Disclaimer: Anything that relates to Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling and her publishers.

Summary: Draco is injured after a battle, and is taken by Harry to Shell Cottage to recover from his wounds. What happened next was fate...or maybe a joke.

Author's Note: Enjoy!

It might have been fate. But they would have never admitted that. It was crazy, a mistake, pretty much a fucking joke. But somehow they couldn't resist the pull, they couldn't resist the tide. They couldn't resist their libidos.

It was a rivalry, they weren't going to try to making it seem like anything but that. They didn't even know how it happened. During the war, the whole world was fucked up. People, their emotions, no one knew anything anymore. If you thought you knew what was going on you were lying. Everything was hit or miss. You were at the mercy of the magic, of your connection to the people who mattered.

Draco and Harry were just the two in the middle.

It wasn't meant to happen. There was a fight, spells being cast everywhere. The darkness and silence was deafening. Even spells didn't make a sound. The world exploded in flashes of color like a strobe light, illuminating the enemy and casting him into shadow. The air trembled with the intensity of wizards battling it out in an empty field in Ireland. How they made it there, no one knows, but Harry had been fighting and moving around for so long he didn't know which way was up. He just knew what spells to concentrate on, he knew when to ignore the dead bodies, to feel no remorse for being the one who killed.

After the battle in Ireland he was left alone with the few from the Order, they had been ready to move out when Harry had seen him, or rather heard him groaning gently from behind a bush. The cluster of silver hair stood out in the night, along with the alabaster skin of the victim. He knew the Death Eater's had all left or died, and if Harry left Draco here, he would die too.

Arthur tugged on his arm, encouraging him to leave the enemy where he belonged, with the dead. Even Arthur had been hardened by the war. Harry couldn't leave. He waved the others away, bent down, and picked Draco up in his arms, and apparated with him to Shell Cottage which had long since been abandoned.

Who knew why he did it? He didn't even know. He hated Draco, that's for sure, and even though he healed his wounds and gave him food Draco still cursed at him, and spat spells at him, the kind you learn in second year, the kinds the bullies do in the halls because they don't really do much damage.

It was a joke, really, Harry abandoning his station to take of someone he hated, who hated him back. He even left once or twice for a few days to come back and find Draco in a sorry state by the fire, trying to track Harry by his wand.

It was a few months at least. They didn't talk, there wasn't need to. When you are at war there isn't time for emotion. There isn't time for stupid shit.

He knew Draco was grateful, he showed it one night when he dropped to his knees in front of Harry and undid his pants. It wasn't something he expected, it wasn't something he wanted...it was something he needed. And when Draco wrapped his calloused hand around Harry's cock and sucked it while looking into his eyes, Harry knew he was saying thank you. When Harry came he licked him clean and walked off to the bedroom.

They didn't talk until a few days later. They were having breakfast, knowing that Draco was healing fast and they both needed to go back out, both needed to be back and fight for their side. Harry looked up at Draco that morning and Draco nodded. It was small, curt. Harry wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been looking.

When they made love they did it on the table in Bill and Fleur's kitchen. Harry sucked Draco's cock so fast and so hard Draco came down his throat without warning, but got it up again when Harry bit him on the ear and begged to fuck him. When they fucked it was rough and passionate. Their muscles pulsed and their bodies collided in rough quick beats. They moaned loud and free, taken by something that was more than they could control. They kissed passionately, their tongues in a heated battle.

The next day they left, a nod goodbye, and "see you soon". And they did.

A month later they battled again, outside a cottage in the country where Voldemort had been hiding, and afterward they met in the bushes and fucked hard and rough, covering each others mouths with kisses so they would keep quiet. Draco held Harry's arms above his head and covered his mouth as he thrust in and out of him, looking deep into the emerald eyes that saved him.

They didn't see each other again till after the war. Harry was sipping a fire whiskey at a bar when Draco walked in. He put his hand on Harry's thigh and looked straight into his eyes, a piercing shakes-you-in-your-soul look. And Harry nodded.

They rented a room and made love. No fucking this time. They moved slow. Draco thrust in and out of Harry with such slow intensity, Harry's entire body was tense and pleasured, and when they came, they yelled each others names in abandon. They both tried to convey something more than just fucking. They tried conveying something more than the simplicity of sex. And when they held each other after, and made love again in the daylight, they knew the other had gotten the message. Their silence was intimacy. There wasn't need for words.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a joke.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed :D I am not one for really explicit sex scenes, I can certainly write them (I have before) but for this I was going more abstract.

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