"What do you want, Potter?" Harry pressed his ear against the door. "To make sure you're all right. Can I come in?" Malfoy didn't reply, but a few seconds later he unlocked the door and threw it open. "Do I look all right?" He had showered and dressed, and his eyes weren't red anymore. "Yeah, but—" "See, this is why I didn't want to be around you earlier. You feel bad that my father is dead, so you're going to try to comfort me, maybe hold my hand a little—" "All I wanted to do was make sure that you're okay," Harry said. "That's all." "I'm okay," Malfoy said bluntly. "So why aren't you leaving?" Harry made an exasperated noise. "Malfoy, look—" "Are you going to try to comfort me, Potter? Kiss it, make it better?" "Malfoy . . . " "I don't want comforting, Potter." "Fine!" Harry snapped. "Fine. You don't want comforting. I get it." And then, because clearly he no longer possessed a brain, he said, "What do you want?" At first Malfoy looked as if he badly wanted to tell Harry to fuck off, but then his expression shifted. "Come here, Potter." Harry should have known to be wary, and yet he stepped forward. Malfoy pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry repeated, though the gist of it was obvious: Malfoy was pulling him towards the bed, unbuttoning Harry's shirt. "I want," Malfoy said, "to fuck you through the mattress."
The Yellow House by causeways

















