Chapter Text
In third year, already, there were rumors going around about Potter's supposedly Invisibility Cloak. By the end of the war, it had become common knowledge.
"Oh come on, Draco! Stop being a snob!" Pansy groaned from between Millie's spread legs. Her grin was evil and her eyes gleamed with intoxicated glee. Hauling herself up, hands braced on Millie's knees, she grabbed the Whisky and drank it straight from the bottle, letting droplets of amber liquid trickle down her delicate throat.
Blaise snickered discreetly, sitting up on his knees with his spine twisted languorously. Daphne clapped her hand enthusiastically.
That was more or less how Draco found himself dressed in a pleated skirt, disheveled jumper and red and gold tie, all of it untidily wrapped up in garish Gryffindor robes, right on his way to the Eighth Years boy dorm. He always had a sense for detail and no Weasley had even known how to present. His long copper hair messily tied up in a high ponytail, his creamy skin heavily freckled, he still looked good, he could give her that.
What a stupid stupid game, he thought.
He wasn't completely sure of the circumstances surrounding his nomination for this ill-considered dare. A mixture of alcoholic bragging, ill-placed bets and vile treachery, amongst others. He definitely should have remained humble about his potion-brewing skills, in hindsight.
Humility seemed to pay in these dire days. He should have forfeited. Why would he even bother?
This wasn't exactly how Draco had imagined this school year to go. Once released from Azkaban, the days following his trial, Draco had planned everything. He would make himself discreet, work hard and get exemplary results, ones who would rival Granger's. Not that Draco didn't work hard before, he did, he had always taken his education seriously, but he had had a reputation to uphold then, expectations to meet, on every level and not only in academics. Those were gone now, Draco needn't bother anymore, his reputation was ruined and no-one expected anything from him except to fall into the lake and drown.
He was on his own and whatever he did now, he did it for himself only. He needed to clean up his act and redeem himself to the eyes of others.
Those had been his ambitious plans for his return year. If only things ever went according to Draco's plans.
In a damaged castle, with missing teachers and disorganized timetables, the few returning Eighth Years were mixed with a new generation of Seventh Years, damaged by the war and depleted. A cacophony of students with adaptable schedules and amateur courses. They didn't need to attend all of them, only the ones they had missed the year before and it left them with a lot of free time and very little distractions.
It left them with a lot of time, to dwell on things they would rather not dwell on. Lots of time to think of the ones who were missing, to remember everything and everyone that is gone. A jaded youth left to its own devices. A generation broken by the war, disillusioned, hopeless.
That was how they coped now, alcohol and potions and silly games. All they ideals gone, their prospects limited. And the nightmares...
Draco remembered shamefully the days when he thought there was beauty in war, that it was romantic. When he was proud of his parents for choosing the right side and defending his family's interests and values. He had been honored to receive the mark, to be chosen.
He had imagined himself climbing the steps to glory, to be celebrated, adulated but there was nothing romantic about war. It was ugly, whichever side you were fighting for.
Glory certainly hadn't taken the shape of a Gryffindor girl's uniform and red hair and yet Draco had committed himself to the enterprise with the same fervor he had showed to fixing the vanishing cabinet. As if stealing The Boy Who Lived's stupid cloak was a matter of life and death.
He couldn't really explained why they were doing what they were doing. Because they were bored, most likely, because they would rather drink and play idiotic muggle games and snog their peers senseless than face their reality.
It was Pansy's idea again, brought it up after shagging Dean Thomas and fucking Flinch-Fletchley. That was her thing now. Long gone were the chaste days when Draco and her wrote poetics about the beauty and pureness of preserving one's chastity.
Pansy definitely bargained it for a couple of muggle-born pairs of balls — not at the same time, mind you, but still — and didn't seem to regret her choice. Draco didn't have the strength to cast judgment these days.
After all, he was the one trading his most precious physical traits for a tuft of ginger hair and skinny freckled arms, all in the name of a ridiculous muggle game and some unfounded loyalty, a tiny bit of pride, too.
He had gone far though, he admitted. There weren't time limits to their challenges, only their own dedication. It had taken Draco a month to plan his little visit. First he had had to brew some Polyjuice, twenty-one days of rest, no less. Then he had to plan his scheme, spy on the lions to establish a schedule, find out their password, choose his victim, transfigure his own clothes into hers, find the right time... And there he was, just about to enter the Lions' lair for the first time, curiosity prickling his fingertips and fear twisting his stomach. The air of confidence he arbored just minutes ago had dimmed and his stomach lay heavy at the bottom, chest constricted in trepidation. The excitement he had felt when he was brewing and then trying on his girl clothes, the proud snickering he had done, anticipating his foul trick, had slowly made way for his shame.
Now that he was at the top of the tower, in front of the fat lady, a lump in his throat and his heart thumping in his chest, he didn't feel so smug anymore, just stupid.
He cleared his throat and muttered the password ashamedly.
The decor did not surprise him one bit. It was all so... Gryffindorish. High windows and garish wall hangings. A huge fireplace in the middle of it, huge flames dancing wildly in the hearth. The room looked rumpled, used. The fat leather armchairs haphazardly arranged around the fireplace looked worn out, as if they had been there for centuries and several hundred generations of Gryffindor arises had slouched in them.
It looked warm and welcoming and cosy, embroidered in reds and golds. The old rugs worn thin, colors fading into an ugly mustard yellow. It smelt like sweat and old leather and warm wood, and a lingering scent of smoke permeating the old drapes.
Draco hated it at once and envied it simultaneously. He let himself explore a little, the room being surprisingly empty. Even at the early hour, he was sure he would bump into one or two skivers — they were Gryffindors after all — but no-one was here.
He didn't waste too much time though, he had a task to perform, a goal to reach, and it was mostly prove those idiots that he could do this. He could procure Potter's invisibility cloak for those nitwits. Merlin, he hated Pansy.
It had been easy enough to find his way toward the Eighth Year boys' room, just follow the smell, and even easier to spot Potter's bed in it. It was almost as messy at Weasley's — well, his brother's now, he supposed — with all his dirty underwear scattered in the middle of rumpled sheets and ugly Cannons' oranges. Potter's dirty socks weren't all over his bed but his sheets were rumpled and books had been haphazardly forgotten in the middle of them. It smelt strongly of Potter.
Not that Draco was particularly proud of remembering it but he could hardly forget, what with their little escapade in the Room of Hidden Things, when Draco had buried his nose onto the sweaty nape Potter's neck, holding tightly onto him and screaming his lungs out.
Draco had scarcely seen him afterwards. A silhouette of him at his trials and then they had met a couple of time since then, awkwardly trying to be cordial to one another. Draco had mulled an half-hearted apology, one he didn't really meant but felt was the best course of action to start this new school year. He had expressed his gratitude in similar platitudes, because those were things that were done.
Draco was grateful though and he was genuine in wanting peace with Potter. They had lost too much for the constant animosity.
Which was why he was suddenly hesitant. On the verge of committing his little mischief, he realized he didn't want to do that to Potter. From what he had heard, the cloak was one of the few things he had inherited from his father and now that Draco's own father was in Azkaban and his mother withering away in the ruins of the Manor, this was something he could relate to. Presented with the fait accompli, Draco didn't think it was funny anymore. He had never found it funny, in fact, and he wondered, while his thin freckled fingers hovered over Potter's sheets, how he could have strayed so far from his own purpose.
He half-heartedly rummaged in Potter's stuff and, as expected, the sly little thing was rolled up messily in the middle of a bunch of rumpled stuff.
Potter had no respect ever for what was sacred, sometimes he wondered if he just simply was a moron. Draco let the intricate slivery fabric glide along his fingers, marveling at the beautiful cafe imbued in magic, heart racing in his chest.
"Gin?"
Draco gasped and jerked up off the bed, feeling the blood leaving his supple body at once. A cold shiver running down his spine. A blush creeping its way up his neck. His heart beating fast and hard, thumping in his ears and a loud buzz echoing in his head. He was winded, his legs shaky and his fingers trembling.
"P—Harry?"
That wasn't supposed to happen. Draco had planned the whole thing perfectly, he had checked Potter's schedule minutely. He wasn't supposed to be here. Why was he here?
"What are you doing?" Potter was frowning.
Draco first reflex was to snap at him, a general conditioned response to Potter's annoyingness but he quickly remembered that he wasn't Draco anymore, he was Ginevra Weasley and from what he knew, they were intimately close. Which was partly the reason why she had been his first choice when confronted with the necessity of taking someone else's appearance.
He swallowed his belligerence and tried his best to appear coy and smily. He failed the smile but he was coy enough he supposed.
"I was waiting for you."
One of Potter's nicely shaped eyebrows quirk up above his twisted glasses. "You were?" His voice was soft and breathy and filled with hope. His green eyes were pinning him in a way Draco had not anticipated at all. He found himself speechless, brain buzzing. His hands were still clutched on the slippery fabric of the cloak but he only realized it when it was too late.
He hesitated, looking for the right words, trying not to say anything that might give him away. "I-I wanted to see you."
Potter steadied himself, feet grounded, his arms dangling at his sides, nervous and fidgety. His frown deepened and the tension between them skyrocketed in a way Draco had not predicted.
"Why?" Potter says, something like anger tinting his voice.
Draco felt his face burn, the lump in his throat choking him. He stepped back, calves knocking onto the bed. "I missed you," he says. The words sounding awfully needy and afraid, feeling strange out of his own mouth with that voice. Draco couldn't look at Potter in the eye, he averted his gaze and focused on his own ragged breathing. A bead of sweat pealing down his neck, his fingers twitching with nerve, what was he supposed to do?
Potter was staring at him, his eyes piercing through him, undressing him. He stood tall, a couple of feet away from him. His breathing slow and deep. He took a step forward, reaching a hand, chuckles brushing the slender shoulder of one girl Weasley. Draco felt the warmth of him even through the three layers of clothes. It rebuked him at first but he forced the feeling away. He was supposed to be his girlfriend. With a deep breath, closing his eyes to avoid the burning gaze of his green eyes, Draco let himself go, leaning into the touch and letting the heat of Potter's hand spread in his body.
When he opened his eyes Potter had stepped closer and he found himself needing to look up. His hand, very softly sliding up along his collarbone to rest at the junction between his shoulder and neck, had Draco shiver all over, warmth pooling at the bottom of his stomach. He panted breathlessly.
Potter wasn't really impressive, physically speaking, Draco meant. He wasn't particularly tall, nor bulky, although he had filled out since he came back from the war and he grew taller slowly turning into an adult. His jaw did look slightly squarer, a light stumble visible this close. His gaze was piercing, unflinching, darkness lurking behind the vibrant green. But he had never looked impressive. Not to Draco, he had only ever been so annoyingly Potter.
Now, though, up close, when Draco suddenly needed to look up to see the puzzled expression on his face, Potter looked inescapable and Draco felt almost weak in the knees next to him. Was that what it felt like to be a girl? Feeling overwhelmed by the proximity with a boy, inexorably taller and stronger and capable of pushing you down on the bed and ravish you.
"I thought-- but you said-- " Potter started, hesitant, insecure, his hand still warm against the skin of Draco's neck, sliding along his shoulder in a less intimate grip. Draco looked into his eyes, lost in the green sea of them. He swallowed, lowering his gaze and exploring Potter's face from a new angle. A minute passed by, or an hour. His heart was beating wildly against his ribcage and he had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this. Potter's hand was back on his neck, cupping his face gently, brushing the loose strands of red hair out of his face. His thumb was caressing Draco's cheek, hovering over his bottom lip. Draco pressed his hands onto Potter's surprisingly muscly chest and burrowed into the clasp of his arms, instinctively. He glanced up at Potter's face, eyes hazy.
"Gin?"
"I have to go," Draco blurted, breathless, panting around the lump in his throat. He skirted around Potter, still clutching the cloak tightly against his chest. He accelerated his pace.
"Wait!" Potter exclaimed and he grabbed Draco's wrist. His hand was big and his fingers were strong, his grip inescapable around the thin wrist of the Weasley girl.
Draco stumbled and dropped the cloak, Potter pulled him back and caught him before he lost balance.
"Harry."
Something happened then and the next second Potter's mouth was on him, kissing the life out of him. Caught by surprise, Draco moaned into his mouth and let it happen. Potter deepened the kiss and swallowed Draco's breath, until both of them were breathless. Draco faltered, his entire body vibrating from the kiss, warmth pooling in his lower belly and between his legs. It was a strange, unusual sensation.
It wasn't like it was Draco's first kiss, because it wasn't but it was the first time that Draco was kissed by a man, and most of all, it was the first time that Draco was kissed as a girl.
He wished he had taken the time to explore his new female body before he launched himself into his quest. He hadn't even touched his breast and they had seemed so lovely, perk and small and supple. It just hadn't been on his mind then, to do this. Maybe part of him thought it would be weird, even though, technically, it was his own body and not the Weaselette's, it still felt like he wasn't really himself and he was caught unaware, overwhelmed by the explosion of new sensations.
Harry sucked in the air out of Draco's mouth and kissed him again, cupping his face with both hands, his fingers rough and callused after years of Quidditch. The contrast on his soft sensitive skin was entrancing, sending spikes of pleasure down his spine and goosebumps all over his body. His skin tingled, heated and shuddery. Draco gasps and shivered and let his hands slide up Potter's — Harry's — neck, entangling his fingers in the man's mane. Harry smelt woodsy and a tangle of masculine musk. He tasted just as good in Draco's mouth. His tongue was possessive but not invasive, asking for permission as well as taking desperately.
He pulled Draco's closer and Draco felt his hardness pressed into his belly. The sensation unexpectedly sent sparks of pleasure down his belly and further between his legs. Pride swelled up in his chest, want growing steadily inside him, unexpected and unhandled. He was incapable of grappling what was happening to him, unable to understand it. He let himself be overwhelmed by the wave of desire rippling through him.
In a flicker of sanity, he pushed Harry away, gasping for breath, bracing himself on his broad shoulders. Harry cradled him against his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Then he grabbed his face against and kissed him and kissed him. Those kissed heated and languorously sweet.
"Fuck, I missed you too," he whispered against his ear, peppering mind-blowing kisses along the muscle of his neck. His breath made Draco shiver, he closed his eyes.
In the heat of the kiss, his school robes had vanished and Draco was being pushed onto the bed and pinned underneath the bulk of Potter, legs spread to accommodate him. Draco's mind was in a frenzy, thoughts and feelings going haywire. Some part of him knew it was wrong but he was incapable of fighting it. His body wanted this, Ginevra had wanted this, he supposed, and there was little he could do now, even if he had wanted to.
Harry's hands were on his hips, grabbing his thin waist, exploring underneath his jumper, venturing underneath his cotton shirt. Draco felt his nipples harden, his breast tensing expectantly. He had forgone the bra, deeming it useless for the short amount of time he was going to spend in this body. They had seemed like a nightmare to transfigure and even more of a nightmare in trying to put them on. It wasn't like Weasley needed them anyway, her breast was small enough and perky.
He regretted it now, while Potter was ravishing his neck, glasses forgotten somewhere in the bundle of rumbled sheets, nibbling at the sensitive skin then, combing his fingers into his long hair, sending shivers down his spine. He had always been a little sensitive there, it seemed heightened tenfold in this body with Potter's rough pads stroking him worshipingly. Harry kissed him again, one hand holding his neck, the other gripping his waist, thumb sliding up and down his stomach, sending sparks of want and pleasure all over his body. He spread his legs a bit further apart, unconsciously, wanting Harry to touch him in places. He ached with the want of it, felt his sex burn feverishly and bubble with it, with the need to be touched. He wanted Potter's fingers to creep further up underneath his shirt and then slide down along his thigh, grab it, scratch it and grip it hard. He wanted those nimble fingers rough and possessive, creeping between his legs, stroking the inside of his thigh and find their way upward.
His hands ventured up Draco's stomach, hesitant, while his mouth kept kissing his neck. "Is this okay?" He whispered in his ear. Draco hummed and bit his bottom lip, arching in the sensation.
"Yes," he answered before he could think of the implication of it.
Harry's fingers slid up Draco's small chest and brushed his small breast. Then he sat up, eyes flaring, pupils growing wide and confused at the lack of underwear. "Gin?" He muttered breathily.
Draco propped himself on his elbows, licking his lips. His eyes went straight to the bulge in Potter's pants, visible even through the thick denim of his baggy jeans. He swallowed and his eyes didn't seem able to focus on one thing, vision blurry. Harry kissed him before Draco could make up his mind about this, heatedly, moaning into his mouth, their little tryst suddenly stepping up to the next level, the temperature in the room rising incredibly fast.
Draco was overwhelmed again before he kissed him back, sliding his tongue softly into his mouth, tasting him, making him his. Harry grabbed his hips and burrowed between Draco's legs. His fingers slid down his thighs and ventured up underneath his skirt. Draco was wearing his usual underwear. They had fitted, somehow, despite his much taller and wider body. His hips are thin, hers are curved, feminine and beautifully shaped. Transfiguring them into girl laces had seemed bothersome at the time and the last thing Draco had thought would happen when he prepared his little mischief, was anyone looking underneath his skirt. But Harry didn't seem to notice, he brushed his fingertips on the hem, breathing wildly into Draco's neck. His body was tense and trembling in Draco's embrace.
"Oh, Gin, fuck..." He whispered against his ear, a brush of lips igniting his entire body. "I want-- Can I...? Can we...?" He asked, a little desperately. "Fuck!"
Draco bit his lips, stopping himself from shouting yes in response. He wiggled, shifting under him, holding his shoulders. Not knowing what to do, letting it happen or pushing him away. Somehow he found his strength was gone, his will-power too. Potter's magic roared above him, buzzing, tingling. His kisses were messy and wet, rough with want and raw desire. Draco was only thinking of how much his body wanted Harry's fingers all over him, inside him. His sex ached with it, burnt with want. He was wet, seemingly. Not that he didn't know that thing happened to girls, it was just really weird to feel it happen to himself. And he was overwhelmed, powerless against Harry's slow and relentless rutting in the cradle of his body.
Harry was a little clumsy, to be honest. A bit hesitant and insecure in his touches. All Draco thought of it at the moment, however, was that it was utterly charming and it made him want to spread his legs even more, heady with the feeling of Potter on top of him, of his hard cock rutting against him. Of the want to be penetrated with that unrelenting hardness.
Maybe his hands, tangled at the base of Harry's nape, pulling him closer, told Harry so. Or maybe he whispered 'yes' at the tip of his tongue, while he arched and spreads his legs and whined at Harry biting his neck. Because his rough hands, purposeful and sure, grabbed his hips with strength and in a burst of wandless wordless magic, Draco's pants vanished and he gasped at the sensation, closing his eyes and slumping down on Harry's bed, at Harry's mercy.
There was a moment, suspended in the air, during which Harry stopped to look at him, at her. He was biting his lip, looking at him with a heated gaze, squinting without his glasses. His green eyes were hard, pinning Draco to the bed, inexorable. Draco shivered, and gasped, and lay down onto his bed, spreading his legs a little.
"Is this okay?" Harry asked. "Are you sure?" Draco nodded minutely, pressing his lips together, and before he could huff out a whispered 'yes' he was back on top of him, clutching his hips as if his life depended on it and wiggling between his legs, rubbing the hardness of his crotch against Draco's naked pubis. The latter gasped and let escape breath cries of pleasure, at the sensation, spikes of pleasure rushing up from between his legs to the base of his spine. He was caught by surprise at the intensity of it. Not in a million years, he would have imagined this. Such intense pleasure, such mind-blowing want. His orgasm at the tip of Harry's fingers.
He let the sounds escape his mouth, moans and gasps and cries of pleasure, sounding strange in his ear, unmistakably feminine. The sound of himself turning him on even more. "Harry," he breathed, begged.
"Oh fuck, Gin, I want you so badly. I've wanted you so - fucking - badly. I've missed you," Harry answered in a litany of words whispered against Draco's cheek and making him shiver at each utterance.
He wanted him to shut up, to forget that he wasn't talking to him, but to her. Just for a minute, he wanted to drown in rapture, in the intensity of that pleasure. Harry's hands explored his body wildly, bolder in his touches. He grabbed Draco's tits and brush the pad of his thumb on his nipple, drawing a cry out of him. Draco arched in the sensation, pleading for more.
Everywhere Harry was touching, Draco burnt with want and was consumed in pleasure. A new kind of pleasure. One that was both physical and mental, completely different from the mechanical act of jerking off, of the desperate need to empty himself. It was all about enjoying the moment as if it was his last.
Harry, Harry, Harry he kept calling, whining and gasping in pleasure. He wanted it. He wanted him inside him, in a new, foreign, but inexplicably intense way. He made this desire known by grabbing Harry's arse and pulling him flush between his legs. He was so wet that the bed was soaked with it.
Harry took the hint and a brush of his fingers down between Draco's legs was enough for him to know how ready Draco was for him. It made him stutter and groan against Draco's lips.
It was a clumsy, hurried thing but after a few trials, Potter had finally find the entrance and was slowly, very slowly pushing his cock inside Draco. While Draco was slowly, very slowly grasping the sensation of being filled, every nerve endings inside him burning with pleasure. He gasped and keened high in his throat, overwhelmed and powerless, choking on the sensation, eyes rolling up at the back of his hand. He was clinging desperately onto Harry's shoulders, sinking his nails into his skin, biting the inside of his own cheek. The slide wasn't easy, it hurt, but Harry was too far gone to stop and Draco was too far gone to try and stop him either. Part of him wanted him gone, but another part wanted to pull him deeper, to keep him here, forever.
"Is this okay? Are you okay?" Harry whispered, half-way in. Breath warm, tingling, sending goosebumps across Draco's skin. "Do you still want me to...?"
Draco rose his legs, using them to pull Harry closer. That was answer enough, apparently, because Potter resolutely resumed his little thrust.
His hand on the flat of Draco's stomach, he caressed him softly, pushing his hair out of his face and kissed him on the mouth. A loving, worshipping thing. "I'm going in," he said. "I'm pushing in." As if Draco had wanted every second of it whispered to him in the most shameful details.
He felt distracted for a moment, halfway gone somewhere in the meanders of his mind. Harry snapped him out of it with a sudden hard and deep thrust that had him cry out in pain, the noise strangled in his throat. He gasped, eyes flaring open, and closed them again, tears prickling at the corners.
Harry had collapsed on him, grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him better. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he whispered whiningly. And then, "thank you, thank you, thank you, Gin. I love you." And then. "You feel amazing." Draco curled his arms around his neck and pulled him close, wrapping his legs around his hips.
Harry started rutting inside him, little snaps of hips while his hard cock was seated deep inside Draco. It wasn't exactly unpleasant. There was a hint of pain at the touch but Draco was wet enough for Harry's prick to slide easily in and out of him. It felt good but it was nowhere as intense as it felt when Harry had touched him, when he was rubbing himself on top of him, between his legs. Draco didn't have time to analyze it though. He got lost in the sensation, chasing the friction between their bodies, feeling a hint of what he had felt before. His mind going blank with it, with the relentless thrusts and the soft caresses and the mindless words whispered in his ear. Draco was drunk on it, lost the notion of time and space, and then Harry started to fuck him harder, chasing in his own pleasure inside Draco. Inside Draco while his body was shaped into Ginevra Weasley, Harry's girlfriend.
It didn't last long after that, but it felt to him like they had done this for hours. Harry's thrusts turned wild and fast, his panting ragged. He finally jerked and then stilled, pushing his cock as deep as he could inside Draco, and then he shouted in pleasure before collapsing on top of him.
The suddenly realization of what he had done came down to him like a bucket of cold water. Harry was still rutting inside him, slowing down, going limp but not ready to slip out yet. He was clutching onto Draco, wrapping him in a strong embrace, peppering grateful kisses into his neck and on his cheeks, and on his mouth, whispering her name in as soft and raspy voice.
Draco didn't come. At least he didn't think he did. His sex was still swelled and wet with need but the want was gone. Instead the shame, the regret and the pain in his lower body welled up inside him and he felt his chest shake with a sob that he found really hard to keep in in this foreign body. He hid his face in his hand, trying to escape Harry's body above him.
Harry grabbed his wrists gently, sounding concerned. "Gin? Are you okay?"
Draco didn't answer, couldn't answer. The sob that escaped his mouth was answer enough, he supposed. His eyes prickled with tears, his vision blurred. He started weeping.
"I'm so sorry. Oh Gin, I'm so sorry." Harry had grabbed him and sat him up and he was now rocking him gently, stroking his hair. Draco felt something liquid flush out of him and realized a little later that it was Harry's cum and he hiccuped and retched in disgust.
Draco let Harry comfort him for a few minutes but the need to be out of here was too strong and so he finally found the strength to push him away, mumbling lowly. "I need to go."
Harry tries to catch his arm. "Wait, Gin. Please, We need to talk about this, please."
Draco kept his face turned away, pulling on his own arm. "Let me go, Harry, please," he pleaded.
Already he could feel the effect of the Polyjuice potion dissipating. One hour. It lasted only one hour. He pulled with more strength this time, heart beating fast in his chest. "I need to go," he whispered brokenly.
Harry let go and Draco started to walk away.
"Wait," Harry called. This time Draco turned back, regret swelling in his throat, threatening to choke him. Harry was holding out his school robes, the ones he had transfigured earlier, coloring them red and gold. He snatched them up from Potter's grasp and held them tight against him.
"Thank you," he said, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry," he added, tears blurring his vision. And then he ran away, heart in his throat and his clothes disheveled. He could feel Harry's cum trickle down his thighs and the lack of underwear like a cold breeze on his modesty.
He ran out of the boys' dormitory and the common room, stepped out of the fat lady's portrait and ran along the empty corridors. His legs were shaky and his body hurt. His heart was beating hard and wild and he panted breathlessly.
He just had the time to hide in an empty classroom before he transformed back into his own body. The shirt cracked and so did the fly of his skirt. He didn't even transfigure them back, just put on his robes, checking that his wand was still there. It would be horrendous if Harry found it in his room. His wand was there, safely holstered in his robes. Draco ran out of the empty classroom and headed to the dungeon.
Once inside the Slytherin quarters, Draco ignored the few people looking at him confusedly, bumped into Pansy's shoulder and didn't turn back and strode quickly into his room where he shredded his clothes away and jumped into the shower.
Harry's cum was drying on his thighs, Draco wiped it off and looked at it. It was smudged with blood and he gasped, shuddering in shame, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill out. She must have been a virgin, then. Draco swallowed a sob and turned the water on, erasing all traces of Potter on him.
Later on, after a few Scourgifys and a long long shower, Draco was on his bed, huddled into a fetal position, wearing soft cotton pyjamas. Pansy knocked on his door and drew the curtains of his bed.
"Draco," she muttered, clueless. "What's up with you?"
Draco didn't answer and swallowed very hard the sobs that threatened to escape him. Pansy climbed onto his bed, hand hovering hover him in an attempt of comfort.
"Draco what happened to you?" Her voice faltered, growing more and more concerned. Draco didn't answer. She wrapped her arms around him. "Merlin you're shaking!"
He could still feel Potter inside him, a phantom sensation. He let the tears flow out of him, burying his head on Pansy's lap.