7 Minutes in Hell

When they said there was a party being throw in the room of requirements, Harry had seriously thought they meant a party, and not just "a random gathering of people at night in which twelve gallons of butter-beer would be consumed".

Harry, Ron and Hermione, along with a bunch of other Gryffindor sixth-years, had arrived to the room of requirements at eight. At nine, each of them had had at least five butter-beers and the first bottle of fire-whiskey had been opened. The scratchy, wicked riffs of The Weird Sister's lead guitarist, Kirley McCormack, were crackling in the background of the voices of the twenty, odd people who were gathered, although no one was dancing. Harry thought to himself that lame didn't even cover how much this party sucked. There weren't even any hot girls, as he imagined there would be – there weren't even any fairly pretty (and easy) girls he could get it off with. And if Hermione hadn't been busy sucking on Zacharias Smith's face, he would've asked Ron and her to get the hell out of there.

The oddest thing was that not even Ginny, who was known to be an enthusiastic party-freak, and her new golden boy weren't doing anything, but hanging out with Luna Lovegood in the far corner of the room. Now: if Ginny wasn't dead-hammered and freaking out, people were definitely not in any mood to party right now and wouldn't be later. And Harry considered himself as a part of the people.

Dean Thomas approached him accompanied by his better half, Seamus Finnegan, and a half-emptied bottle of fire-whiskey. They were looking drunker than Harry had ever seen them before, yelling some incoherent non-sense at him as they got closer. Harry was shaking his head at them, hoping to be able to avoid them – unfortunately he wasn't.

"Oi, Harry! You gotta taste this!" Seamus exclaimed happily, grinning as he attempted to hand Harry the almost-finished bottle in his hand. Harry wondered how many bottles Seamus and Dean had already emptied before this one, and looked at them with the slightest hint of concern in his glance.

"Hey guys," Harry said a bit awkwardly, sipping at his beer. "But, eh, no thanks. Maybe some other time."

Seamus rolled his eyes at the dark-haired boy and took a swig, coughing as he laughed.

"You're so boring Harry! You have nooo idea of what you're missing out on! This stuff really burns!" Dean pulled the bottle out of his friends hand as Harry nodded indulgently at them.

"Yeah, that's what I'd feared," he said when the two other boys began giggling frantically and shaking their heads (and the rest of their bodies) at him. Harry pulled away, judging they were simply too drunk to notice when Harry drew backwards, away from the crowds that slowly was gathering again near the dance-floor. He watched them for some time, and admitted to himself that he preferred to stay in the shadows. And, he discovered not much later, he obviously wasn't the only one.

"Hey, watch it, Scarface!" Someone snarled behind him as he bumped into another body. No, not a body; he'd bumped into Draco Malfoy. Of all the people he could've chosen to stumble into, it had to be Malfoy.

Harry turned around to face the blonde boy, opening his mouth as he thought of a proper answer to give his enemy. And then, just when he was about to give Malfoy his mocking reply, it occurred to him how long it was since he'd seen the other boy on a closer hand. And Harry concluded secretly that he certainly hadn't gotten any uglier.

'It's definitely the butter-beer thinking now,' he decided, realizing he hadn't said anything just when Malfoy spoke to him again. Draco's face was twisted into a dissatisfied and mocking grimace.

"What are you staring at, Potter? Found something good to look at?" He asked sourly, making a smug face at Harry. Harry had no idea of why he began to flush by this comment and he knew he shouldn't have.

"What are you doing here?" He finally found power in his voice to ask, still a little flustered. Draco snorted at him and crossed his arms.

"What, you don't think I have a social-life, Potter? This is a party, in case you were too mind-numbingly stupid to notice!"

Harry pressed his lips together and sent the blonde a cold glance through his dark lashes.

"I'll change my question then: Why would you attempt a party without speaking or interacting with anyone? I wouldn't exactly call that socializing!"

Draco looked at him with newfound fury, and sent him a piercing look with his cold, grey eyes, clenching his teeth and clutching his fists into hard balls. However, before he could get to answer Harry, Ron interrupted their fight, stopped to look at them for a brief moment before he spoke, obviously doubting whether this was a good or a bad time.

Apparently, he concluded that it wasn't all too bad.

"Ey, Harry, a bunch of us are gonna play Spin the Bottle over here, you wanna join?" Ron looked hopefully at him, a little slurry though, and Harry just replied with a shrug. He thought that at least he could get Malfoy off his back, and anything was better than ending up duelling with the blonde while they were both drunk. Much to his irritation though, Malfoy followed him and Ron as they walked towards the small group that was gathering in a circle in the middle of the dance-floor. A few metres away, a large closet had appeared. Harry creased his eyebrows, but didn't ask any questions of its origin or purpose... yet.

Draco scowled behind him, still with his arms crossed. Harry had always wondered how that boy could manage to look so bitchy all the time.

"So, who's in the closet?" He asked sarcastically, receiving another icy glance from Harry as he turned around. Harry almost spat his words out.

"I thought you were gonna ditch this place?"

Draco smirked, coming up with a challenging attitude towards Harry who didn't like the way Draco seemed to know more about this than he did.

"Not if someone's getting out of the... that... closet," he said, joining the circle with no further words, taking a seat besides Blaise Zabini. Ron pulled Harry down in the other end, joining some Hufflepuffs who all looked way too innocent to even be present at this party. Harry noticed that Hermione and Zacharias Smith had mysteriously vanished from the room – and Harry, less than the rest of the crowd, probably, didn't want to know where they were going, and what they were going to do.

Some brown-haired Rawenclaw-girl had found a bottle and placed it the middle of the circle. She was smiling evilly – a smile that gave Harry a disturbing feeling. He needed more alcohol. Luckily, someone had abandoned their butter-beer close to him. He emptied it in one slug, looking at the brown-haired girl whom he recalled having called Margaret before.

"Okay," she said, gaining the group's attention as she fiddled with the bottle. "These are the rules: Someone spins the bottle, and the person whom it points at, has to go into the closet with someone. The one, who spun the bottle, now chooses who shall accompany the one it pointed at. Whoever he or she chooses has seven minutes to do whatever he or she wants to do to the first person. And there are no exceptions and no chickening-out. If you're chosen, you're not allowed to resist in any way. Are you with me?"

Everybody nodded, and Harry saw how the reactions were very different; some looked smug – mostly the boys – while others looked terrified. Some were glaring nervously around the group to see whom he or she could be trapped in a closet with. Harry was just feeling very numb, and was now very unsure about having agreed to participate in this game. However, he couldn't possibly back out now – he'd completely lose his good reputation and no one would ever respect him again. And he was even the boy who lived!

Harry doubted very much whether he was ever going to live through this though. What was he supposed to do? Rape some girl? This was... sick! Sick and wrong and completely and utterly immature.

He looked around the circle, trying to find someone he'd actually tried to score if it hadn't been on others compromises. Padma and Pavarti were pretty good-looking, and there really wasn't anything wrong with those blond, elder girls in the far end of the circle, who all were dressed shamelessly revealing. At some point, Harry had fastened his glance at Draco, and suddenly he noticed that Draco was blushing brightly. Harry looked away quickly, hoped that the blonde had not taken account on his weird glance. Sick. That was what this was.

Margaret and her friend had already decided who to spin the bottle. The first couple had been picked out; Padma was going in the closet with Ernie MacMillian, and he looked very satisfied. Harry reached out for another beer; he hoped that with the right amount of alcohol, he'd no longer feel sad for Padma, and stop acting like a virginal loser. And during the seven minutes, which Padma actually seemed to be enjoying very much, he ended up drinking three and a half beers. Harry could feel that it was getting much, much harder to concentrate. He looked around the circle again; it was Padma's turn to spin the bottle.

It ended at Ron, who widened his eyes, more than a slight hint of fear. He'd been laughing greatly when Padma had been chosen. She was now attempting to avenge herself.

"Lavender," she said, smirking widely and evilly, glancing at Ron with pure coolness.

"Why don't you go having your Seven minutes in heaven with Ron? You really deserve them."

Lavender, dead-hammered and way too willingly, got up and stumbled towards the closet, reaching down for Ron's hand as she dragged him up. He looked mortified, but Harry could see that a bulge was already forming in his pants. This was going to get really, really ugly, he thought – and Ron was going to enjoy it all too much. Much more than Lavender and Padma would probably like him to.

They all waited for Lavender to get started; first they only kissed, and as everyone'd expected, Ron was far from reluctant towards her. Then she zipped down his pants – which were dumped shortly after, and everybody grinned. Harry figured this was like listening to Dudley watching porn-videos – the eerie fact was just that Ron was his friend, and that he'd had no intentions to hear him get sucked off ever in his life. Oh, how nightmares seems to always come true before the dreams.

Ron was supporting himself against the inner walls of the closet, and they were beginning to make an awful lot of noise in there. But just when Ron was closest to his climax – as they could all hear very vividly – seven minutes had passed. They'd definitely spend too much time on foreplay. Ron put his pants on again and buckled his belt. When the doors were opened and the two of them exited, Lavender was wearing a thick, satisfied grin and Ron's cock was throbbing against his jeans. Most of the participating students giggled, some of them laughing directly at him. His best friend was flustered and didn't look him in the eyes – mainly because Harry was avoiding his.

"Okay, guys," Lavender said, as the held the bottle in her hands (no one really wanted to think were they'd been only minutes ago). "I thought this was getting a little too boring. So I think I'm gonna spice it up a little!"

She placed the bottle on the floor again, and began to spin it. Her words did not sound good to Harry. Not good at all. And then, to his great horror, he realized that the bottle had stopped at him. He didn't flush now; he just turned pale. Holy crap. He was so dead.

Lavender smiled with pure evilness, the kind of cruelty that only girls can contain. She cocked her eyebrow.

"Oh, Harry. How interesting. Well... this is almost too good to be true. How hard it is to resist this temptation... Oh well, you're probably gonna like it." Lavender turned her head around, looking into a certain pair of clear, grey ones. Oh no. No fucking way in hell, no!

"Draco," she said over-sweetly, smirking widely. "Why don't you go to heaven for seven minutes with Harry?"

At this point, Harry had tried to convince himself it was all a dream. A bad one, but nevertheless, just a dream. How could anyone... this was... this was not just sick. This was cruel! And terrifying, regardless. How could he ever – just the mere image of Draco and him... no!

Draco and Harry looked into each other's eyes, and whilst Harry's expressed fear and disbelief, Draco looked way too self-satisfied and way, way too confident. His lips curved into a smirk.

"Get your wings and your halo, Scarface, we've just been picked by God." And then Draco got up and walked ever-so-gracefully towards the dark-woodened closet, jerking his head in Harry's direction. He made a smug face.

"You coming, Harry? Oh, but you will be."

This caused an explosion of laughter within the audience as Harry nervously got on his feet, partly supported by Ron, who didn't seem sure of whether he should laugh with the rest of the group, or cry with – or at least on behalf of – Harry.

As he spent the last seconds in his life as a straight guy, Harry watched Draco's body, concluding that this was probably not going to be as bad as he thought. He'd tried to convince himself earlier that he'd never fantasized about having that pale, lean body rubbed against him, feeling the flexed and hard muscles of his chest, tasting the sweetness of his mouth and –

No! He hadn't. And he shouldn't be thinking like this now. He should be thinking repulsing, disgusting thoughts that could pull his mind away from these filthy fantasies that was making his cock rise to attention. Harry looked at the room for the last time before he stepped into the darkness of the closet, Draco painfully close to him. He could feel the other boy's eyes at him, as two sets of cold hands pulled his shirt off. Draco's long, talented fingers stroke the muscles of his chest, as he pulled Harry into a kiss filled with too much energy and passion. Harry tried to ignore that his body liked this. He tried to ignore the fact that his entire self was begging, no aching, to kiss the blonde back.

"You're gonna like this," Draco whispered against the hollow of his neck, leading Harry's hands towards his crotch, letting him feel how rock-hard he was beneath the prison of his tight, black jeans.

'I already like this far too much,' Harry thought, experiencing how his fingers began to open Draco's pants, grasping his hardened member between his trembling hands. Draco chuckled slightly and moved his fingers away, kissing Harry again, sneaking his tongue in between the dark-haired boy's lips, tasting the warmth temptation of Harry's mouth. And then Draco mercilessly rubbed himself against Harry, causing him to moan of the pleasure that the friction between their bodies made. It felt too good. He needed more – maybe he even wanted more – and he needed it now.

Draco unzipped the other boy's pants quickly and unbuckled his belt, exposing his throbbing erection to the heated darkness. He could hear Draco sighing as he got down on his knees, kissing the tip of Harry's cock softly before taking it in cautiously and causing Harry to moan reluctantly by the overwhelming heat of Draco's mouth. This was cruel. How could he control his body when Draco was doing this to him?

Draco slowly, teasingly, moved his way up Harry's length, curving his tongue around the shaft, taunting the tender skin with the tip of his tongue as he sucked greedily on it. He nibbled the skin at times and increased the level of tightness when he reached the tip, causing shivers of pure, unspoiled pleasure to run up Harry's spine as he sighed, trying not to groan loudly as Draco mercilessly began to mouth-fuck him. Harry couldn't think clearly anymore and was losing control completely. He was thrusting into Draco's mouth and the other boy didn't even mind. He completed a steady rhythm, moving his hands up Harry's length to reach for his balls, playing with the soft skin tauntingly as Harry could feel himself being pushed towards the edge unwillingly.

No, he thought dimly, this was definitely willingly. Harry couldn't recall having had better sex in his entire life.

He'd bit his lip hard not to moan, and had more or less succeeded, but when Draco pressed on his member firmly, pressing his own lips together hard, Harry came without a warning and almost screamed because of the pleasure that hit him like a wave, sending shivers through his body, from head to toe, top to bottom.

In this very moment, they realized that people were laughing, although more nervously this time. Margaret made it clear that time was up, giggling madly as Harry dragged up his pants and underwear, trembling wilder than he'd ever done before. Draco leaned in and embraced Harry, kissing him for the last time before the doors opened. Harry could feel that Draco was painfully erect himself and realized how he actually desired very badly – too badly – to finish Draco off. He never got to do so, however, as he was forced into the circle again, obligated to spin the bottle.

But Harry didn't need vengeance, he thought, as he admitted to himself just how much he'd enjoyed having his enemy sucking on him like that. And Harry could now not decide whether the time in the closet had been seven minutes in heaven... or hell.