Chapter the Fifteenth: In Which Draco’s Prince Comes...

Disclaimer: Shhh... their real owner still thinks they're entirely straight.

Warning: Possibly not as explicit slash as you'd like, but I'm aiming for low comedy, not high passion.

"This simply isn't going as it ought," Draco said. He may have been sniffling, and he was definitely discouraged. "I have been altogether let down by Father, Mother, Severus, and my entire bookshelf." He sat shivering on the edge of the tub, trying to recognize his short-haired self as reflected in the iridescent domes of the rising mound of soap bubbles. "Oh, what am I, without my hair?"

"Um... you look a little cold," came the hesitant voice of the prince. "Otherwise, I'd say it's an improvement."

Draco gave a squeak and slipped into the half-filled tub. For all his criticisms, Draco felt distinctly fluttery around the other boy. His green eyes were much more intriguing than those of that robe model who posed with the hilt of his wand resting provocatively on his lips!

Of course, the effect was somewhat dashed by those clunky glasses and...what was that on his forehead?

"If you are a prince, why do you go about with a silly scar on your head?" Draco asked. "How did you get such a thing, anyway?"

The prince blinked at him owlishly and gave a disbelieving huff of laughter. "It's... a fairly long, stupid story, not worth dwelling on. I take it you don't get the papers," he said.

"We do; sometimes I read the society page, to see if there is any mention of Father or of Mummy. The rest is boring, all about war and Lord thingy and some prince that's supposed to have survived the Killing Curse..." Draco clutched a sponge to his chest. "You're... you're not..." He wanted to say something, possibly something witty and impressive. But all he could do was stare and squeak. He may have squeaked something that sounded like "The Prince Who Lived!"

In fact, judging from the prince's next statement, it was precisely that. "I prefer to go by Prince Harry...or just Harry. I'm not too particular," the prince...apparently that prince...said almost apologetically.

Draco spent a good thirty seconds just trying not to aspirate bubbles. In those seconds two flashes of insight dawned on him, possibly because his head was finally allowed to do something besides grow hair: one, he wanted Prince Harry to do to him all the lovely-sounding if confusingly-described things that heroes did to princesses in novels; and two, princesses were girls. Owing to his isolated upbringing, Draco did not fully grasp the parameters of 'girl;' but he was certain that Mummy and subjects of rescue in novels were such, and that he himself was not. In a third insight (Draco was having a banner day for mental activity) it occurred to him that Wormy had hinted this might preclude holding the interest of a prince.

It also registered that Prince Harry was addressing him. "Are you sure this can't wait?" he asked. By his gesture towards the tub, Draco gathered that he was referring to bathing. "I was told we have limited time."

Was there any way to convince Harry to do some of those things? "I can't leave this place for the first time in ten years without clean hair," Draco said. He bit his lip, remembering from somewhere that looking vulnerable was attractive. "Perhaps you could help? So I could be done quickly? I haven't ever washed my own hair. Mummy did it when I was small, and once it grew long, it could only be cleaned with elf magic."

Harry fidgeted indecisively. "Sure... Okay." He tossed aside the garish red cloak Draco found inexplicably offensive and rolled up the sleeves of his somewhat less unflattering flying robes.

Before he realized what was happening, Draco found himself practically ducked in the tub. He came up spluttering angrily. "I say, what was that all about? I..." the rest of his tirade stopped abruptly. Harry had grabbed one of the potions bottles on the edge of the tub, dumped some in Draco's hair, and began working it in with oh, such strong, gentle fingers...

"I hope this is the right one," Harry said. His voice was a little muffled through the lather in Draco's ears. "It looks like the stuff I used to get troll's snot out of my hair once, and that cleaned anything."

Draco did not give one damn if Harry was rubbing cold porridge into his hair as long as those delightful hands kept up the good work. If this was the 'laving' referred to in the steamier romances, Draco could see the attraction. "I... oh... isn't rescuing hard work? Could you use a wash as well?" Draco gasped. Harry in the tub could only be a good thing.

Harry faltered a little in his scrubbing, which was a shame. "I... right now?"

"I read that Quidditch Players bathe together after a match," Draco said.

"We don't quite...er, actually...why not," Harry babbled. He gave Draco's hair a quick rinse with deliciously warm water from the Erumpent's trunk-shaped tap and stood up.

Draco, never having been taught it was rude to stare...Severus encouraged it as part of the learning process...gazed at Harry expectantly, but he managed to fumble out of his robes fast enough that he was in the tub before Draco got more than a quick look. Glimpsed above the bubbles, he had a torso comparable to a professional Quidditch player's, Draco noticed giddily. It almost made up for the fact that he was scrubbing up at the other end of a very large tub, with his glasses still on.

"I...I could wash your back, if you like," Draco offered. Using the word 'please' and offering help in the space of ten minutes was as world-changing as having a prince in his bathtub.

Harry swallowed visibly. "Okay." He turned around quickly as if doing so before he could change his mind.

Before Draco could change his own mind, he scooted closer and took up the sponge. He tried and failed to gulp down the little whimpers that rose in his throat each time his fingers brushed slick, warm skin, and he squirmed in place...desperately wanting to do something about the rising desire in that part of him he identified from novels as his 'manly member,' but completely appalled at the idea of the results in the bath.

"Here, must be your turn now," Harry said. His voice was as uneven as his awkward attempt to turn around.

"Eep!" was all Draco managed to say, as he hastened to turn before Harry did. For a few perfunctory passes over Draco's shoulders and upper back, Harry kept his distance. Then he slid the sponge over Draco's shoulders, and, with an audible gulp, edged close enough that Draco was immediately aware that if his 'manly member' was in a state of excitement, Prince Harry's was likewise...and also, where that missing inch of height had been spent.

"Just washing your front," Harry said, though it was hard to tell, between the pounding in Draco's ears and the crack in Harry's voice. "I'm not sure how much experience you have...um...with brooms!...but we can't ride in this condition," Harry whispered. "We'll have to..." Harry let his fingers finish the sentence.

Oh, yes, ye...no! "Wait! Not in the bath, that's...that's disgusting," Draco protested, squirming.

Harry groaned with every wriggle. His hands changed course, though he was rubbing Draco's hip bones maddeningly...also with nervous speed, had Draco the experience to recognize it. "There are spells to take care of that, you know," Harry said pleadingly.

"Severus doesn't hold with foolish wand-waving," Draco protested weakly.

Prince Harry heaved a sigh. "If you insist..." Harry spelled the water away and rinsed them with the obligingly flexible Erumpent's trunk. With a casual display of wandless, nonverbal magic, he dried their hair and Summoned one of Draco's vast, luxuriant towels to wrap around them both. Draco shivered at the implied power. Harry cuddled him close, steering them both towards Draco's bed.

"Besides, we still need adequate sexual lubricant," Draco said. Harry froze so completely that Draco wondered if someone had cast a spell through the tower window.

"You... Are you sure? I...it takes a while to do...that...right, according to Viscount Seamus, and he ought to know. He claims it's easier to talk your way in the back with the peasant girls than do a Contraception Charm," Harry said, staring wide-eyed at Draco.

Draco blinked at Harry in confusion. "I don't understand," he confessed.

Harry dropped his end of the towel in favor of running his hands through his hair in consternation. "Okay... it's, ah..." Finally, he shook his head and pulled Draco a little closer to whisper in his ear. (Despite Draco's criticisms, there was only an inch or two difference in their heights.) Sadly, it was not sweet endearments, but a hasty explanation which caused Draco's cheeks to pink, drain of blood, and pink again, to say nothing of the somewhat quelling effect on his manly member. The idea that he'd asked Severus about that...well, the adverts in the back of Quidditch Illustrated had a lot to answer for.

At least he finally had a grasp on the whole boy vs. girl thing.

"But we don't have to do all that," Harry hastened to add, red in the face himself. "I'm kind of keen on, well, something quick. With hands. Hands would be great." He punctuated this with an emphatic nod.

Draco pulled the towel about himself coyly. That sounded decidedly less scary. "So... after that... you'll take me to your home? It is a proper castle, right? For living happily-ever-after and such?"

"Yeah, about that... whoever named it 'Grim' hold wasn't kidding," Harry said apologetically. "D'you think... if my elf would cooperate with you, he's a little... cranky... you could make it look nice and castle-y, like your room here? It's not like I've got a queen to argue with you about colors and stuff. I might have to marry my friend Princess Luna, since she's having my heir, but she's more the outdoor type. I think you'd have a title...Lord Chamberlain-of-the-something. I'll ask Lady Hermione if you need to be made a peer. That ought to make your dad leave off the Voldemort nonsense."

"Oh," was all that Draco could think of to say. It somehow didn't seem like a fairytale ending, though his reading material was vague in that regard.

"It wouldn't all be work... I mean, we could still do this sort of thing," Harry said, and gave Draco's bum a squeeze to make clear what sort of 'thing' he meant. "Luna won't mind. She's only interested in studying, and she... she might even want to join us, in the interest of science or something." Harry went a bit glassy-eyed. His hands also went wandering.

"That... sounds rather interesting," Draco gasped. He decided Harry's plan had merit, especially considered from a position on his back amid his myriad pillows. "I'll start...Oh!...decorating...by having my bed moved to your castle."

"Excellent idea," Harry said. He yanked the towel away. "How 'bout we stop talking?" By way of follow-through on that suggestion, he covered Draco's mouth with his own, constituting Draco's very first kiss. It was not as fresh as it could be and a little horse-after-the-cart under the circumstances; but for once in his life, Draco couldn't bring himself to complain.

Draco being Draco, he also couldn't completely refrain from talking once they came up for air. But he did limit it to 'Oh!' 'Yes!' and 'Harry!' for the scant minutes it took for them to arrive at the fabled 'moment of bliss.'

Fairytale or no, they were seventeen.