sweet subtle alchemy

Title: Used
Author: anthimaeria
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con
Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.
Genre: Romance, Smut, Fluff
Summary: What happens on the Hogwarts Express, stays on the Hogwarts Express. A slashed-up version of Harry and Draco’s train encounter in HBP – with a twist.
Word Count: 2894
Beta: Redmeadow, thanks so much!
Notes: This story is the companion to and antidote for Bruised, though not a sequel.
Stolen from JKR: Draco's “thick new traveling cloak” [HBP, p. 152]; “You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here…” [HBP, p. 153].


"Petricifus Totalus!"

Harry tumbled from the luggage rack, his legs still bent underneath him. He laid on the ground like an insect spun on its back, knees parted helplessly. The Invisibility Cloak had slipped easily from his shoulders, revealing everything.

He’d thought it was such a brilliant idea to clamber onto the rack and spy on Malfoy and his friends as they chatted in the Slytherin sixth-year compartment of the Hogwarts Express. It wasn’t often that he was given license to stare at Malfoy, to get a really good look. Harry found himself fascinated by the cruel line of his lips and the way that his elongated hands slashed the air with grand gestures as he spoke. Malfoy’s soft, nearly white hair seemed to shimmer as he rested his head in Pansy Parkinson’s lap, allowing her to sift through it with her grubby red-nailed paws.

As he sat crouched in his crowded perch, Harry recognized that he was becoming uncomfortably, unreasonably hard. The very thought made him shiver; he never felt that way about another bloke, and certainly not about Malfoy. It had to be just another accidental erection, he decided, possibly from inadvertently rubbing against the metal ribs of the rack while angling for the best view.

Malfoy threw on his robes, and Harry realized in astonishment that he was disappointed to see Malfoy’s crotch disappear. He scolded himself for even looking at it. After all, he’d seen glimpses of Malfoy naked, changing in the Quidditch locker room - why did he need to keep looking? And what was it about that bulge that made Malfoy shift his legs when he sat down? That made Harry’s breathing change and his mouth tingle and water?

Now Harry lay frozen on the floor, and Malfoy stood over him, appraising his body with a cool, indifferent stare.

"You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here…"

He paused. "Oh, will you look at that?" he drawled, a note of mild surprise in his patrician voice. He made a long, low sound of grudging approval, and kneeled down next to Harry for closer inspection.

Harry couldn't stop the blush that was spreading over his face. His erect condition was practically on display, and Malfoy had definitely noticed.

"What've you been holding out from me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, sounding amused. “What exactly were you doing up there, hmm? Polishing your broomstick?”

He scooped up Harry’s right hand and pressed it close to his classic Malfoy nose, taking several ostentatious sniffs. "Curious, ver-ry curious indeed. Doesn’t smell you’ve been doing anything you shouldn’t, but then again, I wouldn’t know what you smell like, would I, Potter?"

"Yet, that is," he added wickedly, and reached out his hand.

If Harry could move, Malfoy’s practiced fingers would have driven him into a frenzy as they calmly skated over the rigid lump in his trousers. His hand moved with a calculated ease, palming the shaft firmly and gently rubbing the head between two fingers. Harry yearned to raise his hips to increase the maddeningly light pressure, but he couldn’t do anything other than silently pray for more.

“I’ll see that you’ll never remember this, Potter, though you’ll wish you could,” Malfoy murmured, and ground his lips and nose and cheeks all over Harry’s crotch, further agitating Harry's turgid condition.

Making sure he was in Harry’s line of vision, Malfoy pulled off his own robe and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He unzipped his trousers, and took his long, tapered shaft in his hand.

Crouching down, Malfoy tilted his narrow hips to Harry’s face, and softly pressed his growing erection against Harry’s immobile lips and teeth. Malfoy’s delicate skin felt warm, sleek, and velvety, and Harry longed to take him into his mouth.

Malfoy hooked a finger into Harry's half-open mouth and stretched it until he was just able to slip the head of his cock into the pocket of Harry’s cheek. He jutted against the side of Harry’s mouth, causing an ache that was altogether more pleasant than painful. Harry wondered what it would be like to have all of him filling his mouth, butting up against the back of his throat. He couldn’t even taste Malfoy since his tongue was barred behind his clenched teeth, but he sensed a dash of moisture, and Harry thought madly of worrying his tongue against the inside of his cheek for whatever trace of himself Malfoy might have left behind.

“Should have hexed you whilst you were opening your big mouth, shouldn’t I?” Malfoy laughed. He pinched Harry’s cheek open to withdraw himself, releasing a thin stream of drool which ran down the side of Harry’s helpless mouth.

Moving his hands to Harry’s crotch again, Malfoy swiftly undid Harry’s trousers, uncovering the swollen cock which lay flat against his stomach. He leaned over it, teasing Harry with each soft puff of his warm breath against him.

Malfoy smirked. “Oh, Gryffindor sausage for dinner! Not sure I’m in the mood.” He licked his pretty lips suggestively, then moved his head away, sending Harry into suspended agony.

Harry struggled against the hex, tortured by his inability to move. His cock was now pulsing so hard that he feared it might burst into pieces if left on its own. He'd make swift work of Malfoy's sneer if he could only cram himself all the way into his grinning mouth, but so far, the power to do wandless magic had largely eluded him. All he could do was wait and hope, though that wouldn't do him any good. It wasn’t like Malfoy to be merciful, and Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he simply got up and left the compartment, leaving Harry with his trousers down and his arousal on full display.

The train whistle sounded twice in warning. With a shudder, the train began moving again, and Harry exhaled.

Malfoy closed his eyes for a second, his expression unreadable. Harry still thought he was about to get up and leave, but he leaned over him and gave him three swift but thorough licks, dragging his tongue from the root to the quivering tip of Harry's cock, sending sparks up Harry's frozen spine.

"Why Potter, you just might do," he said contemplatively, then took him into his mouth. He drew his cheeks in, sucking hard, trying to take him all in, and gagging genteelly when he couldn’t.

Move your mouth, Malfoy, move your bleeding mouth on me and do it right, Harry demanded silently. He was becoming more and more painfully rigid, with release becoming less likely by the minute.

If Malfoy had read Harry’s thoughts, he was ignoring them. He pulled away from Harry and began to root through his school bag, coming up with a small flask of oily liquid. He pooled the oil into his palm, letting it run through his parted fingers onto Harry's inflamed, straining cock, denying Harry the small relief of even one stroke of his hand. Turning his back, he lowered himself onto his knees, sticking his naked arse out. He looked over his shoulder, seized Harry’s wrist, and guided Harry’s stiff index finger right inside of him. Malfoy then added a finger of his own, moving to stretch himself.

He dropped Harry’s arm, and Harry’s finger slid out as Malfoy squatted over him, using gravity to spear himself right on to his cock. He huffed open-mouthed as he bounced on the balls of his feet, one hand braced on the ground, the other pulling at his own cock. Harry was deep inside Malfoy, and although he still couldn’t move, the smooth, powerful inner muscles tightening around him provided the delicious friction he craved. Malfoy's eyes were half closed, but he peered at Harry the whole time, intent on his reaction even though Harry wasn't capable of showing one in his immobilized condition.

"Oh Merlin, my sodding ankles," he moaned. Still on top of Harry, he twisted his body and closed his hand over his wand.

"Finite Incantatem!"

All at once, the stiffness dissipated from Harry’s body, and he roared into life. He reared up, knocking Malfoy backwards into the floor, and began to shag him as hard as he deserved. He slammed himself into Malfoy's arse, trying to get every centimetre into each thrust. Wild-eyed and fighting for breath, Malfoy completely abandoned his haughty composure along with his ability to speak. He grunted and yelped like a beast, his legs reaching for the ceiling, and lifted his greedy hips to match Harry stroke for stroke.

*** *** ***

Nymphadora Tonks feared the worst had happened to Harry Potter. Of all the Aurors posted on the Hogwarts Express to keep an eye on Harry, she knew him best, and cared very much about his well-being. So many expectations were riding on him as The Boy Who Lived, and she felt he had already faced far too many difficult challenges in his young life. She’d noticed that Harry hadn’t disembarked with the other students when the train arrived at Hogwarts, and now she was hearing disturbing noises coming from one of the compartments. It sounded like something was being bumped continuously against the wall, and she thought she even heard someone moan in pain.

The noises grew louder as she approached the Slytherin sixth-year compartment. Wand drawn, Tonks focused on a tiny crack in the oddly drawn blinds, and her mouth fell open as her jaw literally hit the ground with a reverberating thump. It was nearly impossible for her to control her magic when she was startled, and it was now spinning out of control. Her face and body had turned a vivid fire-engine red, and every hair on her head sprang out straight in the air and quickly spiralled, forming hundreds of tight, painful little curls. It certainly didn't look as though Harry needed any help, and she wasn't about to remind him that he was definitely going to be late for school. As soon as she could, she looked away and rushed down the corridor, trying to calm herself enough to transform her look into something more manageable.

Tonks struggled with whether to report what she had seen to the Order. An act of intimacy between Harry and another student wouldn’t normally concern them, but Draco was the son of a confirmed Death Eater, and her sources had confirmed the Malfoy boy’s presence earlier in Knockturn Alley, in possibly suspicious circumstances. Yet she knew that Harry would never willingly involve himself with one of Voldemort’s followers; perhaps the Order was wrong this time. She decided to secrete the memory in her Pensieve, at least until morning. But the Pensieve must have been overfull, or she had been too tired to properly remove the memory; for once Tonks tucked herself into her solitary bed, the remarkable sight that she wished she could forget replayed itself over and over behind her closed eyes. Harry was on top of the other boy, trousers sagging around his ankles, the bottom of his shirt flapping open to show the twin moons of his naked arse flexing in joyful rhythm, as Draco moved beneath him, lithe legs bent back almost to his shoulders. Bitter enemies that she knew they were, their coupling was as unlikely as a lion bedding down with a snake; and as difficult to turn away from.

She ordered herself to keep her hands firmly by her side. Remus, she reminded herself; tonight I will dream only of Remus and Remus alone.

*** *** ***

Spent, Harry rolled off Draco and sidled next to him, sweating and still panting a bit. It had been a long, long summer apart, and despite running into him at Madam Malkin’s shop, he and Draco hadn’t found a way to be alone together until now. They certainly hadn’t been the first students to ever christen the Slytherin compartment, but they’d done a right admirable job of it.

Harry was dying to give Draco a proper kiss, which he certainly couldn’t have done in front of his friends and Draco’s mother back in Diagon Alley. But first, there was something very important that Harry needed to tell him.

"Draco," he said, trying to keep any trace of whininess out of his voice and failing miserably, "please don't let Pansy Parkinson fiddle with your hair again."

"Oh, it wouldn't be fair to deprive her of that pleasure, now would it?"

"Well, p'raps it wouldn't be fair to deprive Ginny Weasley of the pleasure of rubbing my shoulders after Quidditch. They do get so very sore, and she only begs me after every single game."

Draco drew in his breath. “You wouldn't!"

"Try me," said Harry. "Why deprive her of the pleasure, after all?"

He noticed Draco's pout. "All right, you may have the pleasure of massaging my legs, then. They're bloody killing me!"

Harry pulled off his trainers and socks, and slipped out of his rolled-down trousers, wiggling his numb toes to confirm he was still able to. He kicked his bare feet in the air with childish glee, trying to get the circulation back. “Guess I didn’t realize how it'd feel to kneel for so long. So, how about it?” he suggested perkily.

Draco didn’t look up. He was preoccupied with mussing Harry’s wild hair, shaping it into new abstract forms. "I just spent a ridiculous amount of time fulfilling every last detail of that daft fantasy of yours, and now you want more from me?" he harrumphed. "And you're not the only one who needs a massage. My ankles were about to crack, in case you didn't notice."

“Oh, come on, I’ll get you a nice hot cup of cocoa,” Harry promised. "Pleeeeeease?"

Draco raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"With whipped cream," Harry added hastily.

Draco nodded. "Loads. And make it quick."

Harry shook his head, smiling. He had gotten to the point where even Draco's incorrigible rudeness was maddeningly adorable. “What’s the magic word?” he prompted, not really expecting an answer.

"Abracadabra, of course. How you ever managed to score seven OWLs is completely beyond me," Draco replied. He yawned, and didn't bother to cover his mouth.

But he did give Harry a particularly inspired farewell kiss, and Harry suddenly lost all desire to ever leave the compartment, despite his promise. It took more than a bit of unsubtle prodding from Draco, but he finally pulled his trousers back on, not bothering with underwear or shoes. After checking to see if the coast was clear, Harry shambled furtively into the hallway as though he were sneaking out of a second-rate hotel room in a dodgy part of town. Within minutes, he returned with two mugs, each topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream.

"Cheers!" Harry clinked his mug against Draco’s and took a sweet, rich sip. He was still amazed by his recent discovery that everything tasted better right after sex.

Draco gave Harry a rather rakish look. He was wearing just his shirt and loosened green Slytherin tie, his naked legs curled up cosily under the thick new travelling cloak spread across his lap. He dipped his finger into the mound of whipped cream, then straight into his mouth, wearing an expression of such naughty delight that Harry wanted to kiss him again and again.

Harry quickly shucked off his trousers and extended his legs across Draco’s blanketed lap. "Oh, that feels so good," he whispered, as Draco reluctantly set his mug aside and began to dig into his calf muscles with his fingertips.

His eyes were fluttering closed when suddenly he noticed something. "Um, do you know where this train is going?" he asked.

Draco sighed. "You’ve asked me this at least a million times! And every last one of them, I told you that the train goes back to London and then circles to Hogwarts again. As it does every year, I might add. Do you even remember what we were going to say?"

"Of course I do! If anyone asks, you were stuck in the bathroom with stomach problems, and I didn’t get off the train in time ‘cos I fell asleep."

"No," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I fell asleep and you were unavoidably detained in the bathroom. I’m a pure-blood wizard; I never have trouble with my digestion."

"Oh stuff it; of course we all know you’re a royal git!" Harry said fondly. He tweaked Draco’s long, thin nose and gave him a big smooch on his sugary lips. "Mmmm, vanilla!" he exclaimed.

He looked out the window again. “I think you may be wrong about the train.”

"Nonsense, Potter!" said Draco, but he glanced at the window, and his face fell. The dark leafy wilderness near Hogwarts had disappeared, and they were now travelling through a strange bright city full of white buildings topped with minarets. Sharp-featured people in brilliant-hued robes gathered in a giant bazaar, arguing over gold vessels and unfamiliar magical devices.

"Draco," said Harry hesitantly, "I don’t think we’re in Scotland anymore."

Draco looked grandly unconcerned. "Does it really matter?" He arranged his cloak rather fastidiously over Harry's lap and pulled him into his arms.

Harry leaned against Draco and settled in comfortably. Draco’s right, he thought; as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we are. They drank their cocoa, and talked of everything and nothing; and the Hogwarts Express chugged on, edging ever closer to the unknown wonders and mysteries that awaited them.


The End