𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Crup-tion of the Not-So-Innocent (2/2)

Crup-tion of the not-so-innocent Part 2 of 2

It didn’t take long to fall into a new routine. He ‘slept’ in the Slytherin common room, changing back and sneaking into his own bed once Malfoy had retired, ate breakfast early every day, and then pretended to have been lazing under one of the chairs when Malfoy came to find him. He got a second breakfast because Malfoy was a pushover who would surrender the crispiest bacon rashers after only a minute’s whimpering on Harry’s part. But the best part of Harry’s day was the ten minute slot each morning during which he got to watch Malfoy, with his wandering and copiously soapy hands, take his shower. And there was no hiding any more; he was right out in the open, running through the jets of water and larking about while Malfoy washed himself and laughed at his antics. Sometimes in the afternoons Harry wanted to wee on Malfoy’s leg just so he’d have another shower, but he decided that such a course of action was fraught with dangers, like being banished outdoors or not given any more tummy-but-almost-close-to-testicles rubs.

The more Malfoy laughed the more Harry came to realise that what he was doing was a bit shitty, but he did his best to bury the nasty feeling in his gut under a vast quantity of porcine meat products and in the hazy pleasure of lots of ear scratching. And then there were the showers, which he couldn’t face sacrificing for a bit of pointless honesty and moral fibrosity.

Within a few days of the new one-man-and-his-Crup routine McGonagall pulled Harry to one side to skirt around the subject of what he was playing at. She reminded him very forcefully that Malfoy was living at the school for protection, and that such protection included dangers from within as well as the vengeful masses outside. He responded cautiously, saying that Malfoy seemed to be happier when he saw him in the dormitory, and that surely couldn’t be considered a bad thing, could it? She managed to make her tutted reply sound both stern and threatening, and Harry almost crumbled in the face of her challenge. It was only by biting the inside of his cheek that he managed to hold back on the sort of promises that would drain all the fun out of his Animagus experience.

Fulfilling his end of the original bargain, Harry did not crap indoors because the smell, you know, not to mention the accidental twin-tail soiling and the smell. Refraining from chewing stuff, however, was a much more difficult task. Chair legs were particularly tasty as were the fireside brasses in the Slytherin common room. He grew comfortably accustomed to Malfoy smacking him on the nose and shouting, Bad Crup!, and worried that if things carried on in this vein between then he’d be like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and the only way he’d get an erection in his human form would be if Malfoy chastised him similarly. He could almost imagine the scene in his head:

“Take me, Harry. I’m stretched and lubed and ready for your fully formed and nicely separated trouser package.”

“Er, give me a minute. I’m almost ready…”

“Come here and let me do that for you, my love. I can’t wait to get my perfectly-manicured and dirty-work-shy hands on you.”

~shuffle-stroke-fondle-suck~

~more ultimately pointless sucking and fondling~

“Um, sorry, Mal-Draco. I think I ate a bit too much bacon today. I’m feeling overweight and unattractive.”

“Oh, for … You really are the limit! Get on this bed now!”

“Okay, but I don’t see what good it’ll-”

~SMACK!~ “Bad Harry!”