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Hermione was dating Draco Malfoy now and it was a disaster.
Not that Harry had any strong feelings for the git.
He didn’t.
Malfoy was just mildly annoying. And he and Hermione were always arguing with each other. You know, in a stupid, flirty way. Very tiresome for everyone else.
It put Ron in a terrible mood.
Ron still had feelings for Hermione, which Harry did his best to ignore.
Harry didn’t want to know that Ron was pining for Hermione, but it was too blatant to miss, and it made Harry feel very uneasy.
Especially when all Harry wanted to do was enjoy a pint or two after a long week at the Ministry.
But, no. There was no enjoying himself when Ron was this worked up.
They were all sat at the same table in the pub. Ron, Harry, Hermione, Malfoy, and—Goyle.
Greg Goyle.
He was there to keep an eye on Ron, Harry reckoned. To protect Malfoy. Make sure he didn’t get his nose bloodied.
But Goyle wasn’t doing much looking around. He was inspecting his pint. And also sneaking glances at Harry. Which was odd, wasn’t it?
When had Greg Goyle ever felt the need to look at him?
Harry did his best to ignore this as well. To tolerate it for Hermione.
His whole evening was turning out to be a long exercise in pretending not to notice.
Ron was vibrating next to Harry, virtually levitating off his chair.
Hermione was flushed and squirmy. Malfoy kept on leaning over and whispering things in her ear.
“Go on, then,” Ron said loudly. “Share with the rest of the table.”
Malfoy blinked at him. “What?”
“Go on, tell us what you’re whispering to her. I think we’d all like to know.”
Malfoy’s expression gave a strange twist as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to frown or sneer. “No, thanks,” he answered breezily.
“Please stop interfering,” Hermione said to Ron.
“I’m not interfering!”
“Yes, you are!” she snapped. “If you are determined to be such a sourpuss, then I suggest you just go home!”
Ron sputtered. “Sourpuss?!”
Harry stood suddenly. “Mate, let’s order another round for the table. Come on.”
Harry grabbed Ron and hauled him away, which was no easy feat. Ron was a lot bigger than him.
At the bar, Ron began ranting. “Can you believe her?!”
Harry sighed and patted his arm sadly. “She’s moved on. There’s nothing any of us can do about it.”
“Out of all the people she could’ve dated, she had to pick him?! HIM?!”
“Yeah, it is a bit strange, but she’s obviously happy with her decision.”
“IT’S LUNACY!!”
“Quiet,” Harry said, then turned his attention to placing their orders.
“A whisky!” Ron barked at the bartender, who served him first. Ron knocked back the shot, then grimaced hard. “Ugh.”
Harry sighed some more. It was obviously going to be a long night.
Ron caught sight of Hermione and Malfoy, and exclaimed loudly. “Now they’re dancing! Right in front of everyone! Can you believe it?!”
Harry spared them a glance. “Yeah, how dare they dance in a pub like any other normal couple?”
Ron shot him a wounded look. He announced, “I need the loo,” and then he fled down a dark corridor away from everyone else.
Turning back to the bar, Harry ducked his head, feeling rather sad for Ron. This whole thing was a bloody mess. And, even if Harry made light of it, it still was rather shit of Hermione to dance with Malfoy right in front of her ex-boyfriend.
For a few minutes, Harry remained in that position, lost in thought, waiting for his order of drinks to be ready.
Then he felt the heat of someone at his back.
Someone rather large.
Now smiling, Harry turned back around, fully expecting to encounter Ron, but, no, it wasn’t his friend.
It was Greg Goyle.
Harry got an eyeful of his rather broad chest. His brutish chest.
Harry raised his gaze to his face.
It wasn’t an attractive face.
Goyle’s features were blunt, his nose too big, his chin too weak. His teeth were crooked with gaps. They were too big for his mouth just like how his nose was too big for his face.
But he had sweet dark eyes with pretty lashes.
And he was staring down at Harry with a steady intensity.
A silent intensity.
Goyle was a man of very few words. He had always let Malfoy do all the talking.
But Malfoy wasn’t there, and Goyle was looking down at Harry as if he wanted to—to—
Oh, Harry thought, a hot realisation washing over him.
Suddenly, Harry understood what was happening here, and it was so unexpected, so bewildering, that he almost laughed.
Goyle was eye-fucking him.
Harry wasn’t out, not to the public, and only his closest friends knew he was gay. And, he reckoned, Malfoy knew now, too. So did Goyle. By happenstance.
Goyle knew—and it made him eye-fuck Harry.
How interesting!
Biting his lip, Harry cast his gaze down. He didn’t do it to be seductive. He did it because he was enticed.
Then he raised his gaze again, this time being shy about it, and Goyle was still staring down at him. There was nothing flirtatious about his stare. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think Goyle was trying to intimidate him.
But, no, Harry knew an eye-fucking when he saw one.
Even if Goyle didn’t make a peep.
Even if his ugly mouth remained a flat, mean line.
Harry stared at that mouth, inspecting it.
Yeah, it was ugly, so ugly. Especially with all those crowded teeth.
It was the kind of mouth that was made to be punched.
But Harry realised he didn’t want to punch it, oh no, no.
He wanted to give it a sweet kiss. Such a sweet kiss. He wanted to give it a lick or two, and taste the ale on its tongue—
Goyle was breathing hard now. He still stared down at Harry but his gaze had gone lidded.
Goyle was witnessing a change in Harry’s expression, and it was making him react.
Feeling a bit as if he were dreaming, Harry took a half step closer. He began to speak, not sure what he meant to say, but then a loud disturbance interrupted him.
Across the pub, Ron was hollering. He was going after Malfoy as Hermione cried, “Ronald, stop it, stop it!”
Goyle was gone in a flash.
Next moment, Goyle had hold of Ron, pinning Ron back against his chest, Ron’s arms now useless as Goyle held them up and away from his body.
It was a commanding hold, a powerful one, and it was something a bodyguard knew how to do.
Harry found himself conflicted.
It was his best friend who was being held back, probably uncomfortably, but Goyle was also hot as hell as he did it.
Oh my God, I fancy Greg Goyle, Harry thought, and then he did have to laugh. Just briefly. Before he rushed over to help Ron.
“Let me go, let me go!!” Ron howled.
Hermione looked shaken. “I think it’s best if I went home.”
“I’ll accompany you,” Malfoy said quickly.
“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Ron cried.
Harry had to wince for him. Yeah, his best mate had lost his marbles.
Hermione, now hiding tears, fled the pub. Malfoy shared a look and a nod with Goyle, then fled too.
It was only after Malfoy had gone that Goyle released Ron.
Snarling, Ron spun around. They were surrounded by Muggles, so they couldn’t go for their wands, but Ron wanted to. The rage was clear on his face.
Ron stepped forward, raising his fists. They were of similar height, Ron and Goyle, but Goyle was obviously much, much stronger than him.
Before violence could erupt, Harry stepped between them. “Mate,” he said quietly.
“Get out of my way! I’m going to bloody his nose!”
Harry held Ron back. He also glanced at Goyle, finding Goyle rather stoic except for a small smirk that slightly curled his lips.
Yeah, Goyle would pummel Ron’s face in, and rather easily, too.
“Mate,” Harry said again, now urging Ron toward the exit. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Surprisingly, Ron let Harry tow him from the pub.
Another surprise: Goyle followed slowly, keeping his distance.
It was as if he were tracking Ron, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack. Or he was keeping an eye on Harry. For whatever reason.
Out in the alley, Ron wrestled out of Harry’s grasp. He began to cry a little, trying to hide his face behind his hands.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Ron whispered wetly.
Harry put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You didn’t. She just didn’t want to be with you any longer. Happens to the best of us.”
“No, shut up! You broke up with Ginny, not the other way around! You don’t know what I’m feeling! We were supposed to get married.”
Harry didn’t respond, now rubbing his shoulder. Ron allowed it for a few moments as he finished up crying, then he shrugged him off.
“I’m getting out of here,” Ron growled.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.”
Harry squinted at his face. “Don’t go looking for her, got it?”
“Oh, fuck off, mate. I’m not that much of a lunatic!”
Then Ron spun and Disapparated.
Frowning, his head full of worry, Harry turned back toward the door. He froze. Goyle was standing in the doorway, just watching him.
Harry approached him slowly. “What are you doing?”
Goyle didn’t answer. And he didn’t move out of the way. He was no longer smirking.
Harry had to tilt his head back to properly glare up at him. “Have you forgotten how to talk or something?”
Goyle didn’t respond. His eyes bore into Harry, virtually expressionless.
“You would have hurt Ron. And badly, too. I don’t like that.”
Still, Goyle didn’t say anything.
Huffing, Harry stepped up even closer. “I want to go back to the pub. Move, please.”
For a long moment, Goyle didn’t move, and Harry imagined himself having to shove at the much larger man. Put his hands on him.
Then, still staring down at him, Goyle stepped aside. He followed Harry with his body as Harry moved past him, then followed him into the pub, now at a distance again.
I have a bloody stalker, Harry thought, and escaped to the loo. He half-expected Goyle to follow him even into there, but he didn’t.
After a good fifteen minutes, Harry re-emerged, and he found Goyle still in the pub, now in a corner, just waiting.
Harry went to the bar to make sure he wasn’t charged for the round of drinks he was never served.
“Your tab’s paid for,” said the bartender.
“What?”
“Your friend paid for it all.”
“Who?”
“That bloke over there. Your friend.”
Harry didn’t need to look. “Oh, I see.”
“So, what can I get you? Another ale?”
Harry was yet again conflicted. Did he want Goyle paying for his drinks?
Harry gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, an ale, please.”
Once he got his drink, he floated about the pub, doing his best to relax. He watched some telly, then fiddled with the jukebox. He even played a bit of darts with a couple of grandads.
Goyle stalked him the entire time.
Guarded him.
From a distance.
It was unnerving. To say the least.
But it was also … a tad hot.
Harry didn’t have much experience flirting with men and all this was very unexpected.
Perhaps he’d misread the situation entirely and Goyle was just fucking with him …?
That made way more sense than bloody Greg Goyle wanting to shag him.
Perhaps Goyle was too stupid to understand how he was coming across …?
A few hours passed, yes hours, and Goyle didn’t leave. He didn’t stop watching Harry. There was no drink in his hand. He didn’t look bored. No, he was focussed.
It all made Harry start to crack up. He drank too many pints. His darts began to miss the target entirely.
Yeah, it was time for him to leave.
Harry was hot all over as he walked out of the pub. He sneaked a glance behind him. Goyle was following.
Harry could have just Disapparated but he didn’t.
No, he kept walking.
It was dark outside, a bit wet. Harry hurried down the pavement, heading in no particular direction.
Goyle kept pace with him.
Merlin, what is he planning to do?! Harry thought wildly, his annoyance picking up.
Goyle must’ve been fucking with him. It was all just too much!!
Harry quickened his steps, suddenly turning down random roads, following all the twists and turns of the old city.
Harry spied a rather deep, a rather private, alleyway. Perfect.
He hastened into the alleyway, venturing all the way to the back. He spun around and waited for Goyle to appear.
And he did, walking slowly, hands buried in his pockets.
Harry stumbled back. “What are you doing?!”
STILL, Goyle didn’t say anything, but he just kept coming closer and closer, until Harry was forced back against the wall.
Harry yanked his wand out. He pointed it up at Goyle. “Did Malfoy put you up to this?! To fuck with me?!”
Goyle snatched his wand from his grasp and dropped it to the dirty ground with a clatter.
Then Goyle sank to his knees. He put his hands on Harry’s waistband, his thick fingers poised to unclasp the button.
He peered up at Harry. “Do you want it?” he said in a rough, quiet voice.
Harry’s mouth fell open. He hadn’t a clue what to say.
Goyle waited patiently, still peering up at him. He was breathing a bit heavier, which was the only sign that he was affected.
“Do YOU want it?!”
Goyle gave a silent nod.
“This is madness, you do realise?! We barely know each other and you’ve said like two words to me this entire night!! You’re bloody stalking me, you are. And now—and now—”
“Yes or no?”
“—I’ve never done this, I mean like never, and I don’t know what—what—”
Goyle cupped Harry between the legs. He began to massage his dick. “Yes or no?”
“YES!!”
Goyle yanked open his jeans and tore everything down to his knees. He paused when he got a look at Harry’s dick, which was pulsing right before their eyes, fattening up.
“Perfect little sweet,” Goyle murmured to himself, and then he gulped Harry down.
And it really was a gulp.
Harry was in his throat.
Harry was small. But he still should have been making Goyle gag.
Oh my God, he knows how to suck cock, Harry thought, and then he threw his head back and cried out.
Goyle bloody ate him up. He moaned as he gulped around Harry over and over, now bobbing his head a little, his rough, fat hand working his small sac.
His balls did feel small in Goyle’s meaty grasp.
“Oh God, oh fuck,” Harry babbled, shaking all over. Harry’s hands found Goyle’s thick head of hair, burying themselves, hanging on. His hair was surprisingly soft, so soft.
As his orgasm barrelled forward, Harry began to grind deeper, unable to stop himself.
Goyle moaned some more, the sound wet. He grabbed Harry’s arse, groping roughly, as he urged Harry to fuck deeper.
Finally, Goyle’s gag reflex kicked in, and the sensation of his throat contracting around his dick made Harry come with a howl.
Harry pounded his release down his throat, and Goyle moaned sloppily, taking every last drop, his fingers embedded deep between Harry’s cheeks, nearly touching his arsehole.
When it was over, Harry collapsed back against the wall with a gasp. “God.”
Goyle remained on his knees. He was all sweaty, his colour high. He licked his lips as he stared at Harry’s softening prick.
Then he raised his dark gaze. He said roughly, “I want to see.”
“See what?”
“Just one look.”
“What?!”
Goyle grabbed his hips and eased Harry around to face the wall.
Then Goyle parted his cheeks to glimpse his arsehole.
Harry gasped so loudly.
Nobody had ever seen his arsehole.
“Oh, God,” Harry groaned weakly, shaking all over again.
Goyle stared for a long, long time. And his breathing just grew heavier and heavier.
Harry felt himself winking for him.
He expected to feel Goyle touch him—maybe even taste him—but Goyle kept his word and let him go.
Just one look.
Harry felt Goyle stand and back away, and he whipped around, jeans and pants still shoved down.
Harry didn’t think; he just lunged for Goyle, wanting to feel him up, wanting more, but Goyle grabbed both of his wrists and held him back.
“What’s wrong with you?” Harry said.
“No touching.”
“You sucked my dick and I can’t touch you?!”
“Yes.”
Goyle slowly eased his arms down, then released Harry. He paused as if he expected Harry to lunge for him again, but Harry just stood there, waiting to see what the hell Goyle wanted to do with him next.
Goyle cast a Cleaning Charm on Harry, then another one, his warm magic washing over him. Gently, he eased Harry’s pants up, then his jeans, and he took his time zipping him back up, redoing his button, easing his shirt back into place.
Then he picked Harry’s wand up and slid it back into his pocket. He even smoothed his hair back from his face, tucking a few strands behind his ears.
Harry stared up at him. “Why?”
Goyle turned away without answering, but Harry snatched up his meaty wrist. Harry expected Goyle to yank away, to maybe even snarl, but he just let Harry hold him for a moment, his face turned away.
“Tell me why,” Harry whispered.
“Because I wanted to,” Goyle said to the wall.
“But—”
Goyle pulled away and left the alley, not looking back, his shoulders hunched.
Harry just stood there and watched him go.
His dick was still pounding.
So was his heart.