Disclaimer – I own neither Harry Potter nor Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Both are amazing series in their own right, and belong to the people who thought them up. I'm just… messing around with the characters for my own amusement.

Rating – For this chapter, around PG-15 to be on the safe side.

WARNINGS – Slash, lime, infidelity, drunkeness, dark-ish themes. You have been warned.

Timeline - The timeframe will make sense as the story continues. Major changes with regard to both KHR timelines and HP canon. In KHR, the cradle affair lasted for a shorter period than the 8 years mentioned in the manga. And, for HP, just assume that everyone in HP canon was born two years earlier. In other words, Harry, Ron and Hermione were all born in 1978 rather than 1980, and Ginny was born in 1979.

Soundtrack (haha...) - Not really a soundtrack as such, just something I was running in a loop in the background while typing this out. Might just add to the 'atmosphere' of the chapter...

Dir en Grey - Toguro
Darren Hayes - Insatiable
Apocalyptica - Kaamos
Placebo - Protege Moi
Breaking Benjamin - You


Prologue//Chapter 1

God, who turned on the lights?

I groaned loudly, flinging my right hand over my eyes when I found that I was utterly incapable of moving my left. Still shutting my eyes tightly, I slowly tried to turn away from the source of light before even attempting to open them.

Emphasis on the tried. I wasn't able to move myself much more than shifting from my side onto my back. Deciding to forgo the motion, I carefully parted my eyelids. And found myself staring at a ceiling that was wholly unfamiliar.

Where the bloody hell am I?

I sighed, giving it up as a lost cause before trying to figure out what exactly had happened last night. Of course, that was before I actually bothered moving my eyes enough to take a peek beside myself. I stiffened almost immediately.

Okay. Scratch that. What the hell was I thinking?!!

Whatever it was, it definitely couldn't have been sober. I eyed the silver haired male that was still lying fast asleep beside me. Again, emphasis on the male. Shit. I had to get out of here.

I gingerly tried to pry the guy's fingers from my left hip, seeing as it was stopping me from getting out of the bed. And also tried my level best to ignore the fact that I was naked under the sheets. I'd just about managed to shift about two fingers from their vice-like grip before a slight tremble went through the hand. I stiffened again, praying that the guy wouldn't get up. No such luck, though.

Thankfully, he snatched his fingers away immediately, slamming the hand over his eyes and muttering a harsh curse under his breath. Italian, I noticed bemusedly. A bit out of place, though no less than myself. Not looking a gift-horse in the mouth, I sat up quickly, dragging a sheet over my waist. Though, if I was reading this particular scenario correctly… there wasn't really any use in trying to act modest. I bloody well woke up naked next to the guy. God, I didn't just think that…

When the guy finally lifted his hand to stare at the ceiling as well, I cleared my throat. The reaction was immediate. He shot up like someone had, well… shot him, turning to stare at me. I raised an eyebrow, trying desperately to gain some control over the situation. The two of us stayed silent, trying to size each other up. After what seemed like a few years, though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, he ground out a curse under his breath again. My second eyebrow rose to join the first.

"Um… Let me guess. Your mind's blank too?" I asked him, using Italian since he had been cursing in the language ever since he'd woken up.

He looked up to stare at me again, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. Then, he let out a low laugh that honestly sounded more like a bark.

"You too?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. I nodded, figuring I had nothing to loose in being truthful.

"So, what's your name?" he continued, an almost lazy smirk settling on his features. I treated him to a scowl, getting out of the bed to move towards the window. I made sure that the sheet was still tightly wrapped around my waist.

"Does it really make a difference?" I shot over my shoulder, staring through the glass. I was slowly starting to recollect something about the night before, though whatever was coming back seemed to be a crazy mix of smoke, gunshots, mind numbing alcohol and more than mind numbing heat. I had to fight to keep my cheeks from flushing. He stayed silent, though I could still feel his gaze boring into me. We stayed like that for a bit longer before I caved.

"Harry Potter," I muttered, making him snort.

"British?" he asked amusedly, and I shot another scowl over my shoulder. He was kind enough to treat me to a wide, almost obnoxious smirk. Arsehole.

"Italian?" I answered in kind, making him laugh.

"Very good," he murmured, speaking in English this time. I made a small sound of surprise, turning around to lean against the window pane. He was still staring at me. I firmly ignored any memories that gaze was unearthing in my head.

"And?" I asked impatiently. He simply tilted his head a bit more, raising his eyebrow in an insolent copy of my own.

"And?" he said sweetly, making me glare. He sniggered, straightening his form before leaning back on his elbows. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling yet again, presenting me with a clear view of his long, pale neck. Covered in faint red marks. That I hazily seemed to remember putting there.

"Superbi. Squalo Superbi." He answered suddenly. I had to pry my eyes away from his neck, only to meet his own. Which were laughing at me. I swear they were. I valiantly held back yet another glare.

"So, what the hell's a British kid doing in China?" he asked, his eyes still locked on mine. Ignoring my better instincts, I glared at him anyway.

"I could ask you the same. What's an Italian doing in China? Not sightseeing, definitely." I said coolly. He seemed to be sizing me up for some reason, before he snorted loudly and turned away. I was about to ask again, when the words were lost somewhere between my larynx and mouth. I could only stare slack-jawed as Superbi smoothly slid off the bed, completely ignoring the fact that he was about as naked as the day he was born. Sadly, I was unable to bring up a similar level of indifference. I could almost feel my mouth go dry.

The arsehole seemed to know exactly what was going through my head, shooting me a shrewd look over his shoulder before that damnable smirk appeared again. He didn't say anything else, simply choosing to sashay his way towards the door in the right corner of the room. Presumably the bathroom.

The door was opened and shut with a click that seemed far too loud within the confines of the room. I was left alone to myself, but I really couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing, especially with a guy I had undoubtedly slept with the night before moving about in the bathroom. And I couldn't even remember what exactly had happened the night before.

I groaned loudly, leaning back and banging my head against the window, once, twice, and only stopping when I figured that my brain was already damaged enough without me causing any more brain damage. That was what Ginny always said, anyway. That one thought was enough to bring all others to a standstill, as a feeling of horror slowly spread through me. Oh, God.


I couldn't help but slam my head against the window once more, just for good measure. Just what the fuck had been going through my head last night that I managed to land up in what looked like one of the Ministry safe houses along with some guy whom I had never laid eyes on before and proceeded to sleep with when I had a fiancée waiting for me back home? Obviously nothing remotely sober or sensible, that's for sure.

I frowned delicately (actually, let's say that I frowned pensively), still trying to clear the memories that were slowly coming back one after another, and tried to piece them together in some semblance of clear thought. And, just like that, everything seemed to fall into place.


The place was filled with smoke. There were a bunch of girls that were sitting in one of the cubiclesto the side, giggling loudly and coquettishly as a couple guys that were stumbling past stopped toeye them curiously. The whole damn joint smelt, of smoke, alcohol and various other unmentionablesubstances. Oh, that was an interesting word. Unmentionable. Or substances. They brought to mind many interesting things…

Harry Potter sniggered mindlessly, knowing for a fact that his brain was slowly shutting down. Hewas quite the intelligent drunk, if he did say so himself, managing tosound not drunk despite howmany pegs went down his throat, but his mind never seemed to agree with what came out of hismouth. He managed to sound intelligent and stone-cold sober. Never really meanthe was. Actually, his mind slowly seemed to be coming down from its alcohol high. He frowned. That wouldn't do. He put up a hand, signalling the nondescript bartender to bring him something else. He was too far gone to really care what was being put in front of him. The bartender was happy to oblige. Just as long as he paid. He'd promised that he would. Surprising that they'd actually accepted his word. The place seemed far too seedy to actually accept what people said just on their word. He shrugged to himself. What the fuck. As long as he got something to drink. He knocked back the weirdly coloured concoction in front of him and signalled for another. God, he hoped Ron never found out about this. He never liked it when he gave in to his urges to drink himself to unconsciousness. But, he couldn't help himself. It was a bad month. Too many people had died this month. He was simply drinking in their memory.

'Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that mate. The least you could have done was come back home after finishing your mission and drunk yourself to oblivion when you were here with people to keep an eye on you!'

He pouted, and gave his voice of reason the finger. It seemed to sound an awful lot like a merge between Ron and Hermione. Now that was a funny picture. Ron and Hermione scolding him in chorus. He gave an involuntary grin.

"Shit. I thought this corner was empty."

He blinked confusedly, and turned to the side. His eyes met a black jacket. He blinked again, and let his eyes travel up the jacket till they were met by a pair of narrowed grey eyes. He offered the guy a smile, making him blink in turn before a bemused smirk pulled at his lips.

"You're out of it, aren't you." Harry snorted.

"You, sir, have no right to make such a comment. I get the feeling you are, too. Your eyes aren't focusing completely."

The silver haired guy blinked, this time in complete surprise, before a barking laugh seemed to tear from his throat.

"Shit. Just my luck. You're a fucking smartass when you're drunk."

"And you swear a lot. Did anyone tell you that you swear a lot?" Harry asked contemplatively, twirling a finger through his hair. It was starting to get too long. He frowned. Where was the knife or a pair of scissors when you actually needed them? He blindly grabbed the glass that had been set in front of him and knocked it back, ignoring the squawk from his right.

"VOOOOOOOOOOOOIIII! That was supposed to be mine!"

"Then get another one, mate. Especially since you look like you can afford it. Really shouldn't be wearing snazzy tuxes when you walk into places like this, you could get mugged." Harry offered seriously, nodding once, before cheerfully turning to the bartender and asking him to cook up some other miraculous alcoholic wonder. The guy beside him was staring at him, caught somewhere between an expression of incredulity and a glare. He finally settled on the glare, and loudly demanded another drink. Having been dealing with Harry for the past three hours, the bartender was quick to push another in front of the silveret without any questions. Said silveret was quick to down his own drink before Harry tried to grab it again. The green-eyed man couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his face.

"So, the fuck are you doing in this place? Doesn't exactly seem like a place a pretty thing like you would end up."

Now that made his amusing thoughts stop short.

"Could you repeat that? Because, I seem to get the strange feeling that you just called me 'pretty'" said Harry slowly. The idiot had the audacity to shoot him a sly smirk before hiding it in the new drink that the bartender had brought him. Rather than guzzling it down like the last one, he sipped at it almost contemplatively.

"Did I? Oh, yes, now I remember. Guess I did."

Harry scowled, before deciding to ignore the odd comment. Not like he was going to see this strange guy again after his little 'let's get dead drunk' session ended. He'd be back in London, and would be staying away from China until the Triads cooled down enough to ignore him the next time he was in town.

"Anyway, what I'm doing here is none of your business. I could ask you the same."

The guy eyed him for a couple of seconds before shrugging easily.

"Fair enough. I was getting bored. Just got done with my job, my employer acted like an utter brat over the phone, I got pissed, and decided to turn the metaphor into reality to get back at my employer. That make sense to your pretty little self?"

Okay, now theguy was getting personal.

"The fuck do you keep calling me pretty for, anyway? Just how bloody sloshed are you?!!" he demanded grouchily. The guy snorted in amusement, and raised the glass to tip it towards him.

"Obviously sloshed enough to keep teasing reactions out of you, fucking Brit."

Harry shot him a glare, knocking down what was left in his own glass. He absently noted that the concoction had been a strange neon purple this time. He might have sniggered, but the grey eyed bastard beside him was taking up all the mental processing power his alcohol soaked brain could handle.

"Why are you dressed in a tux anyway?" He asked curiously, completely forgetting what they had previously been discussing. The guy rolled his eyes and downed the contents of his glass.

"Not a tux. It's a suit. Kind of like a uniform in my field."

Harry could only stare at him. The guy offered him a careless grin, and Harry was awed at the difference that it made. He was about to comment on it, when there was a loud crashing sound. Thegirls that had been giggling before were now screaming loudly, along with everyone else in the bar. Harry shoved away his glass, noting that the silver haired guy had stiffened before fluidly rising to stand beside him. Huh. The guy was obviously trained for some kind of violent situations. Fancy that. His plans to comment on that little fact were interrupted when the cause for the crash was suddenly upon them. Any plans for voicing anything at all at that point seemed a little superfluous, really.

"Finally found you, you little bitch!" The greasy guy in front of the large congregation hissed out, his accent slurring the words so badly that Harry had trouble understanding. He had been about to comment on it when he was interrupted yet again, this time by his strange companion. Whoproceeded to speak in flawless Chinese. Harry told himself that he wasn't impressed. The guy didn'tseem to be magical in any way, meaning that he had taken the pains to actually learn the language.

"I'd actually take offence to that statement if I weren't so amused." The silveret almost looked bored. The greasy guy in front looked confused, about to sneer out something when another one of the congregation gave a strange, breathy squeak. The squeak seemed to have made some amount of sense to everyone else, because they all started muttering loudly. The greasy guy- oh, for Merlin's sake! Harry scowled, and started thinking of him as simply 'Greasy'. That was a lot easier to say mentally. Greasy had abruptly gone pale. He licked his lips, before laughing a little too loudly.

"Oh, this is just too good to be true. Both the men we were after, and they manage to turn up in the same place at the same time!"

Harry blinked, before turning to stare at his companion incredulously. The guy seemed as composed as ever, ignoring the statement with so much grace that Harry started to feel a little out of his depth. Who the hell was this guy?!!

"Guess you're in luck tonight, then. You get to take care of us at the same time. What the fuck are you fuckwits waiting for, then?" he said contemptuously, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Harry couldn't see as well as he would have wanted to in the dark of the bar they were ensconced in. He almost wished that he had picked some place with a little more light for his merry little drinking session. Not that it would have made that much of a difference. He could still see the people that were after him in the dark, just as he could sense that a slightly unhinged smile was creeping across his unwitting companion's face. Maybe it was better that the place was dark. There was a blur of movement, and the silveret was suddenly gone from his side. There was immediate pandemonium, a cacophony of screams, gunshots and strange gurgling sounds filling the bar. The previous patrons of the place had long since evacuated, shifting themselves to a less life threatening setting.

Ignoring the fact that his (supposedly) non-magical grey eyed partner of chance was moving too fast to be seen clearly, Harry silently unlocked the safety catch on his twin magi pistols, the closest magical equivalent that the Ministry had managed to come up with to muggle firearms in the recent years. They looked enough like the real thing that most muggles couldn't tell the difference. A much safer bet than removing his wand and shooting hexes and curses at the men. Especially in the mostly muggle setting. He had never been so relieved that alcohol didn't mess with his basic cognitive power. Steadying himself, he held himself still for a moment before loosing himself in the chaos.

There were triad members screaming all around him, some as young as fifteen, and Harry found himself unconsciously regretting the fact that they had to run into him today. Then, catching sight of at least three different people swinging foot-long daggers at him at the same time, most of his regret was sidelined by an innate sense of self-preservation. Twisting gracefully to stay out of range, he levelled his pistols at the men, one aiming in front, and the other aiming behind. Firing both at the same time, a self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face when three shrieks erupted at the same time. Without pausing to take stock of his aggressors' conditions, he moved further into the melee, making sure to keep an eye out for his mysterious, silver haired partner.

As he shifted through the crowd, automatically firing when necessary and using a wandless shield charm when he had to defend, Harry found the time whizzing past him. He couldn't place when the fight had started and when it would end. The men around him seemed never-ending, all of them screaming oaths and falling back on their mother tongue to swear crudely when they found that they were unable to keep the two men down. As he drew back to fire another electricity-laden shot into the centre of the confusion, he noticed that there was more than one body on the ground brought down by violent slashes carving through them. The ground was slick with blood, guts and the sweat and urine of men whose bodily functions had failed them, while the air was rent with the nausea-inducing scent of mindless terror, as more and more of the triad members tried to retreat, but found that they had caged, and in turn been caged, by two very dangerous men. Or, at least, one very homicidal swordsman, if the slash wounds on the some of the corpses were anything to go by. Harry choked back a reflexive scream when one of the bullets that had been fired in the madness managed to strike him in the thigh. Collapsing against the bar counter, he quickly fired off a shot at the closest man that seemed to be considering coming after him. As he dropped to the ground screaming, Harry turned his attention to the violent exchange taking place to the other end of the fight.

The silveret that had been sitting by him before was now a whirlwind of fluid, graceful movement, a long sword having materialised from no where (at least, from no where that he had noticed…), and it was being put to good use. Wincing sympathetically as a particularly brutal slash managed to rip one of the man's opponents in half, Harry took a sobering breath before straightening. The number of members around them was finally starting to come down, as the more cowardly members decided that they would rather face a furious leader than the pair of maniacs they had been ordered to either kill or capture alive. Just beginning to move away from the counter, Harry was startled by the shout that rang out, reverberating through the bedlam that encompassed them.

"Shit, look out you fucking idiot!"

Cursing himself for his lapse in concentration, Harry spun around, but he instinctively knew that it was too late. One of the men had finally used the grey matter in his head, and had managed to jump onto one of the various tables still spread throughout the bar. Though his legs had already been taken out from underneath him, literally, he had still had enough time to fire off a shot that was headed straight for the black haired wizard. Harry stiffened in shock, not even able to bring his magic to bear. After all this time, and all the shit he had gone through taking down not only Voldemort but numerous other dark imbeciles, he was going to be taken down by a no name triad member that had already been ripped apart by the muggle swordsman he was fighting alongside?

Then, to his disbelief, he found himself being violently shoved aside and out of the main path of the bullet by a rather firm shoulder. His back slammed roughly into the bar counter behind him, immediately causing the multitude of glasses still stacked behind the counter to come crashing down to the ground. The almost musical sound of shattering glass and crystal filled the air, the harmonious noise ringing in the air and continuing to resound through the bar, mixing in with the echoing screams and gunshots. He could only stare, horror-struck, as the bullet meant for his heart tore through the shoulder of his nameless companion. It wasn't nearly as fatal as it would have been in his case, but the fact that someone he had just met had managed to save his life at risk to his own broke something within him. A furious trembling overtook him, his emerald green eyes slowly being tainted by blood red sheen as his head whipped back towards the few men that were still left.

Many of the remaining men had taken it upon themselves to flee during the distraction when they still had the chance. Harry was about ready to whip out his wand and start throwing around some really destructive curses when the silveret abruptly pushed himself up off the ground. He cracked his head from side to side, before a thoroughly demented and bloodthirsty grin spread across his lips. Watching as the men hurriedly levelled their guns at them, Harry's eyebrows rose. He traded a similarly maniacal grin with the man beside him before exploding into motion. The liquid fury running through his veins only served to heighten his reaction time, the magic making him move much faster than he would have otherwise. He knew without looking that the swordsman was moving far too fast. Harry was beginning to wonder if the man was actually a muggle at all.

And then, just like that, it was over. Harry continued to stand over the corpse of the last man he had fired at. Actually, all the men that had been left right at the end had come to a rather messy end. The silveret hadn't thought to hold back at all, while Harry's rage had fuelled his magi pistols with a torrent of electricity doused magic far more potent that usual. The result was a pile of bodies on the floor, the most recent barely holding any resemblance to what had been living, breathing human beings only seconds before. Harry winced, slowly backing away to sag bonelessly against the counter while flipping the safety catches on the pistols. His eyes slid shut, but he heard more than saw the silver haired swordsman comfortably hoist himself onto the counter to perch beside him.

"Hey. You still alive, bitch?"

"Don't call me that. I have a name." he mumbled quietly, pressing the back of his hand against his eyes. The guy snorted, hopping down from the counter to wipe the blood off his sword with a random swathe of cloth left over on the ground from the battle before sliding it back into its unobtrusive sheath.

"Obviously alive. We need to get out of here."

The green eyed wizard sighed, opening his eyes to stare around at what remained of the bar. Nothing had happened to the bar itself, no, but after the slaughter that had taken place that night, it was unlikely that the place would ever open again. He felt a twinge of remorse; the bartender had actually been nice. Hopefully he had managed to get out in one his gaze back to man watching him silently, he found that he was relieved that he wasn't being given an explanation. It meant that he wouldn't have to give one in turn. Taking a last look around the place, and keeping an eye out for any movement, he made a split second decision then and there. They needed to move, and fast. It wouldn't be pretty if the triad after them decided to try and send any more men after them. It didn't seem as though either he or his companion would be able to take on any more men that night. So, might as well get out together, right? Safety in numbers and all that. Chancing another look at the man, he found himself a little alarmed by the fact that he was taking slow, careful breaths, silent though they were. It was almost as though it was difficult for him to breathe…

"Oi. Did one of them get your ribs or something?" he muttered, trying to straighten himself. Statute of Secrecy be damned, he was going to heal the guy before sending him on his merry way. It was likely that he wouldn't have gotten through the night alive if the silveret hadn't been with him.

"No. Chest might be a bit bruised, though. I think one of them slammed something into it." He admitted with a scowl. Harry tried his best not to laugh, finally succeeding in standing straight.

"Come on, I know a place we can go to. You still sober enough to walk?" the brunet commented idly, walking towards the door. He couldn't sense anyone on the other side, so they were safe. At least for the time being. He heard the other man give a harsh laugh.

"If I can kill people, I can fucking walk well enough to get to whatever shitty hideout you have out there." He sneered. Harry snorted quietly.

"That didn't exactly answer the question, bastard. I know that I'm not all that sober, though the walk and adrenaline might very well take care of that."

"Got a point there."

The two of them slouched silently out of the bar, keeping to the walls and staying low whenever they came close to anyone else. The time flew by so quickly that Harry hardly noticed when they had managed to reach their destination.

The silveret beside him gave a low whistle of surprise.

"You got an apartment here?" he asked, staring up at the ordinary looking building and almost managing to sound interested. Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, not an apartment. It's a safe house. I know it looks a tad obvious, but my people have their ways of ensuring that no one can find it. Come on."

They both made their way through the front door, Harry quietly nodding to the boy sitting to the side of the corridor. The sand blond haired kid was quick to nod back, his eyes shifting to eye the silver haired male beside him for all of one second before he looked away again. The silveret quirked an eyebrow, but made no other comment. Harry quickly steered him towards the stairs and headed towards room number 13, knowing for a fact that no one else would have taken it. It had become a joke within the active runners in his division, everyone making sure to leave the rooms marked '13' free for him. His companion gave another appreciative whistle when he saw the condition of the room.

"Shit. Your employers must be well off to keep safe houses like this." He commented. He didn't bother to make any more observations, choosing instead to move in and drop down onto the bed, not having any patience for the chairs.

"We need to do something about that bullet in your shoulder. You managed to avoid everything else," Harry pointed out softly, feeling a bit guilty as he shut the door beside him. He dropped his pistols onto the side table, right by the sheathed sword that the swordsman had left behind while stepping in, and stared down at the man. In the light, he could now see that the silveret was actually quite attractive. His features were sharp, eyes narrow and piercing, while his thin lips and brow were currently pinched into a scowl. His previously pristine suit was now drenched in blood, though it wasn't obvious anywhere except on his shirt. He'd managed to loose his coat, tie and a couple buttons during the fight, so his shirt was casually opened at the top. Just enough to give Harry a clear view of smooth, pale skin and the edges of a prominent pair of collarbones.

"Fuck, I think you have more bullets in your leg, bitch. The bullet's not in my shoulder anyway, it managed to go straight through."

Harry rolled his eyes, and silently gestured towards the chair in front of the side table. The other male sighed irately, treating him to a disgusted scowl, before laboriously heaving himself off of the bed. He seemed to drag his feet, obviously hoping that the black haired wizard would drop the topic, but Harry continued to watch him until he was finally seated. He eyed the other, waiting for him toremove his shirt so that he could actually check the blasted wound, but the man snorted in amusement.

"If you think I'm going to agree to you checking me before you actually do something about your own wounds, you're sadly mistaken."

Oh, of all the -! Harry outright glared at him, but he simply tipped his head back to match the violent expression with a steady stare. The staring match continued for a minute or so before Harry finally let up with a huff of exasperation.

"Fine, fine. Will you let me check it if I take a look at them?"

Harry was treated to an easy smile of acquiescence, making him sigh. He ran a hand through his hair,looking away and wondering just how he was going to be able to heal his wounds without the silveret actually noticing. The sight of the dark mahogany door beside the entrance made him swallow a sigh of relief.

"Give me a minute, I'll be right back. And, don't move.If you have any actual wounds, you'll aggravate them." He said pointedly, making the other man snigger.

"Right, right. Vooooooooiii, what do you think I am, crazy?" he threw back, making the green eyed wizard roll his eyes before turning away to check the room on the other side of the door. Which turned out to be a fully furnished bathroom.

Locking the door behind him, Harry was quick to shuck off his trousers, wincing at the feel of dried blood ripping away from his skin and reopening the bullet wound in his thigh. The trousers were a lost cause, blood was a bitch to clean out, magic or no magic, but the wound itself was another matter altogether. Ignoring it for a moment, he made to slide off his shirt to check his torso as well when the sight of his reflection in the mirror side-tracked him.

He stared at the strange image he made in the mirror that spanned the length of the bathroom, shirt half unbuttoned and trousers already on the floor. He'd lost most of his sense of propriety with regard to nudity over an year ago, it was next to impossible maintaining any such feelings while working in the division he was a member of, but his blood spattered visage was more than a little distasteful. He pursed his lips, frowning at the flecks of blood on his shirt that had remained unnoticed in the dark, before sucking in a breath and deciding to ignore it. His silver haired companion's state wasn't any better than his, after all. Why bother?

Turning his attention back to the shirt itself, he undid the rest of the buttons and painstakingly peeled it off, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain that came with reopening overlooked wounds but for once, he had managed to get out of an ambush without injuring himself too badly. Not taking the bullet wound in his thigh into consideration. Of course. For some inane reason, the thought of bullet wounds not even being given consideration anymore made him want to giggle like a drunken fool.

He snorted to himself instead. Figures. The fight's over, adrenaline decides to give out on you almost immediately. And, why, hello there Mr. Alcohol. I'm surprised that you weren't completely burnt away by your housemate.

Reaching for the trousers and prying out the wand he had stashed in one of its endless pockets, he racked his slowly dulling brain for the right spell to use and with a wave of the wand, the bullet still lodged in his flesh came ripping out with a squelching 'pop'. He was almost thankful for the deadening effect the little alcohol in his bloodstream had on his consciousness, removing the bullet so roughly would likely have hurt like hell in any other situation. Another wave of the wand ensured that the speed at which the wound was healing had sped up, and after dropping the glorified stick on the counter, he turned to the medicine cabinet to take out some bandages and healing salve. He had a particularly stubborn swordsman outside to deal with.



Harry offered the man a wry grin, and spun a little white lie. Not like the guy would ever know otherwise… "Nothing too bad. I even put bandages on it. Your turn."

He was treated to a Look, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Seriously, mate. I'm fine. Now, I really need to check that shoulder of yours."

The silveret scowled, and pointedly turned his face away.

"Not your mate. Bitch."

Harry blinked in bemusement, and stepped closer to the man, dumping the bandages and salve on the table beside him.

"I seem to remember asking you not to call me that. I have a name."

"Sure you do." the answer was thrown back in a slow drawl completely at odds with the man's previously sharp and profane wit. Harry stared down at the man's mussed up silver head, wondering why he was acting so weird, when it suddenly hit him.

"Ha, the alcohol getting to you too?" he asked cheekily. The reaction was immediate. The swordsman's face shot up to glare at him, silent, but the glazed over look in his eyes was answer enough. Harry couldn't hold back his laughter, the loud, ringing sound eventually winding down to wheezing giggles, all the while being glared at by a silver haired man he barely knew. The silveret finally muttered a curse and looked away, almost prompting an encore of laughter from the brunet in front of him.

Finally managing to get a hold of himself, Harry tapped his fingers pointedly on top of the bottle of healing salve.

"Jokes aside, are you going to take off the damn shirt, or should I take it off for you?"

"Whatever, you damned bitch." He grunted. Harry sighed, and reached out to start undoing the buttons on the shirt anyway.

Even though he made sure to keep his mind on his task with an almost clinical persistence, he wasn't completely ignorant of the fact that the other man was staring at him throughout the process. Being nice enough not to mention it, Harry lightly tugged at the collar, indicating that the guy should tryand get the shirt off. Which he did, though he did hiss when the material of the shirt was pulled away from the scabbed over mess on his shoulder. Harry frowned as he inspected it, trying to figure out if the guy had been bluffing when he'd mentioned that the bullet had gone right through. Finally deeming the result as a negative, he reached for the bottle of salve, quickly unwinding the lid and scooping out a dollop to massage into the wound.

The grey eyed male grumbled irately, wriggling in place and trying to get away, but Harry poked him a couple times in the shoulder, making sure to press his finger into the wound, and with a loud curse, finally stopped fidgeting long enough to allow Harry to finish the process of covering the scabs and raw flesh with the salve. Once that was taken care of, he carefully wound the bandages over it, reaching for the medicinal tape he'd brought along to keep it in place. When he was done, he straightened with a sigh, offering the man a smile.

"There, not so painful, was it?"

The silveret stared at him as though he'd grown another head, and snorted. To Harry's surprise, a slight grin twitched at the corners of his lips before it disappeared about as fast as it had appeared. He tilted his head, staring up at Harry for a second or so, and nodded. Harry raised an eyebrow.


"Did anyone tell you that you're really pretty?" the statement was slurred out, words actuallymanaging to smush together, making Harry blink in confusion. Once he actually figured out what the guy was trying to say, he couldn't help but crack a wry grin, unable to find it in himself to actually be irritated with him. The alcohol was obviously starting to get to the guy. He wasactually relieved thatit hadn't really hit him yet. It was bound to sooner or later, though. He just knew it.

"Yeah, you. And, I also remember telling you I didn't want to be called that." He said patiently, staring down into the other man's glazed over eyes. The man frowned, and reached up towards him.

"No, really. You really are pretty." He repeated in drunken seriousness, making Harry snort.

"Okay, okay. I'm pretty. That's all well and good, but you really should consider going to sleep now, it's not a good idea to stay awake with a wound and alcohol in your blood at…the…same…ti- what do you think you're doing?" he wound his sentence to a slow stop, inching his face away from the hand that was slowly reaching up towards it. He batted it away with his own, and frowned down at theman. Who had the audacity to smirk at him.

"Right. That's it. Let's get you in bed-" Harry muttered, reaching out to try and pull him up, when the other man's hand tangled quite firmly in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelped indignantly.

"HEY! What the hell do you think you're doing?! That hurts god damn it!" he snapped, trying to get the guy to let go, but to no avail. To his shock, he found himself being tugged forward. Wondering where this was going, he put out a hand to steady himself on the back of the chair. The silveret's eyes were directly in front of his own, and it was only now that he noticed that rather than the grey he had previously assumed them to be, they were actually a very light shade of blue. Like the misty rain that fell at dawn. Not that it should be making any difference to him…

"Look, do you mind? If you could just let go, we couldboth consider getting to bed and getting some rest. I'm sure you need to get back to wherever you came from tomorrow morning, and I need to get home myself, so, if you would please-!"he ended the statement in a slightly higher pitch than usual, almost a squeak, because the damned bastard had tugged rather harshly on his hair. Undoubtedly to shut him up. Harry scowled irately. See if he helped any silver haired bastards like this one ever again, life debts be damned!

"For God's sake, man! What is yourproblem?!!" he demanded finally, after fruitlessly struggling against the hold the guy had on him. Honestly, the guy only had a single hand tangled in his hair; the other one was actually resting in his lap. It was starting to get a bit demeaning. He was part of the clean up squad of the Department of Mysteries, like hell some muggle swordsman should be able to disable him with a single hand! Said swordsman was still watching his face silently, a look of almost curious interest glinting in his glazed eyes.

"You're really, really pretty…" he muttered. Harry snorted in disgust.

"Old news, arseho-h-hey, wha-mmph!" his words got caught in his throat, eyes widening in disbeliefwhen the silveret leaned forward to press their lips together. It was sloppy, and more than a little uncomfortable, and he tried his best to lean away, starting to feel as though he'd wandered into some kind of twilight zone.

'And this, my friends, is why one should listen to Ron and Hermione when they tell you to come home and get sloshed, and not to get into crazy, random situations, and-' his mental ranting came to an abrupt stop when the guy tugged insistently at his hair. He frowned into the involuntary kiss. No way was he going to reciprocate!

The silveret pulled away and scowled at him. Harry was quite happy to glare right back.

"You know, when someone kisses you, you're supposed to kiss back…" he deadpanned, though the effect was lost in the slight drunken slur to his words. Harry's eyebrows rose incredulously.

"I'm not going to go kissing every person that goes and jumps me! And, as for you in particular, HELL NO!"

The other man eyed him irately, pursing his lips, before nodding to himself. Then, he dragged Harry down again, locking their lips together. Harry grunted, and tried to shove him off despite the lack of leverage. To his surprise, the guy actually pulled away slightly. Shifting his grip in Harry's hair, he readjusted his hold such that his palm was cupping the junction of Harry's neck and head, and gently trailed his thumb over Harry's lower lip. The brunet stiffened, not entirely comfortable with the feelings the touch of that callused thumb was evoking in him.

"You know, it isn't all that difficult…" the man murmured, his breath hot and moist against Harry's ear. He shivered.

"What would you know…" he ground out; fighting the stupid urge he was getting to catch that thumb between his lips. He felt more than heard the quiet laugh that spilt from the other man's lips as they curved into a slight smirk.

"Oh, I would. All you really need to do is close your eyes and forget everything else."

Harry, much to his disgust, found himself unconsciously following the quiet demand, eyes gradually sliding shut. He could feel those lips spread lazily against his skin, tongue flicking out and rolling around his lobe before he closed his teeth around it. Harry's breath hitched, fingers clenching against the back of the chair.

"Y-you know, you really should stop now. We need to go to sleep and get back to our lives tomorrow," he tried, forcing himself not to lean into the other man's touch as his fingers twisted slightly at the nape of his neck, thumb just barely pulling his lip lower.

"Don't think I want to," he breathed, tugging one last time at the brunet's earlobe before turning his face to face his own. Harry's eyes slowly parted, staring into the other man's pale gaze, before sighing softly.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," He murmured. "We don't even know each other."

"As if that's a valid reason."

Harry frowned, but wasn't able to say anymore as the other man was leaning forward again, much slower than the first time. He trembled involuntarily, feeling those lips gently brush across his, once, twice, before settling and pressing forward insistently. He found himself gasping softly when the silveret tilted his face, tongue gliding across the junction of his lips. What few apprehensions he had left about this situation crumbled when he heard the other man sigh,tilting his head further and ohGOD-

Harry whimpered, his right hand scrabbling for a hold before finally stilling on his shoulder. He was a little hesitant about applying too much pressure, the shoulder was still wounded for God's sake, but the twining of that moist muscle in his mouth was doing strange things to his sense of right and wrong, and fuck all if the guy couldn't kiss like a dream…

Strong, calloused fingers closed around his hip, and before he could actually protest, he found himself being tugged forward. Tumbling forward when he was already in a stranglehold ensured that there was no where else to go except onto the chair. Which was, sadly, occupied…

He felt those thin lips curl into a smirk against his own, and frowned. Honestly, it was like the man got off on bugging him all the time. He pulled away from the kiss, and opened his eyes to find himself separated by the barest fraction of an inch from the silveret, his legs already having come to rest in a position such that he was straddling him. The pale eyed man was looking more than a little pleased with himself, lips spread in a self-satisfied smirk, and it was all Harry could do to not whack him over the head.

"Fucking smartass," he grumbled, making the man snicker.

"What? Do you hear me saying anything?"

Harry twitched, and he purposely tightened his hold on the man's shoulder. Bloody well deserved anypain he go-oh. The brunet's eyebrows rose for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, watching the swift play of emotions on the guy's face inquisitively. That was an interesting reaction. The beginnings of a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, settling himself comfortably to watch as he increased what little pressure he was applying on the already wounded shoulder. He was rewarded with the widening of light blue-grey eyes, the man's lips parting in a silent gasp. Harry snorted.

"Masochist." He said amusedly, dragging his nails across the skin on the back of the shoulder. The silveret hissed, his hand twisting in the grip it had on Harry's hip while he tightened the hold he had on his throat in warning. Casually ignoring said warning, Harry leant across the short distance separating them till their foreheads were touching.

"What, and here I thought you were all for troubling me for the rest of the night. Don't tell me youactually want me to stop?" he purred sarcastically, not allowing the man to look away as he brutally dug his fingers into the flesh that he had so insistently been trying to heal before. He didn't need to look to know that his fingers were already covered in fresh, warm blood. Those pale, thin lips were parted wide and the man was breathing harshly, though his sharp gaze didn't waver an inch. Harry tried his best to ignore the thrills of sadistic pleasure that were shooting down his spine with every tremble his touch was evoking.

"Whoever said anything about stopping, bitch?" he managed to get out between the gasps, making Harry smirk.

"Me, if I'm not mistaken." He drawled while pulling his hand away, instead closing it around the man's right wrist and, in one quick jerk, finally managed to detach it from his neck. Figuring that this meant he was free to leave, he smoothly pulled himself away from the still trembling man andstood up. He turned around, ready to get into bed and finally get some sleep, when he was roughly shoved to the ground. Thinking quickly, he managed to spin himself over before actually making contact, and was in the process of pushing himself up when he was slammed back down. His eyes widened in a mix of shock and fury, and he glared up into the pale face that was looming directly above his.

"Oi, get the fuck off of me! Just who the bloody hell do you think you are?!!" he demanded, lifting his arms to shove the guy off, but the silveret simply snorted, grabbing the arms and pulling them over his shoulders so that they were locked over his neck.

"I should be asking you that. You don't lead a guy on then get right off like that." He said easily, staring down at the green eyed man with a cold gaze. Harry couldn't help the derisive snort that escaped him.

"Leading you on? In your dreams, arsehole." He said defensively.

The other man smiled archly. Harry stiffened, but continued to glare at him defiantly.

"You'll sing a different tune sooner than later, I can assure you of that." The silveret offered, making Harry sneer up at him in disgust.

"Like hell I will. The only way you'll actually get to do anything tonight is if you force yourself on me." He shot back. To his slight surprise, that actually made the swordsman stiffen for a moment, before a thoroughly revolted expression crept across his face.

"I might be a lot of things, but a rapist is definitely not one of them, Brit." He said warningly. Harry rolled his eyes, and pointedly tugged at the arms that the guy still held captive around his neck.

"Yeah? I can see that oh-so-clearly."

The silveret twitched, before mumbling a curse.

"I really don't get why you're actually fighting this so much. Are you married or something?"

Harry blinked at that, and frowned in bemusement.

"Do I have to be married to say no to sleeping with a complete stranger?"

"Where I come from? Yes."

"Oh,come on. No place functions like that." Harry snapped, starting to feel restless. He couldn't evenhatethe guy for acting so weird. It was obvious that any effect the alcohol had had on them was long gone, they were both completely in their senses. And, to be honest, if the guy had actually been interested in forcing himself on him, he would have tried to do so a lot earlier, rather than this crazy game of trying to make him reciprocate.

"If you're not married, there's no real reason you have to be so hesitant about this. Live a little, Brit."

Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief, and no little shock. Live a little? Live a little?!!

"Y-you're insane. You're fucking insane." He spluttered, making the other man snort.

"Yeah? Well, you must be too, since you actually managed to put up with me for so long."

"I beg your pardon?!!" he spat, but didn't really get a solid answer, as the man rolled his eyes and leant forward again, roughly capturing his lips with his own. Harry couldn't help the choked gasp that escaped him, feeling the man settle comfortably over him. The new angle was playing havoc on his senses, and it was all he could do to not give in again. The other man growled irately, and all but shoved his chin upward, fingers tightening harshly over his jaw. Harry's eyes clenched shut, groaning as the silveret's tongue snaked its way into his mouth again, forcefully sliding over the ridges in the roof of his mouth and his teeth before twining with his own, coaxing him to take part.

'T-that, I, I… Shit, why was I fighting this again?' he thought faintly, shifting the hold his arms had over the other man's shoulders so that he could twist the fingers of one hand through those soft, quicksilver strands. The other unconsciously shifted back to the man's left shoulder, and he purposefully dug his nails into the already blood-soaked bandages that were covering it. The silveret moaned loudly, and Harry willing pressed his fingers down as hard as he could. Somewhere in hislust soaked brain, he knew that he really shouldn't be doing this. Not making out with some randomstranger, definitely not ravaging a fresh gunshot wound, but damn if this guy wasn't good at making him forget all the things he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"Sh-shit, you little bitch,"he hissed out, pulling back enough to close his teeth around Harry's lower lip and tugging at it roughly. The brunet quivered, choking out a groaning gasp and pulling the guy closer.

'I-I really shouldn't be doing this. I really, really, reallyshouldn't be doing this. I – Oh, Gods above…'

The silveret twisted away from Harry's lips, instead moving towards his neck and closing his mouth over the skin at the junction of his jaw and throat, fingers already slipping towards the first button of his shirt. As his teeth and tongue began to work in white-hot harmony, Harry started mumbling curses and moans with every breath. His fingernails dug into the man's scalp, and the teeth fastened in a particularly harsh bite, warning him to be gentler. Laughter spilt from the brunet's lips, and he dug both nails and fingers into the man's scalp and wound, just to see what reaction it would get. The silveret actually yelped, abruptly pulling away to stare down into Harry's face. He offered the man a particularly playful smirk, making him groan aloud.

"Fuck. You little bitch. And you call me a masochist," he said amusedly, lips parting in a feral grin. Harry laughed aloud, reaching up to pull him back down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, sure you don't," the other ground out, swiftly wrenching the button open. His fingers shifted to the next button of the shirt, but it was as though he had lost any patience he might have had, pausing only for a moment before they moved back up towards the collar. The only real warning Harry had was the shift of the grin to a sly smirk, before the man all but ripped the shirt open. Harry squawked in indignation.

"Hey, what gives?!! I happened to like this shirt!"

"So? Go buy a new one. Especially since you look like you can afford it," the silveret said mockingly. Harry had only a moment to think that the guy actually remembered what he'd said earlier, before the thought was swept away in the torrent of heat that flooded through him when the man's mouthclosed over the hollow of histhroat andsucked-

"F-fuck!" He groaned, arching upwards. He could feel the other man's breathless laughter drum against his pulse as he writhed helplessly, groaning again as a muscled thigh wedged itself between his legs.

"G-gods, get to the point already, you a-ah!" Harry banged his head against the carpet as the man closed his teeth around his pulse point, worrying at it until Harry was almost afraid that it woulddraw blood.

"Shit, what are you, a fucking shark?" he asked faintly. The man paused for a moment, pale eyes shooting up to stare at him in surprise, before harsh laughter ripped itself from his throat.

"Something like that," he offered amusedly, his grin all teeth. Harry frowned in confusion, unable to shake the feeling that he'd just said something very stupid. Then, that thought was lost as well as the self professed shark slid lower, using teeth and tongue to mark a wet path down the plane of Harry's chest. His fingers trailed tongues of flame over the ridges of muscles covering his ribs, angle shifting imperceptibly till nails were slipping fluidly over the wizard's skin, making him shiver, caught between the odd urge to laugh and moan at the same time. He turned his gaze downwards, stilling to watch attentively when he caught sight of a silver haired head poised over his right nipple. The other's eyes tilted towards his, silent laughter glowing in them as he moved closer, flicking his tongue out to lightly drag it over the dark nub. Harry's breath hitched, a soft, involuntary tremble overtaking his limbs but unwilling to let his eyes slide shut as the silveret allowed his lips to close over his skin, tongue rolling till the nub was rock hard before tugging at it gently with his teeth. He abruptly shifted his attention to the other nipple, engulfing it so suddenly that Harry cried out, fingers reflexively clenching against the man's shoulder. A harsh shudder rippled through his body, nails digging into Harry's hip, and he stopped for a moment, though Harry continued to tremble, feeling hot, moist air blow over the oversensitised skin of his chest. His eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, wondering when the night had become so crazy. Feeling the silveret shift slightly, he looked back down, and was met by the sight of pale eyes staring close to directly into his.

"I'm not going to stop," the man said carefully, obviously watching for some kind of reaction. Harry snorted mentally. He could keep watching. He was done shaking his head. And honestly, after going this far, was there any real reason he shouldn't just go ahead and go the whole way?

(His conscience seemed to be screaming, trying to get him to remember a warm, golden smile and rich, strawberry scented red hair, but no, not yet, not just yet…)

"I won't stop you." Harry said in reply, staring back with a raised eyebrow as he slid his hand away from the man's shoulder, unhurriedly running his nails down the ridges of his spine. A slow smirk quirked at the corners of the man's lips, as he reached up to cup Harry's chin, tilting it back so he had easier access to languidly run his tongue over the brunet's lips. Harry sighed inaudibly, leaning into the touch as he allowed his tongue to slip out and coil around the other's in the warm air. Then, shifting his hold on the other's hair such that his palm and fingers cupped the base of his head, he pressed him closer, opening his mouth to give the man permission to slide his tongue in. A lazysmirk graced his lips for all of a moment before he accepted the freely given invitation, deliberately ghosting his tongue over Harry's teeth while lightly dipping the edges of his fingers below the waistline of his trousers.

The brunet pulled away with a loud gasp, pressing his face into the other's neck and trying to ignorehis surprised laughter.

"F-fuck, just how sensitive are you, anyway?" he managed to get out between sniggers. Harry nipped at his shoulder in warning, making the man choke for a moment, before snorting in renewed mirth. He ran the fingers of his right hand lightly down Harry's waist, down, up, and then down again, sliding lower to hook below a knee and pulling it upwards. Harry sighed into his neck, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh and making the other groan out loud. Forgoing anything else, the man closed both hands over Harry's hips, shifting his position until he was partially straddling the dark haired man. Harry bit down hard on the skin in his mouth to hide a gasp, arching upwards into the touch. The other man mumbled an almost inaudible curse about 'dumb, sensitive, impatient Brits', making Harry snicker quietly, though his laughter soon trailed away into a choked groan as the silveret ground down on him. Hands all but clinging to the man's skin, he bit down harshly, anything to stop the torrent of moans that threatened to escape him. The warm, low groan right by his ear as the silveret moved again was not helping.

"Think we'll regret this tomorrow?" Harry asked suddenly, once he managed to pull his face away from the taller man's neck. He got an unamused snort in response.

"That's if we actually remember any of this at all," was his only answer, before the man pointedly tilted his face upwards, signifying the end to anymore conversation. Unable to stop the smirk that slid across his lips, he willingly accepted the forceful press of lips against his own, spreading his other leg to make himself a little more comfortable on the ground. He was gifted with an appreciative nip on the lips, the silveret skimming a thumb first over his cheekbone and continuing on to trace down his jaw-line before tilting his head further back to get a better angle. As far as the green-eyed saviour of Magical Britain was concerned, any coherent thought after that seemed overrated.


The silence that remained in the room was almost suffocating, and I was left choking in the throes of my epiphany. God, did I actually just give in to him? Well, since I was still here the next morning after having had sex with the guy not once but multiple times through the night, obviously. Gritting my teeth, I put a hand out to steady myself against the windowpane, while I lifted the other to slowly massage my temple. How the hell did I manage to get myself into these situations, anyway? Was it too much to hope that the entire thing had been some kind of odd, warped dream?

The sound of running water from within the bathroom was like a sadistic counterpoint to my thoughts. Looks like Superbi was very much a corporeal entity. Note the gushing joy that fills my heart. Grimacing uncomfortably, I wearily pushed myself away from the window, dropping the sheet and taking a glance around the room. Critically eying the clothes that had been strewn all over the place, I was quite certain that I had enough time to get dressed and leave before the Italian was done with his shower, but that would have been as good as running away, wouldn't it? Not to mention that I had no interest in running away from my own ministry's safe house without even bothering to brush my teeth. Maybe if I timed it right I wouldn't need to see the guy in person. From what I remembered of the night before, it wasn't exactly advisable for me to talk to him again. Undoubtedly he would manage to convince me to do something else that went against my moral code. Not that I seemed to have protested overmuch to our activities last night. God damn it…

Heading over to the small closet set into one of the walls, I rummaged through it, managing to track down a napkin for myself. That angle covered, I cautiously headed towards the bathroom itself, knocking twice on the door before turning the knob and letting myself in. Superbi was safely cloistered within the section separated for showers, the translucent glass well and truly fogged over. All I could make out was a vague outline through the moisture on the glass door. I don't think I could ever have been more thankful that the new Minister had been willing to take suggestions from muggleborns while getting new safe houses built for the ministry. An old fashioned tub, or even something similar to the showers in the Prefects' bathrooms back in Hogwarts would have been mortifying in this situation.

Taking a deep breath, I did my best to ignore the fact that the figure within the cubicle had paused for a moment. Rolling my eyes at my own timidity, I dropped the napkin to the side of the sink before reaching up to the medical cabinet and grabbing one of the brushes inside, ensuring that I was taking the unused one. Merlin bless the self-updating cabinets. No doubt two brushes and the necessary medical 'equipment' we required had appeared in the cabinet right after we had entered the room the last night. Raising myself onto my toes, I quested round for the toothpaste. Successfully finding it, I eased a blob of the stuff onto my brush and resealed the tube, all the while ignoring the pale blue eyes that were unabashedly staring at me through the glass.

While brushing, I tried to go over whatever had happened the last night. Let alone the fact that I had slept with the guy, I was more than a little curious as to where he had come from. Had it just been a coincidence that he had been at the same bar I had dropped down in? Not to mention that the men after me had been after him as well. The whole situation seemed far too suspicious. Then again, even if he had been someone out to get me, it was unlikely that he would have chosen to have sex with me instead of trying to off me last night when I was still inebriated and hurt from the ambush we'd faced. Not to mention the tiny little detail that he had also saved my life at the risk of his own. Shaking my head bemusedly while rinsing at the same time, I found that I was still unable to place the man. I had no real answer, nor understanding as to why I had ended up doing what I had.

Live a little, Brit.

Taking a careful glance at the glass cubicle while pressing the napkin to my face, I sighed inwardly. Superbi had gone back to continuing with his shower, he wasn't even looking out at me anymore. As the napkin slipped from my fingers to drop against the floor, I had only a bit of doubt as to where exactly I was taking this. At least last night I'd had the excuse that I'd been drunk, even if most of the drunkenness had worn off by the time we had actually gotten around to doing something, but now, I didn't even have that. All the same, I found my feet silently stepping towards the cubicle. Superbi had gone still on the other side of the glass, though he made no motion to slide the door open. That was all up to me, if I wanted to. I was quite certain he wouldn't protest in any way if I did. Cursing myself inwardly, I found my fingers twisting over the plastic handle of the door, pausing only for a few seconds before they tightened and I slid it open in one go.

The warm, moist air from the shower curled around me in pale white tendrils, the steam kissing my flesh almost as intimate as a living entity, and I had only taken a step into the dark, copper stone floored cubicle before I found myself being spun around. My back collided harshly against the wall, the pale cream tiles biting into my back as a pair of lips crushed insistently into mine. My eyes were still half lidded, and I stared up into the other man's eyes amusedly before letting them slide shut. I reached an arm up to slip my fingers through the silver-white hair that had no doubt gone dark grey in the running water, groaning lowly as Superbi pressed closer, his hands trapping me against the wall. Trying to pull away from the tongue that was languidly brushing against, between, my lips, I mumbled something about the door, making him smirk against my skin.

"It can wait." He murmured pointedly, before lowering his head to close his lips around the junction of my jaw and neck. I moaned softly, tugging blindly at his hair and making him growl, all the while wondering why I was doing this again. As the man's obviously experienced tongue and teeth worked against my throat, I gasped, figuring that I might as well ride with it. It wasn't like I had any further to fall, I'd already gone way over my limits. Feeling the silveret give a particularly enthusiastic nip to my pulse point while sliding a hand lower, I hissed in response. No doubt riding with it would prove to be a more enjoyable experience than not.


I sat on the bed, quickly lacing up the shoes I had worn the last night. Superbi was already done with most of what he needed to get on again, frowning at the state of the buttons on his shirt while eying himself in the bathroom mirror. I could still see him from the angle I was seated in, the door of the bathroom having been left wide open. Done with the laces on both feet, I rolled my eyes and straightened.

"You know, you have no room to be complaining. Have you seen what you did to my shirt last night?" I asked accusingly. He shot me a look over his shoulder, an unrepentant grin curving across his lips.

"That was done with good intentions."

"You mean, it was done with every intention of fucking me into the floor," I shot back irately. He snorted, turning back to the mirror.

"Details, details. Grab another shirt from that magical closet of yours, there's bound to be something interesting left behind."

I stiffened for a second, wondering when the hell I'd let slip that I was magical in any way or form, before realising that he was being sarcastic. Sighing inwardly in relief, I pushed myself off of the bed and headed towards the closet, hoping that one of the charms on it was a shirt-conjuring charm or something. If not, at least something that would get me a decent, not-ripped-apart shirt that I could use until I got back home. Catching sight of a fresh, black dress shirt, I smiled.

"Well, well, well. Guess I was right about the shirt."

I started in shock when the silveret's arms smoothly slid round my waist, his head dropping down to settle on my shoulder. Snorting mirthfully, I leant back against him, seeing as I didn't have any other choice.

"Don't get all smug about it, mate. You don't want to give yourself a swollen head." I chanced a look at him, grinning when I saw those pale blue eyes roll in amusement.

"What do you do, anyway?" He asked suddenly. I stiffened, before forcing myself to relax. I had a fake answer ready on the tip on my tongue when, for some incomprehensible reason, I found myself answering truthfully.

"I'm a wizard."

That made him stop short, and I was nearly expecting him to pull away, when I found him eying me with mild bemusement. It was quickly masked by a cocky smirk, though.

"If you're a wizard, then I'm part of the Italian Mafia."

I blinked up at him, before breaking down into helpless laughter. He snickered right alongside me, his arms tightening around my waist while he pressed his face into the junction of my shoulder and throat.

I still don't know what I'd been thinking when I'd gone ahead and slept with the guy, or what in the world had possessed me to stick around for the morning after, but for some reason, I think that for now, what I had while standing in his strangely comforting embrace was more than reason enough.

Hello to everyone reading this. Hopefully you enjoyed the prologue/1st chapter to Serendipity. To start out, this damned plotline has been bouncing around in my head for quite a while, but I actually got around to penning it down only recently.

I have at least two more chapters ready to be posted, which I will be doing based on the kind of response this chapter generates. In other words, reviews will be greatly appreciated. Also, please tell me if you think I should keep the story in the mainstream HP section, the mainstream KHR section or the crossovers section.

In advance, this story is NOT going to bash Ginny in any way or form. I happen to like her as a character, just, not with Harry. I find the pairing far too clichéd for comfort.

Till next time.