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“By the way, the Kristoffersons will be coming to visit next Friday and Saturday.”
Draco's heart sank at his father's words. He had just arrived home after his first year at Hogwarts. He was already feeling wretched from having the House Cup snatched away at the last minute and now this. However, he schooled his expression and said, “Yes, Father.”
The Kristoffersons had first visited when Draco was seven years old. Draco had immediately taken a disliking to the Kristoffersons' son Nathanial, who was four years older than Draco. The two boys had been snide to each other until things came to a head in one massive argument. In later years Draco couldn't remember what they had argued about. The other boy had been insufferable, and Draco, of course, believed that he should get his own way. He had stomped his foot, yelled, and threatened to tell his father about this.
At that, Nathanial had pounced in Draco, trapping him in a corner of the room. “You're such a brat, Draco,” he'd growled.
For a moment Draco wondered if Nathanial would hit him or hex him, but instead he started squeezing Draco's sides.
Draco had screamed. He was indescribably ticklish. When he was little, his mother had tickled him a little, but that was always short, light, and playful. This was drowning in inescapable sensation. No matter how he turned or pushed there were hands honing in on his sensitive torso.
The tipping point came when Draco made the mistake of lifting his arms up in an attempt to push the older boy away. Nathanial had taken the opportunity to stick his hands in Draco's armpits and scribble in them. Draco clamped his arms down as tightly as possible, but this only trapped the tickling under his arms. It was so overwhelming that Draco's accidental magic lashed out and threw Nathanial across the room.
Both of their fathers had entered the room in time to see both Nathanial tickling Draco and Draco's accidental magic. Mr. Kristofferson scowled at Draco.
“I didn't mean to!” Draco cried, but his pride made him add, “But I'm glad I did. Father, did you see what he dared to do to me?”
Mr. Kristofferson swallowed and reluctantly said to Draco's father, “I claim some responsibility. It is obvious that Nathanial...pushed the boy.”
Mr. Kristofferson continued to give his son a talking to, but he was obviously displeased with Draco.
Draco's father took him aside and explained that the Kristoffersons were a very wealthy, important, and powerful family. It was important for them to make the Kristoffersons like them, and that meant Draco could not antagonize Nathanial. Draco reluctantly promised his father to be nice to Nathanial. Nathanial glared at Draco as his father led him out of the room.
From that moment on, Nathanial tickled Draco whenever he found the opportunity.
It was really indecent how obsessed Nathanial was with tickling. He researched and even created tickling spells and learned how to cast them both wandlessly and non-verbally. He brewed tickling potions and powders, transfigured items into tickling tools, and cursed items. Having him in one's home was a nightmare.
Through experience Draco learned that when his father said he mustn't antagonize Nathanial, he actually meant that Draco had to suffer through anything Nathanial did to him without complaint or retaliation.
The Kristoffersons visited at least once a year. Sometimes they saw each other more often. Each time Draco knew he could look forward to more tickling.
After his first year at Hogwarts, Draco would prefer to just sulk. Unfortunately, it was not to be.
xxx
Draco stood by his mother and father as Mr. Kristofferson and Nathanial stepped out of the floo. Mr. Kristofferson was as imposing as ever. At fifteen Nathanial was even taller than he had been last time Draco has seen him.
“Greetings, Pascal! Welcome to our home. How are you?” Draco's father said.
“We are very well. And you?” Mr. Kristofferson replied.
Draco remained still and silent as the adults exchanged pleasantries. When they were embroiled deeply enough in conversation that he knew his attention was no longer required, he turned to Nathanial.
“Hello, Nathanial,” he said expressionlessly.
“Hello, Draco.” Nathanial seemed pleased to see him. He probably was pleased to be back with his tickle toy.
Finally, the fathers and sons moved to the sitting room to entertain the Kristoffersons before dinner. While Nathanial was old enough to contribute to the conversation, Draco was still young enough to remain silent unless spoken to.
Predictably, half way through the conversation, Draco felt a feather brush the instep of his right foot.
Draco bit his lip, aware of how undignified such an action was for one of his station. Nathanial had cast some sort of spell on him already. Draco tried to smooth out his expression as the feather -- spell -- continued to slowly trace his sole. Mr. Kristofferson was speaking and Draco's father nodded. Nathanial was smirking at Draco.
The tip of a quill began scratching at Draco's left heel, and he swallowed a whimper. He knew he should be paying attention to the adults, but it took all of his concentration not to react to the tickling on his feet.
He tried to discretely rub his foot on the floor, but it did no good. Draco's father sent him a disapproving glance before returning his gaze to Mr. Kristofferson. Draco's breath was becoming shorter and shallower. He clutched his hands together and his toes wiggled wildly within his shoes as a second feather brushed up and down the arch of his left foot.
“Fa-father, may I be excu-hused, please?” Draco asked.
“No, Draco. Sit still and pay attention,” Draco's father snapped.
Draco tried. Oh, how he tried. But he couldn't help shifting and squirming in his seat as the tickling went on unabating. He began waving his feet about in a useless attempt to escape the feathers.
When one of the feathers on his right foot began to saw under his toes, Draco broke. He began giggling.
“Draco, stop this! You are embarrassing me!” Draco's father said.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Kristofferson asked.
“I heeeheehee cahan't help ihihihit! I'm sohohohorry! Eeeheeehee!” Draco giggled.
Now that Draco had disgraced himself, Nathanial canceled the spell and the tickling stopped. Draco sighed in relief.
Despite their insistence of ignoring any wrong-doing on Nathanial's part, both fathers were quite used to his actions. Neither adult seemed confused about what had happened. Draco's father simply sighed and said, “Behave, Draco." Then he returned to the conversation.
Nathanial's smile promised more tickling in the near future.
xxx
At dinner Nathanial sat beside Draco and tickled his knees whenever he could. At first Draco tried to pull Nathanial's hands away, but after his mother chided him, he switched to wringing his napkin. Draco was relieved that he'd gotten off so light. Once when he was nine, Nathanial had put a tickle spell on him during dinner that left him a sobbing mess, curled up under the table. Worse, he hadn't stopped the tickling when the adults were forced to react to the situation.
Still, he'd rather not be tickled at all during dinner. And the fact that Nathanial hadn't done anything worse was beginning to make him paranoid. What big attack was Nathanial planning?
Just one more day and he'll be gone, Draco thought. It was becoming a mantra.
xxx
The next morning Nathanial visited Draco's rooms. He sauntered over to where Draco was reading a Quidditch magazine on his sofa.
“I've created a new potion that I wish to test,” he said cheerfully.
“I'm not going to willingly drink that!” Draco protested. How stupid did Nathanial think he was? (Ok, he'd fallen for a similar ruse one time. Just one! And he'd been eight years old!)
“If you don't, I'll tell my father that you're being a belligerent and rude host, and he'll declare a feud against your father,” Nathanial retorted smugly.
Draco was very tempted to simply tell Nathanial to bugger off anyway, but he remembered the talk his father always gave him about the Kristoffersons. He held out a shaking hand for the potion.
He still hesitated for several seconds. Was he really about to do this to himself? But Nathanial cleared his throat, and he downed the raspberry flavored potion.
Nathanial conjured a clipboard and quill. “Now, you must report your experience to me clearly and accurately. Leave nothing out,” he said in a mocking voice.
“I don't feel anything,” Draco said sullenly, hoping against hope that this meant the potion wasn't working.
Nathanial merely smiled and scribbled something on the clipboard.
At first Draco thought it might just be his imagination. Slowly but surely a tingling shiver was creeping over his entire body. He pretended to read his magazine and ignored the sensation and Nathanial, who was still staring at him.
Something...a hair, a feather, maybe a finger?...ghosted on his neck. He rubbed at his skin, ignoring the goosebumps breaking out all over his body, and kept his eyes on the magazine. Was it possible to hear another person smirking at you? He hoped he had half the effect on Potter that Nathanial had on him.
A finger ran down his side, and he cried out, dropping his magazine. Well, his parents weren't around, so there was no need to try and hide his reactions. He glared at Nathanial.
“So does it actually feel like someone is tickling you? Like a tickling charm? Is it getting worse?” Nathanial asked eagerly.
About halfway through these questions, feathers started lightly teasing Draco's back, and this time they weren't stopping. Draco giggled and wiggled around. “Yehehehehes! It's tihihihickling mehehehe. Can I hahahahahave the anti-antidohohohote now?”
“Oh, there isn't an antidote. It should wear off. Eventually. I'm not sure how long, exactly. That's part of why I needed to have you test it.”
“WHAT?!” Draco yelled. This was partly because of Nathanial's words (really, he shouldn't be surprised by this point) and partly because feather light tickling had resumed and continued on his sides in addition to the back tickling.
Draco hugged himself and rubbed his back against the sofa. “Heeheeeheeheehee! How lohohong has it been? Oooo, not thehehere!”
“About a minute.”
“Nohohohoho!” Draco tried to groan. It was already driving him mad.
Feathers began playing on his stomach and neck, and he started laughing in earnest. “Heeheeheehee! It tihihihickles! Nathahahahahaniahal!”
More feathers joined on Draco's ears and the bridge of his nose. Draco shook his head and batted his hands around in a desperate attempt to make it stop. What he was most worried about, however, was how the feathers on his sides seemed to go higher with every stroke up.
Draco felt something soft enter his belly button. More feathers lightly teased his hips. “HEEEEEheeheehee!”
The tickling on his back wasn't as noticeable now. Maybe it was finally wearing off. Either that or it was simply overwhelmed by the other places being tickled. Draco rolled off the sofa and wiggled on the floor. He covered his face in an attempt to protect his nose and his shoulders were scrunched all the way up to his ears. “Thahahahat's enohohohohough!”
“Sorry, Draco. I don't have any control over this.” Nathanial watched the younger boy's reactions proudly.
“Hohohow much lohohohonger? No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!” Draco's voice rose to an impossibly high pitch as the feathers now began to stroke his armpits. Those were his most ticklish spots.
“It's been five minutes now.”
“PLEEHEEHEEHEEASE! STOHOHOHOHOP! MY FAHAHAHATHER!” Tears poured out of Draco's eyes.
His experience with Nathanial and his own pragmatism made him acknowledge that he wasn't completely desperate yet, but he was still frightened. Were these feathers going to tickle him for hours and hours until the potion worked its way out of his system?
“OHOHOHO MEHEHERLIN! HEEHEEEEEEE! ACHOO!” A sneeze made its way through the laughter as the tickling on his nose continued. Draco wondered if this is what it would feel like to be dropped into an ocean of wiggling feathers.
The tickling never went beyond light strokes, and it remained in his upper body, but it was relentless. Draco's feet scrabbled on the floor. His hands switched from fruitlessly trying to protect himself to clutching the carpet to resignedly hugging himself. He rolled over and over and nuzzled his face on the carpet.
The gentle tickling flooded his mind. He couldn't think through it. He knew he couldn't stand those feathers under his arms another second, yet they continued to stroke and tease. Oddly enough, the other unbearable part was the nose tickling. Something about it was so agonizing that it shot straight through his head and couldn't even let him laugh in peace.
Through it all Nathanial's interest didn't waver. Draco thought he'd get bored for sure, but he stared at Draco and enjoyed every second of his torment.
Finally, though, the potion began to wear off. The strokes slowed down and became less tickly. Then they disappeared one by one until it was just two feathers barely touching his armpits. And even these faded, leaving only goosebumps and that shivery sensation.
“Well, that was weaker than it should have been. It wore off much more quickly than I thought it would, and I don't think it was tickling you as intensely as it should have either. I'll have to change the recipe,” Nathanial complained.
As Draco lay on the floor recovering from the experience, Nathanial left, muttering potions ingredients under his breath.
xxx
That afternoon, Nathanial burst back into Draco's room and shouted, “Draco, guess what? Our fathers have more business they need to take care of, so I'll be staying for another week!”
Draco ran screaming from the room.
The End for now