
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1644488.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Hermione_Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Mild_Language, Accidental_Voyeurism, Male_Slash, Dirty_Talk, Frottage,
      Blow_Jobs, Panties, Power_Dynamics
  Series:
      Part 4 of 12_Days_of_Christmas
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-17 Words: 829
****** Can't Be Unseen ******
by Twisted_Mind
Summary
     On the 4th day of Christmas I give you . . . curiosity that killed
     the cat. So to speak.
Notes
     Originally posted Dec 17th 2012 at HP Fandom as a gift. Edited upon
     re-posting here.
     Disclaimer: I'm not JKR, I don't own, please don't sue. (Because
     Draco would pay the best barrister in England to fight and win my
     case for me anyway.)
Hermione was an inquisitive witch—it was one of the many reasons that she
excelled academically. Unfortunately, her curiosity was a character trait and
not an academic habit, and as such, it sometimes caused her grief. Usually when
she was “being nosey”, as her friends liked to say.

But right now, she wasn’t being nosey—she was simply concerned. For Harry,
which made her concern all the more justified, because really? Harry had never
been able to keep out of trouble for any length of time. Ever. She wasn’t sure
he was capable of it.

So when he started acting strangely a few weeks ago, Hermione’s attention had
been instantly drawn. Unfortunately, he was being . . . well, Harry, and had
only given vague, evasive answers. In short, he drove her to it.

Hermione snitched the Marauder’s Map from his trunk, and kept one eye on it
that night as she did her homework. When she saw the dot labelled “Harry
Potter” descend the stairs, she rolled her neck, darting a glance at the spiral
staircase. She didn’t see anything.

Using the Invisibility cloak, huh? Nice try, Harry, she thought to herself.
Waiting until Neville entered the portrait hole—and thereby allowing Harry to
slip out—Hermione knew that she’d have to be careful, or she’d be caught. She
worked on her essay a few minutes longer, before packing up her things and
announcing that she was heading to the library. Ron rolled his eyes good-
naturedly, but otherwise, no one paid her much attention. Perfect.

Once in the halls, Hermione pulled out the map and trailed her friend from a
safe distance. She had to duck into an abandoned classroom to avoid Peeves, but
other than that, she made good time—Harry would only have arrived about ten
minutes before her. Hermione wasn’t surprised that Harry was in the Room of
Requirement—it made sense, given that he was searching for a secure place to do
. . . whatever it was he was up to. She started pacing back and forth, thinking
about how she needed to know what Harry was doing.

When the door materialized in front of her, Hermione stepped through, fully
prepared to unleash a flurry of righteous indignation on her friend for his
secretive—and likely dangerous—behaviour. Instead, what she saw stunned her
into absolute silence—and made her blood rush to her cheeks.

Draco Malfoy was kneeling on the floor with his face buried in Harry’s lap.
Harry was leaning back against the sofa, his legs splayed, his head back, and
his hands fisted in the distinctive white-blond hair. Stiffening, he let out a
long, low moan, before he released his grip on the Slytherin. The blond pulled
back, and carefully tucked her friend’s cock back into his pants, before
turning pleading grey eyes on Harry.

“Please? I’ve been good,” he almost whispered, need staining his voice.

“Mm, you have,” Harry murmured into agreement, helping the other man up from
the floor. “In that case, you can come,” a stunning smile lit Malfoy’s face,
“but only if you can rut your way there,” Harry finished, pulling the blond
down to straddle his leg.

Malfoy moaned, shifting so that his knees were braced against the seat of the
sofa, his hands clamped on the top of the sofa back. Once he had, he began
shifting, sliding his cock—still trapped in his trousers—against Harry’s leg.
With no little encouragement from her friend, Hermione noticed.

“That’s it, Draco—rub yourself against my leg, like the shameless whore you
are,” Harry whispered hotly, before licking the blond’s neck and eliciting a
small moan. “Come on, rock those pretty hips, and imagine the burn of me
sliding into your arse,” Malfoy let out a deep, wrenching moan, and sped his
thrusting, “Splitting you open and driving in deep. I want you to picture it,
and then I want you to cream those pretty silk knickers.”

To his credit, Malfoy did exactly as Harry ordered—he arched and shuddered his
way through his orgasm, before collapsing bonelessly against Harry’s chest.
Harry—who cradled the other man to him, with his hands running up and down his
back in long, smooth strokes. Harry then turned to Hermione, and—looking
straight into her eyes—smirked.

Hermione fled.

She ran, with damp knickers and a tell-tale stain on her cheeks, because that
smirk told her that Harry had known the whole time that she’d been there,
watching. She ran, not bothering to check the Map and make sure that she
wouldn’t get caught, because she just didn’t care. And when she finally made it
back up to Gryffindor Tower, she kept right on running until she was in her
dorm room, with her bed curtains spelled shut around her.

But mostly she ran because after seeing that, she knew that she could never
unsee it, and she was quite certain that image of those two boys together was
indelibly, deliciously burnt into her brain.




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