Author: Jadea

Disclaimer: Ugh, I'm running out of creative ways to say, "Not mine, never mine."

Synopsis: A nice, cryptic, "Things are not always what they seem."

Warnings: Slash. Didn't catch that? Slash. This has very little plot-although it does have a bit-and quite a lot of sex. Actually, the sex kind of *is* the plot . . .

Rating: R. Seems all my Slashes are rated R. Another one that just refused to leave me alone.

******************************************

One hour.

He had exactly . . . 56 minutes, 17 seconds until the Prefect meeting was over.

With swift, assertive strides he raced up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, listening to the echo of his footsteps as he climbed, pausing only when he was face to face with the pale faced, mistletoe-adorned portrait of the lightly dozing Fat Lady.

"Cannons rule.".

They'd changed the passwords just yesterday; he'd had to find out the new one from an awe-struck First year who reminded him unpleasantly of Colin Creevy.

Lazily, a thick brown eyebrow of watercolor rose, just enough for a quick flash of recognition to show, and the portrait swung wide, revealing the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Even as the picture swung shut behind him he heard snores and knew that the Fat Lady had fallen asleep again.

The Common room was almost completely deserted, just as he'd anticipated. It was December 23rd, and the vast majority of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins had fled Hogwarts for the holidays, heading for homes where they would be fed, gushed over, interrogated and nagged within an inch of their life.

He had not gone home, not that he'd been invited. What would be the point?

The one Gryffindor who had elected to remain at Hogwarts over the winter holidays and was not currently at the Prefects meeting lay sprawled across the couch nearest the fire, fast asleep.

Shadows flickered across the walls, playing on the mahagony wood, the stone walls, the crimson carpet. And the fiery hair of the boy sprawled across the too-small couch.

54 minutes, 28 seconds

He wished he could simply stand there and watch the fire paint those glints of copper and molten gold into that crimson hair, but he had less then an hour, now. It was not very often he got to see that face so serene, so calm. But that was not why he'd skipped out on the Prefects meeting.

He hadn't done this so he could see the way Ron looked when he was feeling *calm.*

He wanted to see that sinful mouth gasping for breath, panting to get air into those lungs. He wanted to see that crimson hair tousled and mussed, to see those blue eyes haze over with heat and pleasure.

He wanted to feel that tall, firm body writhing against his . . .

His lips ghosted over the other boys face, tracing a patch of freckles as they sprinkled down from Ron's brow to the curve of his neck, feeling the slow, steady gusts of air as Ron breathed. He inhaled with a slow, contented breath, hovering over the red heads mouth, teasing himself.

Enough.

Quidditch-calloused hands slid up the other boy's neck to tangle in his red hair, and he held the other boy firmly as he pressed his mouth to Ron's.

Soft murmurs, breathed into his own mouth. He felt the body beneath his jerk in surprise, both at being woken and the method of such, before blue eyes flickered open, and he saw recognition and desire in their depths. One word, he felt its shape form against his own lips:

"Harry . . . "

This kiss was fiercer, harder, cutting off the words he didn't want to hear. The other boy lay pinned under him and he took advantage, clutching the worn, hand me down robes, pressing the red head into the couch, tongue slipping in and out of the warm, wet mouth.

"Ron . . . want you . . . now."

A hectic flush of color in those freckled cheeks greeted his words and he pressed foward, slipping his shaking hands under the other boys robes, smoothing over skin he wanted-needed-to touch.

"Harry-Oh, God, Harry-Not, not here-up-upstairs."

Reluctantly, he slid off the warm body under him, savoring every moment, every bit of friction, every gasp, and tugged the other boy to his feet, before allowing Ron to lead him, hand in hand, across the Common Room and up the stairs.

Endless flights of stairs seemed to conspire against him and he fought the urge to simply press the other boy on his back against the cold stone. Finally, after an interminable wait, they stood outside a mahogany door with a plaque that read:

Gryffindor 7th year boys.

One of his hands snaked out, wrapping itself around the taller boy's waist even as the other one twisted the silver knob, pressing Ron backwards against the heavy wooden door and into the room.

He was lost in a frenzy of sensation, oblivious to everything except the red headed boy moaning against his mouth, and all the things he wanted to do to him. Hands clutching red hair, mouth moving against Ron's, and he backed the other boy across the room, shoving him on his back on the nearest available bed.

Oh, yes. A haze of heat had descended over those blue eyes, and they gazed up at him, desperate for more. A teasing smile tugged at the corners of that irresistible mouth . . .

"Neville's bed, Harry? What's gotten into you?"

He pounced, hands wandering freely over the other boys body. They tangled together, legs and arms. He slipped his hands in the other boys hair, running his fingers through the soft strands, tugging on them almost painfully, tossing black bangs out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. He wasn't used to his hair being in his eyes, and it annoyed him. He wanted an unobstructed view of Ron as the other boy lay beneath him, half naked and gasping.

42 minutes, 39 seconds.

His hands tugged at the other boys robes, stripping the old material off as quickly as possible. Ron responded enthusiastically and soon a feast of pale skin lay beneath him, all his for the taking.

This . . . this was what he wanted. All he had ever wanted. Lying beneath him, clutching his shoulders in a bruising grip, shuddering with pleasure at his movements.

"Wow, Oh, Wow . . . I dunno why-why you l-left the Prefect meeting, but I'm glad as hell you did . . . oh, yes-Oh, *Wow* . . . "

He felt the fingers on his shoulders clench painfully, heard the soft whimpers, gasps for air as he mouthed the other boy's neck, sucking hot blood to the surface before biting hard enough to leave a bruise.

*That* would lead to some interesting questions later.

Insatiably, his mouth moved downwards, leaving a trail of heat and moisture in its wake. Ron was beyond thought now, trying only to bring him nearer, and closer, and in. . . .

Warmth opened up before him and he drove himself into it, savoring the look of dazed pleasure on his red heads face, the way crimson bloomed in those cheeks, the soft, gasping whimpers that slipped out from that innocently foul mouth.

"Ha-Harry, Oh, Har-"

Unable to stand the words anymore he leaned foward, lips parting Ron's, slipping his tongue inside the other boys mouth. He didn't want to hear Ron speak; he wanted him helpless, utterly incoherent, capable only of moaning, frenzied cries . . .

Pleasure broke over him in a wave and he cried out, feeling the boy beneath him do the same.

Gasping for breath, he fell foward, clutching the boy beneath him. Half of his time was gone.

Rational thought had abandoned him, all he knew was the pleasure of the body joined with his . . .

Another wave of pleasure, of scorching heat. He stilled his movements, relishing the sight of the boy spread out before him. Such pleasure, affection, in that expressive face.

Such total trust.

"I love this."

He hadn't meant to speak, the only sounds for minutes now had been those of pleasure. His hopes that Ron had been too distracted to hear him were dashed when a pair of blue eyes slipped open and fixed their gaze on his own green ones.

"L-Love what?"

Such a hoarse tone to that usually playful voice.

"You. The way you give yourself, totally . . . "

A surprised, pleased smile began to form on the other boy's face and he began to move again, making Ron gasp.

/I love this. The way you give yourself, totally. Right now, you are utterly, completely, mine, and no one else's . . . /

The rest of his time passed in a haze of pleasure; of skin and sweat and sweet, hot pressure.

With less then five minutes left he reluctantly pulled away, slipping out from beneath Ron's arm and dressing as quickly and silently as possible, leaving a sleeping, well-ravished red head behind in Neville Longbottom's now rather rumpled bed.

3 minutes, 2 seconds

Shit.

He had taken too long.

Desperately wishing for an invisibility cloak, he sprinted down the seemingly endless stairs of Gryffindor Tower. He couldn't help reflecting that going up the stairs, with a very shaggable red head leading the way, had been far more enjoyable then racing down them alone, desperate to get out of the Gryffindor before he ran out of time-

Gasping for breath, his feet pounded on the floor of the Common Room floor, fingers reaching out, ready to open the Portrait hole when it swung open . . .

And the last person in the world he wanted to see entered.

The prefect meeting must have let out early.

/Potter/

The Gryffindor prefect jerked, green eyes widening with total shock when he saw-himself- standing not three feet away. Taking in his rumpled black hair, his messy, wrinkled robes. His own jade-green eyes staring at him from underneath his own black rimmed glasses.

Quicker then he would have believed possible Potter was pointing his damn phoenix-feather wand at him, voice tight and unbelievably dangerous. He didn't even have time to draw his own wand.

"Who. The *Hell* Are. You?"

Unable to restrain it, a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. With one graceful movement he smoothed the untidy black hair away from his brow, brushing the fringe out of his eyes.

He hated untidy hair.

"Me? Isn't it obvious, Harry? I'm your long lost identical twin brother, Herbie!"

Potters hand clenched, white knuckled around his wand as recognition flashed through his eyes.

"Malfoy."

17 seconds.

A lock of black hair tumbled into his eyes. He squinted, seeing the threads of silvery gold glinting in the dark strands, spreading through them like a stain.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?"

Potter still had his eyes trained on him, an inch away from hexing him.

The Portrait hole was still ajar. He could get out quick enough, if he could just distract Potter, get a hand on his own wand . . .

"Oh, I just borrowed something of yours and used it for a while, Potter. It's ok, though. You can have it back now, I'm done . . . "

Comprehension dawned on the other boy's face, eyes flickering away from him to study the staircase leading up to the boy's dormitories . . .

Moving with a speed that impressed even himself, he cast a smoke charm, blocking himself from Potter's view long enough to slip through the portrait hole, knowing The Boy Who Lived would go upstairs to check on his best friend-his best *mate,* lover of over a year, thereby giving him plenty of time to make his way safely back to the Slytherin dorms. He hurried down the hall, ignoring the shriek of surprise as the Fat Lady truly recognized him.

"D-Draco Malfoy!"

His hour was up.

The Polyjuice Potion had completely worn off.

***************************************

As you can tell, this is a deep, heartfelt fic. (Snorts) If anyone has already used this idea, I swear I didn't borrow it from you . . . I've never read a fic where Polyjuice potion was used for the same reasons as Draco's . . . naughty, naughty boy. Anyway, tell me what you think, if ya would.