Invisible Git
Harry looked around, then carefully pulled How to Get a Killer Animagus Form from the shelf. He opened to page 88, his heart already hammering in anticipation.
There was a note. Harry’s fingers traced the folded edges of it, his eyes falling shut at the smooth parchment, so unlike the kind he always ordered from Scrivenshaft’s. It even smelled different—there were flecks of green herbs pressed into the soft paper.
Harry put the book back in its place and unfolded the note, his shoulders curling in as if to hide it from the rest of the world, though there was no one near him.
I’m here, it read. And that was all.
Harry frowned, confused, but then he felt the ghost of a touch against his lower back. He spun around, clutching the note in his hand, but there was no one there.
The touch came again, this time to his belly, just below his navel, above the waistband of his trousers. He shivered, his eyes fluttering.
“Draco?” he mouthed, not even a whisper.
No reply came, but then the air changed and Harry felt that ghosting touch against his back again—invisible hands trailing down his spine, his thighs. Turning back up and caressing his waist, the sides of his ribs, making him shudder with want.
The invisible hands pulled him back, and Harry’s back pressed against another chest, the scent of Draco’s magic filled Harry’s nose and he barely withheld a moan as Draco’s hands curled around him, one over his belly and another over his chest, keeping him pinned to Draco as Draco’s breath ghosted over Harry’s neck.
“You took my cloak,” Harry murmured, his head falling back. “You’re a dirty thief.”
The only response he got was a quiet, smug laugh. Which was really just so like Draco.
It had only taken two weeks of sharing a room with Malfoy at the start of Eighth Year for him to figure out the unlocking combination for Harry’s trunk ward and start making himself at him with Harry’s cloak. It had taken three weeks, by comparison, for them to get into a fight that began with Malfoy punching Harry and ended with Harry kissing him.
Draco’s invisible hands drifted lower, palming Harry through his trousers. Harry pressed his hips forward, aching for contact, and Draco popped the button and slid his hand inside, expertly navigating Harry’s pants and wrapping his fingers around Harry’s prick.
Harry bit his lip nearly ‘til it bled to keep from making noise. He was already breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring with each out-breath. Draco began stroking him, his thumb catching the head and rubbing the slick pre-come all around.
Harry’s thighs quivered, he leant against Draco for support, and Draco mouthed at his neck as he held Harry up with one hand and worked his cock with the other.
Everything was getting brighter, more vivid, and that toe-curling feeling was starting up in his lower belly. Harry’s hips pressed into Draco’s hand with short, rugged thrusts. He turned his head, catching Draco’s mouth in a searing kiss, feeling his orgasm getting closer and closer.
Draco gave a little twist and that was it, Harry was going to—
Draco pulled his hand out, pressed it to the front of Harry’s trousers as if to still it.
“Wha—what?” Harry murmured. “I was—”
Draco snickered against his ear, licked a trail up from his shoulder back to his ear.
“See you after class,” Draco murmured, and then he was gone.
Harry stood there in the middle of the aisle, panting, his cock up like a bloody flagpole. His senses slowly returned to him. He narrowed his eyes.
“You absolute git,” he muttered to the empty air. “Just you wait until tonight.”