Pre-Fic Note: This one was done for a challenge I started in sortinghat(underscore)huff on livejournal. I called it the "Pairings You Hate" challenge. So, First I wrote the previous H/Hr I wrotethis D/H drabble that is semi-related to this one.

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

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Harry ran his hands through his lover’s hair, marveling at how soft the other boy managed to keep it. The other boy’s lips crashed into his and their tongues twisted and tangled for what seemed like forever and a millisecond all at the same time. They pulled away, both feeling quite breathless.

“Miss me?” Draco whispered against his skin before nipping at his earlobe, and then, strangely, sniffing Harry’s robes. His face contorted into a mask of revulsion. “You smell like her.”

Harry blushed. “Yea, sorry about that. She sort of cornered me before I had a chance to get away.”

“Hmm…” Draco moved his face closer to Harry’s, almost kissing him, but pulling away just before their lips could connect. “I would assume that is the reason you were late?”

“Yea.” Harry says, nodding distractedly as Draco’s breath dances just above the skin of his neck, enticing him into arching his neck and praying for contact. Draco pulls away, wearing a slow, smug grin.

“Well, Potter, I expect retribution for being kept waiting. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Draco’s grin turns salacious as he leans in; Harry returns his grin and captures his lips.

Two hours, lots of panting and grunting, and some very manly squealing later, Harry was sneaking back into his dorm. He was quite worn out—he’d more than made up for being late—and failed to notice the pile of books that lay directly between him and his extremely inviting bed. And so, when his foot and shin crashed into the pile and sent them sprawling about the floor, he let out a rather impressive amount of cursing.

“Harry, mate? That you?” Ron’s voice queried sleepily from his bed.

“Yea. Sorry. Go back to sleep, Ron.” Harry replied, hoping to bypass the inevitable questioning of his whereabouts.

“Where you been, anyway?” No such luck apparently. Ron yawned pronouncedly.

“Down at the kitchens—midnight snack, and all that.”

“Oh, right.” Another yawn. “Night Harry.”

“Night Ron.”

Harry climbed into his bed and dreamed about being chased by a bushy haired monster until a silver dragon burnt it to a crisp and saved him.