Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Sealed with a Kiss
Word Count:
Harry Potter will fall in love with the first person who kisses him. Draco knows what he must do. A Christmassy Hogwarts kissy fic, this.
Older story, but I just realized I've never posted it here. And it's Christmas. So. Happy Holidays, lovelies!

Sealed with a Kiss


"Wait! Where are you going?" Pansy cried.

A foot away from much desired freedom, Draco mumbled an insult and turned around to look at her. Pansy sat on one of the high-chairs near the common room entrance, pretending to study, but actually writing her latest novel about a witch in love with an ancient ghost. Draco had stolen it and read it a week ago. The terrible and impossible sex scenes still haunted his dreams.

With a small shiver, Draco said, "I heard there's an orgy in the Hufflepuff's common room, so I thought I'd have a look, laugh, give well-meaning advice..."

It took Pansy a few seconds of silent shock to realise he was joking. "It's past curfew, smartarse."

Draco inconspicuously checked the big grandfather clock on the wall. Damn. He'd thought it was eight o'clock, but it was almost ten. That was what happened when one was too busy trying to look busy and thinking about... well, that thing all teenage boys thought about—Orgasm-inducing potions.

Draco lifted his chin. "I'm rebellious."

"I have something important to tell you," Pansy whispered, almost mouthed the words. Half the common room looked her way.

"I don't have time for gossip." Draco sighed and turned toward the exit.

"It's about Potter!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Draco growled and stomped toward Pansy's desk, sitting opposite her. "Fine, then. Since you refuse to leave me alone." Draco tried to look interested.

For some reason, Pansy smirked at him, but made no comment; she was much too eager to share her tale. "You do know Su Li earned herself a detention yesterday for trying to enchant Potter with a Love Potion?"

"Pansy, I was the one who told you that!"

"Oh." Pansy frowned, but her expression brightened quickly. "Either way, what you don't know is that the girl—the one with strange hair who Goyle likes?"

Draco made a noncommittal sound. That girl had nice hair.

"Well, you don't know what she told me," Pansy continued. "Apparently, she sold Su Li the potion in question and she says it had to be administrated gradually for at least two weeks, and then sealed with a kiss so Potter could fall in love with her. Su Li did feed Potter the potion; she just never sealed the deal." Pansy beamed.

Draco stared at her for full five minutes. "And?" he finally snapped. Honestly, Pansy was the queen of gossip, but she had just lost her crown. That was a pointless bit of information.

"Oh, Draco, I thought you knew everything about potions." Pansy shook hear head in mock-disappointment. Draco huffed but waited for her to continue. "Su Li is denying everything and they didn't actually find the potion, only a witness, so no one knows that Potter consumed all he had to in order to fall in love. Don't you see?" Pansy grinned. "Potter will fall in love with the first person who kisses him. He's a walking love bomb waiting to—er, I don't really know what bombs do, but Blaise used that comparison."

Draco, whose mind was slowly processing the words Potter and kisses, snapped out of his daze at the mention of Blaise.

"Blaise? You told Blaise before you told me?" Draco waved vaguely around the common room. "We've been sitting here together for hours!"

Pansy's bottom lip looked much fuller suddenly. "I tried, but you kept telling me you were busy."

"I'm not too busy for this!" Draco looked past Pansy at the stone wall, imagining Potter walking around, not knowing he was a kiss away from falling in love. With someone. Anyone. Anyone who decided to kiss him. Some higher power must have loved Draco loads to drop such a glorious opportunity into his lap. He could make Potter love him with a simple kiss. After all these years, Potter would finally be at his mercy. "We can use this knowledge. Somehow." Draco looked at Pansy. "For Potter's humiliation," he added quickly.

"I'm way ahead of you." Pansy's self-pride was a thing to behold. "I sent Millie after Potter ages ago. You know how enamoured she is with him." Pansy snickered. "She's been gone for a long time. I dread to think what they're doing."

Dread was what Draco felt. "Bulstrode? You sent...?" Draco croaked and lost his ability to speak. He stared at Pansy in horror.

"Aren't I brilliant?" Pansy exclaimed. "Oh, the look on everyone's face when those two lovebirds walk into the Great Hall tomorrow! Holding hands! I might cry from pure joy. Oh!" Pansy dabbed at her eyes. "I already am! Just imagine—hey, where are you going?"

Draco had shot out of the chair and rushed toward the exit. He paused to give a bemused Pansy a fleeting glance. "Er, to find them and..." Murder Millicent? It sounded like a good plan. He could murder Pansy, too, afterwards, when he had more time. And Blaise, just because. "Laugh. Uproariously. Brilliant scheme, Pansy." Draco nodded and forced himself to grin and not strangle Pansy right then and there.

"I'll go with—"

"No need! I'll take pictures!" Draco cried and all but flew out of the common room.

"With the power of your mind?" Pansy yelled after him, but Draco was already running, desperate to find Potter before Millicent Bulstrode, if such a chance even existed anymore. Potter was patrolling the hallways, but he wouldn't be easily found. It was a big castle. And he would put up a fight, surely. Though, Millicent was unreasonably strong and oddly resilient to hexes.

Draco took out his wand as he ran. If he would have to fight Millie for Potter, he would fight to the death. That kiss was his.


Harry scratched his chest and squirmed. "Sometimes I think she just likes to poke me."

"Pomfrey is just a little annoyed," Hermione assured him. "This is the fifth time this month you had to go to the hospital wing, always for the same reason. If you went yesterday, like I suggested, she'd be kinder. It's pretty late."

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron groaned as they rounded the corner. "Harry went to see her, just like you wanted. No need to rub it in."

"But I was right! Harry was enchanted!"

"Er." Harry looked sideways at Hermione. "That's the 'rubbing it in' part."

Hermione fruitlessly tried to tuck a stray lock behind her ear, looking ahead, with her chin in the air. "I'm just saying. Love Potions aren't to be taken lightly, Harry. Just think what could have happened if Su Li had succeeded."

"I would be temporarily de-gayed," Harry said brightly. "It would make Ron happy."

Ron, who was until then busy staring at Hermione fiddling with her hair, groaned again. "Do we have to keep mentioning it?"

"A problem doesn't go away simply because you ignore it," Harry said primly.

"Stop imitating me!" Hermione snapped. "And your orientation is not a problem, Harry."

"It's more of an issue," Ron said. Hermione glared, but Harry snickered. "And, for the record," Ron added, "it wouldn't make me happy. Su Li is a girl, but she's also a Slytherin."

Hermione looked taken aback. "I think she's a Ravenclaw, actually. You would think she'd be cleverer."

"Uh-oh." Ron leaned in closer to Harry and said in stage whisper, "That's even worse. You don't want a smart one, Harry. They're a handful."

Harry laughed and ducked in time. Hermione smacked Ron's shoulder, but then smacked the back of Harry's head as he straightened.

"What did I tell you?" Ron grinned as Harry rubbed the back of his head.

"I don't like being in the middle. Why am I in the middle?" Harry grumbled.

"Because, apparently, we have to protect you from random infatuated girls who lurk behind corners." Hermione looked around as though she thought a random infatuated girl would attack them any second.

"Why didn't you tell me this would happen when I defeat Voldemort?" Harry sighed, reminiscent. "Those were calmer, gentler times."

"But they weren't this merry and gay," Ron said solemnly.

Harry laughed.

"That's a very inappropriate joke!" Hermione said. "And that goes for both of you."

"Lighten up, Hermione," Harry said.

"You're the one whining all the time," Hermione huffed. "You know, Harry, if you er, came out, maybe all these girls would leave you alone."

"No way, Hermione!" Ron stopped walking to look at his girlfriend in horror. "It'll just make random blokes go after him."

"Their numbers would be small."

"But they're dangerous. You don't know blokes, Hermione. All they think about is sex."

Hermione's lips curved into a half-disapproving, half-flirty smile. "I gathered as much."

As Ron smiled back, Harry took two hurried steps backward. "Did I mention how much I hate being in the middle? Urgh. Stop that!"

Hermione's cheeks pinked and she shuffled her feet. "We didn't do anything."

"We did in my mind," Ron confessed. Hermione stepped on his foot and Ron yelped, jumping backward. "You're so abusive." He grimaced, but then grinned suddenly. "Though, I do like that about you."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm going that way." He waved toward the corridor they just passed. "Don't follow me."

Hermione stopped giving Ron a soppy look and turned toward Harry with wide-eyes. "But, Harry, you can't!"

"Yeah, mate, she's right. You can't go around all alone this late at night. One of those girls will... take advantage of you. Some of them are downright crazy. This thing with Su Li was a close call."

Harry stared at his friends' concerned faces. A part of him was thankful that he had them in his life, but a part of him was extremely exasperated.

"Mum, Dad, it's time to let me grow up," he deadpanned.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry winked at Ron. "Now, go play grown-up games, you two, and leave me to fend for myself. I kind of proved that I can, remember?"

Hermione grimaced and said something about patrolling and games, but Ron looked torn, undoubtedly distracted by the thought of grown-up games. "These girls are worse than Voldemort, though..."

"No, they're not." Hermione sighed. "You're right, Harry. We're just worried."

"I'll be fine," Harry promised with a smile. "As long as neither of you decides to share the story of a Head Girl who gave her boyfriend detention because he was out past curfew."

Hermione looked scandalised. "Ron! What did you tell him?"

Ron looked at his feet. "It was a good story." He sneaked a peek at Hermione. "Will you give me another detention because I didn't keep a secret?"

"I'm leaving!" Harry said loudly, turning around and hurrying down the corridor.

"Harry, wait!" Ron yelled and Harry reluctantly turned around. "Remember, don't talk to strangers and don't accept candy from passers-by. And if someone offers you an ice lolly make sure it's actually a—"

"Come on, Ron!" Hermione said, sounding reproachful, but Harry could hear laughter in her voice.

Harry stared at their retreating figures fondly. They were the most meddlesome and tiresome—and lately, sex-obsessed—pair imaginable, but Harry didn't know what he would do without them. To think that mere two months ago, he worried how he would tell them what he had discovered about himself and his preferences. He felt guilty now for thinking they would cast him away because he liked boys. It had been rocky and awkward for a while, still was at times, but between Hermione's tedious advice and Ron's inappropriate jokes, their friendship returned to its steady pace.

Up ahead, Ron took Hermione's hand and Harry looked away. Fighting a surge of irrational jealousy and shoving vague thoughts of his reduced chances of finding somebody to hold his hand, Harry returned to his Head Boy duties and pulled out the Marauder's Map.

He scanned it quickly, looking for lone dots, and sighed when he found one on the third floor corridor. He took out his Head Boy badge from his pocket, pinned it on his robes, and headed toward the stairs. Apparently, Millicent Bulstrode was out past curfew.


"... my head to your underdeveloped chest to lay; you look at me with green eyes that don't see..."

Millicent's booming voice resonated through the hallway and Draco changed his direction, turning left, toward the sound. He stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of Millicent with her large palm splayed over Potter's chest, holding him captive against the wall. Potter's wand was in his hand, but he looked too gobsmacked to move. He simply stared at Millicent in horror.

"There's nothing more I could say; except, you little thing, come kiss me. " Millicent finished her love poem and puckered her lips, leaning forward.

Potter made an odd, panicked sort of sound and Draco sprang forward and screamed, "Millicent!"

Millicent turned, her "caught red-handed" expression turning quickly into a scowl. "What do you want?" she asked when Draco reached them.

Breathless, Draco quickly scanned Potter's face just to make sure he hadn't been kissed, yet. Potter looked horrified, not in love, and Draco breathed a little easier. Seemingly coming to his senses, Potter raised his hand and, with a quick flick of his wand, sent a Stinging Hex at Millicent's neck.

Millicent giggled. "Oh, you! Stop that!" she said fondly, as though Potter had tickled her. "He likes his hexes, that one," Millicent told Draco, beaming. Potter's eyes were wide; his wand-hand looked frozen in the air.

"Ha ha!" Draco forced himself to laugh, searching Millicent's body for a possible weak spot. It was difficult to find one. Merlin, now that he was near her, he remembered just how big she was. She had quite a few inches on both him and Potter, and she was as wide as the two of them put together. It would be hard to put her down.

Millicent raised an eyebrow and Draco tried to think of something to say. Perhaps it would be wiser not to fight with Millicent.

"Er..." Draco jerked his head at Potter and then leaned toward Millicent and said, "I need to talk to you in private"

"I'm busy." Millicent grabbed Potter's shirt and shook him a little, as though to make her point.

Potter looked scandalised and tried to free himself by bending Millicent fingers backward, but she didn't appear to notice.

"Right." Draco frowned and approached slowly; if his newly formed plan failed to work, perhaps Potter and he could take Millicent together. "About that, Millie," Draco whispered. "You do know that Pansy lied? She only sent you here so she could take a certain item from your trunk."

Millicent's free hand shot out to grab Draco's collar. "What item?" she raged, pulling Draco uncomfortably closer.

"The one that... hums."

Millicent's jaw dropped. "That little... She can't... That's just... Honestly!" She paused, looking shifty. "Not that I own anything that... hums."

"Of course not!" Draco said quickly. Millicent's grip on his collar was becoming too tight; he was running out of air. "She's going through your belongings, though. Even as we speak."

"I'll kill her," Millicent said, eyes narrowing.

For a moment, Draco felt a little guilty. Sending Millie after Pansy was perhaps a little bit evil. But, on the other hand, Pansy had sent Millie after Potter, so as far as Draco was concerned it was only fair she felt Millie's wrath.

Millie glanced at Potter, looking torn.

"I think she plans to hex the item with Furnunculu s," Draco added. "Which would be unfortunate, if the item actually existed. Though, I'm not saying it exists. I'm speaking hypothetically."

Red color spread through Millie's cheeks and she bared her teeth with a growl. She released Potter so suddenly he would have fallen if he wasn't leaning against the wall. And then she turned toward Draco and, to his utter horror, pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

"You're a true friend, Draco," she said, voice filled with emotion.

Draco made an indistinct sound against her shoulder. He thought he would die of suffocation, but fortunately she released him. She smiled at him toothily and after a saucy, "See you later, scrawny," thrown at Potter, she hurried toward the Slytherin common room.

Draco allowed himself to breathe again.

"Bloody hell!" Potter gasped quietly. His back was still pressed against the wall; he seemed unable to move. "What was that about?"

"Um." Draco considered the possibility of jumping Potter right then, while he was immobile, but perhaps he should offer some sort of explanation, first. Potter looked like he needed one. "Pansy told Millie you had a crush on her. She thought it would be funny."

"Honestly." Potter shook his head, mumbled something about bloody Slytherins and then focused on Draco, looking sheepish. "Er, thanks?" Potter's smile was uncertain, but genuine. He stared at Draco with obvious curiosity. It made it hard for Draco to just attack him and kiss him out of nowhere. It seemed like a rude thing to do.

"Well, yeah." Draco looked at his feet, trying to appear modest. "You saved me from a fire; I saved you from Millicent. Guess we're even, now."

"Right." Potter bit his lip and quickly detached himself from the wall. "Thank you," he repeated, sneaking a furtive glance at Draco. His wand was still in his hand.

Draco couldn't blame him for being suspicious. Since the school year had begun the two of them hardly acknowledged each other's presence. For the most part, Draco ignored everyone's presence, but he did like to toss a glare or a sneer in Potter's direction occasionally. It just felt right to do so.

"Well..." Potter cleared his throat. "You should head back to your common room, before a professor sees you."

Draco nodded mutely, staring at Potter's face. He couldn't just leave ; he had some very important kissing to do. However, Potter stood rigid, his wand in his hand, and his expression, though not unfriendly, wasn't quite friendly either. He definitely didn't look like someone who would accept a random kiss kindly. Draco's gaze fell longingly on Potter's full lips. One kiss, that was all he needed. Surely, that shouldn't be so difficult to achieve? Millie had almost succeeded; she had managed to distract Potter by crappy poetry. But she was unhexable and much bigger. He needed to think of something clever.

Draco took a careful step forward.

"Er, is there something on my cheek?" Potter's hand flew to his face and he tried to brush nonexistent dirt from his skin. Draco would have been embarrassed that Potter caught him staring, but he was too busy having an epiphany. Of course. The good old you-have-something-on-you-cheek-let-me-gently-brush-it-away trick. It was classic. Draco liked classics.

"Yes, actually." Draco nodded a bit too vigorously and took another two steps forward, nearly stepping on Potter's toes.

Frowning, Potter rubbed his cheek self-consciously. "Did I get it?"

"Um, no." Draco reached out, careful not to make any sudden movements, just as one would approach a wild animal. "Here, let me..."

The moment Draco's fingers touched Potter's cheek, Potter froze, his green eyes widening behind his ugly glasses.

"There," Draco breathed, cupping Potter's chin and dragging his thumb over the skin, distracted for a moment by the softness beneath his touch. Potter must have been freshly shaved; now that Draco was so close to him, he could smell his cologne. The scent made his head spin. Draco's thumb slid over the curve of Potter's lips and they parted with Potter's sharp intake of breath.

"What—?" Potter said, but Draco didn't let him finish. He leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly to Potter's.


Draco Malfoy is kissing me. The thought danced around Harry's mind, mocking his attempts to deny it. There was no room for doubt. Harry's eyes remained wide open, he could see Malfoy's face clearly; it was so close, Harry could pick out every pale eyelash that touched Malfoy's cheeks. The touch of Malfoy's lips was firm and warm, their pressure light but undeniably there. A tentative brush of tongue was followed by Malfoy's lips moving against Harry's and Harry lost his ability to breathe. Malfoy's palm, pressed to Harry's cheek, was spreading heat over Harry's skin and he couldn't help making a small sound of approval when his bottom lip was pulled between Malfoy's teeth, then his lips, before it was released and the warm touch disappeared.

Malfoy's eyes opened and focused on Harry's.

"What—?" Harry tried again, but as though that was some secret code for kissing requests, Malfoy leaned back in and covered Harry's mouth with his own.

It wasn't like Harry didn't try to push him away. Of course he did. Internally. But his limbs refused to obey the rational part of his brain. He couldn't even make his eyes stop staring at Malfoy's eyelashes. He could see Malfoy's cheeks flush as his tongue traced the shape of Harry's lips. He had an expression of a man who was doing something truly important; it seemed wrong to stop him. Besides, Harry's lips were tingling, melting under the attention; Harry had never been so aware of his lips, they felt fuller, softer, as though they were eager for Malfoy's touch.

What an odd day. First he discovered he had been enchanted, but fortunately he was freed from the spell by Madam Pomfrey, then he was embarrassingly overpowered by Millicent Bulstrode and had to endure long minutes of bad poetry, but fortunately he was rescued by Malfoy. And now Malfoy was kissing him. Which could have meant someone else would now appear and rescue him, but Harry wasn't quite sure if that would be fortunate or not.

This time, after he pulled away, it took Malfoy much longer to refocus his eyes on Harry. He looked expectant.

Tentatively, Harry opened his now wet and tingling mouth and tried, for the third time, to speak.


"Damn it!" Malfoy growled, then frowned, clearly frustrated. Then he leaned forward, all but grabbed Harry's face, and kissed him again.

Harry could no longer even pretend he wanted to pull away. He knew Malfoy would kiss him again and he didn't even try to prevent it. It was simple: every time he said "What?" he would earn himself a kiss.

Malfoy's tongue slid into his mouth and, admitting defeat, Harry stopped thinking. Malfoy tasted like peppermint, and his tongue slid so sensually against Harry's, it was impossible not to melt into the kiss. Harry's hands flew to Malfoy's waist, desperate for support, because he was beginning to feel dizzy. He tilted his head sideways, pressing his cheek into Malfoy's warm palm, and opened his mouth fully, welcoming Malfoy's intrusion by sucking gently on his tongue. A low moan rumbled in Malfoy's chest; the chest Harry could feel pressed snugly to his own, and Harry's toes curled, his limbs liquefying and head spinning. Malfoy could do amazing things with his tongue: he could not only melt Harry's bones with it, but also make little pulses of pleasure spread from his lips directly toward his quickly hardening cock. He could even cause Harry to make the most pathetic moaning sounds, which he couldn't even feel embarrassed about, because there was nothing more important than sliding his tongue against Malfoy's, wrapping it around the slick, skilful muscle, and letting the gentle taste of mint and wetness fill his mouth.

Harry had kissed a boy before. A French boy, even. Over the summer, when Fleur's family visited the Burrow, one of her cousins, a dark-haired, ever-smiling boy whose name Harry couldn't even pronounce pulled Harry aside and led him to the dirty pond. That day Harry had discovered a very unnerving, but undeniable, truth about himself. The kiss had been a revelation, something so right it was impossible to have any doubts. It had been the highlight of Harry's life, a breakthrough; perfection that could never be outdone by anyone ever again. That kiss alone was the reason Harry counted the days until Fleur and Bill's baby was born because Fleur's family promised they'd visit again when that happened.

It all seemed so ridiculous now. Both the kiss and Harry's crazy, enamoured thoughts. It was nothing like this. Not even worthy of comparison. That boy had kissed him, expecting and requiring nothing in return, and Harry had happily let him. But even though Malfoy's kissing attack was far more shocking and unexpected, it had stopped feeling like an attack. With every flick of his tongue and every slide of his lips, Malfoy was asking for a response, begging for it, demanding it, coaxing Harry's lips and tongue to participate. It was so easy to follow Malfoy's movements, to mimic every trick and share the kiss not just take it. It made Harry feel competent, as though he knew what he was doing, even though he should feel utterly lost.

Malfoy pulled away slowly, nibbling on Harry's bottom lip before he gave it a few firm licks and pressed a number of wet, lingering kisses to the sensitive flesh. Each tiny kiss made Harry gasp a little, his whole body convulsing and moving toward Malfoy, not willing to lose the sensation. But Malfoy's grip on his face was too firm and all Harry managed was to press one quick peck to Malfoy's lips before they were out of reach.

His vision was blurry when he opened his eyes; his cheeks almost hurt from the heat of Malfoy's palms. He tried to focus on the blond blur in front of him, and when he finally managed, he couldn't help gasping a little. Malfoy's expression was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before—it was pure undiluted happiness. Harry could see it clearly, not only because Malfoy's lips were stretched into a brilliant smile, but because it practically radiated from his normally dull grey eyes.

"I can't believe it," Malfoy whispered. His hot breath tickled Harry's wet lips.

"Um," Harry said, not sure what to say to this oddly happy Malfoy.

Malfoy's gaze raked over Harry's face, each second that passed seemed to bring him even more happiness, as though he found something incredible in Harry's expression.

"It worked," Malfoy breathed. "It really worked."

"What—?" Harry asked, then sighed resignedly as Malfoy kissed him again.


It worked. It must have. There was no other explanation.

Draco's fingers strayed into Potter's hair, clutching the strands as he leaned sideways and deepened the kiss. Potter answered with a moan and tightened his grip on Draco's waist, the possessive pressure of his hands maddening. Potter's tongue moved tentatively against Draco's, carefully, as one would expect from someone inexperienced, though Draco didn't know if that was inexperience or if Potter wasn't sure whether to answer the kiss or not. It was hard to think; hard to plan and draw any conclusions. Draco couldn't kiss Potter and form coherent thoughts at the same time. He was too busy feeling the texture of Potter's lips and mouth, the taste of him, the touch of his skin, and too busy listening to Potter's sharp little intakes of breath and quiet moans that sent vibrations from Draco's lips directly to his cock. Potter was kissing back, that was the only fact Draco's mind could grasp.

Reluctantly, Draco pulled back, a difficult feat since Potter wasn't letting him go, but Draco tugged at his hair and after another deep, open-mouthed kiss, he tore his mouth away from Potter's.

His eyes snapped open and he looked at Potter's face carefully. And there it was again: Potter was flushed and dazed; his eyelashes fluttered to reveal unfocused green eyes; he was breathing heavily, small puffs of air escaping his wet, parted lips; he actually attempted to lean forward and kiss Draco again. It looked like a mindless, desperate gesture, as though he could think of nothing except touching Draco's lips again. Surely, that meant the potion worked. Potter was enchanted; helplessly in love with Draco. He would not have responded to Draco's kisses like that if he wasn't.

Potter found his voice again and asked, "Um, Malfoy, what are you—?"

"Bloody hell!" Draco said and Potter blinked at him.

Honestly, why was Potter so keen on asking stupid questions? If he was in love, shouldn't he be happy that the object of his affections was kissing him, and just shut the fuck up?

"Stop asking questions," Draco told him.


Draco glared at him.

"What did you mean when you said it worked? What worked?" Potter asked.

"You kissed back. I didn't think you would," Draco said easily, since that was pretty much the truth. He frowned at Potter's unwillingness to be quiet and let Draco kiss him senseless. Granted, a Love Potion wasn't anything like the Imperious Curse. An enchanted person didn't listen to orders, but was more likely to demand obedience from his or her enchanter. That was why Love Potions were dangerous; they turned the enchanted person into someone obsessive and demanding. Perhaps, he should be more careful with Potter, or else this whole thing could backfire.

Draco slowly released Potter's hair and moved his hands to his sides. Potter's hands were still gripping his waist.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, trying to look apologetic. "I just jumped you. That was very rude of me."

Potter's eyes cleared and his eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure you're Draco Malfoy? You're not someone else Polyjuiced as Malfoy, are you?"

"Er, pretty sure." Draco smiled a little. He was getting a little worried again. Potter's grip hadn't lessened; it was beginning to make Draco feel captured.

"Why did you kiss me?" Potter, apparently, could not stop asking questions. Draco wished he could answer him, but what could he say?

"Well, I..." Draco's mind raced through numerous possibilities: I suddenly discovered I like you. It was a spontaneous reaction. I've liked you for quite some time. I've dreamed about kissing you for months. All lies, of course, but Potter was in love; it was what he expected to hear. "I..." Merlin, why was it so hard to lie? Draco never had a problem with lying.

A loud crash not far ahead startled them both. It was followed by raucous cackling.

"Peeves," Potter said. His eyes scanned Draco quickly and he opened his mouth, closed it, and then quickly released Draco's waist. He took a step back. "You should go. If Peeves is around, Filch's not far. He'll give you a detention if he sees you."

Draco couldn't help beaming a little. Potter was actually worried about Draco getting a detention.

"You're right." Draco's mind worked furiously; they couldn't part like this. "It's too early; all the professors are still awake," he said. "You know how to get to the East Tower?"

Potter frowned, but nodded.

"Meet me there after midnight." Taking a step forward, Draco pressed another quick kiss to Potter's lips and turned, intending to run away.

Draco's wrist was suddenly snatched in a vicelike grip. He almost stumbled as he was forced to turn back toward Potter. Worry and doubt attacked him, again. Potter's expression was no longer dazed; he stared at Draco intently, his fingers tightening around Draco's wrist.

"Why?" Potter demanded.

Draco pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His wrist was beginning to ache and the sight of Potter's frowning face was anything but comforting. The supposed affection appeared to have vanished. But as Draco released his tortured lip, Potter's distrustful gaze flickered toward it and his breathing sped up.

Somewhat relieved, Draco deliberately relaxed his lips, pouting a little so his bottom one would look even fuller. Potter could not tear his gaze away from it.

"If you come, I'll tell you why I kissed you," Draco said. Potter's gaze snapped back to Draco's eyes.

Carefully, Draco approached, twisting his wrist, trying to free it as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Potter's. He kept still; his eyes were open, staring at Potter's wide ones.

"Will you be there?" Draco murmured against Potter lips. It took all of his willpower not to increase the pressure and kiss Potter's warm mouth; his whole body shook from the effort not to move.

Potter made a strangled sound and then moved his lips slightly, his eyes closing. "Yes," he said breathlessly.

Draco rewarded him with another kiss. Somewhere, not very far away, Peeves was laughing and Filch's angry voice echoed through the castle, but Draco was aware of it only vaguely. His ears were ringing and Potter's tiny gasps seemed louder than anything. He slid his lips against Potter's, caressing them before he tugged on Potter's upper lip, sucked it a little, licked it gently, and then, just as he was about to repeat the process with Potter's bottom lip, Potter released his wrist and pressed his palm to Draco's chest, pushing him away.

"Go," Potter gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Draco grinned at Potter's red cheeks and dazed eyes, and then quickly turned around and ran. A mere two hours from now, he would be kissing Potter again.


Fire crackled in the fireplace, bathing the Gryffindor common room in yellowish light. It was peaceful and quiet despite the fact that there were two other people sitting in the squishy armchairs opposite Harry. Both figures were very still, staring at him—one with brown eyes and a frown and the other with blue eyes and opened mouth.

"Harry, mate," Ron said quietly and with obvious effort. "You know when we said you should never ever keep secrets from us again?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"We lied." Ron grimaced. "Some things are just not meant to be shared."

"No, Ron. Um." Hermione paused and blinked. It seemed she couldn't blink and speak at the same time. "It's good you told us everything, Harry. In such detail... Perhaps, a little too much detail..." Hermione blinked again.

"Is it because I shared the detention story?" Ron sniffed. "I'll never do that again. I promise."

Harry's cheeks felt so hot, he thought he would burn up faster than the logs in the fireplace. Dear God, what had possessed him to tell Ron and Hermione everything? He was just so stunned, he couldn't make himself shut up. The moment he entered the common room and found his friends snogging on one of the armchairs, everything just poured out of his mouth and he told them exactly what Malfoy had done. If only he had found some self-restraint and spared them the description of the kisses and their effects on him. But those effects were new and exciting and Harry had to let someone know he had just discovered how wonderful kissing could be.

Hermione blinked three more times in quick succession and seemed to come to her senses. "We have to think about this very carefully, Harry."

"We do?" Ron gaped at his girlfriend.

Harry didn't dare to speak anymore, but he hoped his expression mimicked Ron's sentiments.

"Yes, we do." Hermione nodded and took a minute to practice her now returned blinking skills. "Er, we must assume, Harry, that Malfoy has enchanted you."

"We must?" Harry asked, doubtful. He didn't feel enchanted. Well, maybe a little, but not by a potion.

"Yes, we must!" Ron cried. "Hermione, you're brilliant!" He beamed. "For a second there I thought Harry actually..." Ron looked too distressed by his thoughts to continue. He shuddered a little.

Harry must have looked insulted because Ron's eyes widened and he shook his finger at him. "Don't give me that look, mate! I'm not saying that because Malfoy is a bloke, I'm saying that because the bloke is Malfoy." Ron took a deep breath. "Malfoy! " he said more loudly, as though he feared they didn't hear him.

"But he didn't give me candy and he didn't even take out his wand!" Harry said a bit too forcefully.

Ron shuddered again. "Details, Harry—I don't want them."

"Oh, Harry, don't you see how much you're defending him?" Hermione sighed. "Perhaps you just didn't want to notice he had done something to enchant you."

Harry bristled. "I'm not an idiot."

"Harry," Ron said, his eyes pleading. "Malfoy is up to something. You know him; you know I'm right."

"Of course I do!" Harry said. "That's why I intend to meet him later and find out what he has planned."

"He usually plans to humiliate you," Hermione said gently just as Ron squeaked, "Meet him?"

Ron set his jaw and glared. "We're going with you."

"Harry, are you sure you're not just hoping Malfoy will kiss you again?"

"No-oh," Harry spluttered. It sounded completely unconvincing to his own ears. "Well, Malfoy is a good kisser," he said defensively. "And he's sort of attractive, up close... It's not like I would mind..."

Ron's mouth opened and Hermione stopped blinking again.

"Oh God!" Harry gasped. "You're right. I am enchanted."

Ron exhaled loudly. "Blimey. You scared me for a second, there." He stood up and grinned. "We should go to the hospital wing right away. We can't have you going to sleep thinking about Malfoy. And then, tomorrow, we'll deal with the little ferret. He'll think twice before enchanting you again."

Harry nodded sagely and stood. Malfoy looked nothing like a ferret, but Harry thought it wise to say nothing.

Hermione frowned at them, biting her lip.

"Now what?" Ron tapped his foot impatiently. "You're thinking again, Hermione. Stop it. We have this whole thing sorted, all right?"

"It's just..." Hermione looked worried. "An enchanted person doesn't normally accept the truth. They refuse to realise their feelings aren't real."

"I don't have feelings for Malfoy," Harry said quickly, but both Ron and Hermione ignored him.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked. "Harry went to see Pomfrey willingly earlier today. This is no different."

"Well, yes, that's the thing." Hermione stood up and peered at Harry carefully as though the answer to her question was written on Harry's face. "Harry should have been in love with Su Li, but he wasn't. And Madam Pomfrey confirmed he had consumed a potion. It was in his bloodstream, but Harry wasn't affected. And now he seems to be affected, but not enough to fight against reason."

"Maybe I'm very resilient." Harry took a step back; Hermione studied him like he was a lab rat.

"Maybe." Hermione seemed unconvinced. "Or someone is selling substandard Love Potions to students."

"Can we worry about this later, Hermione?" Ron all but begged. "I don't think the quality of the potions is our priority here. Pomfrey got rid of Su Li's enchantment with a wave of her wand. Let's hope she'll get rid of Malfoy's just as easily. In this case, lack of quality is a good thing."

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest. "I just don't like it. Especially now that Malfoy is involved. I feel like I'm missing something."

"I'm missing half an hour ago when I didn't know everything Malfoy could do with his tongue." Ron sighed, and Harry blushed and looked at his feet. "Come on, you can ask Slughorn tomorrow and see what he thinks. And we can ask Pomfrey now, if she doesn't murder us for being back so soon."

Hermione hesitated. "You're right, actually. Perhaps it isn't a good idea to see Pomfrey right now. She was a bit upset earlier, and this isn't really an emergency."

"Not an emergency?" Ron flailed his arms as Harry rubbed his chest, remembering Pomfrey's rude wand-poking.

"We're going now," Harry said firmly. "Because if I'm not enchanted, I want to meet Malfoy like I promised."

Ron raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Still think this isn't an emergency?"

"Harry, I don't think that's a good idea." Hermione's brown eyes were full of concern. "We don't know what Malfoy is up to. He could be planning something, a trap of some sort. For all we know he's out there plotting something terrible with his friends."

Harry narrowed his eyes and quickly took out the Marauder's Map. "We don't have to wonder, do we?" he said and then mumbled, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

"Truer words were never spoken," Ron grumbled.

Ignoring Ron, Harry scanned the map, trying to find a dot labelled Draco Malfoy in the Slytherin dungeon, but it was difficult to spot anything in a sea of tiny dots.

"There he is!" Hermione said. She had leaned over to see better and pressed the tip of her finger to the right corner of the map.

"What's he doing?" Ron asked as Harry's eyes finally found Malfoy's dot.

Malfoy was already in the East Tower. His dot was very still; he appeared to be waiting. Harry quickly checked the clock on the wall. It wasn't even eleven yet, and Malfoy said they'd meet after midnight.

"Is he... waiting?" Hermione said quietly, as though Malfoy could hear her.

Harry squinted at Malfoy's dot. "Well, he's not waiting for me, surely. It's too early. It's cold up there, he'll freeze."

"Maybe he's waiting for his Slytherin pals, or something. It's a trap, I know it is," Ron said.

"Well, then he's waiting in vain," Hermione pointed out. "I don't see any other Slytherins walking around."

What if he is waiting for me? Harry thought, his gaze fixed on the lonely, still dot. An urge to go up there and question Malfoy was overwhelming, especially since questioning Malfoy threatened to become Harry's favourite pastime. The memory of Malfoy's lips moving against his wasn't helping him think clearly. Right on cue, his lips began to tingle and Harry licked them nervously.

Merlin, what if he wasn't enchanted? What if he really did like Malfoy's kisses so much he was willing to meet with him in dark corners? What if he'd lost his mind? Or worse, fallen for Malfoy? Because of a single kiss?

Harry took a panicked, shuddering breath. "We have to go see Pomfrey right away."


Harry tugged on his Invisibility Cloak, carefully navigating the narrow circular staircase that led to the East Tower. He wished he had the Marauder's Map with him so he could check whether Malfoy was still waiting for him or not. It was half past midnight and Harry was late, though not because he had planned it so.

His visit to the hospital wing had been short but alarming. Madam Pomfrey hadn't been her usual kind self, but she had dutifully examined Harry, jabbing various parts of his body with her wand. To Harry's distress, Hermione's concern, and Ron's absolute horror, she declared him free of any sort of enchantment. They had exited the hospital wing not a little shocked. Not that shock could have prevented Harry from meeting Malfoy as promised, especially since each time Harry checked the map, Malfoy's dot was still waiting in the East Tower.

After much bickering, vivid descriptions of various dangerous possibilities, and lectures on ex-Death Eaters and their doubtful ability to change, he finally managed to convince his friends he just wanted to find out why and how Malfoy had developed a sudden urge to kiss him. He had promised them faithfully he would not let himself be attacked again.

Nonetheless, Hermione insisted Harry should take his Invisibility Cloak and carefully examine the tower before revealing himself to Malfoy, and Ron had snatched the Marauder's Map from Harry's hands, so he and Hermione could keep an eye on them and appear at any sign of trouble.

Harry's jaw hurt as he stoically withstood their fussing, having no time to bicker with his friends. Who knew when Malfoy would simply give up on him and leave?

The moment Ron and Hermione rounded the corner, Harry ran as fast as his feet could carry him. When he reached the top of the stairs, his breathing was shallow and his heart was pounding madly. The stairs led to a small circular room, with a dirty floor and high windows; tiny shadows of thick snowflakes danced on the moonlight that illuminated the rough, grey stone.

For a moment forgetting he was invisible, Harry peeked inside carefully. The knot in his stomach loosened the second he spotted Malfoy, but then it tightened again as the sight of him returned the vivid memory of Malfoy's kisses.

Harry took two steps forward, careful not to make a sound. He promised Hermione he would check for traps, so he decided to check out Malfoy and hope that counted as vigilance.

Malfoy sat on the floor, his back pressed against the stone wall, his head bowed and knees slightly parted. A fancy-looking pocket watch was in his left hand and as Harry watched, Malfoy toyed with it, flipping it open every five seconds and then closing it with an irritated snap. Harry could hardly believe Malfoy had just spent almost two and a half hours waiting for him, not to mention he showed no signs of planning to leave anytime soon.

Malfoy checked his watch again, sighed audibly, and then threw his head back and leaned it against the wall, exposing his long pale throat and prominent Adam's apple in the process. Harry couldn't help himself—he felt compelled to stand there quietly and stare.

It was cold in the tower, but Malfoy didn't look like he was freezing. He wasn't shivering, but kept very still, as though indulging Harry in his curious examination. Harry's gaze raked over Malfoy's features as he tried to figure out whether Malfoy had stopped looking like a petulant little boy before their kiss or after it. In all honesty, Harry hadn't been paying much attention to Malfoy during the last few months. Mostly because whenever Harry looked his way, Malfoy seemed to sense his gaze and turn around, scowling and glaring. That was the expression Harry was used to; he wasn't used to seeing Malfoy smile as he had when Harry had returned his kiss and he wasn't used to seeing him like this—perfectly still with his eyes closed as though he was asleep.

There was nothing gentle about Malfoy's expression. The lines of his face were hard, his high prominent cheekbones and tightly pressed lips merely added to the effect. Even his white-blond hair only sharpened his face. Harry couldn't understand how someone who seemed so cold and looked so harsh could have kissed him so gently and so passionately. He was beginning to wonder whether he had only imagined that all-consuming, toe-curling kiss.

The lid of Malfoy's watch snapped shut and Harry breathed in sharply, startled. Malfoy's eyes opened and narrowed as he straightened and looked around.

"Potter?" he asked, looking in the wrong direction.

After a moment's deliberation, Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, letting it slip onto the floor. Malfoy's wide eyes focused on him and he quickly scrambled to his feet.

"Hey," Harry said, wishing his voice didn't sound so scratchy. "Sorry, I'm late."

Malfoy's gaze was so intense, Harry squirmed a little. It took Malfoy awhile to relax and smile. "It's all right. I only just arrived myself."

Something about that lie tugged at Harry's heart and his feet carried him closer to Malfoy.

"Aren't you cold?" Harry asked. He was cold; his whole body was shivering. Harry's hand flew toward Malfoy's face; Malfoy had touched his cheek earlier without warning, it was only fair Harry did the same. Malfoy's lips parted slightly in obvious surprise as Harry's fingers brushed the pale cheek—it was dangerously warm; hot, even.

"Heating Charms," Malfoy whispered.

Harry wasn't listening. Malfoy's lips captured his attention and held it. He found himself determined to find out whether that kiss had been as enchanting as he thought it was. It had to be verified. Immediately. He had promised Hermione he wouldn't let Malfoy attack him with kisses again, but he hadn't promised he wouldn't be the one doing the attacking.

Harry's eyelashes fluttered closed as he leaned in and found Malfoy's lips with his. Malfoy froze and Harry's heart skipped a beat; he stilled, afraid he had done something stupid. Perhaps Malfoy didn't want to kiss him again. But before Harry could pull away and apologise, Malfoy's arms trapped Harry's body and Malfoy's tongue slipped past his lips.

All those wonderful sensations returned in a flash. They seemed even more intense now that Harry wasn't paralyzed with shock. His blood rushing south, Harry pressed his hips forward and his fingers strayed into Malfoy's hair, eager to tousle the straight, neatly arranged strands. It was fortunate that his mouth and tongue remembered what to do, because Harry had no thoughts to spare on kissing techniques. Malfoy's skin was so warm; Harry feared they would both burn up if they didn't stop kissing soon, though that mattered little since stopping clearly wasn't possible.

The concept of time was lost on Harry and he was sure—though it made no sense—that hours had passed before Malfoy pulled back, leaving Harry gasping for air. Inexplicably, Harry's back was pressed to the stone wall and Malfoy's hands gripped Harry's hips almost painfully. Harry couldn't even remember them moving, though at one point he had felt exceptionally dizzy; Malfoy must have spun him around.

Snowflake-shaped shadows danced over Malfoy's face, but it was bright enough Harry could see Malfoy smiling. His smile wasn't as broad as it had been before, but it softened Malfoy's features and even the look in his eyes was gentler. The tiny transformation made Malfoy look handsome, almost mesmerising.

"You owe me an answer," Harry said, hating himself just a little for his treacherous thoughts that attempted to convince him he already knew why Malfoy had kissed him. Malloy's expression was uncharacteristically revealing.

Malfoy's lips stretched into a familiar smirk, but for the first time since he'd met him, Harry didn't find it obnoxious; on the contrary, Harry's body seized up and his cock twitched in anticipation, as though his body knew something Harry's brain didn't.

"Hmm." Malfoy pursed his lips. "I don't think so."

Annoyance at Malfoy's refusal to keep his promise cleared Harry's mind. "You said if I came, you'd tell me why you kissed me," he said, then frowned as his accusation only made Malfoy grin. In fact, Harry had never seen Malfoy look so pleased with himself, and that was saying something.

"I did," Malfoy agreed, and much to Harry's confusion, pressed the tip of his finger to Harry's lips.

Harry kept still as Malfoy finger slipped over his chin, grazed his neck, and then Malfoy flattened his palm against Harry's chest, moving downward, over Harry's tie and the buttons of his shirt. The pressure of Malfoy's touch was slowly intensifying, inflaming Harry's skin further. Harry stopped breathing, pushing backward against the wall, as Malfoy's hand reached his stomach, but didn't stop moving lower.

Malfoy held Harry's gaze captive as his fingers slipped between Harry's thighs, stroking, teasing, before he firmly cupped Harry's crotch.

Harry's vision darkened; he couldn't breathe, not with Malfoy's hand palming his cock and Malfoy's eyes staring at him unashamedly, almost greedily.

"See, Potter..." Malfoy grinned wider. "You still haven't completed your part of the bargain."


Draco thought he might be drunk. He felt drunk; dizzy and giddy and utterly lacking control of his mouth and limbs. Sudden happiness was quite an achievement, since a mere couple of moments ago he had been miserable. Unwilling to return to the Slytherin common room where he would have to face Millie and Pansy, Draco had camped in the East Tower and waited for his enchanted date to appear. As hours passed, doubts had intensified, and Draco thought of a thousand ways things could go wrong. If Potter was enchanted, someone might notice and Draco's opportunity would be lost; and if he wasn't, well, then it was lost already. Either way, Draco was screwed. He regretted leaving Potter just because Filch had appeared. He should have stunned Filch and dragged Potter to the East Tower, not given him the chance to run away. One kiss was not enough; Draco wanted much more. Because, of course, the more Draco took, the more humiliated Potter would be. Which was all that mattered. However, alone in the tower and bored out of his mind, Draco admitted to himself that kissing Potter hadn't been bad. Perhaps the sense of victory added to the feeling, but it was hard to deny Draco had enjoyed the kiss more than he could have ever imagined. Potter's response had been so spontaneous, awkward but eager, inexperienced but sensual, as though Potter had been made for kissing but wasn't even aware of it. But Draco was aware of it; too aware of it, even. He found himself reliving the kiss in his mind more that once as he waited; though, as time passed the memory turned bittersweet; Potter was late and Draco feared the memory was all he would get to keep.

His earlier thoughts seemed silly now that Draco had Potter—quite literally—by the balls. Not only had Potter come to the Tower as promised, he had kissed Draco without any prompting; he seemed unable to stay away, as though he was pulled toward Draco by magic. Potter let himself be manoeuvred as Draco wished; Draco had spun him around and trapped him against the wall effortlessly. And now, Draco felt physical evidence of Potter's enchantment against his palm. Potter was hard, fully hard, which meant he had to have been aroused even before he reached the tower, which meant Potter had been thinking about Draco and their kiss, just as Draco had been thinking about him.

Draco moved his hand, curiously measuring Potter's length, pleased to find that Potter was well-equipped; though, he wasn't sure why he found that fact pleasing. On the other hand, he wasn't quite sure why he was touching Potter's cock at all. It wasn't a part of Draco's plan. His plan consisted only of kissing and future public humiliation; he remembered nothing about planning to give Potter pleasure. But that was what he was doing. And he couldn't stop. It was Potter's fault. He looked so mesmerised, utterly enraptured, with his flushed cheeks and puffy kiss-suffering lips, as though Draco's touch was the most magnificent thing he had ever experienced. It was intoxicating; Draco would have done anything just to make Potter look like that for as long as possible.

"That's... That's..." Potter panted, his hips twitching minutely. "Brilliant."

Draco squeezed Potter's cock a little, massaging it firmly.

"God," Potter said, his whole body shivering so hard Draco feared it was catching. He was beginning to shiver as well.

Without thinking, Draco moved his hand and reached for the button of Potter's trousers.

Potter's hands covered his instantly.

"Um." Potter shook his head. "I can't. It's... you're insane. You can't just expect me to... You tricked me!" he exclaimed.

Draco's thumb pushed beneath the waistband of Potter's trousers, caressing the springy hair it found there. Potter drew a long, shuddering breath, but shook his head again.

Remembering his earlier conclusion that he would have to be careful with Potter and not demand too much, Draco moved his questing hands away and gripped Potter's hips again.

"All right, then. Do it yourself," Draco said and leaned in, pressing his forehead to Potter's.

Wide green eyes stared at him.

"Myself?" Potter whispered.

Draco smiled at Potter's confusion. "Touch yourself if you won't let me do it. You owe me. Don't you want to know why I kissed you? I promise to tell you the truth." Draco meant it. This whole thing seemed too dangerous suddenly. A private show would have to do; public humiliation be dammed.

Potter looked torn. His eyes were so focused on Draco's, it seemed he was attempting to read Draco's mind. And then, incredibly, Potter squirmed and Draco heard the button of Potter's trousers pop open.

His heart threatening to burst out of his chest, Draco pressed a lingering kiss to Potter's lips. Potter moaned and tried to recapture Draco's lips, but Draco kept them out of Potter's reach and said, "Go on."

Potter blinked, looking uncertain, but arousal was clear in his face. He slowly pulled down his zipper and Draco kissed him again.

Potter's lips stretched into a small smile and he must have realised kisses would be his reward, because he looked eager to earn himself another one. Draco's gaze fell downward as Potter took out his cock and wrapped his hand around it, waiting, probably for another kiss. His mouth watering and his nostrils filling with Potter's scent, Draco shivered, quickly looked up, and kissed Potter dutifully. He planned to pull away again, but Potter deepened the kiss and pushed his tongue into Draco's mouth, exploring, swirling, making Draco's cock strain against the fabric of his pants.

It was hard to pull away, partly because Draco didn't want to and partly because Potter's free hand gripped Draco's hair, holding his head in place. Potter's other hand moved between them, occasionally grazing Draco's painfully hard cock through his trousers, the tiny touches driving Draco mad. Sounds of slapping flesh reached Draco's ears together with Potter's long, muffled moans. Draco's world spun and he felt like he would melt into a puddle on the floor, but then Potter pulled away sharply, the back of his head hitting the wall.

Disoriented, Draco looked down between them again and gasped at the sight of Potter's fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down along the thick length as tiny drops of liquid gathered on the tip of the flushed head. A horrifying image appeared in Draco's mind; an image of himself falling down on his knees, tasting those pearly drops and pulling Potter's cock into his mouth. He wanted to push Potter's trousers and pants down, get rid of Potter's shirt and bury his nose into the thick patch of dark hair above Potter's cock. With an undignified whimper, Draco looked up, but that didn't help him at all. Potter was staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Tiny puffs of air escaped his lips as he stroked his cock, bringing himself off just for Draco, speeding up steadily, his moans turning into breathless gasps as he struggled to hold Draco's gaze. It was a display Draco was sure no one had ever had the privilege of seeing before. Then Potter shuddered violently, his eyes rolled back in his head, and a jet of pearlescent liquid hit Malfoy's Slytherin cloak, his shirt, and a few drops even splattered his tie. But Draco was hardly aware of it. He was staring at Potter's face clenched into a grimace of pleasure, his flushed cheeks and fluttering dark eyelashes, and his round glasses that threatened to slip down Potter's nose.

Potter was beautiful. There was no other word that could describe him adequately. Draco felt like someone had stolen the real Potter, the one who was an ugly, bespectacled git, and replaced him with an image taken directly from Draco's idealistic fantasies.

Potter's eyes opened, their green colour alight. More than anything, Draco wanted to kiss him, but he couldn't even move.

Dazed though Potter looked, he seemed more lucid than Draco. He actually managed to form words and ask, "Why?"

Mindlessly, Draco leaned in and tried to kiss Potter's lips, but Potter splayed his hand over Draco's chest and didn't let him. Draco's sluggish brain slowly remembered he owed Potter an answer. And he had promised to tell the truth.

Potter was waiting, still shivering a little, and Draco forced his constricting throat to work.

"I kissed you because..." The truth. He would tell the truth. "Because..." Draco's gaze fell on Potter's lips. "I've never seen someone so kissable. You should be kissed all the time. It's simply wrong to let you walk around without..." Draco fell silent. Merlin, what was wrong with him?

Potter gasped a little, edged closer, and treated Draco to a brilliant smile. "You're kissable, too," he whispered as though he was sharing a secret.

An unfamiliar emotion squeezed Draco's chest so tightly he thought he would suffocate. It was pressing in on him, not allowing him to breathe. Startled, Draco jumped away as though burned.

"I have to go," he gasped, walking backward.

"What?" Potter looked shocked.

"I just... I remembered..." Draco couldn't even think of a suitable lie. "I have to go. Now." He couldn't stay here with Potter. It was too confusing to be around him. Merlin, what had he done? Why didn't he let Millie deal with Potter? What the fuck was wrong with him?

Potter all but jumped forward and grabbed Draco's forearms. "Did I do something wrong?"

Draco felt like crying. Or laughing. He was the one who had done something wrong. Something terribly wrong. He had somehow enchanted himself, except he suspected no antidote could cure him.

Draco shook his head and forced himself to calm down. "No, I just really have to go. I'm sorry."

Potter wasn't letting him go. "Will we..." He licked his lips and took a deep breath. He looked like he was gathering courage. "I'd like to see you again."

Draco couldn't answer. Meeting Potter again wouldn't be wise.

"Tomorrow?" Potter insisted. "Same time, same place?" Potter's hands sneaked upward and grabbed Draco's face. He grinned and forced Draco's head to nod.

Draco couldn't help smiling a little. "All right," he said, unable to resist Potter's eagerness. Or his lips. As Potter smiled, Draco pulled him closer and kissed him; he could be scared and confused later; right now, kissing Potter was much more important. Draco's chest hurt as that powerful feeling gripped him even tighter. It urged him to kiss Potter for as long as he could, but Draco petulantly pulled away.

Potter looked unhappy about that, but he smiled nonetheless as he studied Draco's face. "I'll make sure you come tomorrow," he said, voice teasing.

Draco shuddered, pressed another quick kiss to Potter's lips, and fled.


The moment he stepped into the Slytherin common room, Draco was greeted by exploding pain in his jaw. He stumbled to the left, but kept himself from falling. Eyes watering, he squinted at the large figure looming over him. Millicent Bulstrode stood tall in her baby blue pyjamas, her face red and eyes puffy.

"Bastard!" she raged, then succumbed to tears, turned around sharply and stormed off to the girls' dormitory.

Rubbing his sore jaw, Draco sighed in relief—all in all, that went rather well. He expected much worse from Millicent.

A resounding slap was followed by stinging pain in Draco's left cheek.

"For fuck's sake!" Draco cried, glaring at Pansy, who appeared out of nowhere in order to slap Draco silly. "Did the two of you stay up this late just so you could beat me up?"

Pansy's dark eyes flashed maliciously. "Yes, actually," she hissed and stomped off after Millicent.

Draco grimaced and forced his mind to forget about the pain in his jaw and cheek. "Pansy, wait!" He jumped forward and managed to grab Pansy's wrist before she climbed the stairs and out of his reach. "I'm sorry I sent Millie after you. I truly am. I just didn't know how to get rid of her. She was all over Potter!" Draco tried in vain to suppress the anger that bubbled within him as he remembered Millie's attempts to kiss Potter.

With a forceful tug, Pansy freed her wrist and turned around to glare at him. "I'm not upset because of Millie. I can handle her," she scoffed.

Temporarily sidetracked, Draco frowned. "You can? She's really... big."

"Please." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Millie is harmless."

The pain in Draco's jaw urged him to disagree, but it seemed unwise to anger Pansy further. She was, after all, one of the rare individuals Draco considered his friends. And he could use a friend right now. Or a bottle of Firewhiskey, but that was even more difficult to acquire.

"Then why are you upset?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I thought I was your friend!" Pansy burst out.

"You are!"

"Friends tell each other things, Draco! If I had known you wanted Potter for yourself, I would never have sent Millie after him."

"I don't want Potter," Draco interrupted, that awful feeling clenching his chest again, but Pansy wasn't listening.

"You do talk about him constantly, but you're always so mad at him. Honestly, I thought you were just jealous of his fame, and, well, slightly unbalanced, but how was I supposed to know you have a thing for him?"

"I don't have a thing for him!" Draco winced, then pressed his lips tightly together, fearful he had woken up the entire Slytherin House.

Pansy gave him a withering look. "Really? And you went above and beyond for a single kiss because...?"

"To humiliate him!" Draco's words echoed in the empty common room, as though mocking him. He had to admit they sounded absurd, not to mention completely unconvincing. Humiliating Potter was the last thing on his mind right now; he was much more interested in kissing him again.

Pansy crossed her arms on her chest. "And how's that going for you?"

Draco shrugged, feigning disinterest. "All right, I guess."

Pansy sighed, her eyes softening. "This is just like the time you tried to convince me you're not gay."

"I'm not gay!" Draco gasped, scandalised.

"Draco, you were lacking arguments before, but now you're just being ridiculous. Straight boys don't run around hoping for a chance to snog Harry Potter senseless."

Draco studiously stared at Pansy's ear as he mumbled, "It was just one little kiss. I suffered through it."

"Well, for your information, Mr Martyr, I have evidence to the contrary," Pansy said, looking smug.

Draco's gaze snapped back to her. "What evidence?" he gasped, terrified someone had seen them in the tower.

"Logic, Draco. See, I can draw only two conclusions: One, you're wearing lipstick and you've somehow managed to spit on your tie; or, two, you just spent a long time using that mouth of yours. Long enough to make sure the actions resulted in..." Pansy waved toward Draco's tie. "That."

Even as Pansy spoke, Draco fumbled for his wand and hastily spelled his come-splattered tie clean.

"That's not... I was just... I spilled something over it." Mortified, Draco promised himself he would never again attempt to cast Scourgify while running around in senseless panic. Apparently, the charm required a bit more concentration on the caster's part to work properly.

Pansy snorted. "I might actually believe that if you hadn't just blushed like a bloody Weasley. Honestly, Draco, you were always good at deception. It's like you're not even trying."

Draco licked his tender lips, shivering slightly. "I don't have a thing for Potter." It was important to emphasise that. "It's Potter, Pansy. He hates me. I can't have thing for him."

Pansy's expression filled with sympathy; Draco looked away, wishing for Pansy's anger to return.

"Oh, Draco." Pansy sniffed. "I'd hug you right now if you weren't covered with Potter-fluids."

"We were just kissing, I swear."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up. "It must have been quite a kiss."

It was, Draco thought, then shuffled his feet, eager to change the subject. "Please, Pansy, I need to know more about this potion." He stared at her, trying to look pathetic. It was sad that it probably wasn't too hard.

"Make it quick." Pansy tapped her foot on the floor. "We have double Potions in the morning."

Draco smiled at her gratefully. "I just want to know how it works. I've never heard of a Love Potion that's triggered by a kiss. That girl, the one who sold it to Su Li—did she invent it?"

Pansy frowned. "As I understand it, it's just like any other Love Potion, but the essence exchange happens at the end. A kiss being the easiest way. It's just some romantic crap; Blaise says it makes the potion less potent."

Draco bit his lip, thinking. That made sense, then. Potter wasn't as mindless as an enchanted person usually was. It was both a good and a bad thing. It meant the effects were less noticeable, but it also meant Draco would have to be very careful with Potter.

"I do know the potion lasts for as long as it has been administrated," Pansy added. "So, about two weeks."

Draco's mind processed the information slowly. Two weeks. A lot could happen in two weeks. "I have until Christmas," he realised. That was excellent. Potter's enchantment would be nullified on Christmas Day, and by then Draco would be long gone; he would be perfectly safe in his Manor for weeks. He'd even have time to figure out how to escape any revenge coming his way.

"Ideally." Pansy looked worried. "Draco, you're playing with fire, here. Potter's friends might realise what's going on and then you'll regret all of this."

Draco almost snorted—he regretted it already. "I'll be careful," he promised, lost in his plans. If Potter was enchanted for two weeks, then it would be stupid to let the chance to take what he could get slip by him. He was already in trouble. The truth would come out eventually. He might as well seize the opportunity. Besides, Potter wanted to meet him again and Draco knew he wouldn't be able to resist seeing him. He couldn't end it; someone else would have to do it for him.

Pansy grabbed his shoulders and shook him a little. She only stopped shaking him when Draco looked at her. Her eyes were kinder than ever. "Draco, this is a bad idea. It won't end well. If you want Potter, then maybe..."

"I don't want..."

"Draco." Pansy looked exasperated.

"Pansy," Draco whispered, almost pleading with her. "I don't want him. I can't want him. Please, could you just go along with it?"

Pansy studied him for a long minute, then smiled a little sadly. "All right. You don't have feelings for him, so this plan of yours could never hurt you. And if you hurt Potter, it won't matter, because you planned it all along. You're just evil and ruthless like that. Happy?"

Draco swallowed with difficulty and nodded. He resolved to treat Pansy a bit better from now on; she was a true friend, willing to indulge his delusions.

Pansy's fingers dug into Draco's shoulders. "Are you sure he's enchanted?" she asked. "Crazy girls have been chasing him for months. I wouldn't be surprised if he was drinking the antidote every day."

Draco shook his head forcefully. "He has to be. Pansy, he's crazy about me. You should have seen..." The memory of Potter stroking himself in front of Draco flashed in his mind and Draco shivered and tried to get rid of the image. "Trust me. There's no other explanation. This is Potter we're talking about. He's not gay and he's definitely not into ex-Death Eaters. Some delusions are just too insane." Draco sighed. "Even for me," he acknowledged.

Pansy looked displeased, but she released him and took a step back. "Just promise me you'll think about it some more. Sleep on it and then decide what to do."

Draco nodded, sure he would think of nothing else for the next two weeks.

With a small smile and another sympathetic look, Pansy turned, climbed the stairs and disappeared from view.

Draco stared after her for awhile, but soon his vision blurred and the dull pain in his jaw intensified. Exhausted, he went to bed, hoping that tomorrow things would be clearer.

He dreamed about Potter that night, reliving every moment in theEastTower several times. He'd believe he was awake and merely remembering, but he was obviously asleep; because in his dream, Potter wasn't enchanted.


Harry yawned and snatched the watch from his bedside cabinet, slipping his glasses on his nose. It was late and if he didn't hurry, he would miss breakfast. His stomach growled at the thought. The dormitory was empty and for a moment Harry felt a flash of annoyance at Ron for leaving him behind, but a vague memory of Ron yelling at him earlier calmed him down and made him feel guilty, instead. He thought he might have thrown something at Ron and told him to leave him the fuck alone. In his defence, he was not a morning person, not to mention he was having the most wonderful dream about a handsome blond man kissing him so passionately it was impossible not to bury his head deeper under the covers and cling to the dream with all his might. His body was still on edge and Harry considered the possibility of skipping breakfast in favour of a quick wank. His fingers strayed toward the waistband of his pyjamas, caressing tentatively and edging downward. It seemed wrong to wank right before class, but it seemed wrong not to wank after his mind provided him with such stimulation. Dreams like that were a newfound luxury that appeared only after Harry no longer had to worry about the Dark Lord. Though, normally they weren't this intense. And this vivid. Harry could recollect his dream perfectly. He could see the man clearly in his mind; his pale hair and skin, his grey eyes and kissable lips...

Harry shot up as though burned as realisation hit him. He quickly pulled his hand out of his pants. The man in his dreams wasn't some random blond—it was Malfoy. And it wasn't a dream—it was a memory. Merlin, he had snogged Malfoy yesterday. Harry gasped as a rush of memories assaulted him. He had not only snogged him, he had wanked in front of him. Bloody taken out his cock and stroked himself while Malfoy watched. What the hell was he thinking? Why the hell had he done that? Harry remembered his fear and his unwillingness to let Malfoy touch him so intimately. It was all so new and Harry didn't know if he could handle it. He was afraid he would embarrass himself and come the moment Malfoy's fingers touched him. Harry's cock twitched at the thought and Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to cool his suddenly heated cheeks. Malfoy almost ran away after it. Who knew what he must have thought of Harry and his little display?

Harry's empty stomach tied itself into a firm, painful knot. He was at once eager to kiss Malfoy again and terrified he had done something wrong and unappealing. What if Malfoy had lost any interest in kissing Harry again?

Harry peeked through his fingers at the dimly lit dormitory; the daylight was slowly gaining intensity. The thought of snuggling back beneath the covers was beginning to look very appealing, but Harry was well aware he would have to face Malfoy again, eventually. Perhaps sooner was better than later. Harry huffed and got up, annoyed with himself. It was simply preposterous that he was suddenly worried about Malfoy's opinion and was awaiting his judgment with trepidation. Harry studiously ignored the insistent voice in his head that tried to explain to him that Malfoy's opinion had always been much more important to him than was natural. Malfoy's mocking had always hurt the most.

Stupid tosser, Harry thought as he brushed his teeth. Why did that damn Slytherin have to be such an amazing kisser? So amazing Harry's brain couldn't even work properly in his vicinity. Not that Harry knew a lot about kissing, but it was simply unfeasible anything could be better than the mad rush of sensations he felt yesterday.

Harry stared at his expression in the mirror, his gaze falling on his lips. I've never seen someone so kissable, Malfoy had said. Harry shivered and touched his lips, trying to be objective and determine whether he was kissable or not. He saw nothing special. Narrowing his eyes at his expression, Harry fixed his crooked glasses, scowled at his ridiculous hair and hurried back to the dormitory to get dressed.

Five minutes later, he was running though the corridor not far from the Great Hall, his undone tie flapping around him. He hoped he would get to the Great Hall in time to grab some toast before breakfast vanished from the tables.

In his mad dash for food, Harry didn't even notice a person emerging from behind the corner before it was too late. He slammed into a body and yelped in surprise, then groaned at the sight of an equally shocked, dark-haired girl.

Harry took a hasty step back. "Er, Su Li," he greeted, shoving his hand into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around his wand. God, and he thought Hogwarts would be a much safer place this year.

Su Li smiled beatifically. "Hi, Harry," she said, sounding shy, but her gaze was so mesmerised, Harry didn't trust her shyness.

"I'm in a hurry, so..." Harry carefully tried to walk around her.

She was in his way again in an instant.

"Please, Harry. I just wanted to apologise."

"It's all right." Harry nodded quickly, trying to smile.

Su Li didn't appear to have heard him.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said, looking miserable. "I just really like you and I thought..."

"Simply asking me out on a date would be crazy?" Harry suggested, not inclined to be kind to her.

"Um... What I did was wrong. I know that." She blushed. "I don't suppose you'd want to—"

"No!" Harry exclaimed.

Su Li jumped up slightly in alarm and Harry felt a little guilty.

She exhaled sharply. "Forgive me. I meant to say, I don't suppose you'd want to forgive me?" She smiled a little.

"Oh." Harry shuffled his feet. "Sure. It's all right. Really. Just stay away from Love Potions." And me, Harry added in his mind. All these people trying to drug him were beginning to test his patience. Whatever happened to the good old "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" Consent was apparently a forgotten concept.

"Oh, thank you, Harry! You are too kind!" she said, looking far too pleased. "I don't know why I ever thought I deserved you!" Su Li sniffed and, to Harry's horror, she was beginning to tear up. He froze, not knowing what to do or say. Crying girls had always confused him.

However, Harry needn't have worried, because in the next moment two very odd things happened in quick succession.

Su Li threw her arms around Harry's neck and before Harry could react, her lips almost touched his. Harry jerked his head backward and pushed her away, but to his utter bemusement she flew to the other side of the corridor as though he had swung her and thrown her like a Quaffle.

She landed on her behind, unharmed, but terrified, looking around frantically until her wide eyes focused on a spot somewhere behind Harry. She scrambled to her feet.

Harry spun around and gaped at the sight of Malfoy, who stood a little farther away, pointing his wand at Su Li, looking furious.

"That's right! Run, you little..." Malfoy seemed to search for an appropriate word. "Minx!"

Harry guessed Su Li ran way, but he didn't turn around to check. He was unable to tear his gaze away from Malfoy. Had Malfoy been this handsome yesterday? Or did fury make him more appealing?

Malfoy's furious gaze was suddenly directed at Harry, making him reconsider his theory.

"What's wrong with you?" Malfoy raged. "You can fight Dark Lords and dragons, but you can't defend yourself from little girls? I forgave you Millicent, but this one is half your size! If you just blew at her, she'd fly away. Honestly!"

Harry was having trouble concentrating. Between embarrassment (because Malfoy just saved him again ) and fascination (because Malfoy's hair was uncharacteristically wild around his face, not to mention his face was quite obviously made to be stared at) it was hard to make his ears listen to Malfoy's rant.

"Um," Harry managed to say. "She was apologising. I couldn't just hex her."

Malfoy approached and was suddenly standing much too close to Harry. Or rather, too close for fighting, but, well, close enough for kissing, for example.

"Yes, you could," Malfoy insisted. "You can't allow yourself to be kissed by anyone." Malfoy blinked. "I mean, everyone."

Harry couldn't help grinning. "You mean anyone but you?"

Malfoy shook his head a little as though to deny it, but then he must have changed his mind because he said, "I'm glad we understand each other. Next time, hex first and listen to apologies later. Always assume the worst!"

A small, quiet voice in Harry's head that sounded inordinately excited and slightly childish was singing with joy at Malfoy's words. Random kissing encounters suddenly became much more. Malfoy acted as though, well, almost as though they were dating. The thought was alarming; though, not because Harry found it unappealing, but because he found it extremely appealing. For one glorious moment, he imagined himself grabbing Malfoy's hand and dragging him to the Great Hall so everyone could see they were together. Fortunately, Harry managed to restrain his sudden craziness. He suspected Malfoy wouldn't be impressed by it.

"Should I assume the worst about you, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes!" Malfoy exclaimed, but then his eyes widened. "No. I mean, no, of course not." Malfoy licked his lips and swallowed; Harry stared at his Adam's apple as it bobbed. "I meant assume the worst about other people," Malfoy said, not sounding angry anymore. His voice lowered. "Me? I just... I just want to..."

Harry's pulse raced. "What?" he asked, then smiled a little and cocked his head in invitation.

Sure enough, Malfoy promptly grabbed Harry's tie, leaned forward and kissed him. Harry's contented sigh turned into a moan as he pushed his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, the warmth of the kiss heating up his entire body. He wondered if Malfoy's kisses would ever stop having this effect on him. He hoped they wouldn't.

Just as Harry convinced himself nothing could be better than this, Malfoy's lips slid along his jaw and then pressed against the skin of Harry's neck, just below his ear. Harry shuddered, his reaction much too violent for such a simple touch, but his skin must have been very sensitive there, because every slide of Malfoy's lips and every flick of his tongue sent shivers tingling down his spine. Then Malfoy's teeth grazed his skin and Harry's body jerked forward, his hips hitting Malfoy's, making them both gasp. Arousal settled low in Harry's stomach, urging him to thrust his hips forward again. He clutched Malfoy's hair and concentrated on the sensation of Malfoy's teeth nibbling his skin; the teasing bites were followed quickly by Malfoy's tongue, and then by his lips and gentle, delicious suction.

Someone shrieked in the distance and Malfoy pulled away, his fingers still fumbling with Harry's tie.

"People," Malfoy growled as Harry struggled to breathe and open his eyes properly. "Bloody people leaving the Great Hall."

Harry tried to feel sad for missing breakfast, but that proved to be impossible. Especially since one look down at Malfoy's hands distracted him utterly. While Harry wasn't looking, Malfoy had somehow, and for some reason unknown to Harry, managed to arrange his tie in an impressively neat knot, the likes of which his poor tie had never seen before. Malfoy was still fixing it, though, and even caressed it a little as he spoke. "Tonight you'll practice synchronised breathing and kissing," he said, sounding very amused, and then, a little reluctantly, it seemed, he released Harry's tie.

The sounds of hundreds of students were approaching steadily.

"What?" Harry asked, staring at Malfoy.

Malfoy laughed. "Tonight," he repeated, giving Harry such a fond look that Harry's toes curled in pleasure and his breathing sped up, as though his body thought that Malfoy had kissed him again.

Malfoy looked around nervously and grimaced. "I should go. I'll see you—"

"Wait!" Harry cried, returning to his senses. "Er, why did you just fix my tie?"

Malfoy's eyes widened and he looked at Harry's tie as though that was the first time he had seen it.

"Er..." Malfoy frowned. Students appeared behind them and Malfoy almost looked relieved. "Later," he whispered, then pressed a small package into Harry's hands, mumbled something unintelligible, and ran off.

Utterly bemused, Harry studied the package in his hand. Sudden burning curiosity managed to trump even his utter delight at Malfoy's confirmation of their date and Harry eagerly unwrapped the package. Warmth that had nothing to do with arousal and kisses spread through his chest as he stared at two pieces of toast and an apple. Apparently, Malfoy had been looking for him to bring him breakfast.


"You never brought me breakfast," Pansy grumbled as they exited the Potions classroom.

"Give it a rest, Pansy." Draco slung his bag over his shoulder and looked behind at the pack of Gryffindors talking animatedly. Potter's black messy hair was easy to pick out in the crowd. "It was just an excuse. I didn't want Potter to realise I was following Su Li."

"A random morning snog is a valid excuse to look for your boyfrie - ah, enchanted nemesis."

"Well, I don't want to look desperate."

Pansy laughed uproariously, but fell silent quickly after Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, you were serious. I thought you were joking," she said, then added, "You do realise following Su Li was pointless? She can't enchant Potter, since he's already enchanted. Potter wasn't in any danger."

"Shhhh, keep your voice down," Draco chastised, even though Pansy had been quiet enough. He didn't feel like answering her question. As far as he was concerned, Potter had been in terrible danger. Draco looked back at Potter again, focusing on his lips. For the next two weeks, those lips were Draco's.

"Draco, for Merlin's sake, either stop looking at him or grow eyes at the back of your head. Seeing you twist your neck all the time is making me queasy."

Draco turned toward her, somewhat unhappily. "I just want to know whether Potter told Weasley and Granger anything. They were giving me odd looks during Potions."

"Maybe they wanted to know why you were drooling?" Pansy suggested, grinning. Draco shoved her rudely, only succeeding in making her laugh harder. Pansy shook her head. "Granger will realise something is wrong with Potter, even if he doesn't tell her anything," she added more seriously. "You have to be prepared for that, Draco. I don't think you have two weeks. I'm surprised no one figured it out yet -"

"Bathroom!" Draco exclaimed, pointing at the door they had just passed. "I have to go. I see you at Charms," he told a bemused Pansy and rushed into the bathroom.

Once he was safely alone, he gripped the sink, leaned forward on his hands and sighed. His whole head felt hot; his cheeks burned something horrid. His nerves were on edge and Pansy wasn't helping by reminding him that things could go horribly wrong. It was difficult to listen to her voicing his own concerns. He was well aware that Potter's enchanted state was precarious. The Potion could stop working, his friends could realise he had been enchanted, or Millie and Su Li could tell Potter themselves, out of spite. Potter could show up any second to curse Draco into next week.

Draco splashed some water over his face and looked at his expression in the mirror.

Green eyes hidden behind a pair of round spectacles stared back at him.

Draco nearly cried out in fright, then spun around to look at Potter and convince himself he wasn't seeing things. Sure enough, Potter was inexplicably standing beside him, his green eyes worried. He must have followed Draco into the bathroom.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked.

Before Draco had a chance to think of an appropriate answer, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside, and then the doorknob turned and the bathroom door squeaked. In a confusing flash of action, Potter grabbed Draco's shirt and rather rudely manhandled him into one of the stalls. The stall's door clicked shut and Draco's back hit the wall with a dull thump.

Potter grinned at him, eyes alight with excitement, as though they had just fought a battle against giants and won.

"What are you doing?" Draco mouthed the question, terrified that someone would catch them. If that happened, Draco could kiss his two weeks of bliss goodbye.

"I'll show you," Potter whispered back and leaned forward, his grip on Draco's shirt tightening. Draco truly meant to complain - it was too dangerous to do anything here with numerous students entering and exiting the bathroom - but Potter smiled at him, his flirtatious grin so unexpected, Draco's knees gave out and he slid lower against the wall.

The warm touch of Potter's lips was as soothing as a Calming Draught. Draco pressed his palms to Potter's back, barely preventing himself from sliding them lower when Potter's tongue touched his, demanding a response. Draco obliged, tilting his head sideways and wrapping his tongue around Potter's. His hands couldn't withstand the temptation and they edged downward to slide over the curve of Potter's arse. Potter pressed his body even closer to Draco, his quiet moan vibrating against Draco's lips. Emboldened, Draco gripped Potter's buttocks more tightly; his fingers straying dangerously low, almost slipping between Potter's thighs.

The door closed in the distance; they were alone.

Potter pulled back with a gasp, his cheeks red and eyes wide. However, he made no comment on the position of Draco's hands, but instead said, "Your face is wet."

"I was rudely interrupted while washing up," Draco said, a bit breathless. His hands were frozen on Potter's arse and he didn't dare to move them.

"Rude, am I?" Potter raised his eyebrow. "And what do you call this?" He pressed backward into Draco's hands, blushing, but apparently not embarrassed enough to neglect the opportunity to tease.

Draco slowly dragged his palms against the fabric of Potter's trousers, moving them up and down; the tips of his fingers caressed the tender place between Potter's arse cheeks, making Potter's breath hitch. "Well-shaped," Draco said finally, pleased to see Potter's blush intensify. "We have to go," he added, but didn't remove his hands from Potter's arse. "Someone could see us."

With a stubborn tilt of his chin, Potter opened his mouth as though to disagree, but then he nodded and pressed another quick kiss to Draco's lips. "We can't let that happen, can we?" Potter said, looking a bit miffed.

"No, we can't," Draco said forcefully, terrified Potter would disagree.

However, Potter gasped and Draco quickly released his arse - he had grabbed it a little too firmly. Potter looked even more displeased, but he took a step back and waved toward the door. "It's quiet out there. I don't think anyone's in here. You can go first and I'll follow."

With a regretful glance at Potter's lips, Draco nodded and almost pushed the door open when Potter said, "Wait!" and pointed to the ceiling. "Look, mistletoe!"

Perplexed, Draco looked up, seeing no mistletoe. Potter pressed his mouth to Draco's neck in an instant.

"Made you look," Potter mumbled, laughing and sending tickling vibrations over Draco's skin.

"Honestly!" Draco sighed, then shivered a little as Potter treated his neck to a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His eyelashes fluttering, Draco moaned as Potter moved his lips, found a sensitive spot and sucked on it lightly. The suction intensified, bordering on pain, and Draco yelped and pushed Potter away.

"Don't you dare! " he cried, scandalised, rubbing the undoubtedly marked spot on his neck. He glared at Potter's smug expression and pushed the door open. "I'll get you for this!" he threatened.

"I like the sound of that." Potter grinned and Draco felt a mad urge to shove Potter against the wall and kiss him again. He quickly stepped out of the stall and closed the door, afraid he'd succumb to the madness.

With a sigh, he turned around and almost slammed into a confused looking Theodore Nott. Draco stopped breathing and stared at his housemate in horror.

"Er," Nott said, his gaze flickering between the stall and Draco. "Were you fighting with someone in there?"

Draco almost told him to mind his own businesses, but that wouldn't prevent Nott from investigating further.

"Moaning Myrtle was in the toilet," he claimed instead.

Nott grimaced and gave Draco a sympathetic look. "I hate when that happens." He shuddered a little.

"You should find another bathroom," Draco added, moving toward the door quickly, hoping Nott would follow.

Sure enough, Nott hurried after him and Draco breathed a little easier. Nott was a gossiping menace; he was worse than Pansy, if possible. Honestly, Potter was insane. Wasn't he worried people would see him with an evil Slytherin boy? Just another proof that Potter was hopelessly enchanted.

Draco shook his head in exasperation and headed toward the Charms classroom. He fingered the abused spot on his neck, hoping the day would move faster. He had lots of plans for tonight.

However, Draco had no such luck. By dinnertime, he was positively convinced that someone had charmed the clocks and forced the time to move painfully slow. Every time Draco looked at his watch, it lied to him and informed him only a few minutes had passed. The hours spent in the common room with the rest of his house were the worst. He had nothing to do except stare at his homework and plan to spell away the love bite on his neck; though, thinking about it made him think of Potter, and thinking of Potter was distracting, and Draco had to force himself to focus on his homework again. He was stuck in that insane loop for three hours and finally snapped fifteen minutes before midnight.

He said goodbye to a worried-looking, but silent, Pansy and rushed to the East Tower as fast as he could. He navigated the hallway carefully, not wanting to get caught. He had nearly reached his destination when the wailing sounds of Mrs Norris and Filch's cooing reached his ears. Cursing, Draco checked his watch and ducked into the nearest classroom.

He pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully. It was quiet outside, but an odd feeling of being watched made Draco uneasy. Frowning, he turned around and blinked at the translucent figure staring back at him.

Peeves was floating in the air, a smashed chandelier beneath him and a chalk in his hand. Apparently, the poltergeist was in the middle of demolishing the classroom and writing rude phrases on the blackboard. He seemed shocked by Draco's sudden appearance.

The sounds of footsteps made Draco grimace and look at Peeves pleadingly. "Filch's out there. Please, be quiet."

Peeves's small, black eyes rounded. "Ooooh," he whispered, and then pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhhhhhh."

Hopeful, Draco held his breath as the footsteps approached.

Peeves grinned maliciously.

"STUDENT OUT OF BED!" he shrieked so loudly Draco's ears hurt. "STUDENT OUT OF BED! STUDENT OUT OF BED!"

"No!" Draco cried in vain as Peeves flew through the classroom wall, singing:

Malfoy boy is right in here,
As always doing something queer,
Writing naughty lies with chalk,
About poor Filch and his tiny -

The classroom door burst open and Draco winced as Filch rushed inside, looking around the demolished classroom in both excitement and fury.

Draco cursed under his breath and took out his wand. It was just Filch. He was a bloody Squib and he would not stop Draco from seeing Potter. Draco raised his arm, a hex on the tip of his tongue, but Peeves swooped in and wrenched the wand out of Draco's hand.

"You evil little bastard!" Draco raged as Peeves bowed to Filch, twirling Draco's wand with a flourish.

"And poor Peeves was blamed for all that mess in the Transfiguration classroom yesterday!" the poltergeist cried, looking mortally insulted. "This naughty boy-snake is vandalising the castle."

"He's lying!" Draco gasped, but Filch's eyes narrowed maliciously. Draco immediately regretted trying to curse him; that probably wasn't the best idea.

"We'll let the Headmistress decide," Filch said nastily. "You're looking at a week's worth of detention, boy."

Draco stared at him in horror.

A loud bang echoed through the castle, making Draco's stomach twist - it was midnight.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Draco looked at his feet and scowled. He wouldn't be seeing Potter tonight.


Malfoy was late. Very, very late. Harry checked his watch again and cursed. Things had been going so well earlier today; he couldn't understand what had happened. Malfoy actually seemed eager to meet Harry again. He had promised he'd come. Harry supposed it was possible Malfoy was just being difficult and was late on purpose, because Harry had been late yesterday. Harry huffed, resenting Malfoy for being so resentful.

Wishing he knew how to cast a proper Heating Charm, Harry jumped around, trying to send blood to his frozen toes. He fiddled with the knot on his tie. It was choking him, but he couldn't make himself undo it; he was hoping Malfoy would do it for him.

The sounds of distant footsteps echoed in the night. Harry nearly cried out in joy and relief and rushed toward the stairs. He almost threw himself forward on the figure that emerged from the dark, but a flash of orange stopped him dead in his tracks.

Harry stared at the freckled, pale face of his friend.

"Ron?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"What, is this a private party?" Ron grinned, but then yelped as he was pushed forward into the room.

"Honestly, Ron." Hermione emerged behind him. "You're blocking the path."

Staring at his friends in utter disbelief, Harry was seized by an irrational urge to scream at them. What were they thinking, coming to his date?

"You have to leave..." Harry began, but then he caught sight of an old, yellow parchment in Hermione's hand. Realisation hit him at once. He snatched the Marauder's Map from Hermione's grip and scanned it frantically. "Did something happen? Is he all right? Where is he?"

"Possibly, yes, and his dormitory," Ron said and Harry looked up.

"His dormitory," he repeated blankly. But then that meant... "He's not coming." Dead weight settled in Harry's chest, pressing him downward. Malfoy wasn't coming. He didn't want to see Harry anymore.

"I'm afraid not, Harry," Hermione said gently. She might have as well punched him in the stomach.

"Why?" Harry asked, hating his whiny voice. He had been looking forward to this meeting the whole day. He had been so sure Malfoy felt the same. Was it all an act?

"Er..." Ron coughed, looking a bit shifty. "We're not sure. We checked the map before midnight and he was on the sixth floor corridor, heading toward the East Tower and then..."

Harry studied their expressions. They both looked guilty.

"Then we were, er, distracted," Hermione said, blushing a little.

Harry groaned and Ron quickly added, "The next time we looked he was back in his common room."

Growling in frustration, Harry clutched the map in his hands and resolved never to part with it again. "So, what are you saying? He changed his mind?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

Hermione hesitated before she spoke. "Actually, we think he was caught. Filch and Peeves are both in the dungeons and we're sure we saw them on the seventh floor earlier. They're both hovering near the Slytherin entrance. It's odd. It almost looks like they're guarding it."

Refocusing on the map, Harry quickly found two little dots labelled Argus Filch and Peeves. They were both still in the dungeons, which was odd in itself, because both of them favoured open places, where chaos and disorder were more likely.

"But we can't be sure, Harry," Ron added in an irritatingly gentle tone. "It's just a theory. You shouldn't get your hopes up. Maybe Malfoy just—"

"I know!" Harry interrupted quickly, trying hard not to get his hopes up. He located Malfoy and stared at his tiny dot, willing it to tell him whether Malfoy had stood him up or was viciously hindered. He had to have been hindered, Harry thought, it would simply make more sense. Except it wouldn't, a vicious inner voice reminded him. Malfoy standing him up and laughing about it with his friends did make sense and Malfoy wanting to kiss him and bring him breakfast made absolutely no sense. Why couldn't he make his brain accept that truth? What possessed him to trade common sense for a handful of kisses? And his common sense was all gone, Harry was sure, because otherwise he wouldn't think the aforementioned trade had been remarkably favourable.

Hermione's voice scattered his thoughts and pulled him back to the cruel reality. "Either way, Harry, Malfoy won't be leaving the dungeons tonight."

"I'm aware of that," Harry mumbled, still staring at the map and resenting Hermione for not losing her common sense after a few kisses.

A long moment passed; Harry's gaze was fixed on Malfoy's dot.

"Mate?" Ron asked, sounding fearful. "You won't cry, will you?"

Harry scowled at him and then forcefully shoved the map in his pocket. "Let's go," he growled, pushed his way between his nervous-looking friends, and stomped off. He heard them follow him, but he didn't turn around to look at them; he rather stared at nothing and let his feet carry him to the Gryffindor Tower.

With Filch and Peeves in the dungeons, they didn't even bother with the Invisibility Cloak. They reached Gryffindor Tower in no time and Harry rushed to the dormitory, ignoring Ron, who said something about saying goodnight to Hermione.

Harry was furious. And not only at Malfoy, but at Peeves and Filch and Ron and Hermione, and most of all himself for being so affected by all of this. It was bad enough he was unable to go through a whole minute without thinking about Malfoy and his kisses; but now he felt like curling into a ball and wallowing in misery just because those damn kisses were stolen from him. It was just fucking unfair. He didn't even know why Malfoy had stood him up.

The knot of Harry's tie suffered his wrath as he pulled on it vehemently, took off his tie and threw it onto the floor. Next, he attacked the rest of his clothing, directing all of his anger at the innocent fabric. Harry's shirt ripped and Dean mumbled something rude in his sleep. Knowing he was acting childish, Harry forced himself to calm down and he managed to pull on his pyjamas in silence.

He ignored Ron, who entered the dormitory quietly and intrusively sat on Harry's bed, undoubtedly staring at him; though, Harry didn't look up to check.

"Thaddeus Thurkell," Ron whispered.

Harry frowned at his bare feet and then, eager to hide beneath the covers, he swung his legs up on the bed, narrowly missing Ron.

"What about him?" Harry couldn't resist asking, after Ron made no further comment, still sitting obstinately on Harry's bed.

"He had seven Squib sons," Ron told him. "He was so upset he turned them all into hedgehogs. Completely barmy, if you ask me. Hedgehogs are useless."

"I know the story," Harry grumbled. "Unless you figured out how to turn Filch into a hedgehog, I'm really not interested right now. I want to sleep." Harry tried to push Ron off his bed with his feet, but he couldn't make him move.

Ron sighed and stayed silent for a few moments.

"Thaddeus Thurkell is the password to the Slytherin common room," he said at last.

Harry looked at him sharply. "How do you know that?"

"Hermione told me. She knows everything," Ron said proudly, then added, "She overheard a Slytherin first year when she escorted him to the dungeons the other day."

Harry bent his knees and sat up, staring at his friend in confusion. Ron looked miserable.

"Why did you just tell me that?" Harry asked.

The misery in Ron's expression intensified. "Because you look like a herd of hippogriffs ran over you, Harry. Honestly! Because of..." Ron lowered his voice. "Malfoy. Bloody Malfoy."

Harry blinked. "And knowing the password to the Slytherin dungeons will help me... how exactly?"

Ron quirked his eyebrow at him. "Well, you want to know why he didn't show up, don't you?"

Harry gasped. "No!" he said, not daring to believe Ron was suggesting what he thought he was suggesting.

"Shut up!" Seamus cried from his bed.

"Sorry!" Harry whispered and grimaced at his direction, then pressed his lips together, looking back at Ron's pale face. "You think I should go there. Now?" he said quietly, afraid he had misunderstood but, much to his shock, Ron nodded. Harry spluttered in disbelief. That was the craziest thing he had ever heard. Breaking into the dungeons in the middle of the night and sneaking into Malfoy's dormitory... and his bed...

Harry's heart rate sped up, his anger forgotten. Sneaking into Malfoy's bed. That wasn't crazy; that was brilliant. Harry's mind already flew toward the Slytherin common room; he had to summon it back before he could speak. And he had to speak, because Ron was obviously as crazy as he was, and someone had to be the voice of reason. Harry wished Hermione was here; then he wouldn't have to try so hard to be rational.

"But why would you...?" Harry took a calming breath. "You hate Malfoy. You think he's up to something. You keep saying he's planning some sort of trap and now you want me to go to a room full of his pals?"

"I don't want you to go," Ron whispered back, sounding irritated. "I just want you to get your answers and have a good night's sleep. And I want you to stop looking like someone told you Christmas was cancelled. Merlin, Harry, you should have seen your face up at the Tower when we told you Malfoy wasn't coming." Ron's blue-eyed gaze bore into him. "You're not allowed to be miserable anymore. You've earned as much. This was supposed to be a cheerful year, remember?" Ron scowled. "Trust Malfoy to ruin it."

"He didn't—"

"Whatever." Ron waved his hand dismissively. "I just can't stand it when you look like a sacked house-elf. And if shagging Malfoy will fix that—"

Harry's jaw loosened and dropped. "I don't plan to shag him," he hissed.

Ron grimaced. "Are you sure? Maybe a shag would get him out of your system."

"I won't... I can't... Honestly!" Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of some very vivid and very appealing images that assaulted his mind. They all looked and felt like an impossible fantasy. "I'm not even sure how to pull this off," he complained. "Malfoy isn't alone in his room. It is a room full of Slytherins. And I'm pretty sure the rest of them would rather curse me than kiss me."

"You have the Invisibility Cloak and you'll be awake and armed. And they'll be defenceless and asleep. I like those odds. Besides, you've dealt with worse." Ron grinned. "Just promise me you'll hex Malfoy if he stood you up on purpose."

"I will." Harry nodded, then frowned at his own promise. He acted as though he had already decided to go. Harry worried his bottom lip, trying not to smile, but the corners of his lips kept twitching as though they couldn't help themselves. "Merlin, this will be impossible. Not to mention dangerous."

Ron snickered. "I thought you'd like the plan."

Harry grinned and then shot out of his bed. He decided he had no time to get dressed, so he quickly shoved his feet into his warm slippers, snatched his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, and then, slightly out of breath, paused to look at Ron.

"Thanks," he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. It occurred to him suddenly that regardless of what happened with Malfoy, he was already much less miserable, thanks to his friends. "I know you hate him—"

"I don't hate him; I just don't trust him. I trust you, though." Ron smiled a little. "And I know you'll remember to use protection if you shag—"

"I'm leaving!" Harry said, groaning; though, he couldn't stop grinning.

"Thank Merlin," Neville mumbled sleepily and Harry rushed out of the dormitory, hoping his dorm mates didn't hear too much and hoping Malfoy's dorm mates wouldn't hear anything.

He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself as he ran and looked at the wrinkled Marauder's Map. Peeves and Filch were still in the dungeons, but they wouldn't be a problem. Instead, Harry focused on his goal—a dot labelled Draco Malfoy, settled peacefully in the corner of the eight years' dormitory. Air whooshed in Harry's ears as he ran toward the dungeons, cheerfully imagining the look on Malfoy's face when Harry appeared next to his bed.


A row of torches lit the cold dungeon corridors, making shadowy figures dance on the floor; the fire flickered as though the wind breached the stone walls and brought a piece of cold December night to the castle. Shivering in his thin pyjamas, Harry rushed past the Potion classroom, paying no attention to Peeves, who flew around, cackling madly. He had almost rounded the corner when a flash of something long and thin caught his attention. Harry paused and spun around to look at the poltergeist. Peeves tossed something high in the air and then flew in circles before catching the thing effortlessly in his hand. Harry's gaze zeroed in on the object in disbelief. It was a wand. Peeves was playing with a fucking wand.

Harry gasped as Peeves tossed it again. He recognised that wand. He had held it in his hand. It was beyond any doubt Malfoy's.

Peeves hummed contentedly, feeding Harry's growing rage. If Peeves had Malfoy's wand, then something must have happened to him. Something unfair, because nothing made Peeves happy like injustice. The increased likelihood that Malfoy was hindered after all soothed Harry only minutely; he was much too fixated on glaring at Peeves from beneath his Invisibility Cloak. Bloody poltergeists. There was little one could do to harm them. They were a force of nature. But Harry had to get Malfoy's wand; Peeves had no right to keep it. He had no right to even hold it, Harry thought vehemently.

Peeves sang something about "silly boy-snake" and Harry saw red. He looked around for inspiration, trying to think of way to retrieve the wand without revealing his presence. He could Summon it and run, but that wouldn't stop Peeves from crying bloody murder and probably claiming Malfoy was out of bed again, trying to recover his wand. Not to mention Peeves should be punished. Though, punishing Peeves would be difficult. Only three people managed to frighten Peeves: Dumbledore by, well, being Dumbledore, the Bloody Baron, who Harry impersonated once before, but he wasn't sure he'd be so lucky as to trick Peeves again, and Remus Lupin, who had stuck gum in Peeves's nose.

Harry looked back at the Potions classroom. If there was one thing every classroom had, it was gum stuck under the desks. If only the door wasn't locked.

Not letting improbability dissuade him, Harry pointed his wand at the door and concentrated with all his might. His non-verbal Unlocking Charm hit the door and, miraculously, it flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Peeves yelped and froze in midair, staring at the open door in fright.

Go inside, Harry urged him with his mind. Surely Peeves wouldn't be able to resist investigating. Harry held his breath as Peeves flew closer and peeked into the classroom carefully. He looked around and then slowly floated inside.

Grinning, Harry dashed forward and pointed his wand at a random desk.

"Waddiwasi," he whispered and redirected his wand at Peeves's nose. Five gums flew toward shocked-looking Peeves, shooting into his nostrils one after the other. Peeves cried out and spun in the air, flying backward and dropping the wand. Harry sprang forward and snatched Malfoy's wand before walking backward out of the classroom. Peeves wailed, coughing and sniffing, trying to eject the gum out of his nose.

Just as Harry turned to leave, a mewl reached his ears, together with a sound of rushing footsteps. Harry paused and looked at the zigzagging poltergeist flying around the classroom in mad circles, not paying attention to anything but his nose. A quickly forming plan made Harry grin maliciously. He lifted his wand and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Desk and chairs flew toward the ceiling, hovered there for a second, and then as Harry cancelled the spell, crashed down onto the floor with a resounding bang. Filch rounded the corner, yelling rude threats.

Harry gripped the two wands in his hands, smirked at the mess, and fled. As far as he was concerned, Peeves and Filch were both appropriately punished for messing with his... er, Malfoy. Filch would have to tidy up the classroom and Peeves had sticky, old gum in his nose—neither would rest tonight.

However, it occurred to Harry, after he stepped into the Slytherin common room, that he might have woken up half the Slytherin House with the racket. He listened carefully, but the place seemed deserted and quiet. Eerily quiet. The low-ceilinged, dungeon-like room was lit by green hanging lamps, giving the entire room a sinister appearance. Harry scowled. He had forgotten how much he disliked the Slytherin common room. He was freezing and the surrounding coldness wasn't helping.

Teeth clattering, Harry checked the map and determined his route. The boys sleeping in the eight years' dormitory looked peaceful and Harry summoned his courage and stalked up the stairs.

He was already in front of the door when he realised he no longer had a proper reason to visit Malfoy. He had planned to come here so he could discover why Malfoy hadn't shown up at the East Tower, but since Peeves had Malfoy's wand it was rather obvious Malfoy had been thwarted by others. Technically, Harry could give him back his wand tomorrow and ask him what happened. There was no need to risk getting caught. Except—Harry gripped the doorknob and turned it—there was the small matter of overdue kisses.

The door squeaked as Harry pushed it open and he cursed under his breath, then carefully peeked inside. The dormitory was silent and dimly lit and Harry stepped forward, the cold stone chilling his feet through his slippers. The door squeaked again as he closed it and Harry would have slapped himself if he wasn't afraid to make even more noise.

There was a fireplace in the right corner of the room, a definite necessity in the cold dungeons, and the fire crackled and cast shimmering shadows against the nearest four-poster bed. Harry smiled at the bed fondly, unsurprised Malfoy had picked the warmest and therefore most comfortable, spot in the room. Harry edged closer, excitement battling with the feeling of foolishness. Merlin, did he really plan to creep into Malfoy's bed?

Apparently, he did, because his feet carried him closer. The massive bed with carved wooden posts was situated against the wall; the heavy dark-green bed curtains were drawn, isolating Malfoy from the rest of the dormitory. It made the bed look lonely. Especially since the bed next to Malfoy's was empty. Harry glanced at it, and then, realising it had probably belonged to Crabbe, he quickly looked away. It must have been depressing to see the empty bed first thing in the morning and every night before bedtime. Harry frowned and rushed forward, the sounds of snoring coming from the left side of the room soothing his nerves; it seemed the dormitory's occupants were fast asleep.

Harry looked around nervously, then gripped the bed curtains and slowly pulled them aside. For one breathless moment, he thought the bed was empty, but then he noticed white-blond strands peeking from underneath the covers. Malfoy was sleeping on his side, turned toward the wall, his face buried into the pillows. Harry stared at Malfoy's hair, a tender feeling filling his chest at the sight of those strands—the only part of Malfoy unprotected by the blanket. Firelight seeped through the gap in the curtain, highlighting a single stray lock. It was crazy to think such things about a person's hair, but Harry thought it looked vulnerable. He considered turning around and letting Malfoy sleep in peace, but even as he thought it, he took off the Invisibility Cloak and reached out to touch Malfoy's hair. His hand hovered over Malfoy's head and then, tentatively, Harry's fingers touched the strands, sliding over them in a gentle caress.

He half-expected Malfoy to shriek and leap out of his bed, but Malfoy made no sound and he didn't move. Biting his lips, Harry slid his hand to the bed, between Malfoy and the wall, and splayed his palm over the covers, so he could lean over Malfoy's sleeping figure. He leaned lower than planned, lured in by the scent of Malfoy's shampoo. His lips were not far from Malfoy's head; his nose itched to press closer and inhale the scent of Malfoy's hair. Harry resisted, but took a moment to savour the peaceful image before him.

"Draco?" he whispered, his throat dry. He meant to call him Malfoy, but it seemed too crude to wake him up with a word Harry had always thought of as an insult. He found himself liking the feel of the name Draco on his tongue. "Draco," he said again, curious to see whether the little thrill the name gave him had been a one time thing. He was pleased to find it wasn't.

Malfoy didn't react at first, but then his head turned slowly as though he wasn't reacting to Harry's voice, but simply meant to turn around at that very moment. Harry's heart lunged forward as Malfoy turned and looked up at him, his grey eyes wide and bright in the semi-darkness. He stared at Harry as a Muggle would stare at a ghost, his lips parted in surprise and the skin of his cheek wrinkled slightly from sleep. Harry couldn't help himself. He smiled and did what he wanted to do for hours—he leaned in and captured Malfoy's lips with his.


Draco stared at the wall, trying not to blink. Blinking had undesired effects. It would make his vision blurry and he had to blink a lot before it cleared again. Not to mention that the moment he closed his eyes, he felt sleepy. And he couldn't sleep, because he was fucking busy.

First and foremost, he was busy fuming and plotting revenge against Peeves and Filch. The two twits had conspired against him. Peeves was, admittedly, just being Peeves, but Filch earned all of Draco's ire. Any fool would realise the poltergeist was to be blamed for demolishing classrooms, not to mention that ghosts and poltergeists were not permitted to carry a wand by law. Peeves had bloody broken the law by taking Draco's wand. But of course, Filch couldn't punish Peeves for anything. He was probably overjoyed that someone had handed him an obviously innocent student he could shackle and force to help him with castle maintenance. It was a small comfort that McGonagall was not in her office, but had already retired for the night. It just meant Draco would have to wait until tomorrow to hear his sentence. And he would have to wait for it wandless.

Cosmically speaking, it was probably a fair punishment for enchanting Potter, but Draco hated fair. He should have been at the East Tower right now, paying Potter back for that awful hickey (which, coincidently, Draco couldn't get rid of now that he no longer had his wand; he had planned it do it tonight). Moreover, a series of possible detentions would cut into his free time; time that Draco intended to spend on Potter-kissing, not on scrubbing floors and blackboards.

Purely out of spite, because the universe had denied him the chance, Draco carefully imagined the viciously stolen meeting with Potter. He constructed the fantasy with care, trying to guess how Potter would react and what he would say to Draco's various, inventive actions. Annoyingly, fantasy Potter was very rude and not quite willing, but he failed to resist Draco entirely, and soon enough warmth settled low in Draco's stomach, his cock filling as he pressed Potter against the wall and touched and kissed him wherever he wished. It was a satisfying fantasy, despite the nasty bittersweet taste it left on Draco's tongue. It was so vivid, Draco thought he could feel Potter's fingers caressing his hair—Potter seemed to have a thing for his hair. The vividness was brought to a whole new level when Potter whispered Draco's name. Except, a second later, Draco's mind cleared somewhat and fantasy gave way to panic.

Potter had never called him Draco, not even in Draco's mind, and his voice came from the wrong side considering Draco had him, mentally, pressed against the wall, his lips sliding over the skin of Potter's exposed neck. And just as Draco began to wonder if he was going insane and had imagined Potter standing behind him, he noticed a hand—a fucking hand, which definitely wasn't Draco's—pressed against the covers not far from Draco's body. Draco stared at the hand in horror.

"Draco," the voice said again, dangerously close to Draco's ear. He could no longer pretend it was a figment of his imagination. Someone was leaning over his bed, trapping him with his arm and calling his name. Someone who sounded like Potter, but couldn't possibly be Potter. And Draco was wandless.

Closing his eyes and burying his face in the pillows was tempting, but childish, so Draco clenched his hand into a fist as he turned around slowly to face his assailant. A part of his mind expected it, but he was still shocked to see Potter's face hovering inches above his own. Draco took one look at his pale face, flushed cheeks and impossibly green eyes and opened his mouth to accuse him of escaping his fantasy without permission, but Potter's besotted smile stole the words from his throat and then the pressure of Potter's lips against his stole his breath.

It would have been logical to push Potter away and demand an explanation, but Potter's tongue traced Draco's lips, begging for entrance, and Draco couldn't deny the request. He parted his lips and welcomed Potter's tongue with his. His head sank deeper into the pillow, their sleepy, slow kiss turning into something more passionate.

Potter nuzzled his nose against Draco's and then pulled away. Draco forced his eyes open, his mind cataloguing the coldness of Potter's face, his ugly pyjamas, their surroundings, and the firelight that danced its way to Draco's bed through the parted bed curtains. Realisation hit him like a Bludger—Potter was truly here, in Draco's dormitory, where they were surrounded by Draco's dorm mates. Where they were surrounded by danger. Terrible danger of discovery that would ruin everything more than detentions ever could.

Draco's heart leapt forward together with his body as he shot bolt upright. He pressed one hand against Potter's open mouth and gripped Potter's hip with the other. With the strength he didn't knew he possessed, he pulled Potter onto his bed, overbalancing him and making him sit across Draco's legs, his arse slipping between the wall and Draco's body. His feet dangled from the bed and his slippers slipped down as he struggled to free himself from Draco's hand. Draco pressed Potter's head to the wall, his hand tightening over his mouth.

"Shhh," Draco shushed him desperately and Potter stilled, his wide green eyes staring at Draco in disbelief. Potter had two wands in his hand and Draco easily recognised one as his own. He dearly wanted to know why the fuck Potter had his wand, but it wasn't time for questions. Draco snatched his wand from Potter's hand, peeked outside, pulled the bed curtains closed and cast a few charms. Pale yellow and blood red lit the air around them and Draco winced. Someone would have noticed that. Terrified, he pulled his legs from underneath Potter, freed Potter's mouth and scrambled to the edge of the bed to look outside. The dormitory was peaceful and silent; he couldn't even hear Blaise's snores, which wasn't a good sign, since Blaise failed to snore only when awake.

"Oh," Potter said quietly. Curiously, it didn't sound like a complaint or contrition; it was a surprised, pleased sort of sound. Draco meant to turn and see what had caused such a reaction but the brush of chilly air made him freeze in horror. He realised that in his hurry to make sure no one saw them, he had escaped the safety of covers and leaned just a little too much. He had been in such a foul mood earlier he couldn't wait to crawl into his bed. He had pulled on a soft, warm shirt but he might have forgotten to pull on his pyjama bottoms. And his pants.

Goosebumps spread over the skin of Draco's buttocks, less from cold and more from the horrifying realisation he had just flashed Potter.

Draco closed the bed curtains again and turned very slowly, trying not to react and let Potter note his embarrassment. Potter's gaze snapped up to Draco's face immediately, his cheeks completely red.

Inconspicuously pulling the covers over himself, Draco sat and focused on Potter's face with difficulty.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, trying to sound accusing, hoping his tone would make Potter defensive enough to forget any other subjects he might wish to discuss. Like the fact that Draco sometimes slept without his pants on.

Potter looked like he was having trouble forming words. His back was pressed against the wall as though he was trying to disappear through it.

"Um," Potter said. "You didn't show up, so—"

"Shhh!" Draco whispered furiously. "You have to be more quiet. I've cast some charms, but this isn't a confined space. The others could still hear us." Draco grimaced, dreading that possibility.

"Oh," Potter whispered, blinking rapidly. He sucked in a sharp breath and then words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. "You didn't show up so I came here to ask you why. But then I saw Peeves with your wand and guessed you were caught, so I guess I know why. But I came all this way and I thought... You're not wearing pants, are you aware of that?" Potter gulped. "I just came to return your wand. I took it from Peeves. Obviously." Potter looked at his hands quickly and fiddled with his wand.

Draco tried to swallow the lump in his throat but failed. His mind scrambled for safe subjects. "Um. How did you get past the portrait?"

"Can't reveal my source," Potter told his hands.

Draco cursed under his breath. Trust Potter to know how to sneak in where he shouldn't. He couldn't be here. He just couldn't. Merlin, Potter was hopelessly ensnared. Much more so than Draco had dared to imagine.

"You have to leave," Draco whispered and winced at his words. It was true, though—Potter did have to leave. It was too risky. He couldn't stay here, in Draco's bed. Draco's whole body clenched at the thought. Potter was in his bed. His bed.

Potter looked up sharply. "Now?" He shuddered a little. "I'm cold."

Draco clenched his teeth and reached to grab Potter's arm and pull him away from the wall. "You're not..." Potter's arm was freezing, even through his pyjamas. "Fuck," Draco growled, forgetting the fact that Potter should leave in the face of Potter's possible pneumonia. What was he thinking, running around the castle and the dungeons wearing nothing but pyjamas and slippers? The mere sight of Potter's bare feet made him shiver. Poor besotted sod.

"Get in," Draco mumbled, not looking at Potter, just lifting the covers a little—very carefully. Potter was silent and Draco suffered a momentary panic attack, thinking Potter was put off by the fact Draco was half-naked under the blanket, but then Potter made a tiny sound of surprise, or relief, or joy, or all of that combined, and then with the grace of a troll quickly scrambled beneath the covers, sitting next to Draco. The bed was narrow and Potter's shoulder, arm and leg ended up pressed tightly to Draco's body.

Draco hissed; Potter was as cold as ice.

"Idiot," Draco growled and then grabbed Potter around the waist and pulled him down to lie next to him before he covered them both with the blanket. Potter didn't resist in the slightest, just stared at Draco with a silly, bemused expression. Draco huffed at him, snatched Potter's wand from his hand and his glasses from his nose and tossed them together with his own wand on the bed behind Potter's back. Then, he wrapped both arms around Potter's chilly body, pulling him closer. They lay beneath the covers, facing each other, their noses almost touching. Potter's eyes looked bigger and greener without his glasses; it made Draco want to kiss them, which was an odd thought, so he quickly shoved it aside.

"If you catch a cold and die don't blame me," Draco grumbled.

Potter answered him by sliding his hands over Draco's back, lower and lower until they reached bare skin.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Draco gasped, taken aback.

"My hands are cold; I'm trying to warm them up," Potter said, his face the picture of innocence, complete with a blush.

"On my arse?" Draco asked weakly.

"It's warm." Potter's lips twitched and he squeezed Draco's buttocks a little.

Draco shuddered again, even though Potter's hands were warming up quickly. His shock diminishing, Draco supposed Potter might as well warm his hands where he fancied; his touch was becoming... tolerable.

"You're being very rude again. Sneaking into my bed to molest me," Draco accused, even as he rubbed his nose against Potter's. Potter's nose was cold, too; it needed warming up, he rationalised.

"You were rude earlier today. This rude." Potter grinned as his hands slid lower, fingers grazing the skin between Draco's arse cheeks.

Draco couldn't stop himself from gasping and Potter took advantage of the moment to pepper tiny, soft kisses over Draco's lips.

Potter's eyes were closed, but Draco didn't dare to close his, afraid Potter might disappear when he opened them again.

"I owe you one, too, then," Draco said, pleased to find he could talk and answer Potter's kisses at the same time. "For your nasty bite."

Potter's eyes flew open. "Oh," he said and pulled away slightly, his gaze flickering to Draco's neck. Potter beamed at him, his grip on Draco's arse tightening, and Draco was suddenly very glad he had kept the hickey, since the sight of it brought Potter such joy. "Okay," Potter whispered and grinned. Then, he pressed his head to the pillow and extended his neck, exposing the pale patch of skin between his ear and the grey fabric of his pyjama. He looked up at Draco through a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his eye and waited expectantly.

Draco's body jerked forward, his cock twitching at the sight of Potter offering his neck for Draco to mark. Heat rushed to his cheeks as Potter gasped, undoubtedly noticing Draco's arousal. He hadn't moved, though, merely waited, and Draco relaxed.

Licking his lips, Draco brushed away a dark strand from the tender spot near Potter's ear and then pressed a small kiss to the skin. He licked it, grazed it with his teeth, and when Potter shivered and moaned quietly, Draco trapped the skin between his lips and sucked on it lightly.

Potter's grip on Draco's arse intensified, his hands pulling Draco close enough he could feel that Potter's cock wasn't immune to Draco's ministrations. Potter's panting breath brushed against Draco's neck and Draco increased the suction, making Potter shudder harder.

Parting with the delicious skin reluctantly, Draco looked at the darkening bruise on Potter's neck.

"Perfect," he admired and then sneaked a glance at Potter's face.

Potter's eyelashes fluttered open. He was smiling. "I never had a hickey before." Potter sounded delighted.

A surge of possessiveness assaulted Draco so vehemently his vision blurred. He fought against it and eventually managed to speak, but not without vehemence. "You should have them all the time. Everywhere."

Potter raised his head sharply and treated Draco to a breathtaking kiss. "Sounds like a plan," Potter mumbled and kissed him again.

Draco's throat dried and he was just about to suggest they should work on covering Potter's whole body with hickeys right now, when Potter gave him that knee-weakening, flirtatious look, the very one he had used to distract him earlier today in the bathroom. Draco tensed, not knowing what to expect.

"Since we're returning favours and all..." Potter's hands squeezed Draco's arse, then released it. Draco barely managed to stop himself from complaining. "I owe you something else," Potter said, his husky tone sending a shiver down Draco's spine.

"You do?" he asked blankly, then drew a quick breath as Potter's hand strayed to Draco's front.

"Definitely," Potter said, breathless and flushed, as his fingers touched Draco's stomach and then slid down to caress the hair that led the path to Draco's crotch. Potter's touch was tentative and barely there, but combined with Potter's promise, it made Draco's head spin. He resolved then and there he would stay in this very bed with Potter forever.


Draco's eyelashes fluttered closed. The touch of Potter's fingertips was feather-light; all Potter did was toy with the hairs, stroking but never moving downward. It was driving Draco insane. His hips twitched minutely, seeking a firmer touch, but Potter simply wasn't getting it. Draco's eyes snapped open and words of reproach were already on the tip of his tongue, but the questioning look in Potter's eyes stopped him. Potter seemed expectant, his green eyes large in the darkness.

He's waiting for permission, Draco realised and then nodded mutely. Potter's fingers slid lower immediately, wrapping themselves around Draco's cock, their touch cool, but brilliant, nonetheless. Potter's hand held him awkwardly, but then Potter released Draco's cock and re-gripped it more surely; caressing, exploring, possibly measuring the length, before his thumb circled over the wet tip and his strokes evened out.

"Is this okay?" Potter asked so quietly, Draco barely heard him; though, Draco was concentrating on the feel of Potter's hand around him so intently, he might have merely neglected his other senses.

Draco tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. He nodded again and thrust his hips forward, pushing himself into Potter's hand, his lips touching Potter's with a gasp. Potter responded immediately, capturing Draco's bottom lip and attempting to suck on it. Draco couldn't help gasping and pulling away with every thrust of his hips, grateful that Potter's mouth recaptured his lips every time.

It was brilliant. Utterly perfect. Except, it wasn't. Not really. And not just because Potter's strokes were erratic and uncertain; technically, it wasn't his fault. Draco's arms were still wrapped around Potter, holding him close in a firm embrace. Too damn close, which meant Potter had little room for movement. It could have been dealt with easily. All Draco had to do was renounce the kisses and let go of Potter, but that simply wasn't an option. Draco's grip around Potter's waist intensified at the very thought.

"Um," Potter said. It sounded like a complaint, though Potter seemed as reluctant as Draco to pause and pull away. His hand almost stilled; his thumb was still circling over the head of Draco's cock, the simple touch maddening.

This won't work, Draco thought in frustration, his restlessly seeking friction, but failing to find it.

"Wait," Draco mumbled, trying to escape Potter's insistent kisses. Though, a proper escape probably shouldn't have included nibbling on Potter's bottom lip.

"What?" Potter breathed, squirming in Draco's embrace.

Draco slid his hand lower and grabbed the waistband of Potter's pyjamas, none too gently.

"Off," he ordered, frustrated when he couldn't pull them down himself. "Bloody take these off."

He half-expected Potter to retreat, or at least hesitate, but he released Draco promptly and reached down as though he had been waiting for the instruction. He squirmed, his lips still firmly attached to Draco's as he slid his pyjamas and pants to his thighs. Draco's hand was gripping Potter's bare arse in an instant. The skin there was sweaty, or perhaps Draco's palm was sweaty—it was hard to tell; it was scorching hot under the covers. Potter shivered and pushed back into Draco's touch, but that meant Potter was too far away for comfort and Draco pulled him closer with an impatient growl. His growl turned into a moan as Potter's cock touched his, hard and hot, warming up Draco's whole body until the heat became unbearable and Draco's vision swam in front of his eyes.

"Oh," Potter whispered against Draco's lips. He twitched his hips forward and concluded, "Oh."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, kneading Potter's arse and thrusting his hips, letting his cock slide against Potter's, the sweat easing their movements. This was much, much better. He had it all: the friction, Potter in his arms and Potter's lips at his reach. And on top of everything, Potter did something brilliant (and Draco vowed he would re-evaluate his view of Potter's intelligence at some point that wasn't now); he pushed forward, rolling Draco onto his back, his hands sliding beneath Draco's shoulders and his weight settling between Draco's thighs.

Draco would have admired the unexpected gracefulness of Potter's movement, executed so seamlessly, but he had not the time. The pressure against his crotch intensified, his skin burning wherever it touched Potter's, and Draco found new depths of respect for Potter's sense of perfect alignment. But, miraculously, that wasn't the most distracting novelty. Draco found himself mesmerised by Potter's face that was hovering a few inches above his. He couldn't stop staring up at Potter, eyes raking over his features hungrily, feasting on the jet-black hair that fell over his sweaty forehead, the green eyes darkened by dilated pupils, and lips parted and wet from Draco's kisses. Potter's expression was, for once, difficult to read. He looked partly smug, as though thinking, "Look at where I am," and partly amazed, as though his eyes saw something in Draco's that could cause awe.

The intensity of Potter's gaze became too much and Draco forced himself to speak.

"Do you plan to move or should I fetch you some tea?" he asked, shocked to find that his voice could go so low.

Potter blinked at him, then smiled, his chest pressing against Draco's. "As if I'd let you go anywhere, now," Potter whispered and then mercifully moved his hips.

The feeling was glorious and Draco moaned too loudly and quickly said, "Shhh," pretending Potter had made the sound. Potter moaned in response, as though to indulge him, then pressed his lips to Draco's, not kissing him, just holding them against Draco's mouth, puffing hot breaths over it with each twitch of his hips. No longer hindered by Potter's body, Draco's palms found Potter's buttocks, pulling, pressing, and helping him slide against Draco. They could have used some lube, or something to ease the movements of their bodies, but Draco found it too trivial to worry about that, especially since his skin felt drenched with sweat. He rather worried about thrusting upward, trying to make Potter move faster, but Potter distracted him by slipping his tongue into Draco's mouth and then rudely pulling away. Draco's tongue followed it, demanding a proper kiss. They met halfway, sliding their tongues together, not even touching each other's lips as though in mutual belief that a kiss would deny them much needed oxygen. Potter's movements slowed, his hips imitating the unhurried, sensual licks of his tongue. It was both frustrating and perfect and Draco had no urge to complain. His balls ached, his cock pulsed against Potter's, and Draco closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Potter's cock and his tongue. The pleasure built steadily, spreading from his crotch down to his toes and up to his chest, pulling Draco upward with one long spasm. It held him in a tight grip for a long moment, then released him with a force that left him breathless.

Potter was still moving on top of him, his movements erratic. He thrashed and squirmed and panted against Draco's lips, every twitch of his body renewing Draco's pleasure. It became too much, both the heat and the pressure against Draco's sensitive cock, but then Potter convulsed and Draco hurriedly extracted his hand from underneath the covers to press it to the back of Potter's neck and trap his mouth with a kiss, intending to swallow any sounds Potter might make.

Potter was perfectly silent, however; a tiniest moan and a shiver preceded the touch of scorching wetness coating Draco's stomach. Potter's head slid lower and fell in the crook of Draco's neck, his hair tickling Draco's chin and jaw.

"Wow," Potter whispered, dragging his lips against Draco's neck and shuddering again.

Draco nodded, but then remembered Potter couldn't see him. He failed to make his throat work so he merely wrapped his arm around Potter's waist and stroked his hair, hoping that would convey his agreement. He considered the possibility of spelling away the sticky mess they made, but decided his wand was too far. Potter huffed as though he was suffocating and, to Draco's disappointment, pulled away. He was soothed in a moment, however, when Potter slipped off him and rolled to his side, pulling Draco with him, so they ended up facing each other again.

The grin on Potter's face was infectious. Potter looked even more delighted than earlier when Draco had given him his first hickey. It made Draco brush a stray lock from Potter's face and kiss him, savouring the slow, sated response of Potter's lips

"Mmmm," Potter hummed. "Coming here was the best plan ever." He grinned again. "I should thank—"

"You should leave," Draco said. Potter's statement suddenly reminded him there were other people in the room. People who could bring him nothing but trouble.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "First you take advantage of me and now you'll cast me away?"

Hot pain twisted Draco's stomach as he stared at Potter in shock. His stomach rumbled, making him nauseous.

"I'm joking." Potter's eyes widened. "I wanted this. Of course I did." Potter pressed a quick kiss to Draco's lips and smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

It just made Draco feel worse; Potter didn't even know how wrong he was to claim he wanted this. The nausea refused to leave him alone.

"I know," he forced himself to say. His lips stretched into a smile, but it probably looked like a grimace.

"I can leave. I know you're worried. It's okay," Potter said quickly and moved as though to get up.

Draco's arms tightened around him. "No! Forget I said anything."

Green eyes squinted at him through long eyelashes. "You're extremely fickle. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

Draco remained silent and Potter's lips twitched. "You were right. I should go. I really, really should." Potter gave him a sad look and tried to get up again.

Saying nothing, Draco kept his arms where they were, resisting Potter's attempts to free himself. Potter must have thought him insane and Draco couldn't blame him, but Potter couldn't leave now. Not when Draco felt like his insides were falling apart; Potter couldn't leave him alone with his troubling thoughts. It was easier to think of other things when Potter was around.

"Draco..." Potter sounded exasperated. Also, he sounded vaguely like Pansy.

"Call me Malfoy," Draco told him. "Please, call me Malfoy." He pressed his lips to Potter's, mumbling, "And please don't leave. Not yet."

"Are you sure?" Potter pulled away, looking utterly confused. "You're acting... I feel like I'm upsetting you."

"No." Draco shook his head violently. Potter remained unconvinced and Draco closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths, trying to clear his mind. He opened his eyes again and smiled. "This is not upsetting. It's perfect." Draco stroked Potter's back and pulled him impossibly closer, determined to keep him in his bed.

Potter relaxed a little but he was still looking at Draco oddly. "I thought you would hate snuggling."

Draco bit back a snappish retort and forced himself to dissuade Potter's accurate conclusion. "No, I love you."

Potter froze on the spot. Draco blinked, his statement echoing in his ears.

"It!" Draco gasped, horrified. "I love it! I meant snuggling. I meant... I love..." Draco attempted to draw a breath, but his lungs weren't working. His chest could barely contain the wild beats of his heart. Potter must have been choking him wandlessly because he couldn't fucking breathe. Not that Potter looked like he was capable of anything. He seemed petrified.

Draco gulped some air and exhaled slowly. He looked away from Potter, stared at the inexplicably shivering wall and whispered, "It."


Draco Malfoy was the oddest person in whole of existence, Harry decided. It was shocking that he had known Malfoy for so long, but had never grasped that fact until now. It was even more shocking that Harry's brain managed to grasp any facts at this point. The words I love you had frozen his brain and Harry feared it would never unfreeze again. He could do little but stare at Malfoy's red face in horror. Malfoy was studying the wall behind Harry and mumbling "it" several times. Each time he did so, Harry felt worse. Initially, he was sure it was merely a silly slip-up, because it just had to be, but the more Malfoy tried to deny it, the less silly the slip-up seemed. Malfoy looked less like someone who was merely embarrassed and more like some who had just divulged a humongous secret. Except, Malfoy couldn't love him; that was absolutely ridiculous. They had exchanged a handful of kisses (glorious kisses, but nonetheless a handful ) and they had just exchanged an orgasm (a mind-blowing one, but nonetheless just one ) but surely such declarations were premature? Surely such feelings were premature? Surely Malfoys didn't go around saying those words?

The suffocating feeling of panic was steadily consuming Harry's mind. Merlin, what should he say to that? This was all so new and strange and confusing. He had no fucking clue how he felt. He was happy; until a moment ago he was happier than ever, but that didn't count as love. Or did it? How did someone know they were in love, anyway? And was saying it in return the polite thing to do? Maybe Malfoy expected it. Or maybe it was just a crazy slip-up and Harry's declaration of love was the last thing Malfoy wanted to hear. God, but this relationship thing was complicated. He would have to talk to Hermione.

"You should leave," Malfoy whispered, still not looking at him.

Harry worried his bottom lip. "Will you change your mind again in a minute?"

Malfoy pouted and shook his head.

Harry waited patiently, but minutes tickled by and he had no choice but to speak. "Er, you have to let go of me, first."

Malfoy looked at him sharply, mumbled, "Sorry," and loosened the death grip he had on Harry's body before rolling onto his back.

With a sigh, Harry pulled on his pants and pyjama bottoms, then swung his leg across Malfoy, intending to get up. However, he ended up straddling Malfoy's lap and his intentions were momentarily forgotten. Malfoy pushed up with his hips as though to throw him off but the effect was quite the opposite; Harry's thighs clenched tighter around Malfoy's hips in reflex. Heart pounding, he bent down in an instant, his lips seeking Malfoy's.

"No. Leave," Malfoy groaned, even as he answered the kiss.

Harry pressed small kisses over Malfoy's chin and jaw, his fingers straying beneath Malfoy's pyjama top to trace the smooth skin of his stomach and sides, tickling mercilessly. Malfoy squirmed beneath him, which was brilliant and, Harry suspected, addictive, so he redoubled his attack, easily finding sensitive spots.

Malfoy panted, his face twisted into a grimace. He was futilely attempting to escape Harry's tickling fingers, but then finally gave in and laughed. The sound was too loud in the quiet dormitory and they both seemed to realise it at the same moment. Harry stopped tickling just as Malfoy's hands grabbed Harry's wrists.

Malfoy shot upright, looking flushed and dangerous, but amusement was clear in his eyes. Harry didn't resist as Malfoy twisted Harry's hands behind his back, crossing his wrists together and holding them tightly. Arousal shot through Harry like wildfire, sending blood to his spent cock; he was trapped in Malfoy's arms with Malfoy's scowling face in front of him and nothing about it seemed perilous or wrong. He was surprised to realise that if Malfoy decided to pull him back down beneath the covers, Harry would have let him do whatever he wished.

"Now that I know you're ticklish, you'll never be safe again." Harry smirked.

Malfoy's hands tightened around his wrists and Harry gasped a little, his hips twitching, making him jump up slightly on Malfoy's lap. Liking the feeling, Harry did it again, rolling his hips and squirming, amused by Malfoy's surprised little gasps.

"Merlin." Malfoy drew a shuddering breath; his pupils dilating. "You're so..."

But Harry didn't learn what he was because Malfoy leaned forward, capturing his lips.

"But he never brings girls here."

The sound floated to Harry's ears from somewhere far away. Too busy concentrating on his tingling lips and Malfoy's tongue and teeth doing wonderful things to them, he had no urge to acknowledge it, but Malfoy rudely pulled back, staring at Harry in horror.

Harry was just about to ask what the hell was wrong now, when the bed curtains flew open and the firelight attacked his eyes.

"You're not wrong, Greg," said Blaise Zabini, standing next to the bed in his pyjamas, his dark eyes raking over Malfoy and Harry and their probably very interesting position.

Zabini's gaze focused on Malfoy, his face a mask of disgust. "Honestly," Zabini spat. "This is low, even for you."

"Hey!" Harry said, insulted, and turned to Malfoy to inform him that his friends were stupid. However, Malfoy had crumbled under Zabini's furious gaze, his expression full of guilt. "This wasn't low," Harry said quietly, hurt. Malfoy wasn't looking at him. Harry snatched his hands from Malfoy's grip, glaring.

"Um, Draco," Gregory Goyle said, peeking behind the curtains. "Harry Potter is on your lap."

"Thanks, Greg," Draco grumbled. "I gathered as much."

"Well, he won't be there for much longer," Blaise said, then growled at Harry, "Get the fuck out of here, Potter."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Zabini to go fuck himself and leave them alone, but Malfoy was quicker; though, apparently, on Zabini's side. "Is Nott awake, too?" Malfoy asked, sounding fearful.

Zabini's jaw twitched. "He will be if I wake him up."

Draco grimaced and threw a furtive, pleading look at Zabini before he turned to Harry.

"Please, Potter, just go." Malfoy actually looked frightened. "If Nott sees you, he'll tell the whole school."

"So what?" Harry asked, feeling petulant. He couldn't understand why Malfoy seemed so cowed by Zabini's threats.

Zabini scowled at him. "You want the entire school to know you're fucking a Death Eater?" he sneered.

"What if I do?" Harry looked up at him defiantly.

"Merlin." Zabini shook his head, obviously aghast. "Really, Draco. What have you done? Have you no shame?"

Blood rushed to Harry's face and he was considering hexing Zabini, but then Malfoy grabbed his chin and forced Harry to look at him.

"Please, Potter," he said, looking so miserable that Harry felt guilty despite his anger. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, I promise."

A grumble echoed at the other side of the room, indicating Nott was waking up. Malfoy's eyes widened in alarm.

"Fine," Harry huffed and grabbed his glasses and his wand. He got up from Malfoy's lap with as much dignity he could muster and bent down to pick up his Invisibility Cloak, which lay on the floor next to Goyle's feet. Goyle was staring at him without blinking, but Zabini was ignoring him; he seemed intent on giving Malfoy one disgusted look after the other. Malfoy stared at his lap.

Feeling rebellious and not a little upset, Harry shot a glare at Zabini, bent down, grabbed Malfoy's chin and forced him to look up. Malfoy had no time to say a word or even blink before Harry pressed a forceful kiss to his lips, pushing his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, headless of Malfoy's attempts to pull back.

Zabini groaned loudly, prompting Harry to kiss Malfoy even harder, wrapping his tongue around Malfoy's possessively. After Malfoy stopped fighting him, Harry released him and raised his head, pleased to find him looking dazed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Harry told Malfoy, then scowled at Zabini and pulled on his Invisibility Cloak just as Nott cried, "What the fuck are you people doing?"

With a final glance at Malfoy, Harry spun around and stomped out of the room, not caring that Nott would have seen the door open and close on its own.

Fury kept disappointment at bay as Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, but as he walked his anger abated and all Harry could think about was Malfoy's expression. It was hard to accept it, but Harry knew what he had seen. Malfoy was ashamed.


Snowflakes tickled Draco's face as he flew around the pitch. He had a free period before lunch and he hoped some fresh air would help clear his mind. However, the air was not just fresh, but fucking freezing, and Draco's toes and fingers were going numb. Forced to give up flying after a handful of circles, Draco shot toward the ground and landed ungracefully, his numb limbs refusing to cooperate. Huffing, he shouldered his broom and scowled at his bright, peaceful surroundings, then headed toward the broom shed. He eyed the small shed unhappily. Per McGonagall's orders, he would have to scrub it later today under Filch's supervision. Draco figured things had gone better than expected with the Headmistress, but they hadn't gone well. McGonagall had the good sense to realise that Peeves, rather than Draco, had been demolishing classrooms, especially since Filch admitted he had caught Peeves vandalising the Potions classroom after Draco had gone to bed. However, McGonagall had docked points from Slytherin, assigned him detention and gave him a stern lecture about taking his N.E.W.T.s seriously.

"Whatever reason lured you out of bed past curfew, Mr Malfoy, you cannot afford such distractions," she had said, hinting that though the punishment had been mild at this point, it would be drastic if Draco was caught traipsing the corridors again at such late hours. Listening to McGonagall's disappointed tirade hadn't been pleasant, but it paled in comparison to Blaise's rant, which Draco was forced to endure before breakfast. Blaise had successfully made him feel like utter shit.

"You enchanted Potter? Harry fucking Potter?" Blaise raged. "Are you insane? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You didn't stop Pansy from sending Millicent after him," Draco complained. He wished he could convince Blaise that what happened last night had been a dream. It worked with Goyle. But Blaise knew about the stupid Love Potion and, well, he wasn't Goyle. He had half-heartedly tried to claim Potter wasn't enchanted, and that he just happened to desire Draco, but it was hard to convince Blaise of that when Draco didn't believe it himself. Furthermore, Blaise informed him that Millicent had already cried on his shoulder and told him Draco had stolen Potter from her grip.

"Millicent enchanting Potter would have been a joke. A silly joke, which wouldn't have gone further than a few kisses. You bloody had him in your bed. Did you shag him?"

"That's none of your fucking business!"

"But, it is. It's my business as well as Pansy's. Because we both know what you did. Which makes us accomplices. Use your brain, Draco. Enchant a fucking Hufflepuff and implicate no one if you feel like shagging and can't get it without a potion. Not Potter. Merlin, anyone but Potter. Do you realise what will happen if the word gets out? And it will. You must be aware of that. If he doesn't kill you, his friends will. And if they don't, his fans will. And if they don't, your father will. Why the fuck would you risk that for the scrawny git?"

"He's not scrawny. He's lean," Draco said before he could stop himself.

Blaise stared at him. "The big picture, Draco? You're missing it. Don't you remember our fourth year and all those people sending cursed letters to Granger, because they thought she had enchanted him? Potter's popularity skyrocketed after that and Granger was his friend, and you're... well, you know who you are and what the public thinks of you. You think you'll get away with detention and an eyeroll like Su Li? Had she succeeded and bloody shagged him, she'd have been expelled. But she—and everyone else, by the way—isn't so fucking dumb to take it that far. Merlin! Our dormitory. I'll be surprised if no one accuses us of kidnapping him."

It was hard not to wince. Draco almost defended himself by claiming Potter had come to the dormitory all by himself, of his own free will, but of course, that was completely untrue and the thought just made Draco feel worse. Potter had no free will. "I have a plan," Draco lied. He hated the way Blaise looked at him; the accusation in his eyes made him feel dirty.

"Yes, those always work out so well." Blaise scowled. "I have a plan. And if you value your life, or at best, your future, you will do as I say. And don't look at me like that—I'm trying to help you." Blaise ran his fingers through his dark hair. "For fuck's sake, Draco. You know I'm right." Blaise's tone turned pleading and Draco dropped his gaze. "I watched my mother enchant men all her life. Trust me," Blaise said softly, "it did her no favours."

Draco stared at his feet. He thought about pointing out that perhaps, if his mother was miserable, she shouldn't have murdered her husbands after she had enchanted them, but it was a sore subject for Blaise. And Draco wanted him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone, not encourage his preaching.

Annoyed at reliving Blaise's outburst, Draco all but tossed his broom into the shed. It was fucking arctic in there; he'd freeze later, while serving detention. Draco scowled again, took off his Quidditch gloves and shoved his hands into his pockets. His fingers touched a small object and sniffing—from the cold—Draco took out a Chocolate Frog. He gripped it in his hand too tightly, annoyed by its very existence. He had to admit that Blaise's plan was simple and it made a lot of sense. The Chocolate Frog was laced with an antidote, which would erase every trace of Love Potion from Potter's system. All he had to do was make Potter eat it. It had to be done as soon as possible, because, as Blaise had pointed out, someone could figure out Potter was enchanted at any point. The sooner the potion vanished, the better. Potter might suspect Draco had enchanted him, but he would have no evidence. And surely, Potter would die before admitting he had spent three days enamoured with Draco Malfoy.

One tiny piece of chocolate and all of it would be over and forgotten.

Draco slammed the shed's door closed. The entire shed wobbled precariously, but fortunately, it didn't collapse.

"That's one way to avoid cleaning it."

Draco turned sharply. Potter stood a few feet away, wearing his winter cloak, a red and gold scarf and a red and gold hat, which was pulled low, all the way to his glasses, obscuring his hair. The look could not have been considered sexy. Not by a sane person. With a sigh, Draco said goodbye to his sanity and mourned the loss of his good taste.

Potter didn't look pleased. His jaw was tight and his lips were pursed. It made Draco want to lick them until they relaxed and softened.

"I saw you were here, so I thought..." Potter fell silent.

Draco waited to hear if Potter had come to hex him, but Potter looked like he had no intention of speaking again. He was studying Draco's expression intently and Draco noted he looked much calmer than he had last night. Draco shuddered at the memory of Potter storming out of his bed like a kicked puppy, and then shuddered again when he recalled Potter's mind-melting parting kiss.

Unwilling to mention yesterday's events first, Draco asked, "You know about my detention?"

"Filch was bragging about it to Madam Hooch." Potter shrugged dismissively and narrowed his eyes. "Look, Draco... Malfoy..."

"I'm sorry," Draco burst out. "About last night, I mean. I was just..." Draco searched for a possible explanation for his behaviour that wouldn't incriminate him. Merlin only knew what Potter thought of him after Draco had sided with his dorm mates and threw him out. Not that any of it would matter after Potter ate the stupid frog. Draco looked down and kicked the snow with his boot.

"I've been thinking about what happened." Potter sighed. "And I think I've finally figured out what's going on."

Draco looked up sharply at Potter's tight expression. "You have?" He gasped. His hand gripped the Chocolate Frog harder; he heard it snap in his grasp.

Potter nodded grimly. "It's obvious, really."

"It is?" Draco wondered if he would have time to grab his wand before Potter began hurling hexes at him. Merlin, he should have known Potter would figure it out, eventually.

Potter's cheeks were red. It was hard to tell if they were flushed from anger or the cold. "You think that being gay is something shameful," Potter declared.

Draco froze, partly relieved and partly indignant. "I'm not gay," he blurted.

Potter's eyes widened, then, surprisingly, filled with amusement. Draco felt like a complete idiot.

"I mean..." Draco kicked the snow again. "I mean, I'm not normally gay. It's just... I'm just..."

"Temporarily gay?" Potter suggested, now openly amused.

Draco scowled.

Potter laughed and shook his head. "I knew it. I thought that might be the problem." He calmed down enough to say more seriously, "Well, I want you to know, I understand. I really do. And I don't want to be a problem and push you." Potter paused. "Figuratively. I do want to push you against random hard and soft surfaces, though."

Distracted, Draco let his mind wander in a more pleasant direction, involving soft surfaces and horizontal positions, but Potter's next words dragged him back to reality.

"If you want to keep this a secret, then we'll keep it a secret," Potter said, but then his gaze sharpened. "For now."

Draco's stomach twisted. Potter was negotiating the terms of their future relationship. As though they had a future.

"Thanks," Draco forced himself to say. He was grateful Potter had managed to explain everything to himself, without any help from Draco. Though, that probably meant Potter had been worrying about it the whole night, looking for excuses that would show Draco in a positive light. Enchanted fool.

Potter nodded, then asked, sounding businesslike, "Can you trust Goyle and Zabini not to say anything?

"Yeah," Draco said, wincing at the way Potter spat Zabini. It was a sad fact that Potter would have probably like Blaise a lot better than Draco if he knew the whole story. Blaise had threatened to go to Granger if Draco didn't give Potter the antidote. If that happened, Blaise would be Potter's bloody hero. Draco abandoned the hurtful line of thought and focused on Potter. "Nott would have been a problem. He's a fucking chatterbox. Though, I guess it's not his fault. He starts divulging information the moment he drinks too much pumpkin juice."

"Then, we're safe for now, I think. I won't sneak into your dormitory again." Potter looked like Draco felt—disappointed. The sight of Potter's misery made the shame flare up inside him.

Draco sniffed, cursing inwardly at the possibility that he was coming down with a cold, and raised his hand with much difficulty.

"Here. For you," he mumbled, offering Potter the Chocolate Frog.

Potter blinked at it in surprise. "Er..."

"It's an apology," Draco said. "For yesterday."

Potter took the frog, looking as though he was trying hard not to laugh; though, Draco noticed softness in his eyes; so powerful he was forced to look away.

"It's a very, er, smooshed apology," Potter noted, flipping the small, wrinkled package in his hand.

"Yes, well..." Draco shrugged helplessly. It was the world's lamest apology, but it would return Potter his sanity.

"Did you sit on it?" Potter was grinning at him. Apparently, his mood had improved greatly. Because of a fucking Chocolate Frog. Easily pleased git. Draco could buy him a thousand stupid frogs.

"I just squeezed it too hard." Draco lifted his chin. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength."

Potter laughed and Draco suddenly found himself in Potter's tight embrace. Potter's green eyes twinkled at him; a few snowflakes were melting on his face. One landed on his lips.

"Sometimes you don't know your own mind, I think," Potter commented and Draco wondered if he was referring to Draco's accidental proclamation of love. Cheeks heating up despite the coldness around them, Draco leaned in and licked away the snowflake from Potter's chilly lips.

Potter shivered, his lips parting under Draco's. "This is a public place," he warned.

Draco swallowed thickly and then grabbed Potter's face, pressing a scorching kiss to his lips, intent on warming up Potter's whole body with his mouth and tongue. It didn't matter that they were out in the open—the kiss would probably be their last.


"You poor thing," Ron cooed, cradling his tiny owl in his hands. "Harry, don't you think he looks petrified?" he asked.

Harry threw a sideways glance at Pigwidgeon. "He's probably just in shock because you're being nice to him."

Ron gave him a dirty look. "Git. You have no sympathy. The poor thing was forced to fly all the way to the Slytherin part of the castle. He's traumatized. Aren't you?" Ron asked the bird sadly. Pigwidgeon bit him. Cursing, Ron released the owl and watched it fly away toward the Owlery with a scowl. "You see?" he bemoaned. "He's been contaminated. He's one of them, now."

"I'd be more worried if Pig didn't bite you." Harry snickered.

"I hope it bit Malfoy, too."

Harry's lips twitched as he said, "I would have to kiss and make it better, then."

Ron groaned and halted. "That's it, Harry. The time has come for the two of us to go our separate ways."

Harry laughed. "I certainly hope so. I don't like an audience. And I'm fairly certain Draco would mind if I brought you to our date."

Ron gasped in mock-horror. "Merlin forbid we upset the Drrracho."

Harry blushed. He couldn't stop himself from calling Malfoy Draco. Even when he accidentally thought of him as Malfoy, out of pure habit cultivated through seven years, he had a powerful urge to correct himself mentally. Ron found it hilarious and made it his mission to correct both Harry and Hermione whenever they said the word Malfoy. Hermione had found it fascinating and quickly formed a theory, claiming Harry's subconscious wished to dissociate Draco from the name Malfoy and everything it represented. Harry and Ron had listened to her mutely as she explained both the logic and the futility of such attempts, going as far as quoting Shakespeare for the occasion. Harry lost her the moment she began to discuss his subconscious desires. He was more concerned about his conscious desires and their futility. Harry sighed. Merlin, why did he have to find himself such an odd boyfriend?

"Cheer up, mate." Ron smacked his shoulder. "Remember what Hermione said. Your boyfriend is just a poor homophobe." Ron preened and pointed at himself. "Unlike your friends."

Laughing, Harry shook his head. "That's not what she said. She said he's probably just very confused and has trouble reconciling his upbringing with his desires."

Ron frowned. "Speaking of desires and things that result from desires, would you please, please, please..."

"Yes, yes, yes. I'll remember to cast Cleaning Charms," Harry grumbled, mortified.

"Good boy," Ron praised and turned toward the staircase that led to the Gryffindor Tower. He paused, hesitating. "Are you sure you don't want to wait and hear what Hermione found out about all this Love Potion mess?"

"Positive." Harry nodded. It was hardly his concern. Well, it was, since he was Head Boy, but Hermione always dealt with these things much better. Apparently, Zacharias Smith had been caught trying to enchant a Hufflepuff girl. He had cracked under pressure and revealed the name of his supplier. Hermione and McGonagall planned to question the culprit—a Slytherin girl Harry knew in passing—and demand a list of all her buyers and any enchanted students. Hermione was particularly interested to find out what sort of Love Potions the girl had been selling. Harry figured Hermione would tell him everything later; right now, he was more worried about Draco.

Ron shrugged and threw over his shoulder, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Does that mean I can freely use the Binding Charm on Draco?" Harry snickered as Ron's groans echoed through the empty hallway.

Still grinning, Harry dashed toward the fifth floor. It was Sunday and it was only seven o'clock so he didn't bother with the Invisibility Cloak and the map, though he brought them with him, just in case.

The sight of Draco already waiting for him was shocking. Harry was never sure what to expect from Draco, lately. To say he was acting strangely these last few days, since the dormitory incident, would be an understatement.

Initially, Harry had believed Draco had changed his mind and he no longer wished to meet with Harry, because all Draco did was make up excuses: Christmas was drawing near and he had to study, McGonagall threatened him and he had to behave, Peeves and Filch hated him and were just waiting for him to mess up, they had to be careful so his housemates wouldn't see them... The list was growing bigger every day. Draco's paranoia had cost them a lot. In order to get his daily dose of much desired Draco-kisses, Harry almost had to resort to kidnapping. He was starting to feel like he was violating his boyfriend, because he was continuously forced to grab him and drag him into secluded dark corners and then suffer through Draco's never-ending shock and strange questions about Harry's eating habits. Harry would have given up, however reluctantly, but in the end, Draco always stopped his craziness and didn't complain in the slightest when Harry pulled him closer and kissed him. On the contrary, Draco would all but lunge at him and kiss him fervently, as though he would never get the chance to kiss anyone again.

The utter insanity was successfully balanced with the brilliance of kissing, but Harry resolved to tip the scales. It was Sunday, and after he suffered through the whole Saturday without seeing Draco once, Harry planned to lure him out of the Slytherin common room with a note sent by Pigwidgeon. To Harry's delight, it appeared to have worked.

"Hey," Harry said as he reached Draco.

Draco straightened and tensed, his gaze searching Harry's face. Harry endured the inspection, already used to it, since Draco did that every single time he saw Harry. It always made Harry feel self-conscious, because he could never tell whether Draco was pleased by what he saw or not.

The inspection over, Draco clenched his jaw. "What sort of surprise do you have for me?" he asked curtly.

Harry grinned. He had known that Draco would show up if Harry promised him something mysterious.

"I have an early Christmas present for you," Harry said and reached behind Draco. Drawing a quick breath, Draco stiffened, but Harry grinned wickedly and whispered, "Roonli Wazlib."

Draco jumped away as the wall behind him moved. He collected himself quickly, however, and scoffed, "That's a broom cupboard, Potter."

Taking out his wand, Harry nodded. "An astute observation, Mr Malfoy."

Draco stared at him in disbelief as Harry stepped into the newly revealed cupboard and then took off his shoes.

Amused, Harry reached out to grab Draco's hand and pull him inside. "Come on. Your Christmas present is inside, I promise."

"And you keep telling me I'm strange," Draco grumbled, but stepped inside.

Closing the wall behind them, Harry instructed, "Shoes off," and lit his wand.

Draco's pale hair shimmered in the light, his cold eyes looking much warmer, reminding Harry of their encounter in Draco's bed. Excitement shot through him and he impatiently pointed at Draco's shoes. "Off."

"Honestly," Draco said, but took off his shoes obediently.

"You'll love it," Harry promised, even though he had his doubts. He tapped the tip of his lit wand against the broom cupboard's wall. The wall groaned and the bricks moved, shrinking slowly to reveal a room hidden behind it. Harry beamed at the sight of it, immeasurably thankful to Ron and Hermione for telling him about the place. The room was small and it had no furniture, except one large mattress that covered the entire length of the floor with a few fluffy pillows strewn across the Gryffindor red sheets. The ceiling was high and as Harry stepped inside and looked up, he noticed hundreds of tiny Christmas lights floating in midair. They cast colourful beams of light over the mattress.

"You have got to be kidding me," Draco said, staring at the room in horror.

Harry blushed. It was cheesy, there was no denying it, but Hermione could do little more than that. This had been just a barren, cold room, before she had attacked it with various spells and turned it into a warm, peaceful meeting place for her and Ron. Harry wished he could tell Draco that Hermione had decorated the place, but he suspected Draco would be even more horrified by that knowledge.

"Oh, just come inside," Harry said and plopped down onto the sheets, looking up at Draco. He aimed for looking inviting, but judging by Draco's expression he was sure he had failed.

Draco did not walk inside. He was still outside, in the broom cupboard; his temple was pressed against the wall as he stared at Harry.

"Why did you bring me here?" Draco asked quietly.

"To give you your Christmas present," Harry said, then bit his lip and waggled his eyebrows. Draco looked distressed and Harry was beginning to fear he wasn't making himself clear. "Your present is a shag. I heard all boys want one for Christmas."

Draco closed his eyes and after he opened again, Harry couldn't help gasping at his expression—Draco looked positively mortified.

"Oh," Harry breathed, his cheeks burning. Merlin, how could he have been so stupid? Draco didn't want it. He didn't want him. Perhaps that was what he had tried to hint at with all those excuses; perhaps he had tried to show Harry he was no longer interested. "I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, looking away and getting up quickly. "My mistake."

Unexpectedly, Draco laughed. It was a bitter laugh that chilled Harry's bones. He looked at Draco sharply.

There was no trace of amusement on Draco's face; he looked sickened. "It really isn't," he said, sounding angry. "It's my mistake. All of this. I'm the one who should be sorry."

"I don't understand." Harry gritted his teeth. Apart from feeling rejected, he was beginning to feel like an idiot. Anger would have followed quickly, but Draco gave him such a tortured look, Harry could do little but stare at him in confusion.

Draco sniffed and, for a moment, Harry was horrified, thinking Draco would cry, but instead of crying, Draco's jaw tightened as he pulled out a Chocolate Frog from his robe pocket.

Mad. Draco was barking mad, Harry concluded.

"I don't know what you did with the last one, but I brewed this one myself." Draco shoved it toward him and Harry accepted it without thinking. "Eat it."

"Er..." Harry looked at the frog, a terrible thought forming in his mind, so terrible Harry refused to let it form fully. "One doesn't brew Chocolate Frogs," he said blankly.

"No." Draco paused; Harry could hear him breathing heavily. "One brews antidotes, however."

Harry wondered if Draco had somehow managed to punch him in the stomach, because his stomach ached all of a sudden. He stared at the frog numbly as Draco picked up his shoes and opened the broom cupboard door.

The light assaulted Harry's vision, blinding him.

He thought Draco mumbled, "I'm sorry," before he left, but he wasn't sure. It was hard to make his mind concentrate on anything. He wanted to run after Draco and demand he explain himself, but his limbs refused to move. By the time he managed to make them work, it was too late.

When Harry stepped into the hallway and sealed the wall, he found it shocking that his shoes were on his feet, because he couldn't remember putting them on. His mind was scrambling to understand what had just happened and why Draco had given him an antidote. The most obvious conclusion was ridiculous. He wasn't enchanted. Madam Pomfrey had said so. But then, what? Had Draco enchanted him at some other point? Or poisoned him?

Regardless, Draco had definitely made a fool out of him. Like always.

Harry squeezed the Chocolate Frog in his hand. He welcomed the anger. It quelled all other emotions.

Someone grabbed his wrist and pulled, and Harry spun around, nearly hexing Hermione. She gasped and took a hasty step back, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked, wringing her hands.

Harry forced himself to calm down enough to lower his wand. "Sorry," he mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

She ignored his question. "Where's Malfoy?" she asked instead and looked at the wall as though she thought Harry had trapped him in there. Harry half-wished he had.

"Gone," he spat.

"Oh, thank God," was Hermione's unexpected comment. He was just about to ask her what the hell was going on when he noticed two figures approaching them and he suddenly remembered where Hermione had been.

Ron looked pale and nervous as he walked behind a short girl with wild black hair wearing Slytherin robes. The girl who Harry knew was the supposed brewer of Love Potions. She scowled at all of them, especially Hermione, but then gulped a little when she looked up at Harry.

"Harry," Hermione said and drew a sharp breath, making Harry more nervous than he was a second ago. "There is something you need to know."


The sounds of laughing and chatting students drifted from the common room. Draco was alone in his dormitory, sitting on his bed and staring at the door distastefully. Why the fuck was everyone so cheery? He shot several Silencing Spells at the door but none of them worked. He suspected his spellwork was crap, which wasn't so strange considering he felt like someone had just ripped off his limbs.

It was odd, really, that he didn't regret giving Potter the antidote—again, since the one Blaise had acquired clearly wasn't working—nor did he regret telling Potter the truth—or a small, vague part of it. What he regretted the most was not shagging Potter. The effort it had taken for him to refuse Potter's offer had been enormous. His head had hurt from the overwhelming desire to kiss Potter one more time, but he knew that if he had done that, there would have been no stopping him. He would not have been able to turn around and leave.

His headache didn't abate. It merely grew more intense, urging him to get up and go to Potter, even though he knew the desire was completely irrational. He feared for his sanity and his safety. If Potter tried to hex him tomorrow, Draco doubted he would be able to defend himself. Unless lunging at Potter to kiss him again counted as defence.

Draco figured he should spend more time worrying about Potter's retribution and less time thinking about kissing Potter—that chance was lost forever—but his mind simply wasn't cooperating. Merlin, he would be such an easy target tomorrow.

The dormitory door flew open and then snapped shut.

Draco blinked, for a moment confused, but then his mind snapped to attention and he shot out of his bed, wand out and ready. He thought himself completely paranoid and even as Potter slid off his Invisibility Cloak and revealed himself, Draco was still contemplating the possibility he had merely imagined Potter showing up in his dormitory again.

Seconds tickled by and the vision of Potter refused to disappear.

"You won't need that," Potter said, glancing at Draco's wand.

It talked. Therefore, it was real. Draco gulped and quickly gave Potter a once-over. Potter didn't look furious, he looked... blank. It was more worrying than anything Draco could have imagined. Potter's expressions were never blank. He was simply unable to hide his emotions. He looked more dangerous than ever. It was a small comfort that Potter wasn't armed; he could have reached for his wand whenever he wished.

"Blaise said he'll come up in a minute," Draco lied.

"I only need a minute." Something flickered in Potter's eyes; something that looked like pain. It made Draco want to walk across the room and kiss him. Then he remembered he had caused that pain, but the desire to go to Potter remained undiminished.

Potter reached into his pocket and Draco gulped and gripped his wand tighter. However, Potter took out the last thing Draco expected to see—a wrinkled Chocolate Frog.

"You didn't eat it," Draco breathed, perplexed. And hopeful. Mindlessly, he took a step forward, hoping Potter was still enchanted, but the look in Potter's eyes stopped him. It suddenly occurred to him that it was possible Potter simply didn't want to drink the antidote Draco had brewed.

"I don't need to eat it, Draco." Potter approached slowly and Draco's wand shook. If he planned to defend himself he would have to do it now. Unfortunately, he seemed to have forgotten every hex he knew. Not that it mattered. Potter wasn't drawing his wand and he didn't look as though he planned to punch him. In fact, as Potter came close enough, Draco realised his face wasn't blank, just frozen, as though Potter was afraid to move his facial muscles. The emotion in his eyes was clear—it was sadness. The urge to kiss him resurfaced.

Draco lowered his wand, suddenly certain Potter wouldn't hex him, but he didn't find that comforting. Potter looked like he had things to say and Draco suspected they wouldn't be pleasant to hear.

"The Slytherin girl selling Love Potions to students has been caught and she told me everything that happened."

"I see," Draco said, not knowing what else to say. In a way, he was glad. At least he wouldn't have to tell the story, himself. Perhaps it was time to face everything with a little dignity. "That's good for you, then. I assume you're here to take me to McGonagall? We should hurry. I don't have the whole day."

Potter's lips twitched as though he planned to smile, but instead he sniffed. "No, I'm here to tell you what happened. Because you don't know the whole story."

"I'm fairly certain I do." Draco frowned, not sure why they were talking instead of yelling and hexing each other. "Are you sure you're not still enchanted?" he asked, perhaps just a little hopeful again. Or a lot.

Potter closed his eyes briefly and grimaced. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "The girl, Dilys, your housemate, she was experimenting with Love Potions—"

"I know that."

"Please, let me finish," Potter said and Draco couldn't resist granting his plea. "She brewed a supposedly romantic one that should be sealed with a kiss, preferably within twenty-four hours after it had been administrated. But she didn't know whether it would work or not, so she had to test it."

"With Su Li and you. I know all this, Potter," Draco said irritably, even though that wasn't really true. He didn't know about the time limit, but why the fuck would that matter?

"Yes, she figured I'd be the perfect subject, since, apparently, I'm damaged and traumatised and therefore unable to form a serious emotional commitment," Potter said dryly, then took a moment to glower. "If the potion worked on me, it would work on anyone. But Su Li was caught and Dilys's test failed."

"Right," Draco said. "So she told Pansy, hoping she or one of her friends would unknowingly test the potion. She's a Slytherin, Potter, that's how things are done." Draco scoffed. He had no idea where Potter was going with this story, unless, it was some strange form of torture.

"She did. But she did something else before that. She was not only aware that Su Li might not kiss me in time, but that I might realise I was enchanted, and she really wanted to test her potion. So she picked two people from her own house, two people who, apparently, like to spend their time talking about how much they hate me, whispering to each other during breakfast, not minding their Pumpkin Juice."

The floor shivered under Draco's feet, but Potter wasn't finished.

"Two people who would never fall in love with me without a potion. And two people who I could never fall in love with without a potion." Potter's voice cracked; he smiled bitterly. "She thought it would be the perfect test. And one big joke everyone would laugh about for years. I guess it could have been..."

Draco was trying to wrap his mind around Potter's words, but try as he might, he couldn't manage. "But," he said, but Potter kept talking.

"She gave the potion to both you and Pansy, and then told Pansy a bunch of half-truths, hoping that at least one of you won't be able to resist the chance to humiliate me. Hoping one of you would rush out to kiss and enchant me, and by doing that enchant themselves. Possibly even both of us. I guess the plan almost failed when Pansy sent Millicent. If you hadn't stopped her, nothing would have happened."

With difficulty, Draco pushed away the horrible memories of Millicent attempting to kiss Potter and tried to concentrate. Potter wasn't making any sense. "This can't be true. The potion had to be administrated for two weeks..." Draco blinked. Except... he had only thought that because the girl had told Pansy so.

"She only said that to make it seem like enchanting someone would be hard, like this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to ridicule me, so Pansy would rush to seize the chance. It's not that hard, though. And it works, as proven by the girl Smith enchanted today. Dilys saw us the other day near the broom shed and realised the potion worked so she could start selling it."

Draco shook his head. The room was spinning. "I don't... I don't understand. This makes no sense."

Potter sniffed again. "I drank the antidote before you kissed me that day. I was never enchanted." Potter's green eyes seemed darker than ever. "But you were, the moment we first kissed. And you still are. Everything you felt for me in these last few days... it wasn't real. None of it was real."

One thing alone resonated in Draco's mind. "You're not enchanted? What do you mean you were never enchanted? Of course you were! You snuck into my bed, for fuck's sake! Today you almost... You wanted..."

Potter looked at his feet. Without thinking, Draco grabbed his face, making Potter look at him. "You weren't enchanted?" he whispered. "But then... but then, that means that all this time you..." Draco stared at the green eyes in shock.

Potter hesitated for the briefest moment and then jumped back. "For god's sake, listen to me, Draco. You are enchanted." Potter held out the Chocolate Frog. "Eat it."

"You're being ridiculous." Draco laughed, though the sound was hollow. "I'm not enchanted. I know how I feel." Except, that wasn't true. He didn't know how he felt. His mind was a complete mess, and his desire for Potter was the only certainty.

"You fought against the effects admirably, from what I can tell," Potter whispered. He grabbed Draco's hand and forced him to accept the frog.

"No, I don't need it!" Draco yelled, furious. It was insane. If Potter wasn't enchanted, then that meant he wanted Draco. All this time he had wanted him. Surely that was all that mattered?

Potter was looking increasingly upset. The frozen mask was slipping. "Just please eat the damn frog!" he snapped. "And report to Pomfrey later, or tomorrow morning. I'll check to see if you have and if you haven't I'll drag you there, myself."

The look on Potter's face was breaking Draco's heart. He took a quick step forward and grabbed his face again. "Potter, but this is wonderful. You don't have to be upset." Draco smiled at him and leaned forward to press a kiss to Potter's lips. For two glorious second, they moved beneath his, but then Potter made a strangled sound and pushed Draco away.

"Please, Draco," Potter said and ran a hand through his hair. Draco noted Potter's hand was shaking. "I can't. You don't want this."

"But I do."

"But, I don't. Not like..." With a sudden movement, Potter grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and edged toward the door. "Eat the frog, Draco. If you're not enchanted, it won't make any difference."

Draco frowned at that—Potter had a point. "Honestly," he huffed irritably but unwrapped the frog. If that was what it took to make Potter see reason, he'd eat the damn thing. Draco took a bite and swallowed it quickly, then grumbled, "There, eating. It doesn't..."

The effect was almost instantaneous; the chocolate didn't even have the time to reach his stomach. It felt like someone had pulled aside a veil in front of his eyes, lifted the fog from his mind, and unclenched the knot in his stomach. His whirling emotions stilled and settled. What remained was perfect clarity.

With a sharp intake of breath, Draco's gaze snapped to Potter, but he was no longer there.

The door slammed shut and Draco was left alone in the room.


The air was chilly and Harry wished he had brought his scarf and hat with him. The snow whirled outside, threatening to burst into the castle through the open doors of Hogwarts' main entrance. The hallways were empty; most students had already left to board the Hogwarts Express.

"I'll be fine. I promise," Harry said for the umpteenth time. He imagined that he would actually start believing his words, eventually.

Hermione toyed with her scarf, looking miserable. "This is my fault, isn't it?" she asked, glancing at a grim-looking Ron, then back at Harry.

Harry sighed. "Don't be stupid, Hermione. I'm just not in the mood for company and I have to study. It wouldn't make any difference if Ron was at the Burrow or not." Harry looked at Ron quickly. "No offence, mate."

Ron gave him a tortured sort of look and Harry grimaced in sympathy. Hermione had asked Ron to spend Christmas with her, something Ron had unwittingly and eagerly agreed to. He hadn't counted on the fact that Hermione meant with her and her parents. Ron had been terrified of that meeting for days. He insisted that the dental equipment Hermione's parents possessed was dangerous, and possibly lethal, and those people weren't to be trusted.

"You could come with us. My parents would love it..."

"No. Thank you, but no," Harry said with an apologetic look at Ron, who seemed temporarily cheered up by the idea.

"Mum will have kittens if neither you nor I come home for Christmas," Ron claimed and Harry suspected he was right.

Guilt attacked him momentarily, but he pushed it away quickly. The Burrow promised to be a depressing place this year, as the Weasley family would celebrate their first Christmas without Fred, and Harry suspected he would actually fit in nicely and add his share to the depression pile. No matter how wrong it seemed not to offer his support to Molly and Arthur at such a time it seemed even worse to let them worry about him in addition to their own troubles. He wished he could hide how he felt, but judging by the sympathetic looks Ron and Hermione, and even some of his housemates, were giving him, he suspected his misery was clear. Perhaps if Ron was there, it would be different, but Hermione, undoubtedly feeling guilty for altering their memories last year, was desperate to include her parents into her life and have them meet her boyfriend properly, now that there was no danger hanging over their heads.

"I promise I'll write to your mum," Harry told Ron. "I won't change my mind, though. I'm staying at Hogwarts for Christmas," he said firmly. "And so will you two if you don't get going. The others have likely reached Hogsmeade station by now."

"They did not." Hermione sniffed and then threw her arms around Harry's neck. He patted her back awkwardly. "Please write to us," Hermione mumbled. "And please, don't just... you know..." She pulled back, hesitating.

"Wank," Ron mouthed behind Hermione's back.

Harry scowled at him as Hermione continued, "Think too much about all this. You really should concentrate on your studies."

Harry nodded mutely, knowing Hermione was right. He hadn't been a very attentive student these last few days. He feared he had done poorly on most of his exams.

Ron thumped him on the back and gave him one of those sympathetic looks that always brought a lump to Harry's throat.

"And be in the common room in front of the fireplace tomorrow at noon," Hermione added. "We want to say Merry Christmas to your face." She sniffed again and smiled at him a little.

With sad faces and a wave, Ron and Hermione turned around and headed toward the carriage, their charmed trunks hovering beside them. Harry stared at the carriage with a mixture of sadness and relief as it rushed toward Hogsmeade and eventually turned into a tiny dot. He knew he would start missing his friends terribly in a few days, but for the moment he was glad he no longer had to pretend someone hadn't ripped his heart from his chest.

A few students waved and smiled at him when he returned to Gryffindor Tower. Managing to grimace in return, Harry rushed to his blissfully empty dormitory. Guiltily, he threw himself onto his bed and obeyed Ron's instructions but disobeyed Hermione's. It was sad, actually, that he felt more like thinking than wanking. Especially since lately thinking seemed like a much more repetitious task.

His thought process would begin with the rational desire to make himself feel better. This normally involved finding someone to blame for his misery. The logical offender was Draco, who Harry couldn't blame for anything because Draco had been wonderful to him. The next person on the list was Malfoy, the one who had seized the chance to humiliate Harry and rushed to make a fool out of him, but the truth was Malfoy had paid for that action dearly. And then Harry would remember that Malfoy hadn't been enchanted when he had first kissed him, which meant Harry couldn't pretend he had fallen for some imaginary person who only existed thanks to the Love Potion. Which in turn meant Malfoy was Draco and Harry simply couldn't be mad at him. He tried blaming Dilys, but he didn't know Dilys and nothing she had done was due to a personal grudge against anyone, so hating her was extremely unsatisfying. In the end, Harry could find only one person he could blame—himself. He was the fool who had fallen for the boy who always hated him. He was the one who failed to stop and think about things logically; Draco clearly couldn't. He was the one who didn't recognise that Draco was not himself, that he had been drugged and tried to fight the effects of the potion, alternatively pushing Harry away and failing to resist him. The memory of that night in Draco's bed was particularly difficult. How confused Draco must have been, trying to make Harry leave but pulling him closer and holding him captive? Harry should have seen it. He should have realised something was off. Instead, he had just mindlessly taken what Draco had unwittingly offered. Against his bloody will.

And that was the sad truth. Everything was his fault. It had been difficult to face Draco in class, so Harry had avoided looking at him, unwilling to risk seeing accusations and disgust in Draco's eyes. At least he didn't have to worry about that particular grievance for a while. He had seen Draco climb onto one of the carriages earlier and by now he was on board the Hogwarts Express with Ron and Hermione, going home for Christmas.

Harry sighed against his pillow and hoped that once the students came back, things would return to normal. He just had to live through Christmas.

Most of the compartments were empty; Draco almost gave up out of sheer frustration. Hogwarts Express was apparently a bloody long train. On the other hand, giving up now seemed stupid. He had just spent a few restless hours ignoring his housemates and staring out the window, doing nothing but puzzling over the scene he had witnessed before he left Hogwarts. From what he had seen, Potter didn't look like he planned to board the Hogwarts Express with his friends, which was odd, but Draco imagined it was possible Potter would travel by some other mean of transportation out of security reasons. It still bothered him, though. It was hard to read Potter's expressions lately as Potter always looked somewhere else and never at Draco.

The sight of brown, bushy hair lifted Draco's spirits and he opened the compartment door before he could reflect on the oddness of the fact that he was pleased to see Granger. He was more than a little displeased, however, when he realised that Potter wasn't in there and Granger was sitting on Weasley's lap, snogging him senseless.

There was an unwritten rule that said if you were snogging in the compartment you were supposed to stop and jump in fright if someone burst inside. However, no one had told Granger and Weasley that, apparently, because they refused to notice they had company. Annoyed, Draco closed the door and opened it again, trying to be as loud as possible. It worked this time and Granger detached her lips from Weasley's. They both looked at Draco with wide, though slightly glazed, eyes.

"Sorry, wrong compartment," Draco said, not turning away.

Weasley grimaced and Granger looked at him quizzically. They were both silent.

"I'll just go, then," Draco said and almost turned to leave, but then he paused and, as though he had just remembered something, asked, "Where's Potter?" Belatedly, he realised he should have included an insult into that sentence, but it was too late now. Instead, he added, "Is he travelling by Floo? I didn't think that was allowed."

"Er..." Granger blinked at him and then must have concluded that Draco wouldn't be leaving as soon as she hoped, because she abandoned Weasley's lap and sat opposite him, fixing her hair. "No, he'll be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas."

Draco frowned. "Alone?" he asked in disbelief. That was ludicrous. He was sure Potter would spend Christmas with the Weasleys. Draco failed to see the appeal of it, but Potter had always been enamoured with the idea. Everyone knew that. What on earth had changed and prompted him to stay behind?

"Well," Weasley said, "if alone means with the entire Hogwarts staff, quite a few students, a hundred house-elves and a handful of ghosts, then, yes."

Draco ignored him.

"He's taking his N.E.W.T.s very seriously and he plans to study," Granger said, sounding disapproving, which was as odd as the idea of Potter abandoning Christmas fun for studying. Granger must have realised that because she added, "And he's not in the mood for company."

"Right," Draco said slowly.

"Honestly," Weasley said suddenly, with a grimace of distaste. "Good riddance, if you ask me. He's a bloody whiner; he would just mess up our Christmas. Some time alone might teach him not to be such a depressing wanker. It's not like my family wants him around, anyway."

Granger gasped as Draco paled and whispered, "What? "

Sudden fury almost made him pull out his wand and curse Weasley into next week, but the triumph in Weasley's blue eyes stopped him. Draco blinked and in the next second he realised Granger hadn't gasped because of what Weasley had said, but because Draco had all but lunged forward, rushing into the compartment to glower down at the now grinning Weasley.

"Born Auror, I am," Weasley told Granger smugly. "I make people disclose information like that." Weasley snapped his fingers. "What was it you suggested, Hermione? Oh right. 'Let's just ask him how he feels about Harry now that he isn't enchanted.'"

As Granger looked heavenward, Draco contemplated hexing Weasley, regardless. Bloody manipulative wanker. Instead, he threw him a disgusted look and turned to leave.

Granger shot out of her seat. "Draco, wait," she cried and grabbed Draco's wrist.

Draco meant to free himself and snap at her, but the oddity of Granger saying Draco and not Malfoy stopped him. The look in Granger's eyes was kind. It was unnerving enough to make him pause and listen.

"You should talk to Harry, if you..." Granger cleared her throat. "I mean, if you still... You should really talk to him and sort this out." Granger's grip tightened.

Looking away quickly, Draco freed his wrist with a gentle tug. He jerked his head noncommittally, scowled at the grinning Weasel once more and walked away. They didn't stop him again.

The moment he heard Granger closing the compartment door, Draco exhaled deeply and pressed his forehead against the cool corridor window. Snow-covered fields and barren trees were rushing in front of his eyes, but Draco didn't see them.

Merlin, what a bloody mess. It was hard to say whether he felt better or worse since the enchantment had been lifted. While he was under the influence of the Love Potion, his mind was focused on one thing and one thing alone—Potter. His every thought, his every idea, his every feeling had been about him, but it had all been so confusing. He couldn't find any logical explanation for his thoughts or the actual source of his intense feelings. It was a mindless obsession that had kept his stomach permanently clenched in fear and turned him into a slave to his inexplicable desires. It was oh-so-different from what he felt now. He had found the source of his emotions—the slow-burning warmth that consumed his being from within, not frightening, but comforting, bringing him calm even though things were far from all right. Looking back, he could decipher his every reaction and feeling and dispel the confusion that had made him blind at the time. He could trace back his growing affection as it grew bit by bit with every kiss and every touch and every smile Potter gave him. It all made sense now; he knew exactly why he had fallen for Potter. Maddening, contradictory Potter, who was as cuddly as a kitten in one second and as frightening as a lion in another, who could seem as easily ripped apart as a piece of worthless fabric, except when you tried to rip it you'd realise it couldn't be done. Potter, who could cut through ice with his glare and melt it with the softness in his eyes; Potter, who didn't know what the hell he was doing, but who never let that stop him.

It was distressing to know that he had fallen in love, but had been cheated out of experiencing it. It had all been buried deep under his senseless obsession until the magic lifted and allowed him to see clearly.

However, there were other things to consider. Things that hadn't occurred to Draco before. Like the fact that he had no idea how to tell his parents he was in love with a boy, and even if, by some miracle, his feelings for Potter ebbed away, he would never desire to be with a girl. Like the fact that Potter refused to even look at him and Draco couldn't tell if Potter was hurt or angry, or both. How could he plan his next move when he didn't know whether he could face the consequences? When he didn't know how his friends and his family would react and when he had no idea how Potter would react if Draco told him he would like to try again, this time without enchantments. It was all he had thought about these last few days and he had managed to make some decisions.

He decided it was pointless to pretend he was something he wasn't, especially now that he knew how much pain and confusion such pretences could result in. He would have to face his parents and explain them about his preferences. And Potter... well, that decision had been harder. His instinct told him to give up, to just forget everything and push Potter out of his mind and heart. It would happen, eventually. At first, it seemed like he had little choice. Potter was hurt, that much was clear, and whatever trust Draco had managed to earn, he had lost it again, this time irreversibly. But the more Draco thought about it, the more reluctant he was to just give up. Potter, unlike Draco, hadn't been enchanted and that was not something Draco was willing to ignore. Not if the slightest chance that Potter might take him back existed. He knew he shouldn't push his luck and he would have to wait for Potter's wounds to heal and that was exactly what he planned to do—until five minutes ago.

Five minutes ago he found out that Potter had remained at Hogwarts; he would be spending Christmas alone. Miserable, hurt and alone. At Christmas. That just wasn't fair. And it was all Draco's fault. Not to mention that his encounter with Granger and Weasley just now had been odd, but hopeful. He had expected them to yell at him and hex him. He never thought they would be interested to know how he felt about Potter, or that they would advise Draco to talk to him. As though they wanted Potter and him to sort things out. Which was ridiculous because surely Granger and Weasley wouldn't wish that. It could have meant only one thing—Potter was in more pain than Draco had imagined. So much pain it made Weasley and Granger desperate. Which in turn meant Potter might not need time to forgive Draco for hurting them both when he had rushed to enchant him with a kiss out of the desire to humiliate him. Though, in retrospect, Draco had to admit that had never been his intention; he had been more interested in kissing Potter, even then, but that was a moot point now. He would nonetheless have to talk to Potter if he wished to convince him of anything.

Draco sighed, regretting he hadn't stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas. He would have if he had known Potter was staying. Especially if he had known that Potter was staying there alone. That thought was positively alarming; Draco had bloody stolen Potter's Christmas. But it was simply too late; there was nothing he could do about it anymore.

Draco frowned at the darkening sky, thinking. Or could he?


His options were limited. If only he had an Apparition license, he could Apparate to Hogsmeade, but the Ministry had revoked it after the war and even though they had no legal right not to renew it, they were stalling. Draco wasn't the only one in that position; he suspected the Ministry was trying to restrict ex-Death Eaters' movements in any way they could. He could Apparate, regardless, but if someone saw him and he was detected, it could backfire horribly and Draco would spend Christmas in Ministry custody, which would do no good to either Potter or his parents. He knew for certain that he could return with the Hogwarts Express only after Christmas, which left the Floo Network as his only option. It would have been interesting to step out of the Gryffindor common room chimney at midnight, but that was impossible. He could Floo-call Potter from Malfoy Manor, but as far as travelling went he was pretty sure that even if he managed to reach Hogwarts by Floo, he would appear in the Headmistress's office; and that would be problematic, to say the least.

Draco scowled at the whirling snow and tried to console himself by reasoning that he could, nonetheless, return to Hogwarts right after Christmas and spend the rest of the holidays with Potter. If Potter was willing, of course.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

Draco unstuck his forehead from the window and looked at the old witch pushing the trolley filled with various sweets. He almost shook his head, but his gaze fell on the large boxes containing Chocolate Frogs.

The warm feeling in his chest intensified painfully at the sight of them. Potter loved Chocolate Frogs; Draco feared he had ruined those particular sweets for him. It was yet another thing he ought to fix. He stared at the boxes and frowned. He could send these to Potter, at least. It was the best he could do at this point.

The trolley witch raised an eyebrow and Draco quickly fished out a Galleon from his pocket.

"A box of Chocolate Frogs," he said, then added, "No, no, the big one," when she picked a tiny one.

The witch smiled at him brilliantly and wished him a very Merry Christmas when he told her to keep the change.

Draco sighed. He would have to send a note, too, or Potter might think Draco was making fun of him. Perhaps he should also ask Potter whether he wanted Draco to join him during the holidays or not. That would be a prudent course of action. He did wish to talk to his parents, first. He needed to know how they would react before he could promise Potter anything. Poor Myron, though. His owl would freeze outside in this weather. If only he could cast a Heating Charm on it as he could on himself.

Draco scowled at the window, suddenly irrationally jealous of his owl, which would fly to Hogwarts to bring Potter a Christmas present and would see his expression when he received it.

Unbidden, a silly thought occurred to him. He could fly there, too. He had a broom, didn't he? Was he really afraid of snow and cold? Why would he let that stop him? Why would he let his parents' opinion stop him? He was their only son; they couldn't afford to disinherit him. Why would he let anything stop him? All he had done these last few days was look for excuses not to go after Potter. And now he was doing it again. What was that, if not fear? If he planned to pursue a Gryffindor, perhaps it was time for Gryffindor methods.

Draco's pulse raced as he stared out the window. The nasty weather could go fuck itself; it wouldn't stop him. Draco grinned, giddy all of a sudden, and spun around, rushing toward his compartment and making plans as he ran.

He burst inside and startled a pensive Blaise and a dozing Greg. Pansy looked at him sideways as she pretended the Daily Prophet had captured all her attention.

"Hold this," Draco told Greg as he shoved the box of Chocolate Frogs into his hands. He quickly changed his mind as Greg looked at them wistfully. "You hold this," he said and dropped the box on top of the newspapers in Pansy's lap.

"That's a lot of frogs. Do you plan to eat them or breed them?" Pansy asked as Draco shot the Levitation Charm at his trunk. It hovered down and forced Blaise to jump up from his seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Blaise cried.

Draco quickly opened his trunk and shuffled things aside, taking out parchment, a quill and an ink bottle.

"Pansy, could you do me a favour?" he asked as he scribbled a quick note.

"Other than pretending I'm a shelf you can use?" Pansy asked dryly. "Of course, Draco, it's what I live for."

Draco had no time for snappy retorts. He folded the parchment and handed it to Pansy, snatching the box of frogs from her lap. "Give this note to my mother. And tell her... tell her I'll write to her. And that I'm sorry, but I won't be home for Christmas." Draco grimaced. He hoped his mother would send the trunk and Myron back to Hogwarts as he had asked her in the note. She would have to, eventually, if she wanted him to have his school supplies. He couldn't take the damn trunk with him.

Pansy stared at the note, then narrowed her eyes at Draco. "Er, and what will you do, instead?"

Draco beamed at her, knowing he probably looked mental. "I plan to jump off the train."

Pansy made an odd sound of disbelief as Blaise groaned. "Is this about Potter?" he asked. "Merlin, tell me this isn't about Potter."

Rummaging through his trunk, Draco tossed Blaise a grin. "Merlin might tell you that, but I won't."

Greg lunged forward and grabbed Draco's shoulders suddenly. "Potter's not worth it, Draco!" he cried, looking terribly distressed.

Draco managed not to laugh as he took out his broomstick. "Don't worry, Greg. I plan to jump up."

"This is not what I meant when I said you should try to get Potter back!" Pansy yelled, shooting up from her seat. "Are you bloody mad?"

"Probably," Draco allowed. He fixed the box of frogs to the broom, then reached for his warm winter cloak.

"Definitely mad," Blaise breathed. "If you want to do something stupid and illegal, you might as well Apparate without a license. For fuck's sake, Draco, we're nearing London. It's a long trip back. A Disillusionment Charm can't hide you well enough. If a Muggle sees you, the Ministry will snap your wand in half. I bet they're just looking for an excuse."

Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Draco shook his head. "They won't. I have a plan." He scowled at Blaise. "And this one will work. The Hogwarts Express' railroad is charmed so Muggles can't see it, which means that if I just keep to the railroad and fly low, no one will see me." Draco cast the necessary Charms on himself, then took a deep breath and looked around at his friends' shocked faces. "That's it. I'm all set. I don't suppose any of you will wish me luck?"

Blaise stood in front of the compartment door with his arms crossed on his chest. "This is ridiculous. You'll get into trouble and for what?"

"Blaise," Draco said calmly. "You're a good friend, you really are. And I appreciate it." Draco's voice lowered. "But if you don't get the fuck out of my way, I'll hex you and throw you off the train before I jump."

Blaise scowled at him and moved aside, but not before he gave a fake little cough that sounded a lot like "Gryffindor".

"There's no need for insults," Draco said haughtily and rushed out of the compartment. Pansy followed immediately and Draco thought he heard Blaise and Greg run after them, too, but he didn't turn around. He purposely strode toward the tail end of the train. The last carriage had a small, canopied porch-like area from where he could set off.

"But, Draco," Pansy shouted after him as they walked. "You don't even know if Potter wants you back. You said so yourself!"

Draco laughed. "Pansy, I plan to burst into his dormitory through a bloody window, half-frozen after I just flew all the way up there from bloody London—he'll have no choice but to take me back. And warm me up." Draco grinned at a passing Hufflepuff girl, who was looking at them oddly. "Merry Christmas," he said and the girl froze in shock.

"Bloody hell, he's drunk," Blaise muttered from somewhere behind them.

"No, I'm really not." Draco laughed again, though he did feel a little drunk. Adrenalin rushed through his blood, warming him up; he suspected he didn't really need bloody Heating Charms.

They reached the observation carriage and Draco rushed to its end, then shot an Unlocking Charm at the rear door before pocketing his wand.

"There's not much room here, Pansy, you can't follow," he said, grabbing the handle.

"Draco, wait!" Pansy cried and gripped his forearm. Draco turned to look at her.

He was surprised to find her giving him a soppy sort of look. Blaise was shaking his head at him and Greg was eying the Chocolate Frogs mournfully.

Pansy smiled and sniffed a little. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Pansy." Draco bent down to press a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"Oh and, Draco!" she said before he managed to turn away. She lowered her voice. "Could I possibly use this in my book? It's just... well, so romantic."

"Er..." Draco frowned. "Would I be the ancient ghost or the witch?"

"Well, you'd be the..." Pansy's eyes widened. "Wait, how do you know about the ghost? Draco, did you read it?"

Draco gulped. Well, if he had any second thoughts, which he didn't, he would have no choice but to jump off the train now.

"Time to go," he said quickly and opened the door. The rush of wind and snow drowned Pansy's yelling. Draco hurried outside and closed the door behind him, welcoming the biting cold that cleared his mind. Surprisingly, his decision to fly to Hogwarts became even stronger.

He turned and grinned at Pansy, who was trying to glare at him through a small window on the door, but her lips were twitching.

Draco saddled his broom and looked at the peaceful scenery that rushed before his eyes. It was almost dark, but the expanse of white, untouched snow brightened the landscape. Snowflakes danced around him wildly, caught in the train's slipstream; they would be his constant companions as he flew, but Draco hoped the Impervious Charm would keep most of them at bay. He checked his watch and decided he would definitely reach Hogwarts before midnight if he flew fast enough. Just in time to not only wish Potter Merry Christmas, but hopefully make his Christmas merry.

Breathing in deeply, Draco gripped the broom's handle and pushed off the floor with his feet. He grabbed the roof of the train briefly and then let go.

The Hogwarts Express rushed away full steam ahead, quickly becoming a scarlet blur in the distance, leaving Draco alone. The sudden silence seemed abrupt. There was no wind and the thick but sparse snowflakes floated slowly to the ground; the lights of Muggle houses and cars twinkled in the distance. Draco hovered in midair and took a moment to see if he would feel any fear or regret, but he felt nothing of the sort. All he felt was excitement.

Turning around, he traced the winding railroad track with his gaze. It stretched far ahead over fields and hills—a thin, dark path through the mass of heavy snow, leading toward Hogsmeade Village.

With a smile on his face, Draco leaned low on his broomstick and took off.


Harry Conjured another Christmas ornament, let it hover near the foot of the bed for a while, and then blasted it with a sharp flick of his wand. Sadly, he was already beginning to regret his decision to spend the Christmas holidays alone. Dinner in the Great Hall had been uneventful, if not completely dull. The food had been delicious, as always, and the decorations beautiful, but only a handful of students remained at Hogwarts and Harry didn't even know most of their names. He had retired early and went to the prefects' bathroom, taking comfort in the fact that he had it all to himself for the rest of the holidays. Though, apparently, that was not quite true.

Harry had just been in the middle of a fairly satisfying wank session, which included some nerve-wrecking but fascinating self-exploration, when he realised Moaning Myrtle had stuck out her head from the drain and was avidly watching Harry finger himself beneath the water's surface. Harry had been understandably furious, not to mention embarrassed, and he had said some very rude things indeed. After reaffirming her reputation by wailing until the windows shook from the horridly loud sound, Myrtle had fled and left Harry alone. Regardless, Harry had no longer been in the mood and he was forced to leave the bathroom in a huff. In the end, he had opted on sulking on his bed and taking out his frustration on Conjured Christmas decorations. Merry Christmas, indeed.

He was just about the smash a bright green angel, which looked entirely too cheery, when a sharp knock on the window made him freeze with his wand in the air. After frowning in confusion for a second, he realised it was probably an owl delivering a late Christmas present. They normally flew to the Owlery and the house-elves collected the presents, sorted them, and then placed them at the foot of the recipient's bed on Christmas morning, but Harry thought it was entirely possible Ron and Hermione had sent him something directly in order to cheer him up.

The owl tapped again so hard the window shook and Harry shot out of his bed, convinced it was Pig, as the tiny owl was prone to violence.

"If you keep that up, I won't give you a treat," Harry grumbled as he opened the window and looked outside.

It wasn't an owl.

"That's unfortunate. I was counting on a treat," said the strange apparition, which looked suspiciously like Draco Malfoy.

Harry stared at the outlandish vision, wondering if someone had spiked the punch he had drunk during dinner.

"And warmth," the apparition spoke again. "I was definitely counting on warmth. Which could result from an invitation to come inside... er, that was a hint, Potter. And it wasn't that subtle. I'm bloody freezing out here."

Harry opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. His eyes were deceiving him; there was no other explanation. What they saw was Draco Malfoy with impossibly red cheeks and wet blond hair peeking beneath a hat, sitting on a broomstick that hovered in midair, his body wrapped into a warm cloak covered by snow. But, of course, that made no sense at all. Draco Malfoy was at his Manor by now, celebrating Christmas with his parents, and even if he wasn't, he couldn't possibly be here.

The impossible vision of Draco sighed audibly. "It's a good thing I'm not a vampire and I don't require an invitation." With that, Draco suddenly turned his broom and shot into the dormitory, making Harry jump back in shock.

Snow and cold accompanied him inside and Harry shivered as he stared at Draco, who got off his broom and brushed snow onto the floor. He tapped the wet floor with his feet, staring down at them in wonder.

"Solid ground. I love solid ground." Draco looked up and tossed Harry a grin. "It's highly underrated." Frowning, Draco took out his wand and waved it at the window. It shut with a bang. Harry barely noticed it.

Draco sighed again. "You know how I like to tell you things like, 'Shut up, Potter,' 'You're smarter when you don't talk, Potter,' and such? Right. I take it all back." Draco took a few steps closer, pausing right in front of Harry. "Silence doesn't suit you at all. Honestly, it makes you look a bit dim. Say something," Draco all but hissed, looking frustrated. "Please?" he added softly.

As though in a dream, Harry reached up and grabbed Draco's hat, pulling it off and freeing a mass of familiar white-blond strands. They fell around Draco's face in a disorderly fashion, emphasising the unhealthy redness of his normally pale cheeks. Grey eyes stared at him with obvious worry.

Harry clutched the wet hat in his hand, shocked by its realness. He looked back at the window and then at Draco again.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, a bit fearfully.

"North Pole. Special delivery." Draco grinned. Harry made no reaction and Draco cleared his throat and said, "Er, London, more or less. I jumped off the Hogwarts Express and flew up here." He beamed, then added more seriously, "With all due respect, I'm never doing that again."


"Why? " Draco repeated incredulously. "Because I don't think I'll be able to sit for a week, and this is not the way I planned to achieve that..." Draco trailed off, then cleared his throat again and coughed a little. "You meant why did I come here in the first place, didn't you?"

Harry nodded mutely, a corner of his mind wondering how exactly Draco had planned to achieve the inability to sit for a week.

"Well, I thought I'd wish you a Merry Christmas and... I figured we could talk. Or shag, if you prefer. I'm not that picky. Shag does have my vote, however."

Suddenly it all made sense. Harry gasped, horrified. "Oh God. You're enchanted again! How did this happen?" Harry took a shuddering breath and leaned closer, peering into Draco's eyes, not sure what he was looking for. What he found was surprise.

"No! I'm not! I'm most definitely not." Draco grabbed Harry's forearms, shocking him anew by his solidity that left no room for doubts—Draco was truly here; he wasn't a figment of Harry's imagination. He had really flown all the way from London to be with him. Someone must have slipped him a Love Potion yet again. Harry's insides tied themselves into a firm knot. The look in Draco's eyes softened. "Please believe me," he said quietly. "No one will ever enchant me again. I'm not taking my eyes off the bloody Pumpkin juice or my food. And now that I know how it feels to be enchanted, I won't be fooled again. Potter, all the stupid potion did was make me blind. The truth is..." Draco looked away and cursed under his breath. When he focused his eyes on Harry again, he looked determined. "Look, I know I screwed up. I rushed to enchant you the moment the opportunity presented itself, but..." He grimaced. "I'm not sorry. I am sorry you ended up hurt, but I'm not sorry I kissed you. If you think about it, this whole mess showed us some things. Without it we'd probably have just continued ignoring each other. I'd probably never have paused to think about what I really wanted and I would never have fallen..." Draco took a deep breath. "I know this is very difficult for you. And I know it will be hard to make you trust me again, if you have ever trusted me in the first place, I mean. And I know we can't just pick up where we left off; it will take time, but I need you to know that I'm no longer enchanted, but I still... I still want you. A lot. And if you could just say something right about now, it would really help, because I'm bloody running out of air and I ran out of things to say five minutes ago." Draco growled a little in obvious frustration. "I mean, I don't know what I'm doing here!" he snapped. "It was a rash decision and I didn't really think about it. I saw Granger and Weasley and realised you weren't on the train and that you stayed at Hogwarts alone, and that you would spend Christmas alone and that's just stupid. And I would spend it with my parents—and, you know, that is not at all entertaining. Mother always falls asleep on the sofa, completely drunk, and Father ends up dancing with the house-elves... it's rather horrifying, actually. So, I'm sure you'd agree with me when I say that it would make no sense if..."

Harry pressed his finger to Draco's babbling, cold lips and Draco fell silent, but not before he mumbled, "I'm not enchanted," against Harry's fingers. His grey eyes were wide; Harry could almost feel his nervousness, not just see it.

"You're still not speaking, Potter," Draco accused after awhile; his lips tickling Harry's fingertips. "This would be a good time to tell me whether you want us to try again or you want me to leave."

"We don't have to try anything," Harry whispered, staring at Draco's worried expression. "Because I think I just fell in love with you all over again," he added fervently.

"Oh." Pale lashes blinked at him. "That's good, then."

Harry's mind cleared suddenly. This was real. Draco had really flown to Hogwarts during a snowstorm to be with him for Christmas. Not for any other reason—just to be with him.

With a sharp intake of breath, Harry all but threw himself on Draco, making him stumble backward. He barely managed to touch Draco's lips with his before they toppled over, landing on Harry's bed with Draco on his back and Harry on top of him.

Draco gasped in surprise, but laughed. "It's nice to see the real Potter return. The silent, petrified version was beginning to make me feel nervous."

Harry settled more comfortably between Draco's thighs and stared down almost hungrily at the face he had avoided looking at for days. Draco looked tired, but his eyes were alight in a way Harry had never seen before.

"Not enchanted?" Harry asked again, unable to help himself.

"I promise," Draco said gently.

"I believe you, then." Harry smiled a little and then leaned in with a relieved sigh. The touch of Draco's lips was cold but just as wonderful as Harry remembered, if not more so, because he no longer had to worry about Draco's motives. For once they were clear and not just because of the daring feat that had led Draco to Gryffindor Tower, but by the way Draco kissed him back—with that slow-burning intensity Harry remembered vividly from their first kiss; the one that made Harry feel like he was both taking and giving something, the one that had made Harry fall in love with him. Draco's lips warmed quickly beneath Harry's and he eagerly tested his newfound power on the rest of Draco's frozen face. He pressed kisses to Draco's jaw and chin, to his cold, red cheeks and the tip of his nose, then returned to Draco's lips again, determined to repeat the process until the skin of Draco's face lost the sickly frozen quality. And then, well, then he would have to move to other regions.

Draco pressed his palm to Harry's cheek and pushed him away gently before Harry could kiss him again.

"What?" Harry asked, his gaze flickering over the blond hair splayed over his bed sheets. It looked good against red. And it looked good against his sheets.

"I'm just glad I'm here," Draco said, smiling. "It stopped looking doable after an hour. I thought I'd never reach the bloody castle."

Harry looked at Draco's wet clothes and shuddered. "You must be freezing. Didn't you protect yourself?"

"I did," Draco sniffed. "Magic against nature, though—it rarely ends well."

"Your cloak is ripped," Harry asserted, examining Draco carefully, possibly groping him a little.

"A minor incident with a Muggle aeroplane."

"I see. How unfortunate," Harry deadpanned.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "That's my story and I'm sticking with it."

"Whomping Willow got you, didn't it?" Harry said knowingly and Draco grimaced. "It doesn't like it when people fly into the Hogwarts grounds. It can reach farther than one would think."

"I could be wrong, but I suspect it tried to violate me," Draco said sadly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Almost violated twice in one day! That's horrible!"

Draco frowned up at him. "Er, I'm not judging you, Potter, but you obviously can't count. It happened just once."

"The day's not over, yet." Harry grinned and kissed Draco's laughing mouth again. Draco hummed into the kiss and wrapped his tongue around Harry's, deepening the kiss. His fingers gripped Harry's hair and dragged him closer.

After a long moment, Harry pulled back, breathless, pleased to find Draco's kisses had lost none of their potency.

"You do realise that what you just did is more insane than anything you've done under the potion's influence?" Harry said, still unable to believe Draco had flown so far. For me, Harry thought giddily.

Draco huffed. "I'll have you know that it wasn't at all insane. It was merely romantic. Believe it or not, a book is being written about my endeavour even as we speak."

Harry gave a long-suffering sigh. "You're going to lord this over me for a long time, won't you?"

"Well, now that you've mentioned it..." Draco's gaze turned calculating, though his eyes were still full of amusement. "Considering I just gave you such a spectacular Christmas present—" Draco cleared his throat. "I mean me, of course, I would like something in return."

"Anything," Harry said promptly.

Draco beamed up at him. "All right, then. Let's see... I need a warm bath, a clean set of clothes, food, something warm to drink, a dessert, a massage..."

Harry stared down at his unexpected Christmas present, amused by the wicked gleam in Draco's eyes as he listed all the things Harry had planned to give him, anyway. As though he had better things to do than take care of his insane, frozen and tired boyfriend.

"— and a shag?" Draco finished and bit his lip, looking nervous again. Harry suspected Draco didn't mean to make that sound like a question.

With a surge of both desire and fear assaulting him, Harry shivered and leaned down for another kiss, hoping Draco understood it meant yes.


Draco could talk a lot. And Harry was sure that all Draco had said was very interesting. Unfortunately, he didn't hear any of it. It was very hard to listen when he was otherwise preoccupied.

With the help of his Invisibility Cloak and house-elves, Draco was bathed and fed and they had settled themselves on Harry's bed while Draco told the story of his journey back, which was apparently filled with adventures, even though Draco had kept to the railroad and couldn't realistically meet anyone. Especially not chimeras. Not that Harry had the necessary brain power to make himself comment on such inconsistencies. What initially looked like a minor problem had turned into something extremely distracting and Harry could focus on that and that alone. It was, in fact, a simple clothing issue.

Draco had no clean clothes since he had left his trunk on the Hogwarts Express, so Harry had lent him some of his own. Harry's clothes did not meet Draco's approval, but he had little choice. Well, technically, he did have some choice—Harry would not have disapproved if Draco decided to walk around naked. But once Harry had managed to pull himself out of his fantasy world, refold his tongue into his mouth and return his eyes into his sockets, he grudgingly accepted the fact that Draco would have to walk back to Gryffindor Tower wearing something, and he would probably be more warmer and comfortable if he was dressed while eating the food Harry had nicked from the kitchens.

Of all the things Draco could have picked to wear he had chosen one of Uncle Vernon's old shirts (not that Harry told Draco the shirt used to belong to Harry's Muggle uncle). Harry suspected he knew why Draco had picked that particular item. The shirt had been expensive, made out of quality material, and had been Vernon's pride and joy for a few hours, before he actually tried to wear it and it ripped at the seam. Aunt Petunia patched it up and Harry had owned it ever since, though he had never really worn it. It was ugly, too wide, too long, too white, too delicate and entirely unpractical. Leave it to Draco Malfoy to make the damn thing look sexy.

Draco had put on the shirt and nothing else. It gaped open at the top, revealing Draco's pale collarbone, and it reached to the middle of his thighs, revealing the smooth skin that made Harry's mouth go dry. It was maddening. Every time Draco made the tiniest movement, the fabric pulled back and Harry could see just a little more, but never quite enough. So yes, Harry was perfectly aware why Draco had picked that shirt—he had no other goal but to drive Harry insane.

"— and that's how I escaped certain death."

"Impressive," Harry told the inside of Draco's thigh.

"Wasn't it?" Draco paused and moved a little to the left. The shirt revealed another inch of skin and Harry's breath hitched. "And then," Draco went on, "I met a Muggle beggar and gave him all of my gold."

Harry frowned and then reluctantly looked up.

Draco's eyes widened. "You moved!" he exclaimed with mock-surprise. "Oh, I see," he said. "Mortal danger doesn't grab your attention, but the moment I mention doing a good deed, you react. I'll have you know, I'm very insulted right now."

Harry blinked. "Er..."

Draco's cheeks were flushed but his eyes were full of amusement. Harry suspected Draco's blush had nothing on his when he realised Draco had been telling him tall tales on purpose and was, rather patiently, trying to make him tear his gaze away from the exposed skin.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled guiltily, but judging by Draco's expression, he had been forgiven awhile ago.

Draco dismissed his apology with an imperious wave of his hand. "Perfectly understandable. I am irresistible, after all."

Harry's lips twitched. "Especially since I've seen quite a bit of you already, so I can easily imagine the parts I can't see."

The red colour of Draco's cheeks deepened as he undoubtedly remembered flashing Harry awhile back in the Slytherin dormitory.

"I'm beginning to think you're allergic to pants," Harry added.

"Yes, well." Draco cleared his throat. "You're clearly allergic to propriety."

"Says the man without pants."

Draco narrowed his eyes at him and then leaned in closer with a sharp movement. Harry sucked in a breath as Draco's lips hovered near his. He heard Draco take something from the night cabinet before he pressed a kiss to Harry's mouth and then, with a grin, pulled back quickly.

Displeased, Harry leaned forward to steal a proper kiss, but Draco pressed a tiny vial into his hand, effectively distracting him. The vial was warm—Charmed, most likely—and the liquid inside was colourless, slightly gelatinous, and filled with tiny beads of white light.

"For my massage," Draco declared. "I picked it up in the prefects' bathroom."

Harry stared at the shimmering bottle. Any excuse to put his hands on Draco seemed like a good excuse, but Harry felt obligated to point out he had no idea what he should do.

"I've never given anyone a massage," he said.

"It's not difficult," Draco assured him. "You just have to smear it over sore spots and rub it in. The potion... soothes."

"Oh." Harry studied Draco speculatively. "And the sore spots in question are...?"

"Well..." Draco grinned and then almost jumped to the side. He lay on his stomach next to Harry, propped himself on his elbow and parted his legs suggestively; the shirt rode up, revealing the backs of his pale upper thighs. Harry's throat constricted painfully as Draco looked up at him. "I was sitting on my broom."

"Ah," Harry croaked, then resolved to form actual words and not just vowels. He looked at the vial again. "Soothes, does it? Is it just for external use or...?" Harry felt his cheeks heating up.

"Subtle, Potter." Draco pursed his lips, but they twitched as he added, "Coincidently, no, it's not for external use only."

"Um. So, you just handed me a vial of lube and told me to rub your arse, and I'm the one who lacks subtlety?"

Draco looked away, his blond hair falling forward as though eager to hide his blush. "Less talk, more rubbing, if you will."

Having no intention of arguing with that request, Harry scrambled closer to Draco and then knelt between his parted legs, his fingers itching to touch the skin exposed so tantalisingly in front of him. As he uncapped the bottle a pleasant scent wafted to his nostrils. It occurred to Harry suddenly that it was unlikely the prefects' bathroom was equipped with such an expensive-looking item. Draco must have brought it with him. That explained the vial's warmth; it was probably warmed by the Charms Draco had cast on himself. Which meant Draco had flown all the way to Hogwarts with lube in his pocket and very specific plans. Harry grinned widely at the thought.

Draco shifted restlessly but made no comment; he was looking straight ahead. It was an odd thing to see—Harry did not expect bravado from Draco Malfoy. His worry and embarrassment were clear, but it did not stop him from making demands.

His heart beating faster, Harry gently pushed the shirt upward to Draco's back, revealing the rounded buttocks he had already seen once before. Though, this was different. Last time it had been an accident and it was dark, but this time he had a purpose and the candlelight ensured his view was unobstructed. Harry touched the smooth skin with shaky hands, caressing it gently; goosebumps appeared beneath his fingertips, but Draco didn't move or make a sound.

Harry shifted slightly, trying to relieve the pressure on his aching cock; he had been hard for nearly an hour now, ever since Draco had appeared and mentioned shagging. Pouring a small amount of liquid onto his palm, Harry took a moment to admire its smooth texture before he pressed his hands to Draco's arse again, smearing the liquid over the pale skin. Draco made a small sound of approval and, emboldened, Harry splayed his palms over the skin, kneading Draco's buttocks and thighs. The skin turned shiny, glistening in the candlelight, and Harry decided he could do this for hours, especially after Draco's head fell forward and he moaned low in his throat, pushing his arse into Harry's hands and, judging by Draco's increasingly heavy breathing, rubbing his cock against the sheets.

Harry's forehead dampened as he slid his finger between Draco's arse cheeks, stroking the tender, silky skin he found there and edging steadily downward.

"Are you sore here, too?" Harry whispered, unable to speak any louder.

"Very," Draco breathed.

"And here?" Harry asked as he reached the wrinkled skin of Draco's opening and pressed his finger against it.

"Definitely sore there." Draco laughed a little, sounding nervous, and the warm skin fluttered beneath Harry's touch.

Unable to fight against his curiosity, Harry gripped Draco's buttocks and slowly parted them, revealing a small furrowed opening, the sight of which made his cock throb painfully. The opening was dusty pink and tiny and he had no idea how he could push anything in there. Though, he had managed to shove quite a few fingers into his own arse so he knew it wasn't as impossible as it looked.

Draco squirmed a little and Harry realised he had been staring and doing nothing for quite some time.

"It's very unfortunate you're sore there. I should—" Harry stopped speaking abruptly after he realised he was talking out loud, but he finished the sentence in his mind. I should kiss and make it better, Harry thought dazedly. It did seem rude to just shove his fingers in there; surely a softer touch would be more welcome. He had heard about this act; read about it, to be more precise, in a magazine he had Summoned—or stolen, technically, but his need was dire—from a Muggle newspaper stand once. Who knew how Draco would react, though? Harry grinned. On the other hand, that alone would be worth it.

Palms sweating, Harry edged farther away on his knees and leaned forward, spreading Draco's arse cheeks even more. Draco gasped a little and then yelped as Harry pressed his lips firmly to the small hole.

"Potter!" Draco exclaimed in the same tone he used to employ to threaten Harry, promising he'd do something horrid to him.

Smiling a little, Harry stuck out his tongue and gave the wrinkled skin a firm lick. Draco's disbelief was directed at Merlin this time. Harry looked up in time to see a flash of wide grey eyes and flushed cheeks before Draco turned around sharply, staring at the pillow again.

Draco's obvious mortification shouldn't have been so encouraging, but Harry found himself more determined than ever to give Draco something no one had ever given him before. He parted Draco's arse cheeks wider and licked a long stripe from the top of Draco's arse, along the crease to the puckered opening where he swirled his tongue before giving the skin a multitude of short, firm licks. It tasted fresh and soapy and Harry imagined, more than believed, that Draco had washed himself in the bath, thinking of Harry and his touch.

"Potter," Draco gasped again as Harry concentrated on relaxing the tight opening with his tongue, pushing slightly with the tip, trying to penetrate. "That's very indecent."

Harry laughed with his lips pressed to the spit-slicked skin. Every puff of his breath made Draco shiver.

"I'm not bothered by that." Harry almost hummed the words and Draco made a small sound of reluctant pleasure, shifting around, but not trying to escape Harry's touch. He hissed as Harry stiffened his tongue and finally pushed inside. Draco's hips flew upward off the bed and Harry almost lost his grip on Draco's arse. Not willing to be distracted, Harry gripped the slick buttocks as tightly as he could and stuck his tongue even deeper into Draco's arsehole, pulling out a little before he pushed inside again, amazed by the strangled moans his actions elicited from Draco.

He was drooling; he felt spit drip down his chin and probably lower, over Draco's balls, but it couldn't be helped. His hands were busy trying to steady Draco's frantic squirming. Draco cried out Potter several times, but it sounded less like a reproach and more like a prayer.

Pants and trousers seemed too tight around Harry's crotch, squeezing so hard it was almost painful. His cock throbbed and a corner of Harry's mind was scandalised by the fact that he enjoyed kissing Draco Malfoy's arse so much. Harry pulled away reluctantly, but then the sight of the slick hole and the red and puffy skin made him lean back in and lick and kiss it once more.

"Kneel up," Harry whispered and grabbed Draco's hips to help him rise after Draco made no move to do as Harry asked. Draco lifted his arse with difficulty. Harry could hear him pant as he supported himself with his arms, his sweaty thighs shaking in front of Harry's eyes.

"Merlin," Harry gasped as he took off his pants and trousers, pulling them off him together, his eyes fixed on Draco's upraised arse.

Absentmindedly, Harry wiped his lube and spit stained mouth and chin, his free hand wrapping itself around his own cock, stroking leisurely. A wave of sudden pleasure made him release his cock in fright; it would not do if he came before he pushed inside Draco.

"Still sore?" Harry asked, teasing and circling Draco's hole with his fingertip.

"Potter," Draco growled unexpectedly and Harry abandoned his teasing ways. Carefully, he pushed two fingers into the red-rimmed opening. They slid in easily, heat wrapping around them so tightly Harry felt faint for a moment as he imagined pushing his cock in there.

"Potter, I'm so fucking ready it's not even funny. Just skip the bloody foreplay," Draco said, his words tumbling from his lips in a rush.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He moved his fingers in and out a few more times, just so he could see them disappearing inside Draco again, and then he pulled them out cautiously, pressing one palm to Draco's warm arse cheek. He scrambled forward on his knees and straightened his back, grabbing his cock in his hand and giving it a few more strokes before he pressed the wet tip to the once again seemingly too small hole.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, not daring to finish his question out of fear of sounding ridiculous. He wanted to ask: "Are you sure this will work? " It looked impossible. Harry was harder than ever, his cock felt too big and too heavy in his own hand.

"Gryffindors," Draco scoffed and rolled his hips, dragging the crease of his arse against Harry's cock.

Harry would have smiled, or maybe even moaned, but his face was stuck in a permanent grimace of worry. Swallowing thickly, he pressed against Draco's hole again and closed his eyes as he pushed forward. The sudden heat and tightness around the head of his cock was a shock; he had never expected such intensity. Harry gripped Draco's arse too tightly and tried to concentrate on stopping the onslaught of pleasure that shot through him, but it was pointless. His body jerking forward, Harry cried out and came.


"I can still see you, you know," Draco said. His gaze strayed much lower from Potter's face that was buried into his hands as he tried to melt into the pillow. Potter's shirt was pleasantly short, barely covering his waist and giving Draco a lovely view of Potter's bare arse. "I can see quite a bit of you, actually."

Potter made a small sound of distress but didn't move.

Draco sighed and clenched his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out and touching Potter's buttocks. Which were, coincidently, surprisingly lovely. It was always hard to assess the shape of Potter's arse beneath the horrid clothes Potter wore. Draco's gaze trailed downward, over Potter's thighs and legs. Potter desperately needed better fitting clothes, he decided. Though, perhaps then no one could stop the mad individuals trying to enchant him. Clenching his jaw, Draco looked up at the back of Potter's dark head. He hoped this sudden embarrassment came with a time limit. He had no idea how to deal with Potter when he was so upset. The unexpectedly quick interruption had been unfortunate but they had hours, days of relative solitude ahead of them and Potter was bloody wasting precious minutes.

"Have I given you your Christmas present?" Draco asked, but Potter remained immobile. "Because I'm thinking of not giving you your Christmas present if you keep this up."

Draco huffed when Potter didn't react. He had tried to joke, he had tried to threaten and he was bloody running out of ideas. Unless...

"Some hero you are," Draco grumbled. "Will you leave your boyfriend utterly unsatisfied?"

Potter's head shot up. "Of course not!" he cried.

Draco grinned, inwardly sighing in relief. He had half-expected to see tears on Potter's red, embarrassed face, but though he definitely seemed mortified, the look in his dry eyes was hopeful.

"Sorry," Potter said quietly, looking defeated. "I really wanted our first time to be..."

"If you say special, I'll hit you. Special is for sappy gits."

"Nice. I wanted to say nice."

Draco edged closer and touched Potter's nose with his, staring at troubled green eyes. "It was nice." His lips twitched. "Just very short."

Potter blushed even harder. "I was nervous and..."

"Potter," Draco interrupted firmly. "You just kissed my arse. I will be unable to hold anything against you for at least a day." Tentatively, Draco pressed his lips to Potter's and after a moment, when he decided he tasted nothing odd on Potter's lips, he deepened the kiss.

Potter's eyes were glazed after they parted. Absentmindedly, Draco reached up to fix his crooked glasses.

"That's an interesting titbit of information," Potter said huskily. "I'll file it away for further abuse. I mean, use."

Draco almost pointed out that Potter could use many other things to his benefit, like his smiles and his kisses, but he caught himself in time and locked his inner Gryffindor—or possibly soppy Hufflepuff—into a dark, disturbing corner of his mind.

"So," Draco said and kissed Potter again as his hand strayed to Potter's thigh. "I believe we were in the middle of something."

"I'll need a minute."

"A whole minute?" Draco pressed his palm to Potter's arse, caressing.

Potter's breath hitched. "Thirty seconds."

"Hmm. One... two..." Draco slid his fingers between Potter's arse cheeks. "Three..."

Potter moved suddenly, rolling on top of Draco with ease. "What do you know? Three seconds was all I needed." Potter grinned down at him and leaned in for a kiss.

"Good," Draco murmured against Potter's lips. "I do owe you a proper shag."

The kiss ended abruptly. Potter looked at him, frowning. "What do you mean? Why? I'm the one who fucked it... Um. Poor choice of words."

Draco shrugged. "I just meant... That day, in that odd—but admittedly efficient-looking room—"

"It was a bed-room."

"Of course. You seemed pretty eager and hopeful, then, and I..." Hurt you was on the tip of Draco's tongue. "Left," he said instead.

"You did the right thing," Potter said promptly with an approving smile. But then, something flickered in his eyes and his expression became more serious. "Though, I did want to ask... how did you do it? Resist, I mean."

Draco laughed. "Honestly, Potter, I knew you're a conceited prat, but..."

"The potion! How did you resist the potion? " Potter grinned but sobered quickly. "I mean, you were enchanted, but you kept pushing me away. Literally pushing me away. And Hermione said the potion was quite potent. And Love Potions, in general, work better if there's existing attraction. These past few days, I thought you simply hated me too much—"

"No! That's not why!" Draco hurried to say.

"Then, how?"

Draco cursed inwardly. Honestly, they were about to shag. How did this turn into a conversation about his feelings? Unfortunately, Potter looked like he had no intention of letting the subject drop.

"I thought you were enchanted, remember?" Draco said, not a little snappishly. "I didn't want to take advantage of you. It would be against my moral code."

Potter's lips twitched. "With all due respect to your moral code, that couldn't have been it. Love Potions make a person immoral. When someone is enchanted they are utterly selfish. So whatever stopped you, it stopped you because you wanted something else. And you wanted it more than you wanted me."

Bloody Granger. Did she have to educate Potter about everything?

Draco stared into Potter's green eyes and wondered whether Potter knew how intense his gaze could be. Perhaps it would be wise never to tell him that; Potter could easily use it against him.

Potter waited quietly, his fingers toying with a strand of Draco's hair. That was distracting, too.

Draco sighed. "Fine, let's not be obtuse here, Potter, and pretend we weren't at each other's throats for years. I'm well aware you have no reason to trust me." Draco swallowed thickly, but his throat still felt too dry. "And I wanted you to," he admitted. "More than anything. All I could think about was the fact that you could never want me; even if you were attracted to me, you would never trust me enough to act on it. That knowledge was stronger than the potion. The potion couldn't give me what I wanted."

Potter's hand in Draco's hair stilled. "But you were wrong. You know that, right?"

Draco must have looked doubtful because Potter added, "I do trust you. I mean, now after..." Potter frowned. "Is that why you flew all the way up here? To earn my trust?"

Draco shrugged and, eager to change the subject, he wrapped his arms around Potter and said, "I just wanted to give you a shag. All boys want one for Christmas, remember?"

Potter's lips twitched. He stared at Draco for so long it was beginning to make Draco feel uncomfortable. And then, before Draco could realise what was happening, Potter jerked to the left and rolled them over. Draco ended up staring down at bright green eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked as Potter pressed his wrists to the pillow above his head.

"Showing you how much I trust you," Potter said, then closed his eyes. Draco frowned at Potter's concentrated expression, but then, much to his shock, silver binds appeared around Potter's wrist, tying them to the headboard.

Draco's cock twitched against Potter's stomach as Potter opened his eyes again and looked up at his bound wrists in satisfaction before he gave Draco a smug sort of look.

"I am awaiting my overdue Christmas present," Potter declared and spread his legs, letting Draco slip between them. Their cocks brushed against each other and Draco shivered, squirming on top of Potter as his hands edged underneath Potter's shirt, though, Draco had not consciously planned to shove them there. It was a miracle he was conscious at all since he had stopped breathing at the sight of Potter lying beneath him, tied up and expecting a shag.

"I'd hate to sound like I'm complaining, because it's the last thing on my mind," Draco said, "but I feel obligated to point out this is a moot point. If you can tie yourself up without a wand, then you can free yourself, too."

Potter laughed a little, sounding breathless, and a new wave of arousal shot through Draco at the realisation Potter liked his position. The renewed hardness against Draco's cock confirmed it.

"But I won't," Potter said firmly, eyes twinkling. "And you'll have to trust me on that."

Grinning and shaking his head at his odd boyfriend, Draco kissed Potter's lips, then dragged his mouth over his jaw to press open-mouthed kisses to Potter's neck. "Stop being so clever. It's unnerving," he murmured between kisses.

Potter made a sound as though he wanted to say something, but Draco's fingers found Potter's nipples beneath his shirt and he pinched them none-too-gently. Potter's body jerked upward and he gave a strangled cry that quickly turned into a moan. The feel of Potter bucking beneath him filled Draco with a sudden sense of urgency. He pulled away, detaching his lips from the delicious skin of Potter's neck with difficulty. There would be time for exploration and for kissing every inch of Potter's body, but there was no time now. Draco edged downward to kneel between Potter's parted legs, eager to hurry things along because otherwise he might finish faster than Potter had earlier.

Annoyed by the restraining shirt, Draco pulled it off quickly. The old, delicate fabric ripped and Draco gave Potter an apologetic glace. However, Potter didn't seem to notice. His gaze was fixed on Draco's chest, his wrists twisting and arms pulling on the bonds as though he was eager to free himself.

"Changed your mind already?" Draco asked, fighting a blush that resurfaced under Potter's hungry gaze.

Potter shook his head, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "I'm just making plans for later."

Draco's cock twitched at the words and he quickly grabbed the vial of lube, pouring some on his fingers, trying hard not to think about the things Potter planned to do to him later. Potter had proved he was full of interesting ideas earlier; a pleasant throb in Draco's arse reminded him Potter had the audacity to kiss him there. Draco thought about returning the favour, but the idea filled him with nervousness, so he fixed his gaze at Potter's cock instead. It wasn't fully hard yet, and Draco decided that was a good thing. He slid closer, walking backward on his knees, and then looked up at Potter before sticking out his tongue to lick the head of Potter's cock.

Potter's eyes widened and Draco thought Potter had stopped breathing. The bitter taste of come from Potter's earlier orgasm didn't dissuade him; not even the fact that Potter had almost pushed his cock into Draco's arse prevented him from pulling the tip of the cock into his mouth. It was warm and weighty on his tongue, getting steadily heavier, expanding and filling Draco's mouth as he sucked and licked every trace of come from the heated, slick skin.

The headboard squeaked and Draco looked up through his eyelashes to see Potter pulling on the binds, staring down at Draco with parted lips and flushed cheeks. Potter was utterly silent aside from the heavy breathing that expanded his chest each time he inhaled. Draco held Potter's gaze as he pulled his cock even deeper into his mouth, fattening his tongue along the underside and then sucking harshly as he pulled away. He swirled his tongue over the head at the same time teasing Potter's entrance, circling around it, and then pushing the tip of his finger inside and pulling it out quickly.

Potter's eyes looked dark and large, reflecting the candlelight, and Draco realised Potter had lost his glasses at some point, though he could not remember when. The weight of Potter's cock grew and Draco could no longer pull it inside his mouth without choking. He settled on sucking on the tip as he firmly pushed his finger inside Potter, holding it there for a long moment. Potter made no reaction except inhaling sharply and Draco moved his finger carefully, pulling it out completely before pushing it back inside even deeper.

It was ridiculously easy to move his finger inside Potter and, boldly, Draco released Potter's cock with a wet popping sound, then added another finger and slipped them into the overwhelming heat of Potter's hole. Potter squirmed as a quiet pathetic sound escaped his lips and he pulled Draco's fingers deeper inside. Draco gripped Potter's thigh, pushing until Potter spread his legs even wider, digging his heels into the mattresses. It took some time for Draco to move his fingers just right, but he knew he had found the spot he had been looking for when Potter cried out loudly, his body flying upward until his arse lifted off the bed and the muscles in his legs clenched. The headboard squeaked again as Potter pulled on his binds savagely. It was quite a sight. It looked like every muscle in Potter's body convulsed, unable to relax as Draco's fingers massaged Potter's prostate mercilessly. Potter was pushing back against Draco's hand, no longer quiet but moaning so loudly Draco feared someone would hear him.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," Potter panted, rolling his hips and impaling himself on Draco's fingers, searching for more. Dark green eyes found Draco's and Potter looked at him pleadingly. "Hurry?" he whispered, making Draco wish Potter didn't sound so desperate. It was nice to stare at him as he reacted to Draco's touch with such fervour and Draco wanted to make the moment last. It would be easier to resist an order, but Draco was powerless to resist Potter's pleas.

He pulled his fingers free and grabbed his cock, slicking it with a few quick strokes before he moved closer to Potter.

Potter raised his legs up, spreading his thighs and pulling his knees closer to his body, giving Draco a view that would forever be seared into his mind. Potter had a point earlier, Draco reflected. There was no room for doubt anymore. This was pure trust.

Draco's vision blurred and he closed his eyes quickly. When he opened them again after a few moments, he found Potter staring at him, his expression both worried and expectant.

More than anything, Draco wanted to ask, "Are you sure?" but considering he had scoffed at Potter when he had asked that, he couldn't make himself say it. Potter must have understood it anyway, because he nodded and said, "Yes."

Relieved, Draco grabbed Potter's thigh and aligned his cock to Potter's entrance. With a grimace of worry, he pushed forward with his hips. It was hard at first, too tight and too intense, and Draco thought he'd never manage, but Potter relaxed around him and Draco pushed again, this time burying himself deep inside Potter. The forceful sensations overtook him and Draco fell forward, preventing his fall at the last minute by supporting himself on unsteady hands. Potter was staring at the ceiling, his full lips parted, and his face frozen in apparent shock.

"Are you all right?" Draco surprised himself by asking.

Potter blinked and then slowly focused his gaze on Draco. He tried to speak but failed and instead, his legs wrapped themselves around Draco's waist, his heels digging into Draco's arse, pulling him closer. Lowering himself on his elbows, Draco's hands itched to brush away a damp black strand that clung to Potter's forehead, but he didn't dare to move out of fear he'd collapse on top of Potter and smother him.

Potter smiled at him suddenly. "Quite all right. Smashing, really. Brilliant." His legs clenched around Draco, his body twisting beneath him. Potter blinked in wonder and circled his hips a little as though experimenting. The movement pushed Draco's cock out and Potter clenched his inner muscles and shifted, pulling it back in with a small, surprised moan.

"It doesn't hurt at all," Potter said, staring at Draco as though he had done something magical and wondrous.

"It's the lube," Draco breathed. "It soothes."

Potter smiled again and whispered, "I like this. I do. But maybe we could do something a bit more productive now?"

Draco found himself smiling back. "Like this?" he asked and pulled out a little and then pushed back inside carefully.

"Oh. " Potter's eyelashes fluttered. "Good idea. However did you think of it?"

"Natural talent," Draco murmured and pulled away again, his eyes closing shut.

The world dissolved and all Draco was aware of was the steady pressure building in his balls as he moved, letting the rocking of Potter's body beneath him overtake him and lead him closer to pleasure. The grip of Potter's thighs and the tightness around his cock forced him to speed up his thrusts, to push as deep as he could even though it felt like he would never push deep enough. The quiet moans in his ears egged him on, making him eager to prolong the moment as much as it was possible, but he knew he wouldn't last long. He didn't even try to fight the overwhelming pleasure that shot through him. Potter bucked beneath him, crying out and thrashing around wildly, the grip he had on Draco became desperate and Draco's hips thrust forward, as though to make sure Draco wouldn't be left behind. Light exploded behind Draco's eyelids, dancing, and making him feel like he was teetering on the brink of something terrifying, but his body relaxed, the release more satisfying than anything Draco had ever experienced.

He couldn't stop moving, not until Potter made a small whimper of discomfort. Lethargy overtook Draco's limbs and he collapsed, boneless, on top of Potter.

Potter made another sound of distress. Draco assumed he was suffocating him with his weight and he bravely tried to move away.

"I can't free myself," Potter said suddenly. "It's not working!" he bemoaned, sounding distressed.

The headboard squeaked and Draco realised what Potter was talking about. Extending his arm, Draco groped the sheets until his fingers wrapped themselves around a piece of warm wood—he didn't even know whose wand he was holding. He raised his head and his arm with difficulty and after a few tries managed to force the silver binds to retreat and release Potter's wrists. Draco had no time to even lower his wand or inspect Potter's wrists for injuries before Potter wrapped both his legs and arms around Draco, forcing him to lie back down and bury his head into the crook of Potter's neck.

Potter sighed contently and Draco relaxed, relieved Potter didn't expect him to move again. Potter's fingers caressed Draco's hair and Draco hummed quietly before taking a deep breath and inhaling Potter's scent, letting it wash over him and calm him down.

He had no idea how long he lay there, in Potter's arms, but in the distance, the large Hogwarts clock sounded midnight. It was Christmas.


A half an hour later Draco felt more awake than ever. Potter and he snuggled beneath the covers, facing each other, exchanging pointless insults, backhanded compliments and kisses. It was the most fun Draco had ever had on Christmas.

"So how do you like your holidays so far?" Draco asked, trailing his fingers over Potter's thigh beneath the covers.

"It's very..." Potter scrunched up his nose in thought. "Gay."

Laughing, Draco pressed a quick kiss to Potter's lips. "That's the best kind of Christmas."

Potter grinned. His hand was in Draco's hair again, toying with a stray strand. Draco supposed he would simply have to get used to Potter fondling his hair all the time. He suspected it wouldn't be that hard to accept it.

"I've been thinking," Potter declared.

Draco sighed exaggeratedly. "I'll consider it beneath me to comment on that. It's too easy."

"Prat." Potter shook his head, then continued, "See, the way things stand now—you have no clothes, no books, no personal belongings whatsoever—"

"Are you trying to depress me? That's rude."

"You have me, so you can't be depressed."

"Cute," Draco snorted, privately thinking Potter had a good point.

"And..." Potter grinned widely. "No one in Hogwarts knows you're here. So, technically, you could just—"

"Stay here in your dormitory for the rest of the holidays like your own personal naked sex slave?"

Potter blinked. "Well, I planned to use a different term, but if you're comfortable with a naked sex slave label, who am I to disagree? I'm glad we understand one another so perfectly." Potter beamed at him and Draco couldn't help smiling back.

"It's tempting, actually," Draco admitted, but then sneaked a quick glance at Potter before looking away. "But, er, I thought we might go down for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Potter frowned. "You'd still be naked, right?"

Draco pretended he was considering the possibility. "No, I don't think so," he said solemnly. He was beginning to fear he wasn't making himself clear. "I meant, we could go together. Like a couple."

"A couple of naked sex slaves?"

Draco sighed again. "Could you focus, Potter? Nobody is naked in my version of events."

"Well, then I don't like it."


Potter cocked his head, his smile wavering. "You're serious? People will see us and know we're together. Naked or not. I don't trust myself to keep my hands off you."

"That's the idea." Draco frowned. "I mean, people knowing, not you groping me. And again, no one will be naked. Stop distracting me, Potter! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you."

Potter made a brave attempt at trying to look serious, but he failed miserably. His grin threatened to split his face in half. "You mean it? Because I meant what I said—I don't want to push you."

Draco narrowed his eyes and deepened his voice. "For now," he said dangerously, imitating Potter's statement in front of the broom shed.

Potter laughed. "I do mean it. We don't have to rush. Aren't you, er, embarrassed? Or worried?"

"No! Not embarrassed," Draco assured. "Well, I am worried. However, I seemed to be suffering from a sever case of Gryffindoritis at the moment, so we might as well do it while I'm still infected."

"Is this a bad time to tell you they've never found a cure for that disease?"

"One only has to drink a Wisdom Potion and the pesky disease will be defeated."

Potter snorted, but then bit his lip. "What about your friends? They seemed appalled, if not a little disgusted, when they found me in your bed."

"Hmm. I don't know who those people were, to be honest. I never saw them in my life," Draco claimed, but after Potter's hand reached beneath the covers as though to tickle him, he quickly added, "They weren't disgusted. Blaise knew about the potion and he thought I had enchanted you. And Greg, well, that's just his face."

"I see." Potter shook his head in disbelief. "And your parents?"

"Oh, they like me. They'll accept it, eventually. They'll probably lock me in the dungeons for a few months, feed me worms and order the house-elves to whip me, but that's not so bad; I can withstand it for you." Draco batted his eyelashes. "The house-elves are old; their whipping skills aren't what they used to be—"

"You are making this up, right?"

"Indeed, I am." Draco nodded. "Nothing can diminish house-elves' whipping skills."


Laughing, Draco shook his head. "It'll be fine. Don't worry about my parents. Er," Draco reconsidered. "Well, I don't have to worry about my parents; you should probably worry, though. I wouldn't put it past my father to lock you in the dungeons. However, if he tries, I will protect you."

"Hmm. Now I'm almost looking forward to it," Potter said and reached up to press his hand against Draco's cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked more seriously.

"Yes. No. Yes." Draco grimaced, troubled. "I mean, if the house-elves don't wash my clothes and if Mother doesn't send me my trunk, then well, no offence, but I will not go out in public wearing your... your..."

"Clothes?" Potter suggested wearily.

"Is that what you call them? Really? They are actual clothes? Are they in disguise? Were they naughty and you had to beat them up?"

Potter growled quietly. "Speaking of naughty..." This time Potter's hands reached Draco's stomach, tickling mercilessly before Draco managed to capture them. "All right, all right!" Draco said breathlessly. "Your clothes have my deepest apologies. And sympathies," he added when Potter retreated.

Potter sighed, but did not attempt to tickle Draco again. "I asked the house-elves to wash your outfit. It'll be clean by morning."

"Well then, it's all settled. We'll shock the school tomorrow."

Potter looked at him sadly. "It'll probably be very anticlimactic since only a handful of people stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays."

"Oh. Hmm, I bet McGonagall will be shocked."

"She has only two expressions and not one of them can convey shock."

"Point," Draco admitted, defeated.

"However," Potter's face brightened. "I think Su Li stayed at Hogwarts."

"That's perfect!" Draco exclaimed. "I bet she'll be shocked. I might even reconsider my 'no nakedness' rule."

"You know," Potter said pensively. "Now that I think about it, if you come to the breakfast naked, that would probably shock McGonagall, too."

"Oddly enough, I'm no longer tempted to show up naked."

"You're still tempted to show up, though, right?" Green eyes stared at him so intently, Draco suddenly realised that despite all those jokes, going public meant a lot to Potter. It meant a lot to Draco, too, when he thought about it. It actually sounded exciting.

"Not tempted. I'm resolute," Draco said firmly. "No more hiding. No more potion abuse. No more lies."

"No more trust issues?" Potter asked gently.

"No more trust issues," Draco agreed, but then considered the matter more carefully. "Unless it results in bondage, of course."


Draco looked at Potter through his lashes. "No more tickling..."

Potter smiled. "Nice try." As Draco grumbled, Potter snuggled closer and looked at Draco excitedly. "Will we walk into the Great Hall holding hands?" he asked.

"Sap," Draco scoffed, but quickly—too quickly—crumbled in the face of Potter's hopeful expression. He sighed. "Can I grope your arse in front of Su Li?"

"Er, fine. But only if you make sure the professors don't see you."

Draco grinned. "It's a deal."

"We should seal it."

"With a kiss?"

Slowly, Potter crept closer, then tackled Draco, capturing his wrists and making him roll onto his back. "Or with a shag," Potter suggested, smiling down at him.

Draco pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at Potter's hands that held his wrists captive next to Draco's head. "I like your idea better," he decided.

Potter leaned down and pulled Draco's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before he pulled back. "I thought you might," he said and then proceeded to seal their deal.