This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: This is a Christmas request for SpunkleMcKats, who never fails to review. You rock! *blows kisses* Her prompt included stunned!Draco, sobbing!Harry and a rendezvous by the lake. Merry Christmas a little early, dear!


"I don't see why we have to go," Ron said for the fourth time, pulling at his too-small jumper. He'd had another growth spurt recently, and nothing seemed to fit.

"Do I have to do everything for you, Ronald?" Hermione hissed, sending an Alteration charm at the offending garment.

Ron jumped as the fabric stretched to accommodate his lanky frame, sending his girlfriend an anxious glance as he thought about his trousers, which were also slightly too small. He hoped she hadn't noticed; the spell seemed like one that might endanger his bits if used in that particular region.

Harry noticed Ron's glance dart between Hermione and his too-high trouser cuffs, chuckling as he easily followed his friend's train of thought. He gave silent thanks that he'd gained access to both the Potter and Black vaults over the summer. He'd gone out and treated himself to an entire wardrobe, celebrating by torching Dudley's cast-offs with a well-placed Incendio when everyone gathered at Grimmauld Place for his birthday party.

Harry caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror that hung on his armoire. The tailored charcoal trousers hugged his trim hips, emphasizing his firm arse. He'd chosen the black cashmere jumper because he knew it accentuated his eyes, even though it was likely he'd also be ribbed about dressing so darkly for the Slytherin-Gryffindor Christmas party.

An unlike pairing from the start, the party planning had spiraled out of control the week before. It began as an exercise in inter-House unity mandated by Headmistress McGonagall, who wanted everyone – especially the returning upper years who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts – to be on friendly terms with each other. She'd approached the older students with a proposal: She'd allow them to have a party on Hogwarts' grounds – with alcohol – if they agreed to get along with their rival houses. Gryffindor and Slytherin had claimed the Room of Requirement, leaving Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw to make do with the Great Hall.

Hermione and Daphne Greengrass were in charge of planning the party, which grew each time someone suggested an activity. It had started with McGonagall's enticement – only those repeating their seventh year were invited, which meant everyone was of age – and expanded to include a Secret Santa gift exchange, dancing and a host of other activities best undertaken when drunk.

"It's not fair," Ginny pouted from her position on Harry's bed. She was sitting cross-legged, scrutinizing Harry's outfit. "I don't see why the real seventh years can't go."

"Because you're not of age," Ron answered, glaring at his sister. The last thing he wanted to worry about was Ginny in a roomful of drunken Slytherins.

"Well, it's not fair."

"You've said that," Harry said, grinning at her reflection in the mirror. "Help me, Gin. Too dark?"

Ginny cocked her head, her long red hair brushing the duvet.

"No, I like it," she decided, squinting at his tie. "This is promoting inter-House unity and all that jazz, yeah?"

Harry nodded, unsure of where she was headed with her question. Ginny just gave him a wicked grin, aiming her wand at him and changing the stripes on his tie from crimson and gold to silver and green. Harry's eyes widened comically as he watched the transformation in the mirror, his cheeks heating quickly as he whirled to confront her.


"What?" she giggled, tucking her wand back in her sleeve. "Your gift is hardly subtle. You may as well go all out if you're doing it."

Harry fidgeted nervously with the tie, trying to decide whether or not she was right. He'd had the luck – or lack of it – to draw Draco Malfoy as his Secret Santa gift recipient. Draco, the boy he'd had a crush on for two years – a crush that had become almost unbearable of late. The blond was too gorgeous by half, and it was driving Harry insane.

"I think it is a really clever way to come out," Hermione said, smoothing the wrinkles out of Ron's jumper with her hands.

"I don't know, mate," Ron said, his cheeks pink. "It's pretty public, yeah?"

Harry had known he was gay since a few weeks after the war, when he and Ginny briefly reunited – and promptly broken up after their first disastrous attempt at sex. It had been painfully clear to both of them that Ginny wasn't Harry's type – him moaning Draco's name when he came had been a dead give-away. But Ginny forgave him, after he bought out most of the florists in Diagon Alley and promised to introduce her to Oliver Wood.

"That's the point, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. She picked up the magazine that had been tossed on the bed, flipping straight to page 74. "It's brilliant. And you look fabulous."

The page held a full-color photo of Harry, naked but for a pair of leather Quidditch trousers and a broom, which he leaned on suggestively. His bright green eyes radiated lust and heat, nearly jumping off the page with their vibrancy. His golden skin looked soft enough to touch, and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband was absolutely tantalizing.

"It's not too much?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair as he looked over Ginny's shoulder.

"Too much? Merlin, no," Ginny said, pretending to fan herself with her hand. "Trust me. Anyone who looks at it is going to think it's not enough, not that it's too much."

Harry blushed again, rolling his eyes at the witch. They'd come a long way, if Ginny was able to tease him like this.

"I still think you could have just taken out an ad in the Prophet or something if you wanted to come out this way," Ron said, careful to keep his gaze away from the magazine. "I mean, Play Wizard? That's a little over the top."

Hermione giggled, rising up on her toes so she could rest her palms on Ron's heated cheeks.

"You're so cute when you're being homophobic," she teased, squeezing his face.

"I'm not!" he protested, his eyes wild as he looked at Harry. "I'm not, I swear. I don't care if you're into blokes, mate. But this –" he gestured toward the magazine on the bed "— if it's anything like Play Witch, is – well – wanking material."

Ginny laughed at her brother's obvious discomfort, turning the page to locate another photo of Harry. He was actually naked in this one, leaning up against a wall in a tiled shower, his head ducked under the spray. It was a re-creation of a Quidditch locker room, and Harry was partially hidden from view by a low half-wall. Still, it was clear he was nude, even though his more salacious bits were obscured by the frosted glass. Rivulets of water ran down his toned body, and the muscular curve of the top of his arse was just visible. His form blurred past that, the glass shielding him from intense scrutiny, but still showing enough to make any witch – or gay wizard – drool.

"That was the point, Ron," she teased, turning the page to scan the accompanying article again. "I think he had a very specific wizard in mind, though."

"Malfoy," Ron hissed, imbuing the name with as much hatred as he could.

"Malfoy," Ginny and Hermione repeated, their voices dreamy. It was hard to imagine a more beautiful couple than Harry and Malfoy.

"Isn't there anyone else, Harry?" Ron whined, slapping at Hermione's hands, which were straightening his hair.

"No," Harry sighed, absently stroking the Slytherin tie he now wore.

"It's so romantic," Ginny said, pretending to swoon on the bed. "Harry outs himself in a major magazine to catch the attention of his true love."

"Shut it, Gin," Harry hissed, his stomach plummeting. Suddenly, this seemed like a really bad idea.

"Even if you don't give it to him, he'll see it," she reminded him, clearly realizing he was having second thoughts. "These are just advance copies. It comes out next week. You know everyone is going to make a huge deal out of this. You'd best just go ahead with your plan. It really is sweet."


Draco could hear the music blaring all the way down the corridor as he and Blaise approached the Room of Requirement. Some bastardization of a Yule song by the Weird Sisters. Draco shuddered, wondering how much Firewhisky he'd have to drink before attending this joke of a party seemed like a good idea.

"Get over yourself, Draco," Blaise said, slapping him on the back. "No one has noticed you drooling over Potter. You can't keep avoiding him. Besides, he's straight."

"I'm not drooling over Potter," Draco spat, his teeth clenched. "And I'm not avoiding him."

"Slughorn had to threaten to take points to get you out of the dorm!" Blaise cried, incredulous. "You were going to skip out on McGonagall-sanctioned drinking!"

"Because I knew how naff this party is going to be."

"You're pants at lying about things like this, you know," Blaise said, giving him a knowing look. "It's rather embarrassing, a Slytherin who can't lie convincingly about who he fancies."

They both abruptly stopped talking as soon as they turned the corner, coming face-to-face with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Potter," Draco said, nodding coolly. "Potter's friends."

"Honestly," Hermione hissed, rolling her eyes. "We have names. You've known us eight years, I'd think you could use them. Malfoy, Zabini," she said, nodding slightly. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Granger, Weasel," Blaise intoned, bowing to both of them before nudging Draco. They stalked off toward the Room of Requirement, leaving a seething Ron in their wake.

"That," he said, livid. "That is who you want. When you could have just about anyone, that is who you want."

Harry colored slightly, lowering his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets, blushing even more when his fingers brushed the shrunken present he'd put in there earlier.

"I really do think he likes Harry," Hermione said, smiling at the dark-haired wizard. "I do."

"Well, he has a piss poor way of showing it," Ron spat, grabbing her hand and leading them toward the party.


"Now, gifts before or after the drinking games?" Daphne yelled, her voice magnified by a Sonorus but still difficult to hear over the thumping bass and loud talking.

"After!" Seamus yelled, holding his glass of Guinness up in the air. "Some of us will need a fair amount of Irish courage to get through the gifts!"

Harry shrank down in his seat, sorry he'd ever confided in his loud-mouthed roommate. He felt Neville's cool hand against his back, comforting him.

"He'll love it," the shy wizard said, leaning in to whisper so no one overheard them. "I've seen him staring at you when no one else is looking. You're not wrong."

He squeezed Harry's shoulder, then stood, surprising everyone when he opened his mouth. Neville rarely spoke to anyone but Gryffindors. He'd grown a lot braver during the war, but he still preferred to be the quiet one in the back watching everyone else.

"Presents first!" he yelled, his low voice pitched to reach everyone.

There were several grumbles, but everyone pulled their chairs into a rough circle, drinks and presents in hand. Hermione waved her wand, and a large bin appeared in the middle.

"Toss your presents in there, and we'll draw them at random," she said, lobbing hers in first. "Make sure they're labeled with the recipient's name, and make sure yours isn't on there. We'll all guess afterward. Prizes for the one who gets the most correct."

Harry shot her a panicked look – he hadn't known about that part. He'd hoped he could sneak off and give Draco his gift in private. That way, if it all went pear-shaped, he could get away before the Slytherin told everyone. Hermione just shrugged, pointing to Daphne. Apparently it had been the other witch's addition. Harry retrieved the shrunken package from his pocket, surreptitiously re-sizing it and tossing the flat gift into the pile.

Daphne retrieved the first package, tossing it to Millicent Bulstrode. She turned the brightly wrapped box in her hands, shaking it slightly to see if anything rattled. Everyone laughed at how careful she was– from the look on her face, she could have been handling some kind of noxious or explosive potion.

"Just open it!" Seamus yelled, taking a deep draw from the beer in his hand.

"Do it!" Greg Goyle yelled, even drunker than the Irish wizard.

Millicent slipped her fingers under the foil paper, tearing into the gift. Her lips quirked as she recognized the emblem on the box – it was filled with Cockroach Clusters from Honeydukes, her favorite candy shop. She held the box up, twirling it around so everyone could see. The Slytherins all laughed; Millie's love for the vile sweets was notorious in their House.

"A Slytherin for sure!" Pansy yelled, making mock gagging noises.

"Definitely!" Daphne called, scrutinizing her House-mates faces. She saw Theo's lips quirk, and she quickly yelled out his name.

"Right," he admitted, earning a pat on the back from Blaise, who sat next to him. Daphne pumped her fist in the air, and a hash mark appeared next to her name on a board that materialized out of nowhere.

"One for me, excellent!" she yelled, hopping up to retrieve another package. This one went to Neville.

The dark-haired wizard accepted the small box with trepidation, weighing it in his hand. It felt empty . He grimaced at the thought of some horrible Slytherin practical joke – giving Neville Longbottom a box of nothing. Bracing himself, he tore into the wrapping paper, unearthing a plain box. Curious, he opened the top, gasping in surprise when he uncovered a small bag of seeds.

"Of course!" Dean laughed, rolling his eyes. "Seeds for the herbologist-to-be. Brilliant."

Neville shushed him, holding the small bag up to the light. His grin grew as he recognized the tiny seeds.

"Mimblus mimbletonia!" he cried, his eyes flashing with excitement. "These are really, really rare! I've only seen the seeds in books! They're incredibly hard to get."

"Hmm," Pansy said, narrowing her eyes as she looked around the circle. "Draco, then."

The blond shrugged, nodding negligently. Pansy's name appeared on the board, with a mark next to it. She grinned at Daphne, who pouted slightly.

"Thank you!" Neville gushed, apparently forgetting he was talking to one of the people who scared him most. "It's just amazing. Thank you so much!"

Draco waved the gratitude off, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He'd known the Gryffindor had a thing for plants, but he'd have gotten him something more mundane if he'd known this was the reaction his gift would get. Blaise sent him a knowing look from across the circle, which Draco ignored. The fact that Neville was one of Harry Potter's best friends had nothing to do with his choice of gift. Absolutely nothing.

"Next up," Daphne said, fishing a small package out of the pile and lobbing it toward Seamus.

The Irishman caught the package easily in one hand, unwilling to put down his drink to unwrap it. Everyone jeered at him as he tore the paper off, making fun of his one-handed attempt. He rolled his eyes, stooping to place his beer on the floor when it was clear he couldn't maneuver enough to open the box without both.

He reached into the small box, pulling out a garish green button that flashed "Kiss me, I'm Irish" in neon yellow. He pinned it to his shirt, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. To everyone else's surprise, Tracey Davis jumped up, hopping into his lap and snogging him full on the lips. Neither blushed when they finally broke apart, and Tracey didn't move from her spot in the Gryffindor's lap, to the delight of their audience. Catcalls and whistles abounded, and the Slytherin laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Pookie," she crooned at Seamus, who laughed and kissed her on the nose.

"I'm going out on a limb and saying that was from Tracey," Hermione said, laughing at the spectacle. The board changed again, adding Hermione's name and hash mark.

"I had to trade to get your name," she told Seamus, winking at Pansy. "But I thought this was an opportune time to come out of the closet."

Harry choked on his Firewhisky, spluttering it down the front of his jumper. No one but Neville noticed, since Seamus and Tracey were kissing yet again, and Seamus' hand had made it up the back of her thin shirt.

"Ahem," Daphne said loudly, repeating herself when the snogging couple didn't stop. "If we could continue?"

"Oi, yes! Let them continue! A gift for us all!" Dean yelled, earning boos from the girls and whistles from most of the guys. The couple finally broke apart, but Tracey stayed seated where she was.

Daphne reached into the bin again, this time bringing out the flat package Harry had tossed in. He scrunched further down in his seat, blushing in anticipation of the spectacle it would cause.

"Draco, for you," she said, flinging the thin package toward the blond.

He caught it easily, raising an eyebrow when he felt how light and flexible it was. He cast a glance around the circle before unwrapping it, a grin breaking out over his face when he recognized the magazine's masthead. He should – after all, he had a subscription. He hadn't seen this issue yet, though, and his curiosity peaked when he saw who was on the cover – none other than Hogwarts' Golden Boy, the wizarding world's favorite Savior. Harry.

Draco looked up, but Harry's crimson blush not visible, since the Gryffindor was looking down at the ground. The note on the cover instructed him to turn to page 74, which Draco promptly did. His jaw dropped when he saw Harry in the tight Quidditch leathers, his eyes widening as he realized what this must mean. The Boy Who Lived Twice was gay. And gorgeous.

He flipped the page, his heart stuttering when he saw the shower scene. He could feel his own face heating as he imagined what lay beyond the wall – his overactive imagination had pictured a scene very similar to it many times, but it had never come close to the perfection laid out before him on the page.

The students closest to Draco had leaned over, anxious to see what could have rendered the snarky Slytherin Prince speechless. Soon, most of the room was crowded behind the blond, slavering over the photos of Harry.

Draco turned the page again, his eyes settling on the interview Harry had given. A few words jumped out at him immediately – he saw, of course, Harry's admission that he was, in fact, gay, but that paled in comparison to the shock he felt at seeing his own name there in black and white.


PW: Are you dating anyone right now, Harry?

HP: No, not right now. There were a few blokes over the summer, but I'm alone at the moment.

PW: I doubt you'll stay that way for long. Tell us, is there anyone you particularly fancy?

HP: (blushes) There is someone, though I'm not sure if I should tell you who it is. He's pretty private, and I have no idea if he returns my, er, affections.

PW: You can't just leave us hanging after a set-up like that, Harry! Who is it?

HP: (pauses) This probably isn't the best way to go about this, but I suppose it's too late for that. It's a bloke I've known for years, but not well. Draco. Draco Malfoy.


Draco looked up, stunned. Harry had remained in his seat, studiously avoiding Draco's gaze. He looked bored, frankly. Not the way Draco expected someone who had just outed himself in front of a dozen of his classmates – and confessed to a secret crush on his mortal enemy – should look.

"Blaise, you arsehole!" he yelled, fisting his hand in Blaise's jumper, pulling the darker wizard closer.

"What?" Blaise yelped, holding up his hands.

"This you wanker," Draco hissed, shoving the magazine under his friend's nose. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Blaise studied the article, zeroing in on the same part that had caught Draco's eye. No one but Ron, Hermione and Neville noticed when Harry bolted from the room.

"You jammy bastard," Blaise whispered, awestruck. "Has there ever been anything you wanted that you haven't gotten?"

"You – you mean this isn't from you?" Draco stuttered, his eyes wild as they sought out Harry. His gaze flicked around the room, searching for the Gryffindor.

"No, it's from Harry," Hermione said softly, frowning as the confession earned her another hash mark on the board. "He thought you felt the same."

She stood, her chair scraping against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the now-silent room.

"I should go after him –"

"No, Granger, I will," Draco said, jumping up, the magazine still clutched in his hand. "I didn't realize – I'll go."

"Over my dead body," Ron growled, throwing himself in Draco's path.

The blond arched an eyebrow at him, his eyes turning cold as he looked at the redhead.

"That could be arranged, Weasel. Get out of my way."

"No!" Ron shouted, shoving Draco. "What, you didn't humiliate him enough? You need to find him and finish the job? Fuck you!"

The room instantly erupted into chaos, with members of both Houses falling into rank behind their dorm-mate when both boys drew their wands.

"Stop it!" Daphne yelled, elbowing her way between the two groups. "Put those away. Both of you!"

Draco and Ron continued staring each other down, but both returned their wands to their wrist holsters. The rest of the students followed suit, stepping back a bit to give the two boys room.

"Weasley, don't be an idiot," Daphne said, motioning for him to step aside. "You don't know what you're talking about. Draco's been crushing on Potter for ages now."

She turned her cold gaze on Draco, waving him on with an impatient gesture.

"You," she said, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him toward the door. "You're an arse. Go. Find him before he does something stupid, like decides you aren't worth the effort. Go!"

Her words roused Draco from his stupor, and he took off toward the door at full tilt.

"Try the Charms wing!" Hermione yelled as he wrenched open the door, sliding on the floor slightly in his haste.


Harry sat amid the dusty cushions in a disused Charms classroom, not caring that the grime had transferred itself to his wet face. He felt like the bottom had dropped out of his world. The enormity of his decision to come out in such a public way was weighing on him, adding to his grief at so badly misreading Draco's interest.

The blond had looked absolutely horrified when he'd read the article. He'd been so appalled by the thought of being with Harry that he'd immediately thought it was some sort of a joke. Harry laughed, swallowing hard. It is a joke, he thought, swiping angrily at his tears. I can't believe I thought I had a chance with him. What would he ever see in me? I'm such an idiot.

Harry didn't turn when he heard the classroom door creak open, assuming Hermione had come after him. Or maybe Neville. They both knew he spent a lot of time in the abandoned classroom when he was upset. The fluid, silky voice that spoke up was the last one he'd expected to hear, and he whirled at the sound.

"So, you fancy me?"

Draco stood there, looking winded and tousled, but still absolutely perfect. Harry's heart lurched at the sight of the blond in the doorway, his chest constricting painfully.

"I don't fancy you, you idiot!" Harry yelled, tears clouding his vision again. "I fucking love you. I've loved you for years, you stupid blond ferret!"

Draco stood stock-still, stunned. He'd come to apologize, not to make things worse.

"Harry –"

"Shut up," Harry spat, not realizing Draco had used his given name.

"I love everything about you, and I don't know why," Harry continued, feeling miserable. It was best to just get it all out – he was already beyond mortification, so what was a bit more humiliation?

"I love that you would do anything to protect your family, even though I hated your methods. I love that you're so bloody brilliant, and that you have this grace that makes everything you do seem elegant."

Draco made no move to speak again, shocked into silence. Harry loves me? He couldn't get past the thought.

"I love the way you dress, and the way you fly. I've almost lost several Quidditch matches this year because I'm concentrating on you instead of the Snitch. Even when you're not playing, you have this intense look on your face when you're watching the game –" Harry broke off, swallowing.

"I even love the way you speak – so formal, even when you're insulting someone. Your voice –" Harry shivered, remembering the way Draco's words had slid over him like a caress when he entered the room. " – is fucking gorgeous, just like the rest of you. Yes, Malfoy, I fancy you. I fancy you so bloody much that I can't even fathom being with someone else. I fancy you so much I said your name during sex with someone else. So fuck, yes, I fancy you."

Harry turned abruptly, raising his hand to cover his eyes, which were rapidly filling with tears. He let his eyelids drift shut, focusing on the burning sensation behind them to try to stem the flow.

"But don't worry," he said, his voice soft. "I won't bother you again. I apologize for what I said in the interview – I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Harry turned again, storming out of the room. Draco stepped aside enough to let him pass, to stunned to think clearly. Harry stopped just before he passed him, their faces nearly touching. Draco could see the tears and hurt in the Gryffindor's deep green eyes, but he couldn't form the words he desperately wanted to – words that would let the dark-haired boy know he felt the same way.

"Maybe you should thank me," Harry said, his lips twisting into a sneer. "I've probably just made you one of the hottest commodities in the wizarding world. After all, who wouldn't want a piece of the bloke the Boy Who Lived fancies?"

Harry choked back a sob, fleeing through the still-open door. Draco remained frozen in place, trying to digest everything Harry had just said. He knew it had gone incredibly badly, but he couldn't help it when a small smile stole across his face. Harry Potter loves me, he thought, finally breaking out of his paralysis enough to dash back to his room.


Harry didn't want to open the window, but the owl had been insistently tapping for the last 10 minutes. He recognized the bird – it was gorgeous and refined, like everything Malfoy owned. He finally caved, waving his wand at the window to allow the bird to enter. It landed on his bed, eyeing him with a look of such disdain Harry would have sworn it was Malfoy himself.

"Even his bloody bird is a pompous arse," he muttered, earning himself a sharp peck on the hand as he untied the package that hung from the owl's leg.

The bird flew away without so much as looking back as soon as Harry relieved it of its burden, soaring through the open window and disappearing into the night. Harry was still grumbling as he waved his wand again to close the window, narrowing his eyes at the small rectangular package on the bed.

He debated destroying it without opening it, but he was too far gone for that. Harry knew he'd keep whatever it was, even if it turned out to be a hateful letter, simply because it was from Draco. To him. His fingers trembled as he untied the string, letting the plain brown parchment fall away from the object inside.

A journal? Harry wondered, running a finger down the cover. It was obviously expensive. The leather was buttery under his fingertip as he traced the gilt letters that identified the journal as Draco's. Harry's cheeks warmed at the thought that he was touching something so personal.

He opened the book, the first page telling him something he already knew – that the journal belonged to Draco. He flipped through the rest of the pages, disappointed to see that they were blank. A piece of loose parchment drifted out, landing on the bed near his knee.



This journal should make everything clear. The password should be easy for you to figure out. If you're willing to talk to me after reading this, you can find me by the lake.




Harry tapped his wand to the blank book, trying every password he could think of. He tried everything he knew that related to Draco – his favorite Quidditch team, his favorite pudding , his favorite colors – nothing. Harry read Draco's note again, wondering if it was some evil plot by the Slytherin to drive him mad. Maybe there was no password, and Draco had just given him a blank book to mess with him.

He tossed his wand and the book on the bed, burying his face in his hands. There was one thing he hadn't tried – but Harry doubted it would be something so simple. He picked up his wand once more, tapping the book and muttering his own name.



"Harry Potter."

Still nothing.

"Harry James Potter."

Suddenly, the book glowed, bathed in a golden light. As soon as it subsided, Harry wrenched the cover open, shocked to see words now visible on most of the pages. He sprawled across his bed, propping his head on a pillow, and began to read.

"31 July, 1991. I met a boy today …"


Harry kept reading, fascinated by Draco's journal entries. The knot around his heart loosened with each one he read, including the one marked with that day's date, written after Harry had left Draco in the old Charms classroom. He was on his second reading when Ron came back, quite obviously drunk, his movements exaggerated as he crept through the darkened room, stumbling often.

"Shh!" Ron whispered to someone – apparently Hermione – who was supporting him.

"I didn't make any noise, Ronald," the witch snapped, depositing her boyfriend on his bed. "You're the one who had to try to best Seamus. What were you thinking? You drank half a bottle of Firewhisky yourself."

"Don't be mad, Merhione," he slurred, and Harry had to stifle a laugh at his mangling of Hermione's name. There's going to be hell to pay in the morning, Harry thought as he listened to Hermione struggle to remove Ron's shoes.

"Let me," he whispered, pulling his bed hangings back and sliding off the bed.

"What are you doing in here?" Hermione answered, frowning.

"It's my bedroom," Harry answered, untying the laces on Ron's trainers.

"But I thought you were with Malfoy," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Blaise said he left to meet you hours ago."

"Meet me?" Harry asked, his mind racing. He shut his eyes, cursing softly. "Fuck! The letter. He asked me to meet him out by the lake, but I got caught up in his journal –"

"He gave you his journal?" she asked, a dreamy smile stealing across her face.

"Yes. Shit," Harry whispered, scrambling to retrieve his own shoes. He muttered a quick thanks when Hermione tossed him his heavy cloak as he moved toward the door.

"Good luck," she said, waving to him before turning her attention back toward her unconscious boyfriend, who was still mostly clothed and wearing one shoe.


Harry tore down to the lake, stumbling several times over the icy ground before he reached the shore. He looked around frantically, sure he'd missed his chance to talk to Draco. There was no sign of the blond anywhere. Of course not, Harry thought, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He told you to meet him hours ago. It's freezing out here – he wouldn't have waited this long.

Harry turned to head back inside, his stomach clenching at the thought of Draco giving up on him and going back to the dungeons, sure Harry hated him. He caught a pale flash out of the corner of his eye, turning quickly to see what it was.

Draco was asleep, propped up underneath the bare branches of a huge elm tree. He had his cloak wrapped tightly around himself, and his legs were tucked up underneath him. His hair was blowing in the slight breeze – the flash of pale that had caught Harry's attention. A blanket was spread out nearby, with a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on top of it. Candles – Harry assumed they'd been tapers – were set up on each corner of the blanket, long since burnt out.

He crouched down in front of the sleeping blond, gently sweeping the mussed hair out of his face. Draco awoke at the warm hand against his slightly chilled skin, his eyes snapping open when he realized Harry was standing in front of him.

"You came," he said, stretching sleepily. The cloak fell away, and Harry saw Draco was wearing a pair of Muggle denims and a hooded sweatshirt – probably borrowed from someone else. Harry smiled. The Play Wizard reporter had asked him what clothes were sexiest on a man, and Harry – loathe to admit that the sexiest clothes were whatever Draco Malfoy happened to be wearing at the moment – had blurted out the first thing that came to mind – denims and a hooded sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry I made you wait," Harry said, kneeling next to Draco so their thighs touched. "I lost track of the time. Your journal –"

" – is about as embarrassing as that magazine article, so I rather think we're even."

"I don't think so," Harry tutted, pursing his lips. "Millions of people are going to read that article. I'm the only one who read your journal."

"True. None of them will fault your taste, though," Draco said, smirking at Harry.

Harry laughed, looking down. Suddenly, he felt incredibly shy. He knew so much about Draco – he'd read his innermost thoughts and fears from the last eight years – but he still wasn't sure exactly what the Slytherin wanted.

"Do you –"

" – fancy you?" Draco asked, shifting so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. This was easier if he wasn't looking at Harry. "Yes. I rather thought you'd get that, from the near-obsessive entries in that blasted journal. And the admission that I wank to thoughts of you. Often."

Harry blushed, his lips quirking. He studied the blanket under his hand, letting his fingers sink into the thick wool.

"Yes, well," he said, unsure of what to do next.

"Do I want to kiss you?" Draco asked, determined to figure out what the Gryffindor was thinking. "Do I want to apologize for acting like an arse back there? Do I –"

"Do you ever shut up?" Harry asked, gathering his courage and turning his body so he faced the Slytherin.

Draco's eyes glinted, a low chuckle emerging from his chest.

"Are you going to give me a reason to shut up?"

Harry looked into the stormy grey eyes, finding nothing there but warmth and excitement. He breathed deeply, leaning forward to capture Draco's mouth in a tentative kiss.

Draco's arm came up to cup the back of Harry's neck, drawing the dark-haired boy in even closer. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along Harry's bottom lip, urging him to open his mouth. Harry moaned softly when Draco's tongue began to lightly stroke the roof of his mouth, not resisting when the Slytherin's arms slipped around his shoulders, pulling him down on top of the blanket.

They broke apart after a few minutes, panting. Harry pulled back, leaning on his elbow so he could see Draco's face. He looked confused for a moment, casting a glance around the frozen landscape.

"I'm not cold," he said, frowning.

"Localized Warming charm," Draco said, nodding toward the tree.


"I wanted us to be comfortable," Draco added, shrugging.

"Oh," Harry said. Even in the dim light, Draco could see his face coloring. "In case we – if we – so it would be warm enough to –"

"Talk?" Draco supplied dryly, rolling his eyes. "I didn't bring you out here to fuck you, Harry. I'm not interested in a one-off."

Harry's lips curved into a smile, and he leaned down to press a quick kiss to Draco's mouth.

"Me either."

"However, it would be a shame to let the Warming charm go to waste," Draco added, grinning when Harry laughed.

"Also true."

Draco's expression turned serious, and he sat up, pulling Harry up with him.

"We don't have to," he said quickly, studying Harry's face. "I meant it when I said I want more than that. We don't have to rush into anything."

It was Harry's turn to laugh as he tackled the Slytherin, landing heavily on top of him when they hit the ground.

"We've already waited years," he growled, nipping at Draco's neck. "I don't want to wait anymore."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, rolling them so he was on top. He began to push up Harry's jumper, eager to taste the golden skin he'd seen in the photos.

"What, here?" Harry asked, sounding slightly shocked.

"Potter, you posed nude for a gay wizard's magazine. Are you going to tell me you're afraid to have sex where someone could see? It's three in the morning. No one's out here but us."

Harry capitulated quickly, helping Draco pull both their clothes off. Once they were naked, he took a moment to let his eyes wash over Slytherin's pale, lithe form – all muscle and sinew and creamy, unblemished skin.

"Merlin, you're perfect," Harry breathed, his gaze sweeping to Draco's long, slender cock, which bobbed in excitement under the scrutiny.

"We're perfect together," Draco answered, reverently running his hands over Harry's skin, still lightly tanned even in the dead of winter. He arched a brow as his fingers trailed along Harry's pelvis. "No tan lines?"

"No swimsuit," Harry answered, grinning when Draco looked impressed. "I spent most of the summer on an island in Greece. Swimsuits optional."

"You're going to have to take me to this island," Draco purred, lowering his mouth to follow the same path his fingers had made.

Harry gasped when Draco's breath ghosted along his aching cock. His belly was sticky with precome – he was already harder than he'd ever been, and Draco hadn't even really touched him yet.

The blond ran a teasing finger along Harry's thick member, laughing when the Gryffindor bucked and moaned under the light touch. He ended the caress abruptly, immediately wrapping his lips around Harry's cock, taking as much of the hard length into his mouth as he could.

"Merlin, are you trying to kill me?" Harry gasped, arching up at the sensation. He'd had blow jobs before, but never anything this marvelous. "Wait. Don't answer that. Don't do anything that doesn't involve your mouth around my cock."

Harry shuddered as Draco laughed at his words, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. He gasped as Draco picked up the pace, feeling his balls tighten as the sensation quickly became almost more than he could bear.

"Wait – stop," he gasped, fisting a hand in Draco's fine hair. It felt like silk between his fingers. "Not like this. I don't want to come until you're inside me."

"Inside you?" Draco asked, his mouth popping off Harry's cock.

"Yes. Soon. Please."

"Wouldn't you rather –"

"Are you really going to fight me over who bottoms?" Harry asked, amusement coloring his words.

"Well, no," Draco admitted, fumbling for his wand so he could Conjure some lube. "Not this time, at least."

"Not this time," Harry repeated, laughing. "Merlin, this is going to be an interesting relationship."

"It will be," Draco agreed, smiling when Harry gasped as he slid a finger inside him. His own cock throbbed as his finger entered the tight, hot channel.

"A relationship?" Harry questioned, gasping again when Draco added a second finger.

"An interesting relationship," Draco corrected, scissoring his fingers to gently stretch the Gryffindor.

Harry groaned as Draco's fingers brushed the hard nub inside, sending a white-hot burst of pleasure through him.

"Merlin, Draco," he gasped, grinding against the blond's hand, trying to take his fingers deeper. "More."

Draco smiled, a shiver of arousal moving through him at Harry's words. He carefully inserted another finger, watching Harry's face for any sign of pain.

"Enough," Harry muttered, his eyes snapping open. His green eyes were nearly black with arousal as he pulled Draco closer, kissing him deeply. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure? Because –"

"Draco!" Harry growled, cutting him off. "Must you fight me every step of the way? I. Am. Ready."

"Alright," the blond smirked, Conjuring more lube to coat his erection.

He rubbed the head of his cock teasingly around Harry's entrance, enjoying the way the Gryffindor groaned at the pressure. He carefully positioned himself, sliding inside slowly. He grunted at the effort of restraining himself, pushing inside excruciatingly slowly to make sure he didn't hurt Harry.

"Draco," Harry panted, focusing on relaxing his body. He'd never bottomed for anyone before, and his eyes drifted shut at the foreign – but not unwelcome – sensations.


"Yes," Harry groaned, ignoring the slight burning sensation as Draco's cock stretched him. He sighed softly as Draco's slick hand closed around his flagging erection, renewing its interest with a few hard strokes.

"Fuck, Harry," Draco moaned, angling his hips so he could thrust deeper. Harry writhed as the new position allowed Draco's cock to run over his prostate, his pulse jumping as he felt his orgasm being to build. "I'm sorry, but I'm –"

"Me, too," Harry said quickly, cutting off Draco's apology.

The Slytherin's hips canted forward quickly, driving into Harry at an even faster pace. He matched his strokes to his thrusts, his hand flying over Harry's cock.

"Yes, Draco, God!" Harry cried, coming in hot spurts over Draco's fist. The tremors from his orgasm triggered Draco's, and the blond cried out as he came hard, seconds after Harry.

"You're the best Secret Santa gift I could have gotten," Draco said drowsily, pulling out and shifting over so he didn't crush Harry.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said sleepily, curling into Draco's warm body.


Hermione wrinkled her nose, reluctantly dropping a bag of Galleons in Daphne's outstretched hand.

"I told you," the Slytherin witch crowed, the bag disappearing into a pocket in her robes.

"I know, I know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe you were right, though. Fighting over who gets to bottom? How did you know they would?"

Daphne grinned, shrugging.

"It's Potter and Malfoy," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as they left their hiding place behind the tree, making their way back to the castle. "They fight about everything."