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The Not-Quite Birthday Cake

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“I think I’m going to head up to bed,” Harry conceded tiredly, pushing away his half-eaten plate of chicken pie and glancing over towards Dobby. 


Smothering a yawn, he dragged himself up from the table in the Hogwarts’ kitchen. It was already far later than he had ever intended to stay out and he had eaten considerably more food than he had planned. 


“Harry Potter not still being hungry?” Dobby questioned, green eyes filled with concern. 


“Couldn’t eat another bite,” Harry assured him, already heading toward the door, “not even if you put the most delicious cake in front of me.”


“Dobby get cake,” the little elf all but squeaked as he hurried along beside him with a determined expression. 


Immediately realising his mistake, Harry came to an abrupt stop, turning wide, alarmed eyes toward the elf.


“Dobby, no! I…” he tried to protest, already knowing it would do no good. Sure enough, the elf had vanished before he had even finished speaking. He had to hand it to them, house elves were nothing if not persistent. Dobby more than most.


Harry huffed tiredly as he continued toward the door out of the kitchens, in the hope of making it back to the rest of the castle before the elf could catch up. He managed to make it out into the dark and thankfully empty hallway, casting a quick Lumos to light his way. The fruit bowl painting was just slipping back into place behind him when a pop, loud in the quiet of the mostly empty school, made him jump.    


“Dobby!” he exclaimed, pressing a hand to his heart as he barely managed to avoid colliding with not only the petite elf, who had reappeared directly in his path, but also a generously-sized chocolate cake, which Dobby seemed to be balancing on top of his head.


“I be bringing cake for Mr Harry Potter,” Dobby proclaimed happily. “Chocolate cake,” he added, large, wide green eyes peering out from beneath the platter as the cake rose up several inches further. 


“Yeah, I see that,” Harry told him, with a laugh as he begrudgingly accepted the cake, which was now edging insistently ever closer to him. He could really see no alternative. He could always just feed it to Ron or some of the other Gryffindors the next day, he doubted they would complain about free cake. “Erm... thanks, Dobby.”


“Can Dobby be doing more for Harry Potter?” the elf asked and there was no mistaking Dobby’s eagerness.


“No!” Harry answered perhaps a little too quickly, a little too desperately. “No, this is...” He paused, taking a moment to stare wordlessly at the cake in his hands, lit only by the wand now pinned into his palm by the platter. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he finally managed to say. 


“If Mr Harry Potter is being sure?” Dobby questioned, obviously disappointed. 


Harry might have felt guilty if he hadn’t been currently holding a cake big enough to feed twenty that he hadn’t even wanted at all. 


“Quite certain,” Harry assured him as he started walking once more, the little elf pottering along the corridor beside him. “Goodnight, Dobby,” he added without looking down, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile despite himself. 


“Goodnight, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby replied. 


The small pop that followed a few seconds later confirmed that Harry was finally alone. He let out a soft sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so ready for bed. 


He looked down once more, at the cake in his hands. It really did smell delicious but he meant what he had told Dobby, after all the food he had already eaten in the kitchens that evening he truly didn’t think he could manage another bite. Maybe he would have a slice before breakfast. It was a pleasant thought but Harry still felt the trudge back toward the Gryffindor tower would have been much easier without the fifteen pounds of chocolate cake in his arms.


Deciding to avoid the Grand Staircase, as it would be too easy to be seen and caught by patrolling teachers there, he detoured through some of the back corridors and stairways. If only he had a free hand to use the map, or was perhaps awake enough to perform a half-decent levitation charm, but he barely trusted his ability to maintain the Lumos.


The castle seemed quiet as he meandered his way up toward the upper floors, though he had to duck into an alcove to avoid Peeves close to the Transfiguration classroom. He had no desire to find out what a poltergeist would do with a rogue student and a large chocolate cake at a little past midnight. 




Harry nearly dropped said cake at the sudden and completely unexpected cry of excitement from out of the darkness. 


He turned quickly, awkwardly shifting the heavy cake to one arm in order to free his wand from beneath it, raising it to try and better illuminate the area. 


“Oooooh, chocolate cake,” the deep voice simpered approvingly.


“Who’s there?” Harry demanded to know, raising his wand higher and taking several tentative steps toward the statue of the one-eyed witch. The passageway beyond was closed, still hidden, but someone was sitting on top of the witch’s hump, and seemed to be grinning down at him somewhat stupidly. 


“Happy Birthday,” the dark-skinned boy declared before draining the last dregs of a bottle and turning to slip down the witch’s back as though it was a slide. “Wheeeee! Oomph!” he complained as he landed in a heap on the floor. 


“Umm... are you okay?” Harry asked, honestly too dazed and confused to managed much sympathy.


“No, absolutely not. I think I bruised my arse. I need cake,” the boy, who Harry now recognised as Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in his own year, told him with a dramatic pout as he got back to his feet and began dusting himself off.


“Right…” Harry drawled. 


You have cake,” Zabini added, his expression turning almost demonic with joy as he took a step closer to Harry. “We should eat cake to celebrate your birthday.” 


“Oh…” Harry blinked in confusion. “You’re more than welcome to the cake but it’s not my birthday.”


“Of course it is,” Zabini insisted, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulder and leaning in to smell the cake deeply, clearly relishing every moment. “There’s cake. Cake means birthday. Happy birthday, Potter.”


Harry froze as Zabini suddenly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Though he was even more confused when he spotted the fork in the other boy’s hand, which had seemingly come from nowhere.


“Where did you…?” Harry started to ask.


Zabini, however, was already taking a chunk of the cake, stuffing it straight into his own mouth and moaning with appreciation. 


“Merlin,” Zabini declared loudly as he ate, “this is a really good cake.” 


Harry wasn’t sure whether to hush him or hope to be found and saved from this whole bizarre evening, even if it did mean an entire week’s worth of scrubbing cauldrons or writing lines in detention. He was definitely thinking he should have just stayed in bed, no matter how much trouble he had been having sleeping.  


“You should have more birthdays, Potter,” Zabini stated before taking another forkful of the cake. 


“Still not my birthday,” Harry told him with disbelief, perfectly aware by now that Zabini was not listening to him. “How drunk are you?” he asked the other boy as he attempted to keep himself, Zabini and the cake all the right way up. 


“I’m… not sure,” Zabini told him seriously, his brow furrowing for a moment. “A little more than very, but not quite completely. I can only see three of you right now, so I think we should definitely drink some more.”


“We?” Harry questioned, feeling very confused as to how, after everything he’d already endured over the years, this might be one of the strangest nights of his life. “There’s no ‘we’, Zabini.”


“Call me Blaise,” Zabini practically purred in Harry’s ear. “We’ve shared cake. That’s an unbreakable bond.”


“An unwanted bond, maybe. Besides, only you ate the cake,” Harry tried to reason, but Zabini pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. 


“As my new confidante, we need more alcohol over which to share our deepest woes!” the Slytherin declared emphatically, with a sweeping gesture, which had Harry grabbing tightly onto the cake with both hands to keep it from tumbling to the floor. 


“I’m not your… whatever,” Harry protested. 


“Confidante,” Zabini enunciated slowly, pressing up against Harry in the pretence of helping to support the cake, his body awkwardly close to Harry’s own.


“Yeah, no,” Harry stated, dumping the cake into Blaise’s arms, no longer caring if the whole thing ended up on the floor, and ducking out of his hold. “And besides,” he added firmly, “we don’t have anything to drink. You drained the last of the bottle, remember.”


“Oh ye of little faith,” Zabini said smugly, annoying adept at balancing the cake in just one hand, leaving his other free to grab hold of Harry’s. “Follow me...Harry,” he commanded, giving him no choice as he began to literally pull Harry off along the corridor.


“What?! No. Where are we…?” Harry tried to protest, even as he dragged along behind the shockingly strong Slytherin. “Zabini!” 


The boy actually had the nerve to tut at him and it took Harry a second to realise what for. Huffing resigned, he tried calling him again with the boy's first name as he’d been instructed. 


“Blaise!” Harry all but screeched as they took an abrupt left turn and all but plummeted down a flight of stairs, Harry barely managing to keep his feet beneath him. 


“Harry, don’t worry,” Zabini told him jovially. “We’re just going to get supplies, of course,” he informed him, oh so helpfully. 


“Supplies?” Harry questioned, attempting in vain to get Zabini to stop, as they spiralled ever deeper into the dark depths of the castle. Zabini, however, was obviously determined, striding along another corridor towards their unknown destination. 


“Yep, supplies," he replied without a backward glance. 


Harry’s shoulders slouched and he allowed himself to be rather forcefully led back through the castle, down several more flights of stairs, some of which he wasn’t sure he even recognised, through tapestries and along hallways. 


After about five minutes they came to an abrupt stop outside a door, in a corridor he wasn’t very familiar with. 


“What are we doing here?” he asked tiredly.


“Shhh, patience,” was all Zabini told him before releasing his hold on Harry’s hand and quietly casting some kind of spell at the door. 


For a moment, Harry seriously considered just legging it, figuring his own way back to Gryffindor Tower. But, in for a knut, in for a Galleon. And his curiosity was piqued. So he waited as Zabini opened the door and led the way inside, following him into the room a moment later. 


The small office was mostly empty, almost all its former furniture gone, replaced now with a large and haphazardly stacked pile of transfigured cushions in the far corner, spread out enough to cover about half the floor. The only remaining furniture was a bookshelf, stacked top to bottom with bottles, boxes and packets, everything from firewhisky to butterbeer, from chocolate frogs to liquorice wands. 


Zabini hurried forward, placing the cake almost reverently down on the floor before almost flinging himself onto the cushions.


The room was clearly set up to be a refuge, Harry didn’t need his own history to be able to understand that much. And it made him curious despite himself.


“Why did you bring me here?” he asked earnestly.


“I told you, supplies!” Zabini repeated, a grin still splitting his face as he gestured to the bookcase. “Come, come,” he beckoned, gesturing for Harry to join him. 


“Zabini…” Harry trailed off at the significant, pointed look he was given. “Blaise,” he corrected himself, “I dunno.”


“Trust me, you’ll be a lot more comfortable down here,” Zabini assured him, patting the large expanse of cushions next to him, before reaching up to go and snatch one of the bottles from the shelf behind him. 


Harry moved forward quickly before he even realised what he was doing, grabbing the Slytherin by the wrist to stop him. 


“Maybe not the whisky,” he suggested, his heart hammering in his chest.


Zabini blinked up at him. His expression was more surprised than anything. Slowly his lips twitched into a salacious smile and it was only then that Harry realised how close they were, their bodies barely inches apart and Harry hastily released his hold on him, taking a step back.


“Okay,” Zabini agreed, his fingers moving from the whisky bottle to the shelf below, pulling down a couple of bottles of butterbeer. “We can start with these…” He paused, his gaze drifting back to Harry, holding out of the drinks. “As long as you’ll join me.”


Harry stared at the offered drinks and the boy who was offering them, before turning his head to look at the door, worrying his bottom lip as he mentally debated with himself. He could leave Zabini there to drown himself in alcohol and chocolate cake, go back to bed to try and get something resembling a decent night’s sleep. Or he could accept the other boy’s offer, and make sure the Slytherin didn’t kill himself. Truthfully, the choice really wasn’t hard to make. 


Letting out a sigh, Harry snatched one of the bottles. “I’ll have one drink with you,” he told him pointedly. 


“And cake,” Zabini insisted with a shit-eating grin.


“And cake,” Harry agreed with a roll of his eyes as he lowered himself onto the cushions. 


He took a swig of his butterbeer as Blaise laid down on his front and reached for the cake, pulling it across the floor, closer to where they were sitting. The other boy’s mysterious fork appeared in hand once more as he tucked back into the section he had already sampled earlier, moaning deeply once more in appreciation.


Harry coughed awkwardly and glanced around, his eyes drifting again to the loaded shelves above his head. 


“So,” he asked with curiosity, “how long have you been stashing supplies here then?”


“A few years,” Blaise told him around a mouthful of cake before swallowing. “My mother likes to send gifts. The bottle of liqueur you found me polishing off was her latest bequest. Wasn’t half bad.” 


Leaning back against the wall, Harry sipping his drink again. He had no idea what to make of a mother sending their teenage son alcohol but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched the other boy with growing interest.


He’d never taken the time to really notice Blaise at all, he’d always been just another Slytherin, one of the guys on the other side of the room, someone who wasn’t Malfoy for the most part. But with his long, toned legs spread out behind him as he sprawled on the cushions as he indulging in chocolate cake, washing it down with butterbeer, Blaise was… handsome was the only word that came to mind.


“Most people keep their things in their dorms,” Harry pointed out. “Rather than old unused offices.”


Blaise turned his head to look at him slowly, fork still in hand as propped himself up on his elbows. His expression was serious, pensive for several moments, though his eyes were glazed, struggling to remain focused. 


“Some of my housemates seem to think themselves entitled to their share,” he stated as he turned back to the cake. 


“Fucking Slytherins,” Harry sneered derisively.


“Fucking Slytherins,” Blaise echoed as he swung himself around to sit up, bringing the cake with him and placing it on the cushions between them, though he sounded more amused than annoyed. “Anyway, I found somewhere else to keep my delicious things all to myself.” He gestured to the shelves.


“Then why share it with me?” Harry questioned, his brow pinch in confusion. 


Blaise hummed thoughtfully. “Good question,” he said as he met Harry’s eye, pausing to drink once more before continuing. “Maybe because you’re not some fucking Slytherin.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was because you had a birthday cake.”


Harry chuckled, amused despite himself. “You’re so drunk,” he remarked.  


“You do have some catching up to do,” Blaise told him with a smirk, shuffling around to sit next to Harry.


“I said one drink, Blaise,” he reminded sternly, even as the corner of his mouth quirked into a half-smile, hiding it behind his butterbeer bottle as he had another sip. “Besides, I think you’ve had enough for the both of us.”


“I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be adventurous.”


“I thought you Slytherins were supposed to have a sense of self-preservation,” Harry countered.


Blaise scoffed. “I’m still alive. And you can’t tell me you haven’t had days that have left you wanting something to take the edge off.”


“What do you mean?”


“Oh, come on, Harry. You don’t have to pretend with me,” Blaise insisted, nudging his shoulder against Harry’s. “I might not know exactly what you’ve been through, might not know everything you’ve suffered, but I’ve heard enough to know that being you can’t be easy.”


Harry blinked at him in surprise. He wondered if even a few of his supposed closest friends realised that sometimes and they knew more than their share of the gory details.


“I’m not expecting you to spill your secrets or anything,” Blaise clarified quickly when Harry said nothing. “Just saying, if you need a bit of comfort, I have enough supplies for two.”


“Erm…thanks,” Harry said softly, pulling at the corner of his butterbeer bottle’s label. “Might just take you up on that.”


“I hope you do,” Blaise told him, watching him intently. 


“And I’ll have you know I’m plenty adventurous,” Harry defended, rather belatedly. “Actually, it’s sometimes been known to be a bit of a problem.”


Blaise burst out laughing. “Then be adventurous with me,” he suggested, reaching up and pulling another bottle down from the shelf. “Unless you’re chicken?” he challenged, shaking it in front of Harry’s face.


Harry knew he was being bated but truthfully he was curious, almost hoping the Slytherin would try to talk him into drinking something more. He’d never actually had alcohol before; between Hermione’s disapproval of underage drinking and simple lack of access, he’d assumed he’d be eighteen before he’d have the chance. And he still wasn’t totally sure he was going to live long enough to see that.  


“The only chickens I know are Slytherins like you,” Harry told him tauntingly, putting his almost empty butterbeer aside and practically snatching the bottle from Blaise’s hand. Turning the fairly large bottle, Harry read the label. “Mead?”


“It’s sort of like a honey-wine,” Blaise told him with a smirk as he drew his wand with a flourish. “I’ve seen the way you inhale treacle tart, and the several gallons of honey you pour in your tea each morning. With a sweet tooth like that, I think you’ll like this.”


Harry was tried hard not to think on how long Blaise must have been watching him, to have noticed such details. He focused instead on the other boy’s wand, which he knew should probably make him nervous; Blaise, however, seemed more likely to hug than hex him, so he wasn’t worried. Sure enough, as Blaise muttered a soft spell, swirling the tip of his wand and jabbing it toward the bottle, the glass grew suddenly cold in Harry’s hands. 


“It’s best chilled,” Blaise informed him casually. “Trust me.”


“I’ve learned to trust Slytherin’s at my own peril,” Harry remarked, though he opened the bottle of mead as he spoke, sniffing it with interest. 


Humming his approval, Harry sipped straight from the bottle a moment later. The mead was thick and sweet, it was cold but warmed his throat as he drank. He could taste the honey and Blaise was absolutely right, he did like it. He took another generous sip before offering the bottle to the now very smug-looking Blaise. 


“Yeah, I mostly don’t trust them either,” Blaise said unashamedly as he took it, drinking some himself. “But the mead’s good, right?”


“The mead’s definitely good.” Harry met Blaise’s eye for a moment before letting his gaze drift to the large selection on the shelves above them. “But I suppose if there’s one thing you can trust a Slytherin on, it’s to have fancy stuff.”


“You’re not wrong,” Blaise admitted. His eyes were full of amusement as he drank again. “We do like nice things. All sorts of nice things,” he added pointedly as his expression became far less innocent, his gaze sweeping over Harry’s person.


Harry grew flushed and quickly snatched the bottle back, drinking deeply once more, hoping to pass off the growing heat in his cheeks as alcohol-induced.


“Flustered is a good look on you,” Blaise remarked, obviously not fooled. 


Harry couldn’t help but think that flustered was precisely the word for it. The mead was going straight to his head and with Blaise sat so impossibly close and looking at him in a way he wasn’t sure anyone else ever had… it made getting his thoughts into any kind of order a bit of a struggle.


Blaise moved swiftly, in a rolling motion, to straddle Harry’s legs, taking the bottle of mead from his hand and placing it to one side. 


“Has anyone ever kissed you, Harry?” Blaise asked while Harry’s brain was still trying to catch up with what had just happened. 


“No,” he answered reflexively before remembering. “Oh. Erm, yeah, actually,” he hastily correctly, his cheeks heating further. “Once.”


Blaise raised an eyebrow, his expression amused. “Can’t have been that memorable,” he remarked. 


“It wasn’t,” Harry assured him dryly, not keen to dwell on the fumbling mess that had been his short-lived relationship with Cho the year before. “I mean...


“Shh,” Blaise insisted, pressing a finger to Harry’s lips, cutting off his rambled explanation before he could even start. “I don’t need to know. You don’t have to make excuses. How about we just try for something a little more memorable.”


“Oh, trust me,” Harry spluttered out, “this whole evening is already way more memorable.”


Blaise grinned “You sweet talker!” 


“That’s not…” Harry shook his head, his cheeks flushing once more. He tried to look away, feeling flustered, awkward and uncertain what to do with himself with Blaise so close, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Blaise’s intense gaze.


“Feel free to stop me,” Blaise told him quietly as he grasped Harry’s chin in his long fingers and leaned in closer. 


“Nah,” Harry assured him breathily, managing a smile of his own as Blaise’s smirk grew. “I’m good.”


A small squeak of surprise still escaped him as Blaise’s lips pressed against his own, the sudden force of the other boy’s body against his, pressing him back against the shelves behind him. Blaise’s fingers were digging almost bruisingly into Harry’s thighs as Blaise leaned eagerly into the kiss, his other hand moving up to thread into Harry’s hair, holding him close. 


As Blaise’s tongue swept over Harry’s bottom lip, Harry gasped softly, opening his mouth just enough for the other boy to press forward.


Harry reached out, fumbling, to grasp at the front of Blaise’s robes for support, as he felt the tip of Blaise’s tongue brush arousingly against his own. Though he was quickly distracted from that sensation when Blaise shifted forward in his lap to be straddling him more completely, their kiss unbroken but their bodies now pressed against one another’s from the hip upward. 


Hands against Blaise’s chest, Harry’s pushed him back enough to be able to gasp for air, his eyes wide as he blinked at the boy in his lap.


“Too much?” Blaise asked, his hands on Harry’s shoulders as he went to lift himself off Harry. 


Harry’s hands, however, shot to his waist, keeping him where he was. 


“No.” Harry shook his head, his eyes wide and breathing coming in needy gasps. “Just… memorable.”


Harry all but threw himself at Blaise. Looping one arm around his neck, he pulled him desperately close, and his other hand threaded into Blaise’s dark hair, cupping his head as he kissed him firmly once more, lips parted and tongue daring to taste the other boy’s lips against his own. 


Blaise returned the kiss with parallelled enthusiasm, practically clawing at Harry’s body with ever roaming hands as he pressed himself against him, moaning a vibration into the little shared air between them.


With Blaise sat straddling his thighs, Harry could barely move, not that he cared to. He was perfectly happy to remain at the mercy of Blaise’s every touch, his own hips shifting only in a vain attempt to find more friction against his now unsubtly hard and aching cock. 


“Who’d have thought you’d be this eager,” Blaise gasped out, as he broke the kiss once more, resting his forehead against Harry’s.


“Surprised me too,” Harry admitted breathlessly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a sly smirk of his own as he rolled his hips the little he could up against Blaise’s. The responding gasp and tightening of Blaise’s fingers fueled his courage. “But you’ve been very persuasive.”


“One of my many talents, I’ve been told.” Blaise’s voice was soft, his breath brushing over Harry’s cheek as he moved to press the softest of kisses to his jawline. 


“Any other talents you feel like sharing?” Harry questioned daringly, his heart hammering in his chest as Blaise’s teeth dragged teasingly against the pulse point in his neck. 


Harry’s breath caught in his throat, his head tilting back against the shelves as the other boy pressed a kiss to his adam's apple, the notoriously vicious tongue teasing at the skin mercilessly.


“How about you tell me,” Blaise suggested as he moved down to tug Harry’s already loose tie free from his shirt, tossing it carelessly aside, and popping open the top few buttons. “I do, however, do my best work when there are fewer clothes.”


Harry opened his mouth, a snarky response on the tip of his tongue, however, the words came out as a soft moan instead as Blaise brushed his fingers over Harry’s barely exposed chest. Blaise’s smirk had Harry snapping his mouth shut. 


“The Gryffindor has nothing to say? This is a night of surprises,” Blaise teased as he popped open another button on Harry’s shirt.


“You’re telling me,” Harry retorted. “This was nothing like the night I’d had planned. Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly added before Blaise could get the wrong idea. 


Blaise’s smirk was nothing short of lecherous. “No,” he assured him gleefully, as he continued to unbutton Harry’s shirt, “I can feel you lack of objection quite clearly.” 




A heated flush coloured Harry’s cheeks, though he didn’t try to deny the implication. He was almost painfully hard and it was quite obvious to him where things were heading. At least he hoped they were because he was desperately in need of some kind of relief, and he wanted it to be with the undeniably sexy guy in his lap.


Harry wrapped his fingers into the front of Blaise’s robes, tugging him several inches closer, relishing the hitch in the other boy’s breath. 


“You should lose some of these clothes too,” he insisted.


“Happily,” Blaise agreed without hesitation, already moving to take hold of the bottom of his robe, tugging it clumsily up and over his head. 


Harry did his best to help, though he felt the addition of his hands in the tangle of fabric only hindered their efforts. Soon, however, Blaise was as bare-chested as him, leaning in to press their lips together once more. 


Blaise hooked a finger into the waistband of Harry’s trousers as he kissed him eagerly. Harry kissed him back fiercely, battling to free his arms from his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and down his back to the floor behind him. 


Once free, Harry decided to mimic Blaise’s previous move and started pulling at the other teen’s trousers. His fingers moved along the hem, searching for the button that would open them, however, even upon finding it, the button didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Every time he thought he finally had it, it slipped from his fingers. In the end, the only thing Harry was managing to do was pull Blaise closer against him again and again. 


Letting out a frustrated growl Harry broke the kiss with a gasp. His gaze drifted down to Blaise’s waist, trying to figure out why the fastening was eluding him. 


Blase leaned back slightly, his hips jaunting forward as Harry continued pulling at the hem of his trousers, trying to get them open. 


“If you ask nicely, I might be inclined to help you,” Blaise said teasingly.


Harry looked up quickly, scowling at Blaise’s growing smirk. 


“You’re sat on my lap, snogging me, and stripping my clothes off,” he pointed out. “How much nicer do you want me to be?” 


Blaise’s grin widened, showing just a hint of his perfect teeth. It wasn’t quite malicious but it certainly has just enough Slytherin written all over it to make Harry’s stomach give an instinctively anxious squirm.


“Be persuasive, Harry,” Blaise all but purred, his voice softer, deeper than it had been only moments earlier. 


Harry swallowed, letting his hands come to rest on Blaise’s waist as he looked the other boy in the eye. His tongue darted out to dampen his bottom lip almost without thought and he fought against his desire to kiss him again as he tried to will his sluggish, distracted brain to form thoughts. 


Though the words that tumbled from Harry’s mouth were, “You want this too.”


“Fuck,” Blaise cursed breathlessly. “Convincing enough.” Grabbing his wand from where it lay forgotten on a nearby cushion, he pointed it at his own groin. 


“What are you…?”


Harry didn’t have time to finish his question, however, before Blaise muttered a spell under his breath and the fastening of Blaise’s trousers was all but throwing itself open. 


“You warded your trousers?” Harry asked with disbelief, snorting out an incredulous laugh. 


“Have you seen me?” Blaise questioned arrogantly. “I need some way to keep myself safe from the people throwing themselves at my person.”


“You’re exaggerating,” Harry scoffed, “people don't really do that.”


“Says the person currently throwing themselves at me. ” Blaise smirked. 


“That’s different, I’m drunk,” Harry pointed out stubbornly, feeling a flush creeping up his cheeks once more. 


Blaise raised an eyebrow. “We should stop then.”


“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,”  Harry protested, his hands tightening against Blaise’s waist. 


“No, no, I wouldn’t want to take advantage,” Blaise insisted, pulling himself free of Harry’s hold and abruptly standing up. 


Unsure if Blaise was joking or being serious, but not willing to let this be over before it had even started, Harry was on his feet and had an arm around Blaise's waist before he’d realised what he was doing. 


“You’re not taking advantage,” Harry assured him earnestly. “I only had a little bit. And I’m sober enough to know I want this. I want you.”


“That’s all I needed to know,” Blaise told him, as he wrapped his arms around him once more, turning them around quickly and pinning Harry bodily to the wall as he kissed him again. 


Harry was momentarily disoriented, but with the solid stone against his back and the firm warmth of Blaise’s chest against his own, he gave himself fully to the kiss planted upon his lips. He surrendered himself to the trail of fingers as they explored his chest and side and hips. 


Blaise pulled at the hem of his trousers and pants, easing them down, Harry shifting to help move them down his legs as best he could. Heeling off his shoes and socks, Harry distractedly stepped out the crumpled pile of fabric around his ankles all while Blaise insistently kissed him again.


Taking him by the hand, Blaise led him back toward the cushions. 


“Lie down.”


Blaise’s voice was soft and Harry, now completely naked, did as instructed. He felt exposed but, despite his apprehension, watched closely as Blaise kicked off his own shoes and pulled down his trousers, revealing toned muscular thighs. And as Blaise bent slightly to discard his trousers and pants with the rest of their clothes, Harry felt his cock twitch.


Harry felt he was probably supposed to look away but Blaise was making no attempt to hide his body in any way, not even his obvious arousal, as he made his way over to join Harry on the cushions.


“Enjoying the view?” Blaise asked smugly as he laid down next to him, propping his head up on one arm


“Are you?" Harry countered. 


"Absolutely," Blaise said, his eyes unashamedly sweeping the length of Harry's body. "Though I am imagining you sweaty and writhing beneath me, and I think that might just be a view to beat even this one."


The breath caught in Harry's throat as a response failed him for a moment, a vivid mental image of what Blaise was describing exploding into his mind.


"Yeah," Harry gasped out. "We should give that a go."


Blaise moved swiftly, all but pouncing at him and knocking Harry onto his back, leaning over him as their bodies met. 


Harry gasped as he felt Blaise’s body cover his own, his back arching up, wanting to feel more of Blaise against him. The other teen seemed more than happy to oblige, lowering his hips until Harry felt the hard flesh of Blaise's cock brush his own. That tiny bit of friction pulled another moan from Harry. He instinctively spread his legs wider, his knees bending to plant his feet on the pillows, giving himself more leverage to push his hips up against Blaise's, finding the delicious sensation of grinding and rubbing their cocks together once more. 


"Oh, fuck," Blaise breathed out. Lowering his head to Harry’s neck, he bit at the sensitive skin there, rotating his hips in slow grinding motions. 


Harry would freely admit, to the right person, that he didn't know a lot about sex, or even a whole lot about what he might enjoy. However, what Harry did know was if Blaise continued his grinding, and kissing his neck, those perfect teeth scraping and nipping at the skin in such a way that sent spikes of pleasure down his spine, he wasn't going to last very long. 


He was surprisingly okay with that. 


Lifting his arms to wrap around Blaise's shoulders, he tilting his head to give the other teen more room to work as another moan escaped him. 


"Blaise…" Harry breathed out, and almost regretted saying anything at all when Blaise pulled away to staring down at him. 


Blaise smirked, reaching to once again grab his discarded wand and Harry pushed himself up on to his elbows to try and see what the other boy was doing now.


"This... is going to feel strange," Blaise commented as he suddenly lowered the wand between Harry’s legs. 


Harry’s eyes grew wide and uncertain, his breathing quick and uneven. His brain was still trying to work through the fog of arousal and alcohol when he felt something cool and wet fill him. The sensation surprised him enough that he let out an undignified squeak, falling back onto the pillows. He wiggled his hips, trying to get used to whatever it was Blaise had just done. 


“Told you it was going to feel strange,” Blaise told him with a chuckle. 


“What did you do?” Harry questioned, still shifting his hips until Blaise reached out to stop him. 


“Conjured lube,” was his only explanation. 


“Lube… okay, good. Yeah, that’s good,” Harry breathed out, as one of Blaise’s hands moved from his hip, across his abdomen, causing the muscles to flutter. Harry stuttered a breath, squirming away from the somewhat ticklish touch. 


Blaise, however, just smirked, his fingers trailing further down Harry’s body and circling the base of his hard cock. 


“So good,” Harry whimpered, biting his lips and whining at the almost overwhelming sensations, but the touch was gone almost as soon as it had come, as Blaise made his way teasingly down until Harry felt fingers brush over his entrance. “And that’s even better,” he said, pressing his hips down. 


“Better? I’ve hardly touched you,” Blaise said, circling a finger slowly around Harry’s hole, pressing just the tip inside before removing it. 


“Keep touching,” Harry implored raspily. 


Then there was a warmth against the tip of his cock, his eyes falling half-closed, his head tilting back into the cushions, as Blaise’s tongue circled the head. The dizzying sensations spiralled through him, as Blaise’s finger pressed cautiously, tenderly into his body at the same time and Harry felt lost to it all. 


He tried to form words but all that slipped from his lips was a garbled groan of pleasure he could only hope Blaise was able to understand. 


“Believe me, I have no intention of stopping,” Blasie assured him, lowering his head once more, his lips wrapping around the head of Harry’s cock, licking and sucking on it as his fingers quested deeper into Harry’s body. 


“Oh, oh fuck!” Harry gasped. 


His back arched once more, his feet pressing against the pillows under him. It was a strange but certainly not unwelcome feeling as Blaise stretched him, scissoring his fingers before pressing them deeper, pulling them out only to repeat the action. 


“...Blaise,” Harry breathed out, tilting his head, staring at Blaise through half-lidded eyes. 


Blaise lifted his head, Harry’s cock slipping from between his lips with an almost obscene pop, and he fixed Harry with an intense stare. “Keep saying my name like that and I won’t be able to be patient enough to hold back,” he warned. 


“I thought I made it… ahh!” Harry’s sentence was cut short when Blaise’s fingers brushed against something deep inside him, distracting him from what he had been about to say. 


“You were saying?” Blaise questioned. 


But Harry shook his head, unable to form any more coherent thoughts at present with Blaise’s finger rubbing and pressing against the bundle of nerves inside of him. Harry could only writhe on the floor, pressing his hips down against Blaise’s fingers seeking something more. 


“Don’t hold back!” Harry cried out. “Fuck, Blaise, stop holding back!”


Despite demanding Blaise just get on with things, Harry still whined when the other teen removed his fingers, leaving behind an empty feeling, which Harry quickly decided he really didn’t like. Wiggling his hips again Harry blinked in momentary confusion as Blaise’s body covered his own more completely once more.


Lifting his head up for another kiss, Harry wrapped his arms around Blaise’s shoulders. Heat radiated from Blaise’s body as their mouths met once again in an almost frenzied, clumsy kiss that was all teeth and tongues. 


Blaise shuffled around, reaching his hand down between their bodies as he pressed his hips forward. 


Harry moaned, lifting his hips up, trying to aid Blaise in whatever way he could as he felt the tip of that hard flesh searching out his hole. Breaking the kiss Harry gasped, staring up at Blaise with glazed eyes. A long moan escaped his lips as Blaise pressed forward, the head of Blaise’s cock pressing into his body. 


Tilting his head back, Harry’s breathing came in ragged gasps as he tried to adjust to the somewhat shocking sensation. Even having had several fingers in his arse, it had done little to prepare him for the burn of being stretched around a cock, but still, the burning sensation felt oddly wonderful. 


“Oh, oh… Blaise…” Harry breathed out. 


“Harry,” Blaise practically purred as he shifted his hips, inching himself deeper into Harry’s body.


“More,” Harry encouraged, shifting his own body as he tried to drive Blaise deeper. 


Quick to comply, Blaise pushed forward once more. He kept moving, pressing himself further in with each thrust until his hips were finally flush with Harry’s and they were both clinging to each other. 


Blaise let out the breath he had been holding. “Oh fuck.”


Harry stared up at Blaise, allowing his body to get used to the strange intrusion, his muscles slowly relaxing around the hard flesh buried deep inside him. 


The two of them lay there, staring at one another, Harry could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, and was hyper-aware of every move Blaise made, each muscle spasm as the other teen held himself as still as possible. 


Breathing deeply, Harry lifted his hips, pressing against Blaise, pulling the other teen deeper. This movement was what Blaise obviously needed, as in the next moment he was pulling out, not giving Harry a chance to protest the loss before filling once again. 


This time Blaise thrust in faster, filling Harry once more, pulling a pleasured scream from his throat as his head rolled back against the cushions. Harry gripped at Blaise's shoulders, his nails digging into the flesh. Hissing Blaise paused long to enough pull Harry’s hands off him, pinning them to the pillows above his head. 


"Fuck, so, so tight…" Blaise breathed out into Harry’s ear, his hips shifting before moving again. 


Harry could only respond in soft whines, moans and grunts as Blaise rocked above him, sliding Harry’s body along the pillows with each forceful thrust. 


"You like it?" Blaise questioned. 


Harry had thought he’d made it quite obvious how much he liked everything Blaise was doing. However, when he didn't answer right away, Blaise slowed his movements. Worried Blaise was planning on stopping, Harry wrapped his arms and legs around the other teen, pulling him closer. 


"No! Don’t stop! Merlin, Blaise, don’t stop! I like it, I like it!" Harry cried out desperately, lifting his hips up to move against Blaise's cock, his inner walls squeezing around him. 


“No, intention, of stopping,” Blaise said, rocking his hips as much as Harry’s legs would allow, pushing deeper. 


Harry moaned in satisfaction as Blaise’s cock slid into him again and again. The new angle allowed the Slytherin to reach new places and that’s when Harry felt the tip of Blaise’s cock brush against the same something he’d felt earlier, a place that had stars flashing in front of his eyes, his back arching further off the pillows; a scream caught in his throat. 


Their movements became frantic, Harry moving his hips to meet each one of Blaise’s thrusts, his inner walls squeezing and pulling Blaise in further every time he managed to hit Harry’s prostate which started the cycle over again. 


Harry wasn’t all that surprised when he felt the heat pooling in his gut, his cock twitching, trapped between their bodies as Blaise rocked him with the force of his thrusts. 


“Blaise, I… almost, more…” Harry didn’t want things to stop, it felt so amazing, however, he was right on the edge and the feeling was so intense that he just needed that little push to get there. 


Blaise was leaning over him, barely pulling out anymore before snapping his hips forward, pushing back into Harry. 


“Harry, let go,” Blaise demanded.

And Harry did with a strangled cry, his whole body tightening, his legs curling up as his arms gripped at Blaise’s shoulders, his breath coming in short gasps and his face scrunching up. His body wound like a spring before releasing. 


“Ohh, oh fuck…” Harry gasped, coating his and Blaise’s chest with his release, only vaguely aware that Blaise too had stopped moving. The weight of Blaise’s body on his was oddly comforting, but he didn’t even have the energy to comment on that as the tiredness from earlier caught up with him again as suddenly as if he’d been hit by a train. 


He thought he heard Blaise say something but Harry was already mostly asleep and could only mumble incoherently in response as he closed his eyes. 




Harry was disoriented as he slowly regained consciousness. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell it was morning. He could feel the daylight filtering into the room, warming his bare arm, which had escaped the covers at some point in the night. However, he could also tell he was not in his bed, nor presumably, anywhere in Gryffindor Tower. He seemed, in fact, to be lying on a small ocean of cushions. 


It was the peculiar dull ache in his lower back that started to kick his sluggish brain into action. The memories were slow to come but gradually pieces of the evening before came back to him. 


The sound of movement nearby had him tensing, his eyes flickering quickly open, only for him to wince against the barrage bright morning sunshine. 


"Morning, sleeping beauty." 


At Blaise’s casual greeting, Harry pushed himself up on his elbows to blink sleepily at the Slytherin sitting close to his feet. The movement, however, made Harry rather abruptly aware of how completely naked he was beneath the thin covers of the makeshift bed he was currently occupying and he held onto them a little tighter. 


Blaise, on the other hand, appeared the definition of composed, his eyes fixed on Harry, his expression unreadable.


The Slytherin had at least made a half-effort at getting dressed, his shirt on but not buttoned, and a snug-fitting pair of boxer-briefs providing some modicum of modesty as he rested against the wall with one knee bent to his chest, an arm draped carelessly over it. He certainly didn’t seem to be showing any signs of a hangover from the large amount he’d drunk the evening before. 


“You seem to have recovered well,” Harry commented groggily. 


Blaise lifted an empty bottle, shaking it. “What good is being a wizard if you can’t just skip the painful bits? Want one?” he offered, gesturing to the shelf above him.  


“No, I’m fine,” Harry told him with a small shake of his head, shifting to ease to ache in his arse


The corner of Blaise’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Having regrets already?” he questioned, almost challengingly. 


“Wha... ?” Harry blinked a frown at him as he tugged the covers a little more securely around his chest. He was still trying to process everything that had happened the evening before, but the one thing he was certain about was that he didn’t regret a damn thing.


“It’s okay, I expected at least some second thoughts,” Blaise assured him dismissively, as he fed himself some cake from the platter on the floor next to him. 


“No,” Harry said firmly. “That’s...” He trailed off, shaking his head before trying again as Blaise watched him with confusion. “I’m not having second thoughts. No regrets.”


Blaise hummed consideringly as he ate, relaxing back against the wall more completely as he eyed Harry with a degree of scepticism. 


“Are you intending to eat the whole cake?” Harry asked abruptly, as Blaise lowered his fork toward the now almost half-empty platter to take some more.


Blaise paused mid-motion. “Not the whole thing,” he said with a shrug. “Figured I’d share with you, birthday boy.”


Harry rolled his eyes. “It really wasn’t my birthday, you know.”


Blaise shrugged, shoving the forkful of cake into his mouth, taking his time to eat it before finally answering, “I know. Guess I just wanted to celebrate someone’s birthday other than my own.”


“It’s your birthday?” Harry questioned, his eyes widening as he stared at him in disbelief. 


“Not any more,” Blaise confirmed as he pushed himself up from the floor and retrieved Harry’s boxers and trousers from nearby. “But that was certainly one of the more memorable celebrations I’ve ever had. So, thanks.”


“Ummm, you’re welcome,” Harry told him uncertainly, as he accepted his clothes back from the other boy. 


Harry watched curiously as Blaise wandered over to fetch his own trousers, taking the moment with the other boy’s back turned to slip his boxers beneath the covers and somewhat awkwardly start to wriggle his way back into them, without exposing himself. He knew he was probably being ridiculous, given that there was basically nothing left of him that Blaise hadn’t already seen but it was hard not to feel a little shy in the light of day. 


Feeling a little better with his boxers back on, Harry slipped out of the makeshift bed and pulled on his trousers next. His stomach rumbled as he did so, and so he quickly helped himself to a forkful of the cake, which tasted every bit as good as it smelt. 


"Well, that's me sorted," Blaise announced. 


Harry looked up at the Slytherin again. He was indeed now dressed, trousers and shoes on, his shirt buttoned, his hair as tidy as always and his tie in hand ready to be added. 


"Thanks again, Potter, this was fun." 


“Really, Blaise, we’ve had sex,” Harry pointed out, he bent down and took another small forkful of cake, popping it into his mouth and eating. “We’ve shared cake. You’ve told me things I’m quite sure you would have never spoken of sober. I’m your… what was it?”




“Yeah, that,” Harry agreed smugly. “Pretty sure that means you should call me Harry.”


“I guess?” Blaise tilted his head as he eyed him with interest.


“Unless you were thinking this was going to be some secret one-night stand kind of thing, that we just pretend never happened,” Harry told him, as he shrugged on his shirt and started doing up the buttons. “But… I’m not sure that’s really my style.”




“So, there’s a Hogsmeade trip in a few weeks,” Harry pointed out, oblivious to Blaise’s stunned state as he bent to pick up his tie, shoving it carelessly into his pocket before heading toward the door. “We should get a drink. Perhaps something without alcohol, given that apparently makes you quite impulsive.”


“Oh, no, I’m like that anyway,” Blaise informed him dismissively. 


“Even better,” he added with a grin.  


Harry paused again as he reached the door, hand on the handle, glancing back over his shoulder toward Blaise, who was looking more confused than anything. 


“And for future reference,” Harry told him, “my birthday’s July thirty-first. Just in case you should ever want to celebrate it for real.”


Blaise smiled then too. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”