Title: What Is Required

Disclaimer: These slutty little whores are actually poor J.K.R.'s little children. Sorry, Jo. I corrupted their innocence.

Rating: R. M. NC-17.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Blaise/Theo, Molly/Arthur, Lucius/Narcissa, eventual Neville/Luna, Dean/Seamus, and Ginny/OMC.

Warnings: Language. Sex. Oral. Rimming. You know, the usual. *coughs and pretends rimming is her usual*

Summary: The Room of Requirement provides what is required; what is needed. During eighth year Harry and Draco want a place to duel without getting caught and expelled. What they need is something quite different. The Room makes sure they get it.

A/N: I will write a sequel if enough people follow this one-shot. Meaning, more than ten. Or maybe one. Hell, if you leave a review asking me for a sequel, odds are I'm going to write one. I have a hard time saying no.

"I'll get you for this, Potter!"

"Oh, and my little dog, too?" taunted Harry.

"What? This has nothing to do with Granger!" sneered Malfoy.

"You - you're dead, Malfoy!"

The boys launched themselves at each other, tussling on the floor, throwing and dodging punches and insults.

"Break it up! Both of you, now!" A bout of magic caused the two boys to fly apart, where they hung in the air, looking guiltily at the Headmistress.

"Alright, that's enough, both of you!" Headmistress McGonagall glared at them, her wand still outstretched, as if daring them to defy her. Both shrank from her gaze but still shot one another venomous looks. She released them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, in my office. At once!"

The boys grudgingly followed the headmistress to her office. She wasted no time telling them what they were there for – as if either of them might have any doubt.

"There is to be no more of this childish fighting between two grown men in my school. Merlin knows you'd think we've seen enough fighting to last us the rest of our lives, but you will not do it on school property. Is that understood?"

The boys nodded mutely.

"To impress upon you the seriousness with which I regard this matter, I regret to inform you that if either or both of you are caught fighting or instigating again, it will mean expulsion."

Harry blanched. He didn't look at Malfoy, but he imagined the blond had a similar reaction. Expulsion… fuck, she's serious. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, and felt a shiver of alarm shoot through him. How the hell was he supposed to make it to the end of the term without hexing or otherwise pounding the living crap out of his long-time enemy? The git's very existence begged for it.

Malfoy appeared to be wrestling with similar thoughts, Harry noticed. At least it's not just me who's going to have a hard time with it, Harry thought, with grim satisfaction.

Avoiding Malfoy seemed like the only option. However avoiding Malfoy was easier said than done. The Slytherin was everywhere. He even had the nerve to be running through an abandoned corridor and come careening into Harry, knocking them both down. Harry might not have been looking, but Malfoy had been going way too fast. It was all his fault, of course.

"Watch where you're going; or does saving the world excuse you from common courtesy?" Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm as he picked up his books. His grey eyes flashed with annoyance, and his perfect blond hair was slightly mussed.

"You watch where you're going, Malfoy; or does being born with a silver spoon stuck up your arse make you too good for that?" taunted Harry. His green eyes bored into Malfoy's grey ones as if to challenge him. Malfoy couldn't resist a challenge.



"Stupid speccy git!"

Harry opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He advanced on Malfoy, who raised his fists, preparing to defend himself, although he glanced nervously around the corridor as he did. Fortunately it was empty save for them.

"Room of Requirement, Malfoy," Harry spat in a low voice, leaning over the blond as much as he could with the height disadvantage. "Tonight at midnight. You and me."

Malfoy licked his lips, glancing at Harry's mouth as the words flowed out of it like poison. When Harry finished he gaped a little. "Potter, what –" he started in a strangled tone of voice.

"Be there. We settle this," Harry added, raising a fist for good measure.

Malfoy looked unsure, and Harry taunted him. "Scared, Malfoy?" Malfoy flinched and Harry remembered Crabbe and felt like a heel. But he said nothing and Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a coward, Potter."

"Then you'll be there, yeah?"

Malfoy licked his lips again, and nodded. "Yeah," he managed in a breathy tone. "Alright."

Harry dropped his fist and stalked off. He thought to himself, Tonight at midnight, and felt almost giddy. He felt heat rush through his body, tingling in his extremities – including his prick. He felt a sudden urge to wank, but forced himself to think of McGonagall in a bikini to make it go away as he hurried to class.

Dinner seemed to drag on forever. Harry was impatient, waiting for midnight, and it didn't help that Ron was making his usual not-so-subtle hints that Harry and Ginny ought to pull their act together and get back together. After a while Ginny had had enough.

"I can't believe you, Ron Weasley!" she hissed, pushing the bench back and standing so abruptly it almost fell over, held in place only by the weight of the other students sitting on it. "You need to just grow up and accept that I'm a big girl; fully capable of making my own decisions! Harry and I aren't together anymore because Harry doesn't want to be with me and I don't want to be with Harry!" she added, only half-truthfully, and Harry winced. "So just leave it! You hear me? Leave. It."

She stormed off, and Harry got up silently to go after her. He felt horrible. She had loved him, dreamed of marrying him and having children together. When he sat down with her after the war and explained that he loved her dearly, as a sister and that would never change, she was so hurt. She had begged and pleaded with him to "just try" with her, hoping she could somehow change his mind.

In the end, he'd been forced to admit to her that he was afraid he might like boys instead of girls, and that was the main reason he couldn't be with her. She had raged and screamed in frustrated fury, and he had borne it. After her initial shock had subsided, she had rallied and been usual Ginny – sweet, irrepressible, brave, and loyal to a fault.

They sat and talked for a long while about his sexuality in a non-judgemental manner, for which he was exceedingly grateful. She had been full of curiosity and questions, and honestly had been the biggest help to him he could have imagined. She was the only one he'd confided in thus far, and she took the honour seriously. She told him he could always confide in her, until – and after – he was ready to tell other people. She joked that if he ever needed any help "Man-hunting" that he knew where to go to get it. Sometimes she would tease him about attractive boys, especially if she caught him ogling.

Still, every once in a while he would catch her looking at him with longing in her eyes, though she would quickly look away and the longing would disappear behind a mask of friendliness.

Ginny Weasley was, all in all, a remarkable young woman, and Harry almost wished he weren't gay sometimes just so he could sweep her off her feet and give her the happy ending she wanted. As it was, he simply wished her luck, and hoped desperately that a deserving young man would come along soon enough and charm her into forgetting him completely.

He found her huddled in an alcove behind a tapestry, her favourite hiding spot. "Gin?" he ventured tentatively. "You wanna talk about it?" He was well aware how ludacris it was for him to be offering to comfort her when he was half the reason she was upset, but due to his secret her options at being comforted were limited.

She sniffed. "Not really."

He hesitated. "Should I go?"

She laughed. "For once it's not you, actually."

He felt relieved, though his heart constricted at the thought of this brave girl having any additional troubles. He sat next to her. "So what do you want to do?"

"Tell me something interesting." She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he thought a moment.

"I'm meeting Draco Malfoy in the Room of Requirement tonight," he offered. Ginny whipped her head around, staring him in the eyes, wide with shock. Her mouth hung open in a little "oh". Harry laughed, and swatted her shoulder. "Not like that! We're dueling." He couldn't help sounding smug.

"Oh, ok." She looked relieved. "Cause, Harry, I was going to say, if you threw me over only to take up with Draco Malfoy…" She shook her head. "Actually, it would make an odd kind of sense." She looked thoughtful and he swatted her again.

"Twerp," he said. Ginny just laughed.

She chewed her lip for a moment then blurted, "Michael wants to try again."

It took Harry a few minutes to understand what she meant. He was blinking and trying to figure out who 'Michael' was and what he could want to try again when Ginny huffed and said, "Michael Corner." Then the Lumos winked on and he got it.

"What did you say to him?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"Do you have feelings for him?" He wasn't sure how he should feel about this; on the one hand he wanted Ginny to find someone, on the other hand, he didn't want her being with someone just for the sake of not being alone. Somehow that seemed even lonelier than actually being alone.

"I don't know. Sort of. Maybe. Yes." She hesitated. "He was my first kiss, my first, well, everything." She flushed. "First shag. That kind of thing stays with a girl, you know?" Harry was a little surprised, as they'd never gotten to that point in their relationship; but then, Ginny did say after she learned of his sexual orientation that she'd made advances and he'd always spurned them. He honestly hadn't noticed.

"Well," he said, trying to think of the best advice to give. "If you think it could work, and you have feelings for him, there's no reason not to give it a try. But if you think about why you broke up, and it might become an issue again, you might want to reconsider."

"You were the real reason we broke up," she said in a small voice. "Because I was crazy about you and he could tell. I hurt him. If we try again it's on the condition that I not be your friend anymore. At least, not until he feels confident that I'm over you."

"Oh." Harry swallowed. He didn't know what he'd do without her friendship, but felt he had no place to make the choice for her. He deprived her of what she really wanted – a relationship with him – so how could he stand in the way of her having a relationship with someone else?

"That's part of why it upsets me so much when Ron goes on and on about you and me… I'm never going to be able to be with anyone else because every guy will think I'm still pining for you." She sighed. "I just want to move on."

Harry put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I know, Gin. I hope you get a happy-ever-after too, you know that. You do what you need to to be happy."

She gave him a sad smile, and leaned into the half-hug. He tightened his grip and they sat in silence for a while before Ginny got up and murmured about heading for the common room. Harry followed, and decided to study on his bed for the rest of the evening.

He couldn`t wait for midnight. He set up an alarm – and silencing charms so it wouldn`t bother anyone else –just in case he fell asleep before it was time to go. He was too excited to sleep. It never occurred to him that there was anything unusual about his obsession with fighting Malfoy. It was simply necessary for him.

Finally, midnight was close enough that he could leave. He slipped on his invisibility cloak, grabbed the Marauder's Map, and headed out to wait for Malfoy at the Room of Requirement.

He waited for a while.

"You showed." Harry hoped the relief didn't show in his voice. The Slytherin was ten minutes late, and Harry had begun to think he'd backed out. He slid the invisibility cloak off, not caring that he was demonstrating it to the Slytherin, since he already knew about it from sixth year.

"Of course I showed, Potter; you're giving me the opportunity to beat you senseless without any interference. Why wouldn't I?" Malfoy drawled, affecting not to be uneasy about the Room. He smirked. "You didn't miss me, now Potter, did you?"

Harry snorted. "I just figured a cowardly little ferret like you would run away from a fair fight."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Who said anything about fair? There's me," he pointed to himself, "And there's you." He gestured to Harry. "That's already an unfair fight." He smirked again.

"True, Malfoy, should I give you a handicap?"

"What are you on about, Potter?" Malfoy gave him a look that suggested he had three heads.

Harry sighed. "Never mind; muggle saying." Malfoy snorted. "Are we going to stand here and snipe at each other all night or are we going to go and work it out like we planned?"

Malfoy scowled but nodded. "Open her up, Potter."

"Both of us," Harry said. At Malfoy's questioning look he huffed in annoyance and explained. "If I do it, the room will conform to my expectations, and you'll have a conniption about everything you dislike or pretend to dislike just for the sake of being disagreeable. Then when I win you'll try to blame it on the room giving me an unfair advantage. So we both pace, we both focus our thoughts, and the room should give us something that suits both of our requirements."

Malfoy scowled again. "You won't win, Potter," he said, but he didn't disagree. He and Harry began to pace side by side; an odd feeling, really, walking in step with his nemesis.

We need a place to work out all the tension between us, Harry thought. We need a place where we can get it out of our systems without being interrupted or interfered with in any way. We need a place that will not be accessible to anyone else for as long as we need it to finish this. I don't want to leave until we've gotten everything out of our systems.

The big double doors appeared in front of them. They stopped, and Malfoy drew in a sharp, hitching breath. Harry pretended not to notice.

He pushed open the door and they walked inside. They blinked in the dark, and the door swung shut behind them. It was pitch black inside.

"Lumos." Harry held his wand up and Draco echoed his words, holding his aloft as well. They both blinked in confusion.

The room was small. It was shaped like the inside of a tower turret and had faux windows along the half of the room opposite them. But that wasn't what held their attention.

No, in the center of the room, taking up nearly all the space, was a large, four-poster bed, swathed in red curtains and topped with red blankets. There was a bedside drawer beside it, on the side closest to them, and it had an unlit lantern on top of it.

"What the hell, Potter?"

Harry turned to find the Slytherin glaring at him in fury.

"Is this some sick joke?"

Harry glared right back. "Maybe the Room's broken, Malfoy. The Fiendfyre can't have done it any good." He felt a surge of satisfaction at the way the blond flinched from his words. "Either that or you really wanted some place to sleep."

"Me? Me?" squeaked Malfoy, outraged. "I assure you, Potter, whilst pacing I thought of nothing but how I'd love to pound you into the ground."

"And all I thought of was how I needed a place where we could work out all the tension between us without interruptions or interference," Harry replied coldly.

Malfoy glared at him once more, and turned to leave. Then stood still staring slack-jawed at the wall behind them. It was solid stone, with no door in sight. In fact, there seemed to be no exits or entrances to the room at all.

"What in Merlin's name –" began Malfoy. He began frantically trying for a way out. Harry joined him. Nothing they tried worked. Spells, asking the Room; nothing worked.

"We can't leave," said Malfoy in horror. "Why can't we leave?" Harry went white as a sheet.

"Oh, Godric, no. When we were pacing, I thought… I thought that I didn't want us to leave until we'd gotten everything out of our systems," he whispered, horrified

Malfoy turned on him, furious. "Oh really? Like this, Potter?" He leapt on Harry, knocking him to the ground, where he straddled him and began to pummel him with his fists, pounding him mercilessly. Harry tried to fight back, but pure rage gave Malfoy the upper hand.

Realising the futility of struggling, he went limp, lying still and waiting for Malfoy to calm down, with his arms crossed over his face protectively. He was angry; angrier than he'd ever been, feeling helpless and furious that Malfoy had reduced him to this. As Malfoy continued to swing his fists Harry wondered how many broken bones he'd have by the end of it and if he'd end up unconscious. He disliked that idea intensely.

After a little while Malfoy collected himself and stopped. Apparently there was no satisfaction in beating a victim who wouldn't fight back. He rose, shaking. He cast a furtive, hopeful glance at the expanse of wall, but there was still no door. He turned and shot Potter a glare.

"Thanks to you, we're stuck here!"

Harry didn't respond. He was too busy attempting to pick himself up off the floor. He tried to assess the damage. Everything hurt. It hurt so bad he didn't want to move. But staying down felt like defeat and he'd already been humiliated by Malfoy enough for one day.

Malfoy noticed his predicament and smirked.

"What's the matter, Potty?" he sneered. "Feeling a little weak, are you? The Hero," he spat the word, "Of the wizarding world can't even get up off the floor?"

Malfoy's words proved to be just the drive Harry needed to pull himself to his feet. He staggered, and clutched the bedside drawer for balance. The Room swayed around him and his vision greyed. He swallowed convulsively and silently begged Merlin not to let him pass out. If he fainted in front of Malfoy he'd never live it down. He mentally cursed at being locked away from the infirmary; he had a feeling he had a mild concussion.

Malfoy was studying the Room, pacing in front of the wall, running his fingers along the stone.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Merlin save us, we're really trapped in here." He walked numbly over to the bed and sat down on it, putting his head in his hands.

Harry wanted to lie down but he was afraid to let go of the dresser long enough to traverse the three or four small steps it would take to reach the bed. It wasn't like he could ask Malfoy for help. He resented Malfoy for using the bed when he needed it.

"Shove over, Malfoy," he grunted, deciding to have a go at making it to the bed. Malfoy just ignored him.

He let go of the dresser and almost fell; but somehow managed to right himself. He stumbled over to the bed and fell onto it. And onto Malfoy.

Malfoy let out a surprised yelp as Harry came crashing down on him, knocking him over. Harry was lying sprawled on top of him, and he couldn't help thinking that the blond made a lovely pillow.

"What the fuck, Potter?" Malfoy shrieked. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"S'your fault, you git," Harry mumbled into his neck. "I can't get up." Malfoy tried to push him away, butb Harry was dead weight, and his Quidditch toned body was deceptively muscular, for all that he looked so slender and lithe. Malfoy succeeded only in getting lifting his face up enough so that he could look into Harry's eyes. Whatever he saw there gave him pause. He stopped trying to push Harry away, and his eyes widened. He suddenly looked frightened. Harry had a hard time registering it though. His eyelids fluttered, and his head drooped.

"Potter, look at me," Malfoy said sharply. "Dammit, Potter, look at me! Do you want to die, you idiot?"

"Wanna sleep," murmured Harry. "Uh-cause 'm tired." He closed his eyes, feeling sleep begin to claim him. Malfoy shook him, hard.

"Salazar damn you, Potter," he roared. "Stay awake!"

Harry was roused enough to communicate once more. "Why?" he asked petulantly.

"Because your pupils are different sizes and unfocused – more than usual, anyway – and you've probably got a concussion." Harry noted that even when worried Malfoy still managed to get a jab in at him. It should have made him angry but instead he felt… happy. Important. Like being insulted by Malfoy signified that he mattered to the blond. It was stupid and crazy and if Harry was in his right mind it never would have happened, but Harry suddenly became very aware of Malfoy's body and its proximity to his own. He was acutely conscious of the way they laid together, with him overlapping Malfoy and pressing against him, and Malfoy was actually a really fit bloke despite being a complete berk, and – oh god! – he was going to get hard. Get hard while he was lying on top of Malfoy, and there was no way the prat wouldn't feel that.

He tried to get up, and only proceeded to cause friction between their groins as his hips ground against Malfoy's, searching for purchase. He bit his lip to keep from moaning and thought of Snape in lingerie. He pending erection quelled, he stopped struggling, flopped his head down and whimpered. "Can't get up," he mroaned defeatedly.

Malfoy shifted, and with his current hyper-awareness of Malfoy's body Harry noticed something he might not have otherwise – Malfoy had not been unaffected by the accidental frotting. There was a hardness jutting into his hip, and for a moment, he wished he weren't so dizzy so he could do something about it. His head was pounding so hard that it was amazing he was able to think about sex, but he was a healthy teenage boy who'd gone just a little too long without wanking and Malfoy – though Harry would die before admitting it to him – was about as fit as they come. So maybe not that surprising.

He started to fade out of awareness, and was vaguely glad that the fog had taken his mind off of… whatever it was he had been trying not to think about.

Draco glanced at Potter, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth. He couldn't stand the git, but he didn't want him dead. The idea of a dead Potter made something ache in his chest; something that he had locked up tight when he was eleven years old and stubbornly refused to take it out and examine it or acknowledge its existence. It had driven him to lie when the Snatchers brought Potter to the Manor, and right now it was screaming at him, refusing to be ignored.

He pretended that the idea of Potter dying didn't make him feel like the world would end with him.

He pretended that the knowledge that he had been the one to inflict these wounds didn't flood him with guilt and remorse.

He pretended that when Potter had accidentally rutted against him while trying to get up, he hadn't been completely and utterly aroused by it; that he wasn't still impossibly hard, so hard Potter had to have noticed if he weren't so out of it, and that he wasn't desperately aware of Potter's body and the fact that they were alone on a bed in a Room where no one could interrupt them.

Draco was good at pretending. He did it a lot.

He wished desperately that he could get out from under Potter before his balls exploded.

He thought of the books he'd read in preparation for life after Hogwarts, and wondered if some of the spells he'd learned would make any difference. If they might help. He glanced at Potter, whose face was covered in bruises and who was sporting a split lip and a black eye. Draco imagined the rest of him looked just as awful. It had been a thorough beating. He cleared his throat.

"I know a few healing spells," he said, slowly. "I want to be a healer after… After." He chewed his bottom lip, and Potter started to drift off again. Draco slapped him. "Stay awake, Potter. I've only read the theory; never done these spells before, but you need help and there's no other way right now. You can't wait till we get out of here; who knows how long that will take? So for now, just stay awake let me try, okay?"

Potter tried to nod but found his head just lolled when he did that. "Mmmk," he managed.

Draco maneuvered until he was able to grab his wand, and he levitated Potter off of him. He took a deep breath, raised his wand, and pointed it at Potter. The irony of finally having his nemesis at his mercy at the end of his wand and raising it to help rather than harm was not lost on him. He aimed at Potter's head.

"Repareo," he whispered, using the alternate version of Reparifors he'd read about which, unlike its counterpart, healed injuries caused by non-magical means. It could not heal injuries caused by magic, but considering he hadn't hexed Potter, that was fine. He just hoped it was enough to counter the concussion.

Potter jerked his head back and whimpered brokenly, thrashing slightly under the onslaught of purplish-white light that shot at his head. It continued for a few moments, then the light faded and he went limp. Draco was nervous, waiting to see what the effect had been. "Potter?"

Potter sat up groggily, and shot Draco a crooked smile that made his heart skip a beat. "At least I can move, now," he said. "Thanks." He started to move over, but Draco noticed him flinching. His face was still a mess. "My head still hurts, but it's not as bad," he offered.

"Hang on," he said, putting a hand on Potter's arm, who jerked in surprise and stared at him. "Let me help you." He then proceeded to use Episky on each of Potter's cuts and scrapes.

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?" Potter regarded him carefully. "I get why you fixed my concussion; if you hadn't and I died you would have gone to Azkaban for murder." Draco truthfully hadn't thought of that until the moment Potter said it, and his shock must have shown on his face because Potter hesitated and frowned slightly. "That is why you saved me, right?"

"Of course, Potter; why else would I?" He said it with a bravado he did not feel.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Potter said, staring at him. "You tell me."

"Honestly, Potter, do you think I care if you live or die?"

Potter looked stung, and Draco wished he could take his words back. Instead he changed the subject.

"If we just had some potions and ointments here, I could take care of those bruises," he said, frowning. On a sudden impulse he slipped off the bed and opened the top drawer of the bedside drawer. He let out a triumphant cry. Pulling out a couple of vials and a jar, he climbed back onto the bed, to where Potter sat. He offered one of the vials. "Headache potion," he said, and Potter's relieved smile nearly split his face. He gulped the potion down gratefully. Draco then proceeded to rub in the ointment from the jar he'd retrieved. As he massaged it into the skin, Potter's face looked blissful, his eyes closed and head tilted back. Draco did not find it sexy in the least. No, sir. He did not. Malfoys did not come undone because of messy-headed speccy gits.

When he began massaging the ointment over the bruises on Potter's temples the brunet let out a moan, then flushed deeply. Prettily, Draco thought. "Sorry," Potter muttered. "It's just… I still have a headache, and it feels so good." He blushed deeper. "You don't have to do this. I could put it on myself…"

Draco laughed. "You'd make a mess of it. There aren't any mirrors in here, so you wouldn't even be able to see where to put it." He shrugged. "I want to be a healer, I might as well get used to doing things like this." Harry stared. It was so unlike everything he thought he knew about Draco Malfoy that he was caught completely off-guard. Draco just smirked and quirked a brow at him.

"Unable to believe I'd ever lower myself to such plebeian tasks?"

"Something like that."

"I want to help people." Draco spoke softly, admitting something he hadn't told anyone else. Why he would tell Potter was beyond him, yet here he was, jabbering it out. "I had to see a mind healer after the war. After the trials. That was one of the terms of my release. She really helped me. And I thought… I wanted to help people like she helped me." He glanced down. "I don't have the temperament to be a mind healer, and with the dark mark few people would be willing to open up to me about personal things, anyway. Then I realised that other kinds of healers, they're just as important. And I want to help people." He shrugged. Potter was silent, looking like he was thinking deeply. He was also staring at Draco as though he had never seen him before; as if he were some new species of flobberworm and he couldn't stop staring.

He continued with his massaging the ointment into Potter's temples, and Potter bit his lips in an effort to keep silent that resulted in little whimpers escaping that made Draco's trousers awfully tight. He finished massaging the ointment in, restoring Potter's face to its natural beauty.

For Potter was beautiful, Draco realised with a start. His hair looked like he'd just been rather thoroughly shagged, his eyes were so green they seemed to glow with inner light, his features masculine and not entirely unrefined, and his body tan and fit from years of Quidditch. He was smaller than Draco, a good four inches shorter, and he was muscular despite his slender frame. He looked somehow frail, yet Draco knew that he was made of tougher stuff than Draco was himself.

"Unbutton your shirt, Potter," he said once he was done with Potter's face. Potter's eyes grew as round as saucers and Draco thought it a wonder they didn't fall out of his head.

"Are you – are you trying to seduce me?" he asked in a high pitched voice,

"Merlin, no, Potter," he grumbled, trying to ignore his insistent cock perking to attention at the mention of seducing Potter; coupled with the knowledge that Potter would soon open his shirt for Draco, and in the interests of healing him properly Draco was going to have to touch his bare skin.

He shivered.

"I need you to open your shirt so I can get at your chest and abdomen," he instructed, brandishing the ointment he'd used on Potter's face. He pretended that he was not aroused or excited in the least about getting to peak underneath Potter's shirt.

"Oh," said Harry. He hesitated, and nodded, fumbling with his buttons. After a few minutes, Draco grabbed his hand.

"Let me," he breathed, and he didn't care if he sounded aroused.

Harry gazed into his slate-grey eyes, and studied him a moment. He seemed content with whatever it was that he found there. The he moved his hands away. "Go ahead." He looked up at Draco, and his eyes sparked with that challenging light like always, but this time he had that adorable crooked grin on his face and it was directed at him. Draco felt himself melting, and didn't really care all that much anymore that it was unbecoming of a Malfoy.

He willed his fingers not to shake as he slowly undid the buttons on Potter's shirt. He pushed it out of the way, leaving it hanging off of Potter's shoulders as he began his ministrations to Potter's chest and abdomen. Using his fingers he massaged the ointment in.

Somehow this was more tender; more intimate than treating Potter's face had been. As he trailed his hands over the toned torso of his nemesis, he heard Potter's sharp intakes of breath, and soft, whimpering exhales, and he could see, when he looked closely, that Potter was as hard as he was. And suddenly, it didn't matter that he was a Malfoy, and this just wasn't done. It didn't matter that he and Potter were supposed to be enemies who'd hex each other as soon as look at each other, or that they'd come to this room in the first place to fight. He wanted Potter, and Potter wanted him.

And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

With a growl he lunged forward and captured Potters lips in a frenzied, desperate kiss. He poured eight years of wanting, of longing, of needing into that kiss, and Potter gasped beneath the onslaught. Draco took the opportunity to slide his tongue in and plunder Potter's mouth. He wouldn't be satisfied until he had licked every inch, explored every crevice and crease. He wanted to worship Potter's body.

Potter was making low, needy sounds and was frantically tearing at his shirt; trying to undo the buttons without breaking their kiss. When he finally freed the last of the buttons, he threw his arms around Draco's neck, pulling him close, deepening the kiss.

With another growl, Draco tried to maneuver Potter onto the middle of the bed without breaking the kiss. The blanket was twisting around them as they scooted over so Draco finally broke the kiss, seized it and shoved it to the end of the bed. Potter took off his glasses and tossed them onto the nightstand. He turned his attention back to Potter, pushing him down as he caught his mouth again in a bruising kiss. He nipped and sucked and licked and Potter's moans and whimpers were heady. He may have let out some noises of his own, though he'd never admit it later.

Potter twined his arms back around Draco's neck, and Draco shoved the flap of his shirt to the side, trailing his hands up and down the lightly muscled torso, ghosting his fingers here, seizing the flesh in a grip hard enough to bruise there. He was half lying between Potter's legs, and Potter hooked a leg around his hip and pulled him closer to gain friction against their straining erections.

Draco groaned at the sensation, but it wasn't enough. They were still wearing their trousers, their shirts were still half on – they hadn't even taken off their ties yet. Although Draco kind of liked that part; it seemed a little kinky.

With a moan of frustration he broke the kiss again. Potter let out a low whine and tried to pull him back but he rasped, "Clothes. Off." Potter immediately divested himself of his shirt and went to pull off the tie but Draco stopped him.

"Leave it," he ordered. "The ties stay." Potter laughed, and began fumbling with the button on his trousers. Draco made short work of his shirt and trousers, and was finally left in nothing but his black silk pants. Potter had stripped completely, and Draco stared hungrily. His cock was long and red, thick and full. It was curved just a little bit, and precome was leaking from the tip. Draco dove for it, sticking his tongue out to taste it, to taste Potter. Potter gasped as Draco swirled his tongue around the head of his prick and tongued the slit.

"Fuck, Merlin! Fuck! Draco!" he cried, and Draco felt a heady rush at hearing his given name from Potter's lips. Harry's lips.

Harry. It hit him like a bludger to the head at that moment, that he was well and truly fucked. To Harry, this might just be a one-off. Something to forget about and go about his life without ever needing to think about it again. And if that was the case – which, Draco had to admit to himself, it truly was; Harry Potter would never want more with him than that – Draco would be crushed. Like a Reducto to the heart, he would be broken. For eight years he'd loved the speccy git, and had done everything in his power to deny it. Since he couldn't have him, he wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. But what they were doing was crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed. Draco could never go back to the way things were, no matter how much he might want to. And he didn't want to. He wanted Harry. He wanted Harry to hold him and kiss him and whisper sweet nothings and promise him forever. If Draco could have stopped then and saved himself the heartache, he would have. But he was already too far gone. The dam had burst; the floodgates were opened. He couldn't hide from his feelings for the hero any longer.

At that moment, as all these thoughts rushed through his mind, a determination rose up within him that he was going to make this night count. If this was all he was going to get, he was damn well going to milk it for every drop it was worth.

He stopped his attentions to Harry's cock – which led Harry to growl and let loose an oath, but he laughed and caught Harry in a kiss. Harry eagerly opened his mouth to Draco, teasing right back with his own tongue, meeting Draco lick for lick, stroke for stoke. Draco slithered out of his pants, and settled between Harry's legs. As their erections brushed both boys groaned loudly. They ground against one another, reveling in the feel of it, the touch of skin on skin.

Draco broke away from the kiss to pepper Harry's neck with soft kisses, alternating with biting and sucking. Harry mewled.

"I want to fuck you," said Draco, right before he latched on to Harry's pulse point, and he waited, waited for Harry to tell him no; that this was too far. Instead Harry just gasped and said, "Godric, Draco, yes!"

He pulled away – which left Harry making indignant sounds at him – and murmured, "Patience, love," silencing Harry with another gentle kiss. He got up and hurried to the nightstand, opening the drawers. Sure enough, there was lube in there.

Lube secured, Draco turned back to the bed, and stood for a moment, staring at Harry, spread out naked and wanton on the sheets. He allowed himself to drink in the sight; to memorize every detail. Then he climbed back in between Harry's legs – which Harry spread wide open for him in the most wanton, eager way – and Draco began dusting feather-light kisses all across his body. Harry squirmed and moaned. "Draco," he said breathlessly. "Need… to feel you… Want you…" the sentence cut off in a gasp, as Draco lowered himself to Harry's entrance and flicked it with his tongue. He lifted Harry's legs up over his shoulders, and spread his cheeks, then delved down, lapping at Harry's hole eagerly as he listened to Harry come undone.

He teased the puckered ring of muscle with his tongue, licking it and pressing slightly inside of it with firm, insistent strokes. He gently swirled his tongue around the edge of Harry's entrance, flicking and twisting his tongue to tease Harry and drive him mad.

Judging from the litany of, "Oh fuck! Merlin, Godric, Merlin, fuck! Draco, fuck! Fuck! Draco!" that he was keeping up, Draco was doing a very good job. Harry lay there with his head thrown back, his eyes shut, and pleasure washing over his face in waves. Draco's only regret was that his position didn't afford him a better view.

He began tonguing the hole, first little strokes, but gradually getting deeper and harder until he was tongue-fucking the brunet and Harry's desperate babbling had lost all semblance of coherency. He tongued the other boy mercilessly, enjoying the way Harry was grinding his arse back into Draco's face and making animalist cries of need and desire.

He stopped only to go back to the litany of teasing motions of licking, swirling, and flicking that had Harry mewling in protest and eagerly thrusting back for more. He tongued the brunet again, enjoying the way Harry shuddered and how ragged gasps tore from his throat; no words, half-strangled cries and desperate gasps for air were all he could manage.

Then Draco stopped. Harry cried out, a disappointed sound as he lifted his head and Draco chuckled. He poured some lube onto his fingers and rubbed them to warm it, then inserted a finger gently into Harry's loosened hole. Harry made a choking sound of approval and Draco twisted the finger around, pumping it in and out even as Harry thrust down with his hips.

Draco added the second finger, and Harry's breath caught. Draco was gentle, and cautious, not wanting to spook Harry. "Just relax love," he reminded him, smiling, and Harry did. He began scissoring his fingers, and hunting for the little bundle of nerves inside Harry that would make him see stars.

Draco swore to himself that no matter what it took, Harry would never be able to forget this; to forget him, or being with him. He focused entirely on Harry, and on his pleasure, ignoring his own throbbing erection and forcing himself to draw it out, take it slow, make it last. To make it as good as possible for Harry.

Then he felt the little nub underneath his fingers and pressed against it, hard. Harry arched his back and screamed. For a moment Draco was afraid he'd been too rough, and started to withdraw, but Harry grabbed him and held him in place. "More," he rasped. "Godric, please, Draco, more."

Draco smirked and began torturing his love – for that's what Harry was, to him, regardless of what he was to Harry – with his fingers as he had with his tongue. Keeping him from going too near the edge, yet pushing him towards it just enough to bring him to the brink of madness.

He added the third finger, moving slowly to allow Harry time to adjust to the additional intrusion, then thrusting his fingers faster, deeper; twisting them and scissoring them out to stretch the brunet as much as he could.

"Draco, please!" cried Harry, his voice hoarse. "Please, Draco; I need you! I need you inside me!" Draco swallowed convulsively, closing his eyes, and picturing McGonagall in a tutu. It dampened his desire down enough that he knew he'd be able to make inside his love without coming prematurely.

He removed his fingers and carefully slicked his cock. He positioned himself, and felt Harry tense. "Relax, love," he reminded him in a soft voice; almost crooning. "Just relax; let me take care of you." He caught Harry's gaze and held it, transfixed by one another they stared into each other's eyes.

Harry relaxed visibly and Draco carefully pushed forward, just a little. Just enough to enter Harry, but not too much for him to take at once. He waited while Harry adjusted, then pushed forward a little more, ever so slowly, filling him to the hilt. He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, but he didn't stop until his balls were pressed up against Harry's arse. He stayed perfectly still now, waiting for Harry's shivering body to adjust, to tell him when he wanted him to move.

Harry was so tight it almost hurt. The heat and that tightness enveloped Draco, making it hard to breathe, to think. He forced himself to focus on Harry's eyes, which hadn't left his. Harry's face had flinched a couple of times in pain, but each time he had continued smiling encouragingly at Draco, so he had continued, albeit slowly. Draco waited patiently, and soon Harry began to wiggle his hips. "You can move now," he said softly. "I think I'm okay."

"You think?" Draco didn't like the sound of that. Harry broke eye contact, which Draco didn't like.

"Well I've never done this before," Harry said defensively, blushing and not meeting Draco's eyes. A sense of wonder filled Draco.

"So I'm the first? I'm your first?"

He gazed at Harry, who mumbled, "Yeah."

He leaned forward and caught Harry's mouth in a desperate kiss. It was passionate but tender, slow and gentle, just like a first time was supposed to be. He pulled back slightly and gazed into Harry's stunned eyes, holding the brunet's jaw with one hand to force him to look at himself. "You won't regret this," he promised. "Ever."

Harry's mouth curved in a sad little smile. "I know," he said softly. "I won't."

Draco wanted to ask why he seemed sad when Harry bucked his hips, rolling them against Draco in a way that made him gasp. He released Harry's jaw and laid his hand on the mattress to steady himself.

"Move," Harry commanded, and Draco obeyed.

He moved, slowly, trying not to let the sensation overwhelm him. He focused on being gentle, and watching Harry to determine what he needed. As Harry seemed more comfortable he began experimenting with his angle, making adjustments until –

"Fuck, Draco, fuck!"

He smirked. "Like that, do you?"

"Godric, yes," hissed Harry. "Do it again!"

Draco laughed and thrust again, brushing Harry's prostate and loosing another string of expletive's from the normally chaste-tongued boy. He began to increase his pace, and soon he was moving quite fast, with Harry meeting him thrust for thrust. He threw his head back and let himself drown. Pleasure roared over him like a tidal wave and he let himself get pulled under and swept away.

Everything was pleasure. He was drowning in it. Everything was tight, wet heat and pleasure and Harry. The knowledge that this was Harry was the sweetest, most poignant part of all this.

Harry was chanting his name like a prayer, moaning and writhing and sometimes screaming beneath him, and his eyes were all that Draco could see. They were eyes a person could lose himself in, and Draco was already so lost he didn't know if he'd ever be found again. But that was okay, because it was Harry.

After what seemed simultaneously forever and not nearly long enough, Harry arched his back and came, hot white streams of come shooting all over his stomach. He cried out Draco's name as he did, his fingers clutching the blond's arms hard enough to hurt.

Draco barely registered that, though. He was just overcome by the sensation of Harry's tight channel drawing tighter around him, and his own orgasm overtook him. He moaned Harry's name brokenly as his release filled the brunet.

The boys lay panting for a while, exhausted. Eventually, Draco realised he must be heavy, and rolled off of Harry with a groan. He lay beside Harry and tried not to wonder what was running through his head. No doubt wishing they weren't locked in together so he could get away from Draco. He tried not to feel bitter about it.

After a while longer, Harry's voice came, tentatively. "Draco? He hesitated, unsure. "Can I call you 'Draco'?" He bit his lip, looking nervous.

So cute, thought Draco. Out loud he said, "Only if I can call you Harry." The blond quirked a half-smile at him.

"Draco," Harry repeated, smiling slightly. "What… what is this?" He looked nervous again.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well you see, Harry," he drawled. "When a couple of blokes each finds the other really fit…"

Harry giggled. "Not that, you berk," he said, trying to turn his grin into a scowl and only succeeding in looking comical. Draco burst out laughing. Harry just shook his head, grinning freely.

"But Draco, you know what I meant. I meant…" he gestured between them, his face serious. Draco sobered.

"Do we have to define it right now?" he asked. Ever the Slytherin, he was not going to tip his hand and reveal his feelings unless he had reason to think they were returned. "I think for now it's been a big enough revelation that neither of us actually hates the other." He frowned. "Unless that was hate sex."

Harry smiled slightly. "It didn't feel like hate sex." The smile disappeared. "But I wouldn't know, I guess." He looked at Draco quizzically and Draco shook his head, a little too vehemently.

"No," he agreed. "That was most definitely not hate sex. So we agree, we don't hate each other anymore." Harry nodded, and Draco grinned ferally. "Just think how our friends will react."

Harry groaned and put his hand over his eyes while Draco cackled.

"Well, we're still trapped in here, so we might as well define it, while we're at it," he began, but Draco shook his head. He looked where the blond gestured and there, in sharp relief to the stone walls around it, was a wooden door.

"What?" he began, and Draco interrupted.

"The Room isn't broken, Harry. It gave us a place to work out the tension between us – sexual tension. It gave us what we needed." He smirked.

Harry grinned slyly. "I don't know about you, but I think the Room might need a little more convincing."

"No, the door's right- Mmmph!" Draco said as Harry pounced on him, snogging him senseless again.

"Yes, Harry, he gasped when the brunet finally let him breathe. "I think you're absolutely right."

"Mhmm," agreed Harry, kissing him again.

Draco pulled back, hesitant. "Harry?"

"Yes?" said Harry, a trifle impatient to deal with anything that didn't involve him snogging the breath out of a certain blond Slytherin.

"I think maybe we should define this, after all." To hell with Slytherin-ness, he thought. I'm in love with a Gryffindor; it won't kill me to act like one, for once.

He looked Harry in the eyes. "I love you, you stupid speccy git," he said softly. "I have for a long time, and I've never been able to stop making you see me the only way I knew how – by provoking you. Better you hate me than not think of me at all, and better you fight me than ignore me." There. It was out.

Harry stared. Draco started to pull away, but he stopped him. "Wait, Draco," he said. Draco stopped pulling away and looked at him, eyes shuttered, preparing to be hurt. Harry sighed. "I don't have a declaration of secretly loving you for years, like you gave me. But I know that you've always been the one who's kept me grounded. You kept my head from getting too big, and you always treated me the same, no matter what. Your opinion of me has never depended on the Prophet, and I can't tell you how much that's meant to me at times. And in sixth year," Draco flinched and pulled away again, but Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back, "No, listen, dammit! In sixth year, when you stopped paying attention to me, it was like the world had ended. I couldn't stand it. I started obsessing over you. I told everyone it was cause I knew you were up to something, and I was right, but I never would have noticed if I hadn't been obsessing over you already!" He snorted. "For Godric's sake; I used to watch you sleep!"

"You used to watch me sleep?" repeated Draco, arching an eyebrow at him.

Harry huffed. "Not like that; see, I have this map… oh, never mind. The point is, I used to obsess over you, a lot more than would have been normal even if I did think you were up to something. I've always been just as obsessed with you as you have with me. And I think the fact that I chose to give you my virginity kind of proves that I don't hate you. I like you. I think I like you quite a lot, actually. And I don't want this to be a one-off. In fact, I was really worried that you would, and I would be left to nurse a broken heart alone when we got out of here." He smiled wryly at Draco.

Draco cleared his throat. "So, not a one-off, then. Where does that leave us, Harry?" He smiled.

"I thought maybe we could try dating for a bit," said Harry hesitantly. "See if we can make things work. If you want," he added hurriedly, and Draco gaped at him. "Or not," he amended, misreading Draco's astonishment.

"Harry, I just confessed my love to you, like a bloody Gryffindor. Of course I want to date you! Merlin, are you really that slow?" Draco shook his head, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Oh." Harry flushed. Then he grinned. "So, we're… dating now?"

"Yeah," Draco felt a rush of happiness. He smirked at Harry. "So, you used to watch me sleep, huh?"

Harry blushed furiously. "I told you, it wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

"I have this map that shows me where everyone in the castle is at all times. I used to stare at your dot for hours. Sometimes half the night."

Draco burst out laughing as a feeling of warmth flooded his whole being. He leaned forward and grabbed his new boyfriend, peppering his face with kisses. "You like me," he murmured. "You really, really like me!"

"Yeah," Harry smiled. I really, really do." And he kissed Draco back.