lazy_daze

If anyone's feeling a bit fandomly jaded, go here and realise that the fandom loff is around and strong and hey, chip in your own two cents (why is there not an English equivalent of that saying? Or is there and I am being dumb :-? chip in your own 2p?) of how you want fandom to be better. I think we should just turn a blind eye to the inevitable wankery in a fandom this size and DON'T LET IT BOTHER YOU. Read your favourite fic when everything starts to suck, it makes me feel better :D :D

And hp_art_daily looks like an invaluable fanart resource :D so if you like fanart, and who doesn't in this sexcellently talented fandom? you should friend it for all the best recs. Yay for bzzinglikeneon and fiendling!

The poll insisted I should wear my cord blazer today. However, I defy the poll and will wear the new dark blue denim blazer I bought yersterday :D and it was a hard choice for the computer names...I loved Hazel's suggestion of 'Tudor diffuse fuggy', and Marks' Larry Hotter :)), but...the one that earned the biggest snort was anjaliesque's The Professor, for some reason. So The Professor it is!

And a while ago krissielee issued a challenge and the image of fluteplayer!Draco struck a bizarre chord, so I wrote a smutfic for her! omg I wrote smut O_o o_O

And I cannot think of a title so this is Fluteplayer!Draco (Hey, if it worked for Aspen ;)), NC-17 to be in the safe side, 1731 words. I wrote it straight into Word without writing it on paper first! That's a milestone. I don't know what it quite signifies, but it's a first :D

Unbetad so I apologise for typos and the like :)



Harry took to wandering the school corridors in seventh year – his mind was too full to sleep. Sirius, the prophecy – it was all too much, and he couldn’t shut his thoughts off at night.

He was somewhere up near 6th floor one night in October, in a corridor far from any offices or common rooms, when he heard it – a faint strain of music. It wavered in and out of his hearing, and something about it filled Harry with an indefinable feeling – he had to hear more.

He carefully moved in the direction of the music, and a smile stole over his face as the music grew stronger. It gave him a feeling of warmth and peace that he hadn’t felt in...months.

He followed the sound to a small, dark door hidden in an alcove – a thin chink of light showed where the door was left ajar, and Harry couldn’t resist putting an eye to the opening – and what he saw made his jaw drop in surprise.

The image was bizarrely incongruous – Draco Malfoy, who he’d come to associate with much of the bad stuff in his life – hate and anger and frustration – was sitting on a stool in the centre of the room, half in Harry’s line of vision, playing an ornate silver flute.

The gorgeous melody flowed softly from it, and Draco’s eyes were closed in blissful concentration as he played. His fingers moved swiftly and surely over the instrument, hair almost silver in the dim candlelight that filled the room, and Harry was enthralled.

He watched for what seemed like hours, becoming more and more sleepy and peaceful until he was so tired he could barely hold his eyes open – and he wandered back to Gryffindor tower as the first streaks of dawn silvered the horizon and he slept, slept properly for the first time in weeks.

He watched Malfoy the next morning at breakfast as discreetly as he could. He’d been surprisingly quiet this year, not insulting Harry or his friends – or indeed talking to anyone. He simply melted into corners, and Harry wondered just how much his father being in Azkaban had affected him. Harry was confused – he didn’t like the bastard, and he wasn’t going to forget in a hurry just how he’d been for the past 5 years – but there was something about that image of Draco playing the flute, face softened of its familiar malicious expression, the soft silver blond glow of his hair, that stayed with Harry and niggled at him, like a loose tooth.

And that night, Harry knew he’d go looking for Draco again, even as he tossed and turned and tried to sleep –he gave in eventually and headed for the room, the sound of the flute melody as he approached soothing a headache he didn’t even know he had.

It was a different tune that night, more melancholy than the peaceful one of the night before, and some unnamed emotion tightened in Harry’s throat.

He looked in again through the gap and watched as Draco played again, entranced by the play of light on his hair and sparking off the flute, until suddenly Draco stopped and with a sigh bowed his head. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he’d pulled off his cloak, pushed open the door and walked into the room, saying hastily, “no, don’t stop, it was lovely...please...”

He trailed off as Draco’s head shot up, expression shuttering instantly. He looked at Harry blankly, then twisted his mouth into a sneer. “What are you doing here, Potter? Piss the fuck off.”

“No – I’m sorry, I just...keep playing. Please, it was lovely. It...calms me.”

Draco looked as if he were about to retort with some spiteful comment, then thought the better of it. He looked at Harry inscrutably, then slowly raised the flute again, not taking his eyes off Harry. They then fluttered closed as he began to play, lips pursing and the music playing again and Harry smiled in contentment.

At first he was happy to sit on another stool and watch, watch the play of concentration and emotion over Draco’s surprisingly expressive face, let the haunting melody relax him – but soon it didn’t seem enough. He watched the delicate dance of Draco’s long fingers over the shining silver flute, and the swing of his hair over his face, and the movement of his mouth as he played, and a strange nervous energy filled him.

Draco must have noticed Harry’s change in mood, as he opened his eyes and looked at Harry again. There was a subtle change in atmosphere and suddenly Harry’s heart beat in excitement, and it didn’t matter that it was Draco Malfoy, rival and enemy, looking at him, it just mattered that his lips were pink and eyes dark with promise, grey staring into green, and all the time the melody played and played until Harry didn’t know if he was dreaming or awake.

Harry couldn’t help himself as he watched, as if in a trance, his hand reach out and stroke softly down the side of Draco’s face.

The music faltered as Draco drew in a shuddering gasp, and suddenly they were both leaning forward until their lips touched softly.

There was a infinitesimal, terrifying pause, then suddenly Draco dropped the flute with a clatter and brought his hands up to grab the back of Harry’s head and press their mouths closer together.

Harry kept himself from whimpering with a superhuman effort as Draco’s tongue pushed into his mouth, and he responded enthusiastically, sliding his own tongue against Draco’s...but the silence suddenly seemed deafening and everything suddenly seemed wrong – the voice that had been trying to tell him this is Malfoy! Your enemy! A *boy!* was screaming louder and louder at him, and he pulled back in a panic.

Malfoy looked at him, slight frown easing as he realised what was wrong – he pulled out his wand from his robe pocket and murmured softly ‘Musicalis.’

The soft flute melody that had been playing earlier filled the air again, and the same strange exciting atmosphere came back.

Harry’s worries fell away as the music became louder, and, as before, it didn’t matter that it was Malfoy anymore – he wanted this, and it felt good, so he kissed Draco again, soft then hard. Draco made a small noise, and Harry wanted more – more warmth, more skin, more closeness – and he moved closer, legs straddling Draco’s waist so he was on Draco’s lap, sliding his hands slowly up under Draco’s crisp tailored white shirt. Goosebumps shivered over Draco’s skin at the touch, and he made a louder noise, groaning into Harry’s mouth and ravishing it further with his enthusiastic tongue, their mouths opening and closing hungrily against each other. Draco’s hips bucked up into Harry’s and Harry’s eyes rolled back at the friction.

He drew back and, with a flurry of activity, pulled Draco’s shirt off over his head, then leant down to lick at the pale skin – it was warm and slightly salty under his tongue. Draco gasped as Harry mouthed, licked and then bit lightly at the tightened nipples, and tangled his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling him up to assault his mouth again.

Their hips bucked and rubbed together in a dizzying rhythm, and Harry had to break away with a moan and rest his head on Draco’s shoulder. Draco turned his head and lightly nipped at Harry’s earlobe, and Harry closed his eyes tightly and shivered as the sensations overwhelmed him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that the music had gone from the haunting and vaguely melancholy tune that had originally been playing to a stirring and passionate one, and it fortified the arousal flooding his body until he couldn’t stop himself from sliding off Draco’s lap, kneeling on the floor and unbuckling Draco’s belt.

He took Draco into his mouth tentatively – he didn’t know exactly what to do, all he knew was that he wanted to make Draco feel as good as he did – and judging by the noises Draco was making as Harry sucked – hesitantly at first, then more confidently – it was working just fine. He ran his tongue up and down Draco’s length, savouring the bitter salty taste that wasn’t entirely pleasant but was wholly erotic.

The groans and whimpers of need Draco was making, combined with the music that was only getting louder – Harry could swear he could hear other instruments than the flute playing – made the most amazing sound Harry had ever heard.

Draco made an urgent noise in his throat and pulled Harry back up before Harry was faced with a mouthful of come, so they were face to face again. They kissed harshly again, Harry sharing the sharp musky tang with Draco, who moved his hands to Harry’s arse and pulled Harry hard against him. Their hips rolled together and Harry pulled desperately at his own pyjama bottoms with a gasp until bare skin was against skin, their erections sliding against each other with an erotic intensity of feeling that was almost painful.

Harry didn’t even attempt to hold back his groans as they moved together more and more desperately – Draco’s own moans were getting louder and louder as the rhythm was lost in haphazard movement as they writhed against each other until, with a white-hot burst of light behind his eyelids, Harry came, wet warmth spreading into his hastily pulled aside clothes. Draco was still tense and shuddering so, still riding out the aftershocks, Harry moved his hand down between them and gripped Draco’s hardness – one quick stroke and Draco was spilling into Harry’s hand with a grunt as the music around them rose to a crescendo that ended with a crash of cymbals...then fading back to the soft flute melody as Harry and Draco collapsed, trembling, against each other.

They slowly cleaned themselves up, not speaking; until Draco burst out, - “Pot...Harry...”

“Shush,” said Harry softly, “don’t make this into anything it doesn’t need to be. I wanted it – you wanted it – isn’t that enough?”

Draco looked at him with an almost sad expression on his face. “Okay. But...will we...is this going to happen again?”

Harry smiled. “I don’t know...I’ll just have to listen out for you, one of these nights.”


(A/N: the ‘musicalis’ spell gacked from LUW with much love. I hope that’s OK.)

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