It was hard.

That was the refrain continuously running through Harry's head.

It was hard to believe this was actually happening.

It was hard to believe how good it felt.

It was hard to stop himself from crying out because he knew how much the ferret—

Ugh. It was damn near impossible to believe it was Draco behind him like that, pressing his face against the cold bathroom wall, snaking a warm, soft hand around and squeezing until hard was the only word that flashed through his brain. No, not the only word.

Pound.

Moan.

Slam.

Sigh.

Pull.

Sweat.

Tremble.

That was the word that would end this whole mess. Harry's knees had begun to shake and his tenuous grasp on what little self-control he had was slipping faster than Draco's left hand into the front of his pants. The warm breath tickling his ear as the boy behind him whispered how much he was enjoying punishing the big hero set something in Harry on fire and he shook harder. Draco's hand squeezed in just the right spot at the right angle and everything tensed beneath his touch. Harry stopped breathing. His legs stopped shaking. And that tight, heart-stopping ache that tugged at every nerve between his legs came apart as Draco forced his way inside Harry, nearly causing the raven-haired boy to collapse in relief and agony.

The pain was exquisite, but he craved more of it as Draco moved. His own hips followed the other boy's movements, arching back into each thrust, tensing as hair and skin slapped against tender skin. He felt the scrape of Draco's belt buckle against him and knew the other boy was leaving a mark that would last a while. A tattoo he would feel even after the sensation of one inside the other faded into a delicious dream he would deny had happened for years to come.

Draco stopped. Harry wanted to scream.

"Why were you following me?"

Harry forced air into his lungs, suddenly aware he was arching back for Draco's touch and the other boy was holding him at a distance.

"Why?" he asked again.

"I—" Harry swallowed. "I had to know if you—"

"Is this what you want?" He planted his arm next to Harry's head and wrenched up the left sleeve to show the Dark Mark carved into the delicate white skin. He pushed against and then into Harry again and Harry moaned, his eyes never leaving the arm against the wall. "Does it satisfy you to know what I've let him do to me? How low I've sunk?"

"No, I—"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry stopped stuttering and closed his eyes. He could still see the outline of the Mark behind his eyelids. Somehow, even that was secondary to the sensations building between them, the friction of their bodies slapping together in the frigid air. Draco's hand closed around him again and Harry leaned his head back, letting his head rest on the other boy's shoulder. Within seconds, he was whimpering. Draco's teeth sunk into his shoulder. Harry braced one hand against the wall as their hips arched up together, faster, the lower half of his body tensing as he sought release.

Draco pushed him away.

Harry stumbled and then caught himself on the bathroom wall with one hand. He turned just in time to see Draco pull out his wand and perform a Scouring Charm on himself and the front of his robes. Harry couldn't muster the strength to feel anything—shock, anger, lust—at the sight of his own blood being cleansed from the other boy's body. He was merely numb.

Draco looked up when he was finished. He smirked as he fastened his trousers and zipped his robes over his clothes. "You know you're pathetic," he said. "Don't let me catch you following me again." Without waiting for a response, Draco turned and left the bathroom, his steps lighter than Harry remembered seeing in recent weeks.

Harry leaned against the wall, the cool of the stone doing nothing to soothe his sore body. Punishment. That's what it had been to Draco from the beginning and he hadn't let anything change his perspective on their mutual hatred. Unfortunately, Harry thought, hate was now the last thing he was capable of feeling.