Word Count: 585
Summary: There is something that Draco needs Harry to see.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
"There's something you need to see, Potter," Draco tells him, as he walks by Harry's place at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall as breakfast is ending.
Slytherin's table is largely empty.
"The nerve of that one!" Ron exclaims, as Harry stares after Draco confusedly.
"What was that about?" Hermione asks, watching Harry's eyes follow Malfoy.
"Who cares? Hey—Harry, where are you go—"
Hermione stops Ron by placing a hand over his, and they share a knowing look.
"I don't like it," Ron mutters.
I don't either, Hermione thinks.
Draco is rounding the corner at the head of the corridor when Harry exits the Great Hall. He speeds his steps to catch him, reaching out to grab the other Seventh Year's arm.
"Don't touch me!"
"You wanted to show me something. How can I see anything if you're running away?"
The accusatory tone is not lost on Draco.
"I'm not running anywhere," he insists, opening the door of an unused classroom and entering it without looking back.
Harry follows him. The door shuts behind him. It never occurs to him to worry about it, or to wonder much about what Malfoy wants. He wants too many things connected with Draco to care.
"You need to see something," Draco says again, biting his lip.
Oh, that's—"Well, what is it?" he asks, trying to sound as though he does not care.
Slowly, Draco removes his robes and allows them to drop to the floor.
"Malfoy, what are you—"
"Shut it. Just watch."
Draco removes his school blazer next and then loosens his tie, all the while locking his eyes with Harry's.
"You need to see."
"Wh—what do I need to see?"
In answer, Draco unbuttons his shirt and peels it off.
Harry's skin hums and his cock throbs at the sight of Malfoy's pale flesh and dusky, hardened nipples, but he still does not understand.
"There's more," Draco whispers.
Harry swallows. "I can see that," he says, dipping his gaze to the front of Malfoy's trousers. A lot more.
He always suspected that the Slytherin's arrogance was due to something other than his name.
"You need to see," Draco tells him, turning and presenting Harry with his back.
Unbidden, Harry replies, "Beautiful," and then shoves a fist into his mouth in horror at his admission.
Draco bows his head, and Harry thinks that he can hear the boy choking back a sob. "I'm not Marked."
What? Oh. Oh. No wonder—"But it could be . . . anywhere," Harry breathes out more than says, foolishly optimistic that Malfoy might—Yes!
Without turning around, Draco unbuckles his belt and whips it out of his trouser loops with a snapping sound before dropping it to the floor.
Harry is so hard that he almost sways. When Malfoy toes off his shoes and then pushes his trousers down around his ankles and steps out of them, Harry does sway, catching the edge of a desk for support. No y-fronts.
Malfoy is more than beautiful. He is perfect. His creamy skin is unblemished.
Socks, too, Harry thinks, and then remembers that he has not spoken. "S—socks, too," he stammers. "And turn around. I want to see you."
It would almost be a command if it were not so much a plea.
But Draco obeys him, and Harry gasps as the other boy's thick cock presents itself to him.
Oh, that's . . . so . . . I want—
"Do you see?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I see, Mal—Draco. I see," Harry says, taking a step forward. "But I want to feel."