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A Fanfic Reader's Unauthorized Guide to the Unconventional Hogwarts: A History CHAPTER 4

By Mad_Chatters_Tea_Party

Chapter 4: On The Scoreboard!
Authors: dracontia, potteresque_ire, severuslovesus, Snapemylove
Beta: Snapemylove
Rating: Hard R
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Rita Skeeter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, and a Mystery Guest...
Summary:Hermione and Snape defy the laws of physics, magic (and possibly someone’s definition of age-of-consent, somewhere). Harry and Draco merely defy credulity (but they look adorable at it!).

Originally posted to The Petulant Poetess on January 12, 2008.

These characters don’t belong to us; we make no profit and have no qualms about using them for our own slightly warped pleasure.

WARNING: To avoid potential damage to your electronic equipment, mucous membranes, and interpersonal relationships, please use discretion with regards to eating or engaging in other activities while reading this.

Chapter 4: On The Scoreboard!

“Where… are… you… taking… me?” Harry’s words came out a trifle mangled between his resisting heavily and Draco’s dragging him along insistently.

“Look, the sooner Snape gets laid, the sooner his mood gets… less rotten,” Draco explained, avidly looking around the corridor for the Convenient Stereotypical Abandoned Lounge that had to be around there somewhere. “And he's not going to do any shagging with us around.”

Despite their recent broom closet exploits, Harry managed a faint blush.

“Alas, Draco was far too busy talking to notice said blush and make embarrassing Virgin!Harry remarks,” the Narrator noted wistfully as the pair rounded the corner.

Pulling Draco purposefully into a deserted corner of the corridor, Harry assumed the Convenient Stereotypical Dominant Gryffindor approach. “Now, Draco.”

“It's WallSex!Potter!” Draco gasped as he was pushed roughly against the stone.

Pleased that they seemed to have found the script, if not the plot, Harry kissed his approval onto Draco’s neck. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulders for Filch or Mrs. Norris. “Keep an eye out—I don't want that creepy cat watching us!”

“I don’t want to do it on a nasty, hard wall,” Draco whined. “Let's find the room that's always around here somewhere. You know, the Alternative to Shagging on the Potions Bench room.” Draco was a bit vexed at Harry for getting ahead of the schedule. In fan fiction, WallSex was supposed to happen after the alpha and omega of Fantasy Shags in the room with all the pretty velvet couches.

“Right. Okay, you take that side of the corridor. I’ll take this one.”

Draco opened what felt like the millionth door that night.

“It was the fifth, but who’s counting?” the Narrator said with a yawn.

"Just another empty classroom!" He practically grit his teeth in frustration and started to close the door.

Harry pushed past him and looked around hopefully. “Hmm… I see walls—lots of walls for support.”

Draco blinked at Harry. "Walls? Again?"

However verbally shy Harry may have been feeling, his hands were not shy in any way. Draco managed to emit a single, muffled, "Meep!" as Harry rather unceremoniously grabbed the other boy by the backside and planted him firmly against the door—slamming it shut in the process.

“Walls… You… I… Hump,” Harry gasped once he’d recalled his tongue from its little spelunking expedition amidst the natural wonders of Draco’s tonsils and upper teeth.

"Not that I was expecting poetry…" Draco began, then found his airway blocked again.

“No poetry… ” Harry trailed off into a muffled sound that bore a suspicious resemblance to another iteration of ‘hump.’

“But, if you want this to continue, I’d better not hear ‘hump’ again unless there’s a camel in the room!”

Harry made some sort of sound that might be interpreted as agreement and continued with the heavy snogging and groping activities.

"Potter, no! I don't want my fi—I'm not doing this against a door!" Draco reverted to surnames in irritation at the possibility of splinters marring the perfect occasion of his deflowering and fiercely attacked Harry’s neck to underscore his argument.

Harry, to his credit, at least managed to process the gist of the complaint. “I… Hmmph.” He kissed Draco rather loudly in the hope that stalling would yield an actual thought. “The chair… desk…”

Sensing that a major concession was within reach, Draco allowed himself some serious savoring of Harry’s earlobe. "Want to lie down…" He paused to nibble and lick. "Somewhere comfortable…" He worked his way down, trying to figure out how to access that spot just behind the earlobe that all the fanfics talked about in hopes of bolstering his argument.

“Ooh, that was a nip… and a really hard kiss. That should leave a mark,” the Narrator said, watching in fascination. And taking notes.

Harry, being situated more or less on Draco rather than on a deceased section of oak, was focused on the long, slender line of neck stretched out in front of him. “I’m comfy here.”

"Something more civilized than a slab of wood."

“I… like… wood… Wild…”

“I'm not going to roll around on a desk. This is the dungeon. You don't know what's been on the desks in here. Potions desks have seen more sex than a French whorehouse. Doing it there would be too clichéd.” Draco shuddered, and it didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Harry’s attempts to create a hickey. "Besides, not everyone cleans their counters after."

“They don't clean them up after shagging on them?" Harry couldn’t decide whether he was mildly disgusted or intrigued at the thought of lots of sex happening on desks in the dungeons.

"No! I meant after making potions! You really don't want some of that stuff on bare skin!"

“Are there cockroaches squished on here?”

Draco shuddered, and it definitely had nothing to do with necking. "That's the least of it."

“This could take a while,” the Narrator said in frustration, then went to see if anyone else had got to the nudity yet.

“Meanwhile, back in the Potions store room,” the Narrator began, then stopped for dramatic effect (and breath recovery). “Hermione had just reminded her Professor, once again, how atrociously her Potions accident had misrepresented her skills and sweetly asked if she could be given the opportunity to display the raw talent she truly possessed. And don’t complain about the summary—this chapter is never going to end if we play all of that out in dialogue.”

Snape covertly eyed up the young woman. I don't know about talent, but you've certainly got assets, he thought before snapping himself back to reality.

“Care to explain these so-called skills you possess, then, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl.

Hermione batted her eyes at her beloved. “Dear, oblivious Professor, you'd have had to ignore me completely in order to not to have noticed.”

“I ignore you? Regardless of how much I try, Miss Granger, it is impossible to ignore the bouncing, babbling, bundle of eagerness that is you when trying to flaunt your so-called knowledge,” he replied scornfully. Especially the bouncing breasts... Hmm, wonder if I can get Naked!Hermione to imitate that process for me, he added silently.

“Oblivious, indeed. You big dunderhead, the girl is coming onto you. Now, stop wallowing in your Naked!Hermione fantasies and make it happen,” the Narrator scoffed, tone of voice replete with unseen eye-rolling.

Naked!Hermione fantasies? Hermione's mind repeated in elation. "We can make your dreams a reality, Professor."

Snape frowned at the revelation that the pesky voice that could tear down his otherwise impenetrable defenses with one single word was apparently a verifiable part of reality. Damn! Definitely losing my edge, the professor thought as he regarded Hermione's smug, sexy little smile.

“No, not losing your edge, but she might be losing something soon if you play your cards right,” the Narrator said.

Acting as if he hadn't heard the Narrator's interruption, he continued, “You've no idea of what I dream,” he purred, thinking that it might warn the girl off the dangerous path they were beginning to tread.

However, Hermione's sexy smile only grew bigger, and her eyes glowed brightly. Far from being put off by suggestiveness, she seemed… pleased.

“You've no idea of my wildest dreams, dear sir.”

“You and all your studies, Granger. How 'wild' can you honestly be?” Snape scoffed. Yet, he was starting to wonder if he wasn't losing the battle here.

Hermione let out an unlady-like snort, “I have had all the help I need to know how to be wild. I read it in a book, of course… And memorized it as usual.”

Well, that was much more like it, Snape thought. “You probably think that sneaking a mediocre snog in a dark corner is wild, you silly girl!” </i>But, I could definitely show her that there is more to life than sloppy snogs. If she was of age. And not a student. My student. Good God, is she wearing lace knickers?</i>

“Yes, you could, yes, she is of age, granted, she is your student, but you could always overlook that in the light of the-oh-yes-they-are-lace-knickers,” the Narrator said helpfully.

“Well, then, why not give me a test, Professor?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Miss Granger. You might not like such a test,” Snape warned.

"I think I would like seeing you give me an 'O' on the test," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Oh, I'll give you an 'O'—an 'O' for org—" Snape drew out the syllable "—anize! I believe I said to organize those top shelves!" He shoved the rolling ladder her direction, which she caught with a look of surprise on her face.

“Ahh, a ladder. Thank you, sir.”

Snape grunted a noncommittal acknowledgement while surreptitiously admiring Granger’s exposed legs as she climbed the ladder and stre-e-etched upwards.

“I can't quite reach, sir.” Suddenly, the surprisingly shaky ladder caused her to stumble and fall. Snape, with rather Gryffindorishly heroic reflexes, caught her in his arms.

“Hermione! Are you alright?”

She gasped. “You called me 'Hermione!'”

Severus failed to reply, lost in the thought, She feels so perfect against my body.

Taking advantage of the position, Hermione batted her eyes. I fit so perfectly into his arms!

With a slavish adherence to fanfic cliché, Snape pressed his raging erection against Hermione's thigh.

What's that? Oh my goodness! He wants me! Yeeesss!

“Hermione, how could I have missed the woman you've become?” he asked breathlessly, feeling the weight of her full breasts against his chest.

“I dare say, sir, you’ve been so occupied with hating Harry that you haven’t looked at the rest of us.” Hermione gave him an odd look. “That is why you look at him, right?”

“Why else would I look at that imbecilic fool?” Snape said, conveniently forgetting the Lupin/New Year’s incident. He gazed longingly at the bare, naked flesh before him. So entranced he hardly noticed that he was now naked as well.

The Narrator interrupted. “Wait! Wait just a damn minute, here! How did he get naked? And WHEN did SHE get naked? Aren’t we missing something?”

The Editor took the Narrator aside. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we ARE missing something here. It’s called a plot. Please, sit back and enjoy the naked people and try not to think too much.”

With no further interference from the fic support staff, Hermione gazed at Severus’ pale, slender body, which was actually quite muscular. I will make him forget he ever looked at Harry! she thought before melting at his kneading of her breasts and his kisses on her neck.

“Professor? Can you please talk to me? Your voice…”

He continued to nibble and suck until he marked his claim to her.

“It's like honey!”

“What should I say? Hermione, you are more beautiful than I could ever have imagined!”

She pushed Snape back onto his desk. “No, talk dirty to me in your velvet tones,” she said, straddling his lap.

The Narrator, a bit peeved, said, “And now, back to the classroom… evidently by Portkey, since they didn’t walk and—”

The entire reading audience chimed in with, “You can’t Apparate within the castle!”

Hermione looked around the room for the crowd responsible for the sudden noise but saw nothing.

“I am more than willing to talk dirty, Hermione, my pet,” he rasped, flipping the bird at the entirely too noisy reading audience. “Now, back to you, me, and my impressively massive… desk,” he said, drawing Hermione's attention away from the disturbing interruption.

Potions Desk!Sex! Just as I've always longed for! Just like it's always done in fanfiction! Hermione thought as the eager and excited reading audience chimed in with wolf whistles.

Abruptly, she pushed him away and stood up. She moved to straighten her skirt (such as it was) only to realize it was gone. Huh? When did that happen?

“What?” Snape asked frantically. He surreptitiously checked his breath. No, that’s fine. Shit! If she’s got cold feet, I have no excuse to let my glands carry me away in an entirely unprofessional manner. Bugger!

“I can’t believe I almost forgot!" Hermione exclaimed. "Before we have sex, I have to tell you how I respect you and all that crap. Then I need to fulfill my role as Head Girl!”

The Narrator snorted. “Oh, yes, phrase it just like that—'I have to tell you how I respect you and all that crap.’"

“Hmm… bring on the Head Girl!” Snape muttered, hearing only the pertinent part of her statement.

“Don't you want to hear about how I respect you? I practiced the speech and everything. I've practiced it in every story I've been in. I've said it a million ways. You have to hear it. You just have to.”

“I'd be honored,” he said, then muttered, “As long as I get the head too.”

“Excellent!" She gave him her most I-am-so-thrilled grin. "I'll make sure it's worth your time.”

“You always were a conscientious student.”

“Professor, look at my eyes when I'm talking to you, not my mouth.”

“Honey, it’s not your mouth he’s looking at,” the Narrator remarked.

“I am looking at your eyes. Occasionally.”

Hermione folded her arms under her breasts and stuck out her bottom lip in a beautiful pout.

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. And she called me oblivious. How the hell am I suppose to concentrate on her eyes with her full lips just begging to be filled and her breasts served up like a feast on a platter? Still, he quickly dragged his gaze back to her eyes before he could get caught staring again and tried to pacify the young woman.

“I am looking at your eyes, pet. In fact, I don't think I've noticed before just how beautiful they are, like richest molten chocolate and flecked with caramel,” he said, hoping like hell that all of this food talk would remind her of her Head Girl promise.

“Chocolate and caramel? They're brown, you sap, and certainly not edible! That’s it! I give up. One of you Editorial lot can narrate the het; I’m going back to the slash.” With that, the Narrator flounced off, leaving the Editors to scramble for someone to adequately cover Snape’s angst and the wonders of the Respect Speech.

"We need a bed, Harry. Harry? Damn it, Potter, NO DOOR!SEX!"

“Push chairs together… Malfoy, don’t go all capslocky on me. Hurry!”

"Potter, you have a wand."

“Yeah, I have wand, and, Malfoy, I need to use it right now.”

"Merlin's Arse—I mean, Transfigure something! Rumor has it that you are, in fact, a wizard.” Draco pushed Harry just far enough away to use his silvery come-hither glance to good effect. “Transfigure a bed for me, and we’re back to first names… Harry…"

“I…” Harry’s brain short-circuited slightly, leaving only two clear images: lying down and Draco using his first name—repeatedly and in an increasingly loud voice. “Here!”

“Amazing. He managed to find his wand—the magic one,” the Narrator said with a snort.

“No laughing at your own jokes,” the Editorial Staff said sternly.

Draco stared in mild trepidation at the fruits of Harry’s Transfiguration efforts. “That’s not a bed.” What happened to Shy-And-Snuggly!Harry? he wondered anxiously.

“It’s a place to lie down,” Harry argued, pulling Draco towards the black leather couch.

“I expect that someone wants to RST before they lose N-E-R-V-E,” the Narrator said, needing to use up the snarkiness that had been allotted for the Snape/Hermione scene and slightly annoyed at the reprimand from the Editorial Staff.

Draco balked, sensing that the deflowering scene of his daydreams was rapidly disappearing down the nearest sub-castle cistern. "Is that the best you can do?"

You're the best I can do,” Harry said a little desperately.

Draco blushed a shade of pink that Lavender would have found a bit too much. "Ooh, poetry after all." He melted all over Harry, quite boneless (with one notable exception).

Slender build aside, over one hundred pounds of boy was not easy to hold up. Harry tried to steer them towards the couch, staggering slightly. “Please, Draco… There's a couch… You can lie down.”

"But, we do need a bit more space, I think." He licked down the front of Harry's chest, oblivious to the fact that he was in some danger of being unceremoniously allowed to fall to the cold, stone floor.

“No… little space… tight and hot… good…” Harry had processed that much quite thoroughly from his recent reading marathon. He pushed Draco against the couch, flopping beside him and panting.

Draco snuggled in against Harry's neck, forehead against the leather. Suddenly, he sniffed—inhaled the leather-and-boy-scent more deeply—then pulled back, looking at Harry with silver eyes gone cloudy. “Amortentia,” he sighed deliriously.

Failing to grasp the significance of what Draco was saying, Harry settled for grasping Draco's hair. He stared at his potential lover, green eyes dark with desire, then squinting with confusion. “Wait… Draco, are you getting cataracts?

"I could tell you what you'll be getting," Draco moaned, more from frustration than arousal. He began squirming his way down Harry’s body, licking all the way. "But, I suspect that you'll stop saying stupid things if I SHOW you."

One of the Editorial Staff bustled into the Potions classroom, squeeing quietly.

“It looks like Harry and Draco are finally going to RST!”

“Same here,” a fellow Editor said, pointing out Snape discreetly trying to keep his erection alive during Hermione’s speech.

“Is it Head Girl time?”

“Just about.”

“Simultaneous blow jobs in two different ships! We are fanfic goddesses!”

“Simultaneous? Really? YES! We so rock…”

Hermione was finally wrapping up her speech. "So, in short—"

"In a very loose definition of the word…" everyone mumbled to themselves.

"—that is why I respect you, sir, and want to shag the daylights out of you. Now that the Obligatory Respect Speech is out of the way, we are officially allowed to RST."

Snape popped awake, relying upon all of his finely-honed instincts as a teacher subject to endless staff meetings and a former Death Eater subject to endless mad ranting to respond as if he’d been paying attention.

“The phrase ‘shag the daylights out of you’ probably helped,” one of the Editors observed.

“Yes, absolutely! Now, Head Girl duties?”

Realizing how pathetically eager that sounded, he added, “If you can, with your limited experience, accommodate me in that regard.” He cleared his throat and glanced downward meaningfully. Normally, he would have to make some show of ethical angst at this point, but Hermione's Obligatory Respect Speech had been so damned long and boring that he lacked the will.

“Now that is one impressively massive… cliché,” one of the Editors said with a snort.

Hmm… What to placate… Strident feminist principles or intellectual pride? That was the sum total of Hermione’s internal struggle before she tossed her head (causing all loose parchment in the room to go flying in the equivalent of propwash from her impressively massive hair) and insisted, “My experience has nothing to do with this. I’ve read all I need to know on the topic and can perform expertly!”

While Snape gazed at her with something between awe and horror, she cast a Cushioning Charm and settled into position. “I did well with the banana, but now I really see that I should have gone for the cucumber instead.”

Snape was thoroughly put out. “A banana!”

"Well, how could I have known, sir? Be that as it may, your cucumber is perfectly ripe for devouring.”

Get ready to receive those O's! he thought.

Hermione tried—and failed—to deep-throat and defaulted to using a helping hand.

“That’s all the detail we get?”

“It is with just an ‘R’ rating,” the chief Editor said ominously.

”Come for me, Professor! Come on!” she said in an effort to speed things along with aural stimulation. She resumed sucking, hoping to get it over with.

Moaning filled the air. Some of it was from Snape.

Hermione moaned at the sound, increasing sensation for professor.

Snape grabbed a handful of curling locks as his moaning deepened to an almost growl, “Oh, yes, Hermione,” and failed to restrain his bucking hips.

“Mine!” moaned Hermione and sucktastically increased suction.

The professor threw his head back as he growled out, "Oh Hermione!" through gritted teeth.

Hermione smiled in self-satisfaction and wiped away a dribble of goo, then licked the goo off her finger on second thought.

Watching Hermione devour his essence was too much for the professor. He quickly picked her up and laid her out on his desk, her arse balanced on the edge. While she busied herself trying to get comfortable on the hard, flat surface, he surreptitiously scooped a small vial of blue potion from his drawer and downed the liquid before his young lover could notice it. His erection immediately sprang back to life.

“Your turn, my dear,” he said, looking down hungrily at her form spread out upon his desk. “Now, every time I sit at this desk, I'll imagine you like this... sprawled out wantonly, whimpering and writhing your want of me.”

"Ooh! Oh yeah! Talk dirty to me, Sevvie."

"With lots of alliteration, since that's so sexy," an Editor muttered.

“But, of course, you'll have to be punished properly for daring to call me 'Sevvie.'”

“Go ahead and punish me. I am more than willing to accept the… consequences of my actions! As Head Girl, I must set an example after all. But… no 'Sevvie?' Can I call you 'my sweet Sev,' then?”

“Absolutely not! When you call out my name in your passion, I want to hear every sibilant!”

“That can be arranged, sir,” Hermione replied with a knowing smirk.

Snape started thrusting into her with wild abandon, hoping to see if she really could attain an 'O' for wildness.

Draco reflected that it was really handy that he knew Harry had washed recently. Licking a navel without fear of lint was sort of liberating.

Harry giggled. “Draco, that tickles.”

Too far gone amusing himself with Harry's belly button, Draco ignored the laughter. However, he did notice another sound. Harry kicked out, giggling uncontrollably at the same moment as Draco jumped. Draco slid off the couch so fast he all but crashed to the floor.


“What are you ‘Potter'-ing me for? I told you it's ticklish!”

"No, not that! Use the loo, or something!"

“Wha? You want to clean up already?” Some very lurid possibilities ran through Harry’s mind, all of which would preclude any possibility of kissing Draco on the mouth in the near future no matter how well he cleaned up beforehand. He re-situated himself on the couch, noticing that Draco made a face as another objectionable noise met his ears. “Wait, you thought… Come on! This is leather! It does that!”

Draco stood and rubbed at the surface of the couch with his slightly sweaty palm, grimacing at the resulting sound. "I think I've changed my mind about leather being sexy."

Harry was mesmerized by Draco’s thong, which may not have been leather, but was now at eye level and thus occupying the entirety of Harry’s mental faculties. “But it IS sexy…” He reached out, never once taking his eyes from the thong. “May I?”

Draco smirked, but also blushed slightly. He was so busy preening at the compliment that he utterly ignored Harry’s question. Harry took his silence as an affirmative. "Oh!" He swayed, leaning against the leather for support. Said leather predictably made further noises.

“I can still see lines… You know… one big…” Harry gulped, “line.” He winced at the noise. Draco giggled as the couch continued to add its own uncouth form of commentary. “I think maybe we should just… you know, use the wall.”

"What is it with you and the wall?" Draco whined.

“I'd like to… to push you against it… and my hand… roam the planes on your chest.” Harry proceeded to demonstrate, not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved at the absence of nipple jewelry. Fan fiction never talked about how bloody painful that must be to have put in.

Draco pushed Harry's robe the rest of the way off, leaving it against the couch so that Harry could slide back without prompting further commentary from the leather. "Somehow, I was expecting more… color," he mumbled, returning to nuzzling Harry’s chest.

“I didn't have any goo on me.” Harry wondered if confusion would be his natural state as long as Draco kept talking and if that didn’t mean that his boyfriend was actually somehow related to Luna.

"I meant… a tan."

“I’m still a shade darker than your porcelain white.” Personally, Harry thought that any reference to ‘porcelain’ sounded like it had something to do with toilets, but it seemed to be considered quite poetic by fan fiction writers.

“You make me sound like some sort of plumbing fixture," Draco complained, of a similar opinion on the use of ‘porcelain’ as an adjective. "That's it—no more walls, no more talking, no more obnoxious noises from the furniture!"

“Er… Okay.”

Draco dived for Harry's jeans, unfastened them, and reached in.

Harry responded with the most manly sound he could manage at that juncture.


Draco answered in kind.

"Eeep! Potter, you—you!"

“I… Don't stop!”

Draco looked down at a handful of completely unencumbered Potter-cock, completely dumbfounded at the sight. "R—right." He scooted back, still mesmerized, ignoring the farting couch.

“What? Draco you can't leave me hanging like this!”

"No pants." He sounded almost awed.

“Dudley's really didn't fit.”

“Gah—where’s the brain bleach when you need it?” the Narrator wondered.

"From where I'm standing, it's hardly 'hanging.'" Draco blinked admiringly.

“Well… I'm… I'm… hung.”

Draco leaned forward, lips quivering. "I see." He squeezed his eyes shut and licked.

“Wait a second! WHERE did he lick?” The Narrator squinted at the jumbled mass of boy-limbs and mussed hair, trying to figure out where everything was, then gave up in frustration, fumbling with the outline to figure out if the characters were anywhere near accomplishing their prescribed activities.

A stray member of the Editorial Staff, who was watching in glassy-eyed fascination, said, “Judging by that sound Harry just made, there’s very little doubt as to where Draco licked.”

“No, wait—stop,” Harry gasped, pushing Draco away. Draco found this something of a relief because contrary to reports, pre-cum was NOT exactly nectar. Of course, it was all a small price to pay to actually (squee!) have real sex, especially when Harry obviously wanted Draco to be inside him when they both came (SQUEEE!).

But, Harry sat up, which Draco found as confusing as it was noisy. “Harry, what are you doing?”

“Erm… pouncing?” He struggled against the friction of the couch, attempting to make truth of his declaration.

“But, why?”

“So I can, um, be inside you before I come in your mouth and ruin everything,” Harry explained, blushing clear down his neck.

“But, I thought you’ve been reading slash. Everyone knows that whoever gives the blowjob gets to top!”

“I have been reading slash, and I always top.”

“Excuse me? You do not!”

“I do too!”

“That’s not always how it happens!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Almost always. Check the book if you don’t believe me.”

“Love to, but it’s not here.”

“Well, get it then.”

“Get it yourself!”

“Like someone said earlier, if you want to be ‘getting’ any, you can start by ‘getting’ that book.”

“Merlin in a Speedo! Look, if I go get the sodding book, will you two stop bickering and get to the RST already? We’re losing readers here!” the Narrator interrupted.



The Narrator whisked away invisibly, leaving them to the couch and an awkward silence.

Inside the Potions store room, one might have heard a very strange, Mysterious Ticking Noise. The sounds of sweaty, thrusting bodies moving to the rhythm of a ticking clock might quickly account for the noise… if any of the SS/HG shippers could have focused on something other than the long-awaited unfolding of the RST scene.

The thrusting continued at a steady beat. Every time Snape would push in his impressively massive… Well, you get the idea… Hermione would yell out his name.










“Heeerrrmione!” Snape groaned out as he thrust into her again.

One of the Editors began snapping her fingers in time with the thrusting. "Kinda catchy."

The Narrator entered, purposefully looking for the book but stopping short at the curious ménage a trois between Hermione, Snape, and the sliding desk. “Well, I’ll be damned, They finally got to it?”

“Shhh,” a fanatical shipper whispered.

The Narrator noticed that there were more people in the room than could be accounted for by the Editorial Staff. “Say, where’d all these other people come from?”

An Editor shrugged. “Someone mentioned The Petulant Poetess. That’s all I know.”











“Bloody hell, this is repetitive. Has anyone seen the book?” the Narrator announced loudly.


The volume in question was finally spotted beneath the derrière of a diminutive fan, who squawked indignantly at having her vantage point literally pulled out from under her.

Hermione and Snape forged on, oblivious.

“Speed it up, will you? Or do some laving! Licking! Something to break up the monotony!” an audience member begged.

“Right. Let me know if anyone survives this,” the Narrator said.

The Editor sighed as the Narrator abandoned Snape and Hermione once again to see what Harry and Draco were up to. "After seventeen rounds, I'd say… not so catchy."

“Is… is whoever that was gone?” Harry looked around the room nervously. He still didn’t have friendly feelings towards disembodied voices, even if other people could hear them.

“Yes, but I’m still here,” the remaining Editor said.

“Oh. Um, is that really necessary?”

“Yep. There’s no story unless one of us is here. Don’t worry, y’all haven’t got anything we haven’t seen already,” the Editor chirped.

“Well, could you at least turn around for the, ah, intimate… parts?” Draco tried to semi-hide behind Harry, which wasn’t really working as Harry was attempting much the same thing.

“Okay,” the perky voice responded, cheerfully and pretty much entirely untruthfully.

“I suppose we should be ready for—you know. Just in case.”

“Uh, right. Wouldn’t hurt to be all cleaned up and whatnot.” So saying, Draco found his wand in the clothes pile and directed the only cleaning spell he knew of at the pertinent part of Harry.

“EEE—YIPES!” Harry jumped, peeling too quickly and somewhat painfully away from the leather. “Fuck! Draco, what was that?”

Draco colored slightly, taking in Harry’s wide-eyed stare and squirming. “A Cleaning Charm?”

“Somehow, I don’t think ‘Scourgify’ is supposed to be used THERE,” Harry said, making another odd face.

“Does it hurt?”

“Er, not exactly… It’s… um… different, and… Well, here—”

“WHAA! Oooh… Um, I see.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s—”



“All right, one bloody book delivered. Can we get this show on the road?”

Harry grabbed the book eagerly and flipped to the Table of Contents. “See? There’s a whole Bottom!Draco archive!”

Draco snatched it away from him. “That doesn’t mean anything! Look, I get to top here… and here… and look, we take turns in a bunch of these. But, no matter what, whoever blows, tops! And I already did it.”

Harry skimmed sex scene after sex scene and made a quick check of the index.

“All this organization for a bunch of cheap internet porn. Does anal-retentive have a hyphen, Miss Granger?” the Narrator murmured, reading over Harry’s shoulder.

“Good grief. It’s almost as ritualized as the one, two, three fingers thing,” Harry finally said, defeated. “Fine. You do it, then.” He flopped back on the couch, pouting slightly.

Draco tried to smirk, but found it difficult to do so when he was trembling all over and practically giggling with joy. “Okay, right, um…” He scooted closer and slid one hand tentatively down the back of Harry’s thigh. Harry jumped. Draco pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. “Ah, I think maybe you should turn over. So I can see what I’m doing, you know?”

Harry grumbled a little, but complied. Now, they were both shivering, and Draco was shaking like a leaf and whispering, “Ohmygodohmygodohwow…” until he finally broke off and whispered something that Harry couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s going on back there?”

Lubricus!” Draco finally gave up on whispering and said it aloud. “It’s not working!”

“Maybe you’re saying it wrong?”

“How are you supposed to say it?”

“Um… How the hell should I know? I’ve only ever read it.”

Draco bit his lip and contemplated Harry’s squee-worthy backside and the relatively useless book in turn. “Me, too.”

“Translation: aside from a couple of kisses with girls, which were considerably impeded by irrational fear of ‘Bludgers,’ they’re both utter and complete virgins,” the Narrator said.

“You don’t need to sound condescending,” Draco said with a scowl in the direction of the voice.

“I think it’s adorable.” The perky Editorial Voice sighed.

Harry beat his forehead against the arm of the couch. “Just kill me now.”

“Oh, and ‘Lubricus’ isn’t a real spell,” the Narrator added.

“Great. So, now what?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any lube, would you?” Draco asked the Narrator hopefully.

“Nope. And before you ask, I’m not getting any.”


“I’d have to go back to the Potions classroom, and last time I was in there, I heard… ticking.”

“They use spit in some of the stories,” Harry offered.

“Right. Yeah.” Draco sucked on his fingers cautiously, looked askance at the seemingly inadequate moisture, then tried to spit on them with relative delicacy and accuracy. Harry gasped as the wet digits came into contact with his bum and left a cooling trail as they moved closer…

“Oh, very well! But, I insist on at least TWO orgasms as a condition of acquiescing to this!”

Harry turned around, blinking in puzzlement. “Huh?” Draco was lying back on the couch, pink-faced, his arms crossed sulkily over his chest.

The Narrator sighed. “He means he’s too squeamish to stick his fingers in your arse, so you get to top—but you’re going to have to work like hell for it.”

“Oh. Um…”

“You want to top, you know what comes first.”

“Right.” Much as Draco had a while earlier, Harry closed his eyes most of the way, leaned forward, and began to lick.

Draco emitted a high-pitched gurgle last heard in the throat of an expiring Plimpy.

“Speaking of coming first… relatively little suction later…” the Narrator said, trying to stifle a laugh.

Harry coughed and spluttered through Draco’s half-audible apology. “Well… at least this answers the question of what to use for lube.”

“Oh… it’s time for that, is it?”

“Yes, please.” Harry whimpered slightly, having been waiting an awfully long time for some—any—RST. “One, two, three, and in, right?” He collected the mess on Draco’s stomach and tentatively felt for the area in question.

“O—okay. Aren’t you going to… Gah!—saysomethingabouthowyou’ve… Eee! Careful!—always been attracted to me?” Draco squeaked and squirmed, eyes improbably wide.

“Um…” Harry groped for something to say other than, ‘I’ve always thought that you were a complete and utter git,’ and worried that if Draco was squeaking in response to one finger, it was going to be an awfully long trip to three. “Er… Well, there’s your hair. I can always spot you… It’s really shiny.” Harry decided to kiss him before he could ask any more trick questions.

“Anything else?” Draco gasped, looking thoroughly snogged and a bit more relaxed.

“You smell wonderful,” Harry said, hoping this was enough stretching, because Draco really did smell wonderful and Harry was going to absolutely die if he didn’t get in him now.

“EEEH! Yow! Harry!” Draco screeched.

The claws practically piercing Harry’s shoulders in no way detracted from the excess of euphoria that suddenly pervaded his being via the excess of tightness clamped around his cock. “Ohmydeargod, Draco, you are the most exquisite, perfect, gorgeous, beautiful being in the known universe.”

Draco blinked… trembled… slumped over, his eyes rolling back. “Yes, Harry!” Apparently, ego-stroking was the ultimate analgesic/erotic stimulant. Within seconds, the couch was alive with a writhing ball of pale and paler skinny limbs clamped around each other in an earnest attempt to merge into a single entity.

“Wow,” the Editor-in-attendance breathed. “It’s… like watching a rubber band ball mate with itself.”

The rubber band entity in question suddenly erupted into a series of not entirely un-rubber-like groans and squeals and collapsed into a slightly leaky mass.

“What was that?” the Narrator asked.

“Offhand, I’d say the prostate,” the Editor said a bit archly.

“Oh, for crap’s sake,” the Narrator mumbled. “It took how long? After all that angst?”

“Hush. They look so happy.” This was accompanied by a happy sigh from the Editor in question.

Harry reverently wiped the mess from between them with his discarded shirt. “Perfect,” he said, gathering his less sticky love against him.

“And I was afraid you’d always thought I was a complete git,” Draco whispered through his cloud of slightly achy ecstasy.

What? Git? Where? “My beau’ful snuggle-Dragon,” Harry mumbled blissfully.

“My cuddle-bear,” Draco cooed, then followed Harry into his sated snooze.

A ‘Pop’ broke the silence, but the boys were not disturbed.

“Whoa, crap! What the hell?” The Narrator, on the other hand, was somewhat startled.

Three house-elves labored under the weight of a huge, fluffy blanket. One of them gestured, and the blanket spread itself over Harry and Draco, who snuggled cozily under the mountain of fluff. “Dobby is not letting Harry Potter get cold,” the elf said primly, and he and his companions popped away.

“And to all, a good night,” the Narrator said and wandered off dazedly to the kitchens to see if house-elves would pour straight whisky on request.





“Who votes we throw a real ticking pipe bomb-thingy at them?” one of the weary Editors asked. An ominous-sounding clock decoy had already been deployed to no effect whatsoever, aside from the happy couple using it as sort of an obscene metronome.

“It’s either that or call a Naked!Dumbledore alert,” another suggested.

“Like calling ‘Fire’ in a crowded theater, that is,” the Narrator said, peeking in on the way to the kitchens.









"Miss Granger, that's more 'O's than there are courses at Hogwarts," Snape panted as he rolled off Hermione and lay at her side.

“I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, Professor. Can we do it again, sir? Sometime soon?” Hermione said, cuddling up beside the suddenly sweet and handsome Potions master.

“You have my word, Miss Granger!”

Author’s Notes:

Thank you to the Potter Puppet Pals for the ticking pipe bomb (which one of your writers still insists should really be called a time bomb). No thank-you to them for Naked!Dumbledore. The writing and editing staff of the Mad Chatters are not responsible for any residual negative effects on your intimate relations as a result of reading crackficcy sex. We will, however, happily accept any credit for finally writing the doggone RST.

Trying to sort out writing credits for this chapter would be a bit like untangling a bowl of spaghetti. Generally speaking, the SS/HG is in the department of SeverusLovesUs and snapemylove, and the HP/DM is property of dracontia and Potteresque_ire. But the term ‘capslocky’ and the rubber band ball belong to Potteresque_ire and dracontia respectively. Neither of them will take credit for the other.

Dracontia apologizes for the ellipsis infestation.

Finally, thank you to Angel Mischa, for elevating "Meep!" to the status of dialog.

Up next: This Epilogue Does Not Suck.

Links to the rest of the fic
Chapter 1: Broomsticks… Bludgers… Both?
Chapter 2: Covering All the Hoops
Chapter 3: Something Vaguely Quidditch Related
Chapter 4: On the Scoreboard!
This Epilogue Does Not Suck


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Sep. 6th, 2009 05:45 pm (UTC)
I love Draco getting all squicky at the thought of three fingers in Harry. :-)
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )


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