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I’m just about to nod off when I hear footsteps from within the Gryffindor common room. The hour is late and every student should be in bed. I’d chastise the miscreant, but quite frankly I’ve lost the will. Over the years I’ve been slashed, I’ve been hexed, and I’ve been threatened with destruction—it grows tiring. Besides, it’s not like my lectures do any good.
I harrumph as I swing open. It’s the Chosen One sneaking out, which is nothing new. But his companion is. I peer down the dark corridor and watch the man approach from the shadows.
He’s blond and pale and Slytherin. All of them are rotten to the core, in my opinion. The man shoves Harry against the wall and I’m about to sound the alarm. But instead of hexing him, he leans in and kisses Harry roughly with great enthusiasm. The kiss is well-received if Harry’s moans are anything to go by. This is proving interesting...
“Fuck, Draco,” he calls out as this Draco fellow releases his lips and licks along Harry’s neck. He pauses briefly to nip at a tender spot behind Harry’s ear.
Just as quickly, Draco pulls away and beckons Harry to follow. Harry complies, trotting down the hallway in pursuit.
I decide to follow them... just to be sure Harry isn’t in trouble. I slip into Lord Bottomsworth’s portrait—he’s always asleep in his chair; it must be tiring to be that boring—and then into Viridian Vindictus’ portrait. I tell him to shove over and make room. He leaves in a strop, instead.
When I return my attention to the hallway, it’s Harry who’s in control. He’s got Draco pressed against the wall with his arms pinned overhead. Harry’s undulating, and I can’t see what’s happening on account of those dratted robes, but Draco seems to like it. He hisses, and when Harry tilts his head to the side, I can see him smirk in a very non-Gryffindor way.
Now, I’m no prude. I once had a thing going with Sir Cadogan, after all. Of course, he now spends all his spare time with that milkmaid. Not that I’m bitter.
“Not here, someone might see,” Draco says, pushing Harry away.
“So let them see,” Harry growls, pushing him back against the wall. “Who’d believe someone saying they saw the two of us together?”
I can’t hear whatever response Draco has to that because his mouth is covered by Harry’s once more. It seems like some amount of grinding is going on again, and I can’t see one of Harry’s arms so I can only assume it’s slipped underneath those awfully convenient robes. This time, Draco’s hands are free and he is obviously using them to great effect, based on the noises Harry’s making.
Eventually, Draco tears free. “Be that as it may,” he pants, “I would much rather have you in a bed than against a mouldy stone wall.”
I take offense to that mouldy remark! I’ve seen how hard Mr. Filch works at assigning students to keep the walls mildew-free!
Harry grumbles but reluctantly releases him, and hand-in-hand they continue down the corridor.
I can’t help myself; I follow. Harry’s clearly not in danger, but I could use a little nighttime adventure to spice things up. It gets boring staying in one spot, hearing the same password repeated ad nauseam. Why do you think I change it so often?
I slide into the Troll Tapestry—ugh, Trolls are so smelly—just in time to see the pair slip into the Room of Requirement. I catch a glimpse just as the door shuts: there’s a giant gilded four-poster bed with black silk sheets, piled high with a mountain of plush silver and gold pillows. The Room’s gone all out for them.
It’s not common knowledge, but I happen to know there’s a portrait inside the room. Unfortunately, it’s charmed, so only former Headmasters and Headmistresses may enter. But I’d be willing to bet Dilys Derwent is in there right now, pervy old cow. Not that I’m jealous or anything.
But I’ll have to stop by her painting in the morning. She loves to spill the tea.