppose I could take a bit of damage to my reputation for the cause." "Your reputation," Potter said, making his way down Draco's throat, "can use all the rehabilitation it can get." "Snark or fuck, Potter, make up your mind." Potter settled in against Draco's shoulder and pointedly lifted Draco's hand to his temple. "Rub," he ordered. "Potter! I refuse to be whipped five minutes into a… whatever this is!" "Don't think of it as being whipped. Think of it as masterfully playing on my temporary weakness to seduce me into letting you have your own way." "Hm, maybe you'd have made a good Slytherin," Draco said approvingly, rubbing a bit as a reward. Potter made a contented sound. Blackmail, Draco decided after a while as he watched Potter happily licking his way downward, had a way of turning out to be in everyone's best interests.

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