This fic is 100% AU, since not only did Dumbledore not snatch up all the Polyjuice Potion, but Barty Crouch never received the dementor's kiss. Also, that pesky graveyard scene never happened, so Cedric is still alive and Voldemort is still a vaporous glob...

1

Harry lay on his bed and tipped the silver flask until it caught the light from the window. The flash of light cast a white reflection on the wall. Harry moved it slowly and watched the bright patch slide across the wainscoting.

The front door closed downstairs, signaling the start of Harry's blessed solitude as the Dursleys made their exodus—off to some boring company function of Vernon's. They wouldn't be back until nearly midnight. Harry reveled in the silence. No blaring of the telly, no clink of dishes, no petulant whining from Dudley. When Harry grew up, he fully intended to live alone for quite some time, just to enjoy silence whenever and wherever he wanted it.

He knew, however, that with the quiet also came boredom. To that end, he examined the flask again, unsure if he should use it. The Tri-Wizard Tournament had been quite the adventure, with Harry's unexpected entry, followed by the dangerous tasks, and then Snape's astounding revelation that Mad-Eye Moody was actually someone else under the guise of Polyjuice Potion. Snape had apparently been alerted by the smell of the potion that the fake Moody had continually imbibed.

Dumbledore had questioned the man and discovered him to be none other than Barty Crouch, Jr., escaped from Azkaban and hidden in the home of his father until a loyal house-elf had engineered his escape. Crouch, Jr. had been set on a path to return Voldemort to power. Harry shuddered to think what would have happened if Snape had not uncovered the plot, loathe though he was to credit Snape for anything.

Harry had been present at the unveiling of the plot and the discovery of the real Moody in a large, magical trunk. Things had been rather chaotic, with Crouch Jr. screaming and vowing revenge; Snape threatening in a sibilant whisper to twist his mind inside out; Dumbledore rescuing the real Moody from the trunk; and Cornelius Fudge showing up at the worst possible time to have a semi-public nervous breakdown. In the confusion, Harry had noticed a large number of silver flasks stacked on a shelf. Silver flasks filled with the difficult and time-consuming to brew Polyjuice Potion.

One never knew when a Polyjuice Potion would come in handy. Valuable things, Polyjuice Potions. And Crouch Jr. certainly wouldn't need his any longer. The rest would most likely go to Snape, to be locked up out of Harry's reach forever. So Harry had reached out, taken one of the flasks, and slipped it into a pocket of his robes. As an afterthought, he had taken another.

Both had remained safely tucked away in his trunk until school ended. Now one still rested in his trunk and the other cast rectangles of light on the wall in his room at number four, Privet Drive.

Satisfied that the Dursleys were truly gone and would not return to fetch a forgotten item, Harry sat up. He left the flask on the bed and walked to his trunk. Rummaging through it, he delved into a deep corner and retrieved a tiny velvet box. Harry sat back on his heels and flipped the box open with a rush of excitement. He wasn't sure why the thought of doing what he was about to do was so enticing.

Harry's mouth was dry as he reached into the box and picked up one of the silver-blond hairs. He held it tightly, making certain not to lose it as he closed the box. He only had four of Malfoy's hairs. Four hairs snagged from Draco's head during an impromptu Quidditch match shortly before school ended. They had both been racing like lightning bolts, diving for the Snitch, as always. Malfoy had hitched sideways, knocking into Harry, trying to prevent the burst of speed that would send him past Draco, as always. Harry had hitched back, trying to knock Malfoy from his broom, as always.

But the Snitch had backtracked, skimming over Draco's head, and Harry had caught the movement even as Malfoy tried to halt. Harry had reached while Draco had paused, jerking upward. Harry's hand had caught nothing but a handful of platinum hair as the Snitch brushed his fingertips and was gone.

Malfoy had howled like the witch in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy had pitched the water. For a moment, Harry had thought the Slytherin to be mortally wounded, until the mad rage in Malfoy's eyes had warned him that Draco was out for blood. Apparently, Malfoy hair was sacred.

Snitch forgotten, Harry had spun on his broom and fled with the murderous Slytherin hot on the tail of his Firebolt. Luckily, the game had been called off by the timely arrival of mealtime, and Malfoy had been forced to end his pursuit. It wasn't until Harry had dismounted from his broom that he noticed the fine hairs twined around his fingers. Four delicate, gossamer stands. Extract of Malfoy.

Harry had tucked the hairs away, carefully. It wasn't until much later that he thought about the Polyjuice Potion. And concocted his plan.

He sat on the bed now, feeling nervous for no particular reason. He wasn't really doing anything wrong, after all. It was just a bit… well, weird. Okay, more than weird, it was borderline obsessive. Harry scowled and defended himself. Although he realized defending himself to himself was nearly as weird as obsessing over… I'm not obsessing. I'm simply curious, he told himself sternly.

Carefully ignoring the reminder that curiosity killed the cat, he returned to the bed, unscrewed the cap on the silver flask, and pushed the long blonde hair into the neck. He screwed the cap back on and shook it a bit. He glanced at his watch. Only 7:30. He had plenty of time before the Dursleys returned. Plenty of time and nothing better to do.

Simple curiosity, he reminded himself. He unscrewed the cap and drank. Immediately, the sensations overwhelmed him, forgotten since his second year: the taste (surprisingly good), the nausea (not-surprisingly bad), the frightening impression of his flesh melting… Harry doubled over onto the bed and willed the effects to pass. They died away quickly, and he sat up with a gasp of relief. Already he felt different.

Malfoy was a bit taller and a bit slimmer. Harry's clothing felt looser… and his sleeves were slightly too short. He held out his hands and examined them. The skin was pale and fine, and the fingers were amazing. Harry had never appreciated that hands could be beautiful, but Malfoy's were perfection. Each finger looked like a work of art. They were long and slender, and completely unmarred. It was nearly unbelievable. Harry had a hard callus on each thumb from gripping his broom. Draco flew as much as Harry, and yet he had only small, somewhat shiny spots in the same places. Harry sneered. No doubt the Slytherin had regular manicures to buff out any unsightly imperfections such as broom calluses.

Forgetting the hands, Harry suddenly hurried to the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door. He gasped at the sight of himself tall, blonde, and regal. The grey eyes blinked at him and he stared in wonder. Something was not quite right… Ah, yes. He glared at himself, and lifted one corner of his mouth in an arrogant sneer. Exactly right! He really was Malfoy! Harry laughed in delight and the sight took his breath away. The silver eyes widened in surprise, and Harry turned the lips up into a smile again. Holy fucking hell, Malfoy was stunning when he smiled. Literally stunning. How could he not have noticed it before?

Oh yes, likely the fact that Draco Malfoy had never once smiled in Harry Potter's presence. Smirked, yes. Sneered, absolutely. Snarled, often. But a genuine, pleasant, happy smile? Never.

Harry did it again, and felt his heart nearly flip over. He tossed his head slightly and marveled at the way the soft blonde hair lifted, and then fell back to his head without a single hair out of place. It was miraculous. The lucky Slytherin bastard did not have to spend hours a day yanking at his hair, trying to flatten it into some semblance of order.

Harry licked his lips and then stared, shocked at the unexpected sensuality of the gesture. He did it again, and felt a lurch in his groin. Bloody hell, he was getting turned on by Draco Malfoy. Sort of. He gave himself a come-hither look and began to unbutton his shirt. His response was sudden and overwhelming—his cock was instantly hard. It occurred to him that the clothing was all wrong. Malfoy would never wear a blue button-up shirt patterned with white checks. It looked casual and comfortable on Harry—on Draco, it looked like a prince masquerading as a peasant.

Harry quickly took off the shirt and threw it on the bed. He had to admit, however, that Malfoy looked stunning in blue jeans. Harry unzipped them a bit and posed, feeling like a model for men's cologne. The sight made him weak in the knees and he stepped back to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment. The jeans were too tight over his erection, so he removed them. Without thinking, he removed his briefs, too, wondering what Malfoy wore underneath. Probably something silk.

He stood before the mirror again and stepped closer. Wow. Malfoy was really incredibly gorgeous. Harry raised the perfect hands and slid them slowly over his chest, brushing the nipples. He gasped at the sensation. Harry's nipples were not particularly sensitive, but Draco's… god, someone's mouth on them would likely send Malfoy straight to orgasm. Harry tweaked them experimentally and felt the jolt straight in his cock. He shivered and slid his new hands downward, over the ribs and flat abdomen. He looked down to examine the hard cock, appreciating the differences between Draco's and his. The length was nearly the same, as far as he could tell, but Malfoy's was slightly slimmer. It jutted from a mass of pale curls—definitely a natural blond, Harry thought with a giggle.

He wanted to touch it, but paused, wanting to prolong the game. He felt like he finally had Malfoy under his control, and he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. He dragged the chair away from the desk and stood it before the mirror. Harry sat in the chair and tried to think back. How did Malfoy usually sit? There was something extremely unique about it. Harry pushed his arse forward until it was close to the front of the chair, and leaned back in a semi-slouching pose. He lifted one leg and crossed the ankle over his knee. Nearly perfect. He rested his hands casually on the chair arms and tipped his head slightly. A sneering smile curved the lips. Oh yeah, that was it. Casual, aristocratic grace.

"What do you want, Potter?" he asked, mimicking Draco. It took several tries to get it right, with that patrician inflection, and the harsh way Malfoy spat Harry's name.

"I want you to wank, Malfoy, while I watch," he answered in his own voice. He uncrossed his leg and reached down to—finally—grab the throbbing shaft. It was arousing beyond belief—Malfoy's hand touching Harry's cock, or Harry touching Malfoy's, or something to that effect. Harry stroked, and watched the beautiful body in the mirror. The pale head tipped back and stared into the mirror through half-lidded grey eyes. The lips parted to reveal the edge of perfect teeth, and Harry suddenly wished he could kiss that mouth.

"You're incredibly fucking hot, Malfoy," Harry muttered.

"Thank you, Potter," the blond whispered in the mirror and grinned with Harry. The smile was the last thrill Harry could take, and he felt blessed release soar through him as the thick liquid sprayed over his tight abdomen. He sagged in the chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. The most erotic experience of his life had been with Draco Malfoy. He laughed aloud at the thought of what Malfoy would have said about that.

ooOoo

Draco lay on his bed reading about a Dark Arts spell that should have been interesting, but wasn't. Not interesting enough to keep Draco's attention, at any rate. He had read the same paragraph four times, and his memory still wasn't retaining it. He wondered if other people were as bored during the summer. He missed Hogwarts. There was always something to do; there were always people to torment. Like Potter.

Draco had barely thought the name when a flash of movement drew his attention to the window. It was open to catch the breeze—beastly hot it had been, lately. His brows drew up in surprise. A white owl. Potter's owl, if Draco wasn't mistaken.

A parcel was attached to its leg. Draco rose and walked over to retrieve the package. He kept a wary eye on the bird, which seemed to be looking at him quite balefully. The bloody thing had better not peck him, or Draco would wring its neck and send it back to Potter in a box. Draco removed the parcel and stepped back. The owl did not wait around for a treat, but launched itself into the air and away.

"Guess he did not need a reply," Draco muttered and looked at the brown package. He set it on the desk and walked as far from it as possible while remaining in the same room. It was likely set to explode.

Draco paced. Why the hell would Potter send him anything? Anything non-lethal, at any rate. He sighed and stalked over to rip open the package. Inside were a silver flask and a note. Draco almost laughed. If Potter expected him to drink anything he'd sent, the Gryffindor was stupider than Draco thought.

He opened the note.

M I've been playing a game and felt a bit guilty having all the fun at your expense. That Gryffindor nobility you're always going on about, I expect. I thought you might want to join in. Use in private. P

The words in private had been underlined three times. Draco was thoroughly puzzled. What game? At Draco's expense? Perhaps Potter had finally parted ways with sanity. It was bound to happen sooner or later, being targeted by an evil, undead wizard and all. Draco unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sniff. His brows rose in astonishment. Polyjuice Potion. What the hell?

Draco looked at the note again. Attached to the bottom of the note with a Sticking Charm was a single, black hair. Draco's eyes went from the potion to the hair while his mind struggled to follow Potter's logic. A game. At your expense. It came to him suddenly, and he backed up to sit on the edge of his bed.

Bloody hell, Potter had been using Polyjuice to turn into Draco! And then what? Traipsing around Diagon Alley? No… from all accounts, Potter was a virtual prisoner during the summer. He was barely allowed to visit the Weasley's without supervision. Draco's eyes narrowed. It had to be a trick. The bloody Gryffindor wanted Draco to pretend to be Harry, hoping his father or one of the other Death Eaters would stumble on him and murder him accidentally, thinking him to be Potter. The words in private seemed to negate that idea, but Draco dismissed it.

Having satisfactorily established a motive, Draco firmly set the potion aside and tucked the note with the hair into the bottom of his school trunk. He would take both back to Hogwarts in the fall and put them to good use. It would be quite a prank to pretend to be Potter at school. Draco had more than a month to calculate a suitable use for it.

He put out the light and went to bed.

At just past two o'clock in the morning, Draco sat bolt upright in bed. In the midst of a sweat-soaked dream, it had occurred to him exactly what Potter might have been doing while masquerading as Draco. The thought was mind-boggling.

"No," he muttered. "It can't be. The Gryffindor Virgin would never… especially not with my body…" But at that hour of the morning, it not only seemed plausible, it was the only explanation. The idea should have nauseated Draco, but he was strangely turned on by the thought of Potter's hands sliding over his body… in a manner of speaking.

Draco flung the blankets aside, lit a candle with a spell, and hurried to his trunk. He retrieved the hair carefully and inserted it into the Polyjuice Potion, hoping it wasn't some sort of devious trick. Only the fact that Potter had never cooked up a devious trick in his life allowed Draco to lift the potion to his lips and swallow.

The effects were unpleasant, but no worse than expected, and Draco was fascinated when his flesh began to change, thickening and darkening in most areas, and shrinking and tightening in others. He walked to the nearest full-length mirror and gaped at himself.

Harry Potter stared back at him, looking quite odd without the spectacles. Draco raised a hand and combed the thick hair from his forehead. The black locks were surprisingly soft for all that they were unruly. The scar was clearly visible. Draco touched it with a finger, and then slid his fingers over the smooth face, feeling the chiseled cheekbones, the strong jaw, and the soft lips.

Potter looked silly in Draco's black silk pyjamas. The sleeves were too long. And a bit too tight in the shoulders. Draco unbuttoned the shirt and took it off. Potter had quite a nice chest, and a perfect, Quidditch-honed abdomen. The idiot certainly had no sense of self-preservation, however. He had numerous scratches and scars, including a long, ugly-looking scar on his right arm. Draco wondered how he had gotten that one.

Draco touched both hands to his face again, and drew them downward, over Harry's neck and torso, following the downy soft line of hair to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, which were suddenly in the way. Draco tugged them off immediately.

His brows rose again at the sight of a nude Harry Potter. He had vainly hoped that Potter would be under-endowed, but supposed the Gryffindor would never have sent the potion if that were the case. Potter was just as long as Draco, and perhaps a bit thicker. The curls were as dense as those on his head, and Draco tentatively pushed his fingertips into the dark hair. He inhaled sharply as he slid his fingers over the hardening shaft, surprised at the odd sensation that he was touching himself, and Potter as well.

He stroked down the velvety shaft to the testicles, inhaling sharply. Wow, Potter had sensitive balls. Just fondling them sent little thrills of delight dancing through Draco's body. He played with them for awhile, until he felt remarkably close to coming, and backed off. Draco moved to the bed and spelled the dark wooden canopy into a mirror before brightening the light. He splayed Potter's legs and stroked the turgid cock lazily with one hand.

Draco laughed. "Look what I'm doing with your fingers, Potter. I'm going to fuck you with your own hands."

With that, Draco cast a lubricating spell and pushed one of Harry Potter's fingers into Harry Potter's arsehole, but it was Draco Malfoy that arched with shuddering surprise at the incredibly erotic sight. Harry Potter was indescribably hot.

"Fuck me, Draco," he whispered, and Draco obliged, watching every pant and thrash until Harry Potter's body came on Draco's bed.

The damned Gryffindor had managed to come up with a good idea, for once.

ooOoo

The summer passed relatively uneventfully for Harry, but for his rare uses of Polyjuice whenever the opportunity allowed. He felt extraordinarily nervous for sending the potion to Malfoy, and was not certain how it had been received. Most likely, he would be hexed into oblivion, punched into a bloody pulp, or set upon by massive, goonlike minions the instant he boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Harry felt ill for a moment, standing with the Weasley's and waiting to board the train. Molly Weasley patted his arm.

"Are you all right, Harry, dear?" she asked.

Harry nodded, and then spotted a flash of silver hair. His heart nearly seized up into his throat, until he noticed Malfoy had his back to Harry.

"Er… you guys get on without me. I want to say hello to Neville for a moment," Harry said. "Save me a seat."

Harry did not wait for acknowledgement from Ron and Hermione, but bolted in the opposite direction of Malfoy, losing himself in the sea of students boarding the train.

Harry was one of the final few to enter the train. He figured Malfoy and Company would have commandeered a compartment by now, so he made his way down the corridor, seeking the last car. He was nearly there when a door opened and he came face to face with his blond nemesis.

The door shut behind Draco, leaving them alone in the corridor, staring at each other with identical expressions of speechless shock. Harry's eyes moved over Malfoy's face. He had memorized every plane of it, every contour. He had seen those lips gasping with passion and the silver eyes liquid with desire. He knew the platinum hair was softer than cornsilk. He knew every inch of the body beneath the prim school robes and the Prefect's badge.

A thundering herd of younger students suddenly galloped down the corridor, causing Harry to leap aside or be trampled. He found himself roughly jostled straight into Malfoy. Oh god… Their eyes were still locked, and Malfoy had not yet hexed him, or even punched him in the face. Doors banged behind the students and all was silent again.

Unable to stop himself, Harry slid a hand into Malfoy's robes, knowing he could be murdered at any moment, but simply not caring. He quested quickly until he found one of Malfoy's nipples, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Malfoy's head snapped back and hit the corridor wall with a bang. Harry brazenly raised his other hand and slipped it into the soft hair to massage the spot Malfoy had just bruised.

"Potter," said Malfoy, sounding almost amazed, and then his lips crushed down on Harry's. Those hands, oh god, those incredible, beautiful hands, were all over Harry, kneading over back, waist, arse, thighs, and Malfoy's lips… well, kissing him was a thousand times better than Harry had imagined during his heated groping of Malfoy's body in the mirror. Harry was lost, so lost.

"Have… Prefect meeting," Malfoy groaned, lapping and biting at Harry's neck while Harry tried to remove Malfoy's earlobe through determined suction. His hands were tangled in Malfoy's angelic hair.

"Meet. After… Meet me after?" Harry gasped.

"Baggage car?" Malfoy murmured.

"Fuck, yes."

"You should have been in Slytherin, you bastard," Malfoy said raggedly and pushed Harry away.

"I know." His eyes caressed the slim form as Malfoy attempted to straighten his garments with shaking hands. The blond tried to sneer, but could not quite manage it. Harry grinned. Malfoy shut his eyes, groaned, and turned away. He strode down the train car without looking back.

Harry leaned against the wall, slightly dazed. It was going to be an interesting year.

2  A Better Pastime

Harry waited nervously in the baggage car and wondered if he had made a horrendous mistake. It was the third baggage car he had tried, actually, as the first two had been filled with students playing amorous catch-up after a long summer's absence. The third car had a secluded alcove midway in, nicely concealed from view by a huge trunk that had fallen. Harry shifted things around until he had cleared a space atop a second trunk, upon which he sat.

He wiped his palms on his trouser legs for the third time. Merlin, he must be crazy. Waiting for Draco Malfoy. Just thinking the name caused a tense lump in the pit of his stomach to burst into flame. He leaped to his feet and then forced himself to sit again when the door slid open. It couldn't be Malfoy. Not yet. Harry had not been waiting long enough for the Prefect's meeting to have ended.

A face poked around the side of the trunk and Harry met the surprised gaze of a fourth year Hufflepuff girl. He grinned at her with a sinking feeling, wondering how long it would take the rumour to circulate the train that Harry Potter was meeting someone in the baggage car.

"Oh," she said. "Sorry, Harry, we'll just find… somewhere else." She disappeared and Harry never saw her consort, although he heard whispering before the footsteps retreated. They must have found another spot, because Harry did not hear the door open again.

Six times he got to his feet with the intention of bolting, but each time he forced himself to sit. Frankly, it was the memory of the kiss that did it. He still could not quite believe Malfoy had kissed him back. Harry pressed the heel of his hand against his growing erection. Damn. It wasn't just the kiss; it was the memory of what Harry had done over the summer. In front of a mirror. With a flask of Polyjuice Potion and Draco Malfoy's hair… He had taken wanking to a whole new level. Harry buried his face in his hands and wondered what had possessed him.

The door opened again and Harry shot to his feet for the last time when a blond head appeared. "Finally, Potter. I had to roust half the students from their hiding places trying to find you."

Harry could not find words. Apparently he did not need words, because moments later Malfoy's mouth was hot and wet on his. The kiss was nearly overwhelming, better by far than it had been in the corridor. Malfoy's hands tangled in his hair, twisting his head into position for better assault by lips and tongue. Harry did not resist—he had the feeling it would have made no difference. His fingers twisted in Malfoy's robes.

The kiss was exhilarating and frightening at once. Harry tried to regain control, unwilling to allow Malfoy the upper hand. He forced himself to move his hands to the Slytherin brooch holding Malfoy's robes together. The clasp, thankfully, released easily and Malfoy's robes slid to the floor in a whisper of cloth. The blond made a soft noise and pushed at Harry. The backs of Harry's shins touched the trunk he'd been sitting and he nearly went down, but he shoved back, slamming Malfoy into the stacked luggage behind the Slytherin. Malfoy gasped and tore his mouth away from Harry's, probably to yelp at him, but Harry pressed his advantage. He clamped his lips to the blond's and renewed the assault.

His fingers tore at the buttons on Malfoy's perfectly starched shirt and dragged it from the waistband of his trousers to expose a smooth expanse of abdomen and chest that Harry was oh-so-familiar with. His fingers slid over Malfoy's skin, drawing another soft sound from the Slytherin.

"Need to taste you," Harry muttered and bent his head to run his tongue over Malfoy's collarbone, impatiently pushing at the green and silver tie that he had loosened but not removed. He considered taking Malfoy's shirt completely off, but was distracted by the sight of a delicate pink nipple. He knew damned well how sensitive they were. He took one into his mouth.

The Slytherin hissed and actually arched his back slightly. His muscles flexed under Harry's palms—an unexpectedly erotic motion. Harry lapped and then sucked at it before turning his attention to the other. His splayed hands held the quivering blond in place by a tight grip on his waist.

"Merlin, Potter," Malfoy said.

"I haven't even started, Malfoy," Harry replied and moved lower. He flattened the fine dusting of hair with his tongue, following it from the base of Malfoy's clavicle down to his navel, dropping to his knees with the movement. He circled the indentation and then dipped his tongue inside, earning yet another groan. The floor was hard beneath his kneecaps and probably dusty, but Harry didn't care. His only concern now was to force more of those amazing sounds from Draco Malfoy—the body was familiar, but the responses were not. With the Polyjuice, the cries and gasps had been all Harry's—now they belonged to Malfoy. They were a dozen times more electrifying.

Harry's fingers fumbled with Malfoy's waistband, tearing almost frantically at the fastenings before he forced himself to slow down. His teeth found the zipper and bit the cold metal to draw the zip down one notch at a time. Harry's eyes swept up to lock with Malfoy's. He was gratified to find a look of stunned fascination on the face of the normally ice-cold boy. Fuck, Malfoy was hot.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy's cock was revealed bit by glorious bit and he felt yet another onslaught of lust when he realized Malfoy was not wearing undergarments. Did he always wear nothing, or had he simply been expecting an encounter with Harry? Either option was nearly more than Harry could take and he had to pull away for a moment and shut his eyes to keep from coming on the spot.

"Potter?" Malfoy asked breathily, obviously concerned by the delay.

Harry opened his eyes to find Malfoy's pale cock directly in front of his face, erect and pulsing. "Merlin's fucking wand," Harry rasped. Before reason could stop him, he moved forward and licked Malfoy's cock, collecting a drop of bitter precome on his tongue and wrenching a startled cry from the Slytherin. He felt hands grip his hair and would have bet Malfoy had done so involuntarily. Before the blond could destroy Harry's resolve with a random comment, Harry took the entire length into his mouth.

"Fuck!" Malfoy cried.

Not quite yet, Harry thought, but even the fleeting idea spurred his imagination. He sucked hard as he pulled back and drew his tongue over the ridge beneath Malfoy's cock, chuckling slightly when he heard the blond head smack against a hard surface and the hands tightened painfully in Harry's hair.

"Done…" Malfoy gasped and tried again. "Done this before, then, Potter?"

Harry swirled his tongue over the head before answering. "First time, actually, but if you're a very good boy it might not be my last."

Malfoy's incoherent whimper was answer enough as Harry dove back down for an attempt at swallowing him whole. After that, Malfoy could not seem to manage actual words; the only sounds he made were one-syllable murmurs and primitive noises that sent the blood pounding through Harry's temples and straight to his increasingly painful erection.

"Potter! I'm—!"

That was all the warning Harry got before Malfoy's cock pulsed and sent hot fluid pouring over the back of his throat. Harry astounded himself by swallowing it, suppressing his gag reflex by sheer willpower and the competitive urge to show up Malfoy. In truth, it was less unpleasant than expected and the feel of the blond quivering beneath him was beyond comprehension.

He released Malfoy's softening cock and rested his cheek against the flat abdomen for a moment, panting. The long fingers in his hair felt gentler than expected and Harry's thumbs caressed Malfoy's hipbones reflexively. After a long, silent moment, the hands tightened and tugged at Harry until the irritation pulled him to his feet.

"That's quite a talent you have, Potter," Malfoy said in a teasing tone Harry had never heard before. He took Harry's lips in a searing kiss. Harry gripped Malfoy's open shirt, not caring if it wrinkled under the sweat of his palms. The blond pushed him away roughly, breaking the kiss. "Your clothes," Malfoy said roughly. "Get them off. Now." Harry staggered back and sat down hard on the trunk. He had not thought it possible to become any more turned on than he already was, but apparently there were levels beyond normal. He toed off his trainers and shed his robes before pulling at his tie.

"No." Malfoy's words halted him. "Leave the tie."

Harry unbuttoned his shirt instead and pulled the collar from the silk binding it before shrugging it off. His trousers were next. He stood then, blushing slightly as he stood before Malfoy clad only in his Gryffindor tie, pants, and socks. The blond, meanwhile, had restored his pristine appearance, refastening his trousers and buttoning his white shirt. He looked calm and unruffled, as though Harry had never caused him to come undone.

"Don't be shy now, Potter," Malfoy said. The grey eyes flicked downward and Harry swallowed hard at the resulting twitch of his erection. He took a deep breath and pushed his briefs down before stepping out of them, knowing he bared more than his flesh to the blond. One spell and Harry would be frozen for whatever torment or humiliation Malfoy chose to bestow on him. Instead, the Slytherin moved forward and backed him toward the trunk with another kiss.

"Potter," Malfoy murmured and wrapped his hand around Harry's aching cock. A strangled cry escaped his lips, muffled against Malfoy's wet mouth. The Slytherin stroked a couple of times and then moved his hand down to fondle Harry's testicles, raking his nails over the sensitive flesh there and nearly sending Harry climbing over the top of the blond. Malfoy chuckled wickedly. "Like that, don't you?"

Before Harry could draw enough breath to speak, Malfoy squeezed lightly and then pressed him against the trunk. Overbalanced, Harry went down with Malfoy atop him. He was allowed only a moment to enjoy that distraction before the blond kissed him greedily once more. Malfoy's fingers still gripped Harry' balls and his cock was hard and leaking between them. He grinned at the thought of his fluid marring Malfoy's perfect trousers and then he stopped thinking altogether because the long fingers suddenly circled Harry's hole, drawing a ragged gasp from him.

"What are you—?" Harry managed as he tore his lips away from the mouth that sought to devour him. The fingers withdrew and Harry was immediately sorry he had spoken. He tried to backtrack, but before he could speak, Malfoy's fingers were touching his lips.

"Suck," Malfoy said simply.

Harry felt a hot coil of something almost dangerously thrilling as he opened his mouth and let in Malfoy's long digits, first two and then three. Harry lapped at them and found it almost more erotic than sucking Malfoy's cock. Probably because he knew what Malfoy planned to do with those fingers.

When the blond deemed them wet enough, he removed them from Harry's mouth and returned them to his nether regions. The Slytherin wasted little time, circling Harry's tight sphincter only once before forcing one wet finger inside. Harry gasped and tightened his muscles reflexively.

"Relax, Potter," Malfoy ordered. "You'll enjoy this. I've done it to you many, many times now." He laughed rather evilly and Harry forced himself to relax by concentrating on the idea of Malfoy sprawled on some huge bed at Malfoy Manor, fingering Harry's likeness. He groaned and then cried out when Malfoy added a second finger and pressed both digits deep.

Harry tensed again, ready to protest. It was uncomfortable and invasive and he suddenly remembered this was Malfoy, the person least likely to try and make something like this pleasurable for Harry. He raised a hand and placed it against Malfoy's chest, intending to push him away—but then the invading fingers twisted and found something that turned Harry's world upside down.

"Oh," he choked.

Malfoy chuckled and bit at Harry's lower lip before crooning, "Oh, yes. I knew you would like that. Want me to do it again?" He did not wait for an answer, but brushed that magical spot once more. Harry whimpered. "How about another?"

A third finger joined the other two and moved in and out of Harry rhythmically, plunging deeper with each stroke and touching that incredible place until Harry thrashed mindlessly and flung himself at Malfoy's hand.

"Let's try for four," the blond murmured and Harry nearly screamed aloud when the fourth digit was added to the mix. He thought he couldn't possibly—oh fucking hell! He moaned and felt something close to breaking when Malfoy's incredible hand moved deeper and faster. Harry's legs ached with the effort of thrusting his hips forward, taking the fingers in, fucking himself hard on Malfoy's slick hand, needing more and more. Babbled nonsense spilled from his lips, thankfully muted by Malfoy's mouth and tongue, though how he managed to keep kissing Harry while his fingers sent spasms of delight through his body he couldn't say, Harry only knew it was brilliant.

Finally the sensation reached a pinnacle and Harry screamed as his back arched completely off the trunk. What seemed like a ludicrous amount of come spilled from his cock, shuddering out of him with every incredible quiver. Malfoy's fingers did not stop moving completely until Harry went utterly limp, so drained he thought he might actually have died.

"Fuck," Harry managed through panting breaths. His thighs trembled. He wasn't certain he would be able to walk.

"Well, nearly," Malfoy admitted. "Maybe next time."

Oh Merlin. Next time. Harry slowly realized he was almost completely naked, sprawled on some student's trunk, utterly depleted and vulnerable. Fuck, he was not even sure where his wand had gone. Malfoy made no move to rise, seemingly content to crush Harry's sweat-drenched body.

The Slytherin's voice murmured sibilantly against Harry's ear. "Not that there will be a next time, mind you. Your twisted little game was interesting. I was curious to see how far you would go with it." Malfoy's teeth sank into Harry's neck and he sucked hard for a moment. "Apparently, you will go very far, indeed. I believe you would have let me fuck you, wouldn't you, Potter?"

Harry could not deny it, especially when his body still trembled from the feel of Malfoy's fingers. The mere thought of more made his breath catch in his throat.

"Of course you would," Malfoy said. His teeth bit into Harry's jaw this time and Harry realized the blond was marking him. Oh bloody hell, what would Ron and Hermione say? Harry pushed at Malfoy, but his current position gave him no leverage. The Slytherin nibbled and sucked his way from Harry's jaw to his collarbone. It felt so good he gave up struggling and his spent cock twitched in response, obviously ready for another round with the evil blond. He felt an answering hardness against his thigh and was glad he was not the only one affected. Malfoy groaned. "I hate you for this, Potter."

He shoved away from Harry suddenly and stood looking down at him. The grey eyes swept over him expressionlessly. The blond was no longer impeccable. His shirt and tie were rumpled and wet with Harry's come and the platinum hair was tangled and unruly from Harry's hands. Rather than feeling embarrassed, Harry felt a curious sense of power. He raised his hands over his head and stretched, allowing a smirk to touch his lips when the blond's eyes widened. Oh yes, Malfoy hated Harry, but he wanted him all the same. Without another word, the Slytherin turned and fled.

Harry languidly found his wand, cleaned himself up, and dressed. He fingered the stinging marks on his neck and tried to concoct a plausible story for Ron and Hermione. Perhaps they would accept that he had been attacked. He snorted at the thought. Attacked by whom? Hermione would demand. Just Draco Malfoy, he would respond casually. A rush of heat flared through him at the mere thought of Malfoy's name and it was then he realized he had opened the gates to something beyond his control. He suddenly knew how Pandora had felt after opening that damned box.

You would have let me fuck you, wouldn't you, Potter? The words burned through him as he made his way through the baggage car to the door. Yes, he would indeed. And how long could Draco Malfoy resist that particular enticement? Harry smiled wickedly as he wrenched open the door and headed back to his friends. Not long at all, he wagered.

3  A Wicked Pastime

Harry jolted awake, panting and covered in sweat, tangled in his blankets. He kicked them off with an oath and sat up before he fumbled his way out of the bed curtains and reached for the water on his bedside stand.

Fuck. This was getting out of hand. It had been a week since he had seen Malfoy on the train and they had barely acknowledged each other's existence during that time. Granted, things were hectic with new classes, new teachers, and Quidditch tryouts, but Harry had hoped for something other than a return to their same old animosity.

Well, he had hoped for more sex, at any rate. He had wanked daily during the summer, usually clad in Draco Malfoy's skin. Their encounter on the train had fuelled his usual need into a raging inferno of desire; touching himself was no longer satisfying.

He gulped the water and sprawled back on his bed. His pants were damp and he knew he'd have to clean himself up from yet another wet dream involving Malfoy.

Something had to be done.

~~~o~~~

Perfect.

Malfoy sat on a low wall, looking perfectly comfortable and scribbling on a scroll. His goons were nearby, but they were practicing a simple Transfiguration Spell on a melon--something they should have learned as first years--while ignoring their overlord.

Hermione had persuaded Ron to join her in the library so she could help him with an assignment that Harry had miraculously finished, so he was on his own.

After a quick glance to ensure no teachers were about, Harry darted forward and pushed Malfoy as hard as he could. The Slytherin toppled off the wall and landed in the tall grass on the other side, flat on his back. Harry leaped over the wall and threw himself atop the blond, pinning him down.

"Potter!" Malfoy snarled. "What are you doing? You are crushing my scroll!"

Harry didn't give a flying fuck about the scroll. The entirety of his focus was wrapped up in the fact that he was on top of Draco Malfoy. The scent of the Slytherin flooded Harry's senses and the feel of him--Merlin, he hadn't expected Malfoy's legs to be open. Harry had settled quite nicely between them. If only they were both unclothed...

The very thought of it sent the blood rushing from all parts of Harry's body into his cock, which swelled so quickly it caused Malfoy to gasp.

"Potter!" Malfoy choked, not sounding half as cool and unaffected as a moment before. "Get off of me at once!"

Harry leaned down and took an earlobe into his mouth. He felt Malfoy shudder and then an answering hardness pushed into his erection, thank Merlin Malfoy was not unaffected. "Meet me in the Forest near the blasted oak north of Hagrid's cabin. Tonight. At 10 pm."

"The Forest?" Malfoy hissed. "Are you insane?"

"Afraid, Malfoy?" Harry asked in a taunting tone, pushing himself up to smirk at the captive Slytherin.

"Certainly not. But you had better be. Here come Crabbe and Goyle to push your face in."

"Don't be late," Harry ordered and then shoved himself to his feet and took off running with Malfoy's leg-breakers in hot pursuit.

~~~o~~~

Draco lay on his bed and cast a Tempus Charm for the sixth time. It was 10:05. Potter was bound to be pacing, irritated, and sending dark looks at the castle while he cursed Draco's name.

Draco chuckled, but it faltered when he realized the image of Harry Potter pacing the forest floor like an angry panther was rather... enticing.

He sat up, annoyed, and swung his feet off the bed. He was not going to meet the bloody Chosen One in the Forest. He hated the Forest. The Forest was filled with spiders and centaurs and bats and other disgusting creatures.

Still...

When Potter had knocked him off the wall, the Gryffindor had been hard before landing atop him. That knowledge alone had made Draco instantly, painfully erect. He thought back to their time in the baggage car when Potter had sucked him off.

Fuck, the Boy Who Lived had sucked him off. It would have been less thrilling if he had thought Potter had been lying about never having done it before. Draco was his first blow job.

With a silent oath, he flung himself toward the door and wrenched it open.

"Where... goin', Draco?" Goyle mumbled, half-sitting up.

"Go to sleep. I'm just going downstairs," Draco snapped.

"M'kay." Goyle's large head dropped and Draco closed the door. He snatched up someone's discarded cloak from the couch in the common room and slung it over his shoulders before exiting.

He slipped out the front doors and walked quickly, barely suppressing the urge to run across the grass. Was Potter still waiting? Draco intentionally slowed as he passed the Gamekeeper's cabin and continued on toward the lightning-scarred tree, stopping completely once he reached it.

Draco swallowed hard and stepped into the underbrush, feeling the Forest close around him like a suffocating fist. He took five short strides and halted to look over his shoulder, wondering if the castle would fade into nothingness and leave him stranded.

A sound made him snap his head back. His fingers clenched painfully around his wand and he peered into the darkness, alert to any threat.

"You're late," Potter said calmly.

Draco nearly sagged with relief. Potter. Draco opened his mouth to retort, but the words were swallowed in Potter's kiss as he marched forward and dragged Draco against him with a fist twisted in his cloak.

Draco would have protested his manhandling if it didn't feel so damned good. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Potter and returning the kiss. If Potter was feeling aggressive, then Draco would certainly rise to the challenge.

Potter broke the kiss and turned away before Draco was prepared. He nearly lost his balance and stumbled into the Gryffindor, but Potter didn't seem to notice. He let go of Draco's robes and grabbed his wrist instead.

"Come on," Potter said. "I have something to show you."

Draco debated the wisdom of following an obviously insane person into the depths of the Forest in the middle of the damned night, but the flirtatious grin Potter threw at him stoked Draco's curiosity. He allowed himself to be led, although he glanced to his right often to make sure the castle was still in sight. It was, as they seemed to be sticking to the edge of the Forest rather then penetrating the terrifying wilderness.

Potter cast a spell that opened a large wall of thick brush, allowing passage. He tugged Draco through the hedge and then stopped expectantly, releasing Draco's wrist.

Draco rolled his eyes to conceal the rush of excitement that shot through his veins at the sight of the small bed that rested incongruously in the centre of a small, flowered bower. Potter had most likely Transfigured it out of a fallen tree, judging from the splintered trunk acting as the headboard.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Draco asked.

For reply, Potter only smiled and dragged the black t-shirt he wore over his head. He tossed it aside and unfastened his jeans before shimmying out of them. Draco's mouth went completely dry when Potter sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes before shaking off the jeans and kicking them aside. Clad in nothing but dark-coloured pants, he looked at Draco speculatively.

"Do you intend to join me, or are you only here to watch?"

Watch? His face must have revealed the query, because Potter shrugged and slid back onto the bed. When he was prone, he rubbed a hand over his crotch, which looked half-hard and grew rapidly under the attention.

Draco sat heavily on the nearest corner of the bed, unable to take his eyes from Potter's stroking hand. After a tense moment, Potter pushed down the material to reveal the cock Draco was intimately familiar with. He itched to touch it.

Potter slowly slid his hand up and down the length. Draco glanced up and their eyes locked. Challenge was evident in Potter's gaze—not green in the darkness, but black and fathomless.

Draco reached up and undid the clasp holding the cloak. He pushed it off and then unbuttoned his shirt before shrugging out of it. He hesitated before unfastening his trousers, glancing nervously into the darkness.

"I cast a Silencing Charm and a Warding Circle," Potter commented softly.

Draco nodded and stood up in order to remove his shoes, socks, and trousers. He tried to do it quickly, but without appearing to hurry. He did not want to seem eager, but he definitely did not want Potter to bring himself off while he fiddled with his own wardrobe.

Clad only in silk boxers, Draco climbed back onto the bed and moved over to Potter like a stalking panther. He moved closer until he hovered over the Gryffindor without touching him.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked even though he had promised himself he would never ask any questions of the Chosen Prat. It simply made no sense--the Polyjuice Potion, the train, and now this.

In lieu of a reply, Potter reached up and pulled Draco down into a kiss. He surrendered with a sigh and went limp, stretching full-length upon the Gryffindor. It felt better than he would ever admit. Potter's hardness pushed against his abdomen and a drop of precome smeared wetly between them. It was indescribably hot, as was the feel of Potter's erection touching his. He rocked his hips experimentally; the friction was exquisite.

Their tongues battled, competing for dominance until Draco's jaws began to ache, but it was a delicious pain, tempered with pleasure. Potter's kisses were perfect, not too wet and definitely not passive.

Potter rolled them over in a swift movement and Draco found himself pinned with the smug Gryffindor staring down at him. He glared, resistance flooding to the forefront. It was not supposed to be this way.

"You're overdressed, Malfoy," Potter said casually and then sat back on his haunches and tugged Draco's boxers over his hips. Draco thought about fighting him, but he definitely did not want to come across as a stupid girl who put herself in a compromising position and then cried rape. He had walked out here and then removed his clothing of his own free will, after all.

Therefore he moved his legs and allowed Potter to take off his pants and toss them aside, and the hungry expression on Potter's face appeased Draco's momentary embarrassment. Potter straddled him, thighs resting against Draco's pelvis. His briefs were still wrapped around his hips, stretched where his exposed cock and balls pushed over the waistband.

Potter's hand wrapped around Draco's cock suddenly, squeezing hard at the base and then releasing slightly to slide up and cup the tip, palming it with a circular motion. At the same time, he leaned forward and took one of Draco's nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue several times before sucking it almost harshly.

Draco felt an explosion of heat flood through him and he closed his eyes at the intensity of sensation.

Potter said, "I know exactly what this does to you." He switched his attention to the other hard nub and Draco fought not to come, because it felt so bloody good and it would be so easy, but he wanted more.

Not to be outdone—or undone—Draco reached down and slid his hand into Potter's pants to cup his testicles. He tugged gently and was rewarded with Potter's moan.

"And I know what this does to you," he whispered and then dragged his nails over the sensitive flesh. In truth, he almost missed the Polyjuice days when he wore Potter's ridiculously sensitive balls. He rolled them in his fingers and grinned when Potter whimpered and opened his legs wider, inviting more. His breath panted against Draco's chest.

Draco allowed his fingers to slide back, caressing the soft strip of flesh behind Potter's testicles before circling the puckered flesh that met his questing fingertips. Potter's breath hitched again and he shifted his hips forward, allowing even better access. Draco was not sure Potter was even aware of the action.

Draco used Potter's distraction to roll them back over in a swift motion. The Gryffindor stared up at him through wide, green eyes and Draco saw that his glasses had gone missing. The loss made him look vulnerable for some reason. Draco pressed his advantage, kissing him deeply while his hands continued to wander up and back, driving Potter into a nearly mindless state.

To his credit, the Chosen One had not lost his grip on Draco's cock and his hands were busy doing their own wandering. Draco's breathing was rather uneven. He fumbled for his wand with his free hand and cast a Charm—a bit excessive due to his lack of concentration. Potter's briefs, Draco's hand, and most of Potter were suddenly dripping with lubrication.

Potter laughed against Draco's mouth, but he silenced that nonsense by pushing a slick finger straight into Potter's quivering hole and following it with a second.

Potter choked. "Bloody hell, Malfoy!"

"Don't act like you can't take it, Potter. I know you love this," Draco replied and twisted his fingers just so. Potter gasped and squirmed beneath him and Draco smirked. Oh yes, that was the spot. He callously added a third and finger-fucked him until Potter was a thrashing mess, which did not take long.

The pants were suddenly in the way, so Draco cast another spell—more carefully this time—and wrenched them away when the seams split.

"Look at you, Potter," Draco murmured. "Practically begging for it. You want me to fuck you, don't you? You want my cock inside you."

"Yes," Potter moaned, thrusting against Draco's motionless fingers.

"Beg me, Potter. Beg me to fuck you."

"Please," he said breathily, shocking Draco to stillness. "Please, fuck me."

Draco stared down at him incredulously. What he wouldn't give for a Pensieve later, in order to replay the scene over and over again. The Chosen One, begging for Draco's cock. He and Blaise could laugh about it and ridicule the Gryffindor hero, except that Draco was just as culpable.

"Please," Potter said again, shattering Draco's brutal reverie. He snatched his fingers free and moved forward quickly, before Potter changed his mind. Using one hand to steady himself, he gripped his cock and held it before Potter's waiting entrance.

He paused for a moment and locked eyes with the needy Gryffindor, sobered by the knowledge that he was about to lose his virginity to Harry Potter. The immensity of the thought was compounded by his belief that Potter was about to lose his, as well.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Potter reached down, found his wrist, and squeezed. Draco scowled. Stupid bloody Gryffindor. Draco did not need his reassurance. He was fine.

With that, Draco pushed forward and buried himself in brilliant heat.

Salazar, he thought in amazement. Salazar, Salazar, Salazar. It was almost beyond comprehension, the feel of it. He stared at Potter, whose eyes had gone just as wide. His grip had tightened almost painfully upon Draco's wrist, but he showed no other sign of discomfort, though it had to hurt. It had to, because Draco could barely move.

"A moment," Potter whispered. "Oh, Godric, just a moment."

Draco's lips twisted bitterly. He suddenly wanted to hurt Potter, to hurt him for making Draco feel everything he was feeling, for making him come to the damned Forest in the middle of the night and making him forget who he was and who his father served. For making him want this so badly that he would risk…

Draco pulled nearly out and thrust back home, deeper, without mercy. Potter cried out and arched his back. His fingernails dug into Draco's flesh, breaking the skin.

"Fuck!" Potter yelled. "I said—"

Draco repeated the motion and Potter thrashed.

"You are such a bastard," Potter snarled through clenched teeth.

"You wanted me to fuck you," Draco purred and thrust again. Curious, he reached down to see if the Gryffindor had lost his erection, but he found Potter's cock just as rock-hard and weeping as before. He stroked it teasingly and said, "I think you like it rough, don't you?"

Potter moaned seductively, giving mute acknowledgement to Draco's words, and Draco felt a ridiculous thrill at the sound. He repeated the motion and then set up a bruising pace, both thrusting and pulling at Potter's cock. Potter began to rock against Draco, quivering and squirming, driving Draco deeper with every stroke, as though using him as punishment.

Sheer force of will prevented Draco from coming six times over. It was simply too amazing for him to allow it to end too soon, and it was imperative that Potter come first. Later he would wonder why he didn't simply sate himself and leave the Chosen One an unsatisfied wreck, but in the heat of the moment he needed to see Potter come undone. He needed to conquer the Gryffindor… something not even the Dark Lord could do.

Potter's every exhalation contained an "Oh!" and Draco knew he was close, even closer than Draco, whose need for release crackled through every nerve ending. Impulsively, Draco leaned down and sank his teeth into Potter's neck, sucking harshly and biting nearly hard enough to tear the skin.

Potter shrieked and came, tightening even more around Draco's aching cock, sending the world's most brilliant orgasm ripping through Draco's body. The intensity seemed compounded by the feel of Potter's cock thrumming in Draco's hand while he spilled himself into Potter's shivering form. He wondered momentarily if magic was involved, because it was like nothing he'd ever experienced.

Draco collapsed atop Potter, beyond spent, feeling something like sparks dance through his nerve endings for long minutes. He panted harshly into Potter's neck and finally realized his teeth were still locked tightly on the bit of skin he had claimed. Potter had said nothing.

Draco released his jaw and gently licked the spot.

"You bit me," Potter rasped in a barely audible voice.

Draco closed his eyes and barely restrained a giggle. Compared to everything else they had done, complaining about a silly bite seemed ludicrous. Draco's cock was still buried inside of him, for fuck's sake.

He thought about removing it, but even that small motion seemed like too much effort, and it was a fascinating experience to have Potter beneath him, pinned and taken.

They lay unmoving and silent until their breathing returned to near normal levels. Draco became aware that one of Potter's hands traced tiny circles over a small patch of flesh near his shoulder blade, which was somehow more disturbing than anything else. Such intimate touches were for boyfriends and girlfriends, not… whatever they were. Fuck-enemies?

The thought pushed Draco up and away. He pulled out of Potter, his flaccid prick sliding out wetly to slap against his thigh. He braced himself on his hands and looked down at Potter, whose brow wrinkled as though in confusion. Draco frowned and wondered if Potter already had regrets.

"Don't heal that," he growled and jerked his chin toward the livid red mark on Potter's throat.

The Gryffindor scowled and lifted a hand to touch it, wincing.

"And don't cover it up, either," Draco added as he slid off the bed and cast a quick Cleaning Charm. He quickly located his boxers and pulled them on before donning the rest of his clothing. He heard Potter do the same. After a bit, Potter released the spell that kept the bed transformed. It turned back into a moss-covered log. Draco had to admit it was a good bit of magic, although he would never admit it aloud.

"Want me to… walk you back?" Potter asked quietly.

"I'm not your girlfriend," Draco sneered. He pushed his way through the brush and stalked toward the clearing that housed the castle, walking slowly enough that Potter could assist him in the event of any last-minute danger that might spew from the Forest.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he left the last of the trees behind and stepped onto the grass. He glanced back only once, to see Potter lurking at the edge of the wood, leaning casually against a tree with his invisibility cloak slung over one arm, watching Draco leave.

Draco frowned wondering why he felt the stupid urge to go back and kiss the Gryffindor one last time.

Last time, he thought to himself as he shook off the insane idea and slipped into the castle. That was the last time.

It had to be.

4 A seductive Pastime

Harry lay in bed and touched his fingers to the painful bite mark on his throat. He wondered how he was going to explain it to Ron and Hermione and then scowled at himself for even considering the idea of keeping the lesion. He needed to heal the fucking thing and be done with it.

He groped on the bed for his wand and closed his hand around it, fully intending to do just that. The tip of his wand poked into his tender flesh when he pressed it against the wound, making him wince. It really hurt, and yet… Harry's breath caught when he remembered Malfoy biting him, thrusting into him with a combination of pleasure and pain, fisting Harry's cock with every movement.

Harry dropped his hand back to the bed with a groan and released his wand. He would keep it only for the night. Just for the memory, which should have been disturbing. Harry should have felt ashamed. He should have been bloody mortified at offering himself to Draco Malfoy, of all people, like an idiotic sacrifice. Harry had begged to be fucked, for the love of Godric.

He shoved himself back against the pillows, half-sitting, and banging his head against the headboard with the motion. He frowned as a minor headache joined the throbbing pain in his neck. It should have helped to distract him from memories of Malfoy, but apparently nothing could accomplish that. Harry's cock was already stiffening.

His arse ached every time he moved, but he didn't bother to heal the raw flesh there, either. He deserved to be tortured for being obsessed with Malfoy. It was definitely an obsession—there was no other word for it. Harry thought about him constantly, dreamed about him at night, fantasized about being touched and licked and fucked— He banged his head against the headboard harder with a growl of frustration.

None of his dorm mates awakened. Harry had cast a Silencing Charm when he'd climbed into bed, sensing he would need it for the verbal tongue-lashing he planned to give himself for succumbing to utter stupidity. Malfoy was probably bragging to Blaise Zabini right now, explaining in graphic detail how he had…

Harry's legs fell open and he moaned, arsehole throbbing as he remembered Malfoy's fingers deep inside him, knowing exactly what to do to make Harry fall apart. Harry should have been sated, but his cock pushed hot and heavy against his pyjama bottoms, quivering at the memory of Malfoy's hand on it, stroking and twisting.

Harry shoved his hand past the waistband and took his prick in hand, thinking of the way Malfoy had dragged his fingers over Harry's testicles, teasing them before finger-fucking him, and then fucking him in earnest, hard and fast and almost brutally.

Harry stroked himself twice and came, arching off the bed and feeling his toes curl at the force of it. He sagged against the pillows and splayed his hand over the mess with another groan.

"That's it, then," he muttered. "I've gone mad. I'll spend the rest of my life doing nothing but thinking of Malfoy and wanking."

Then again, his life could end tomorrow, when he would find out whether or not Malfoy had kept their little secret, or whether Harry would have to kill himself.

XXX

Draco poked at the sausage on his plate, nudging it against his toast. Potter was late. Granger and the Weasel were already well into their respective breakfasts and there was no sign of their leader. Draco pushed down a burst of anxiety. Was Potter all right? Had the idiot been set upon in the forest after Draco had left him?

He shoved the thought away. Of course Potter was fine. Weasley would have noticed if his best friend had gone missing during the night, wouldn't he? Draco's eyes drifted from the Gryffindor table back to his own and he caught Pansy watching him with a speculative look. Damn her and her pesky knack for noticing everything, or at least noticing everything associated with Draco.

"You're not eating," she commented.

"Not hungry," he replied, which was true. The memory of the night before was doing odd things to his insides, causing him to feel alternately hot and cold, and altogether out of sorts. He had barely slept, replaying the scene over and over, and reliving key portions that he did not want to forget, such as Potter straddling him, pants shoved down to expose his miraculous cock, and the look in his eyes when he begged—begged—Draco to fuck him.

"Are you all right?" Pansy asked sharply.

Draco nearly knocked over his glass of juice reaching for it. He took a gulp, knowing it would be useless against the fire burning in the pit of his stomach, but it gave him a moment to try to collect himself. He set the glass down, taking extra care so ensure his hand did not shake.

"I'm fine," he said. He meant to elaborate, but at that moment, Harry Potter walked into the room and Draco's thoughts scattered to the four winds.

Potter should have looked as ragged as Draco felt. He should have looked wrecked, damn it all. Instead, Potter looked amazing. His hair was still damp from an evident shower or bath—Draco tried valiantly not to picture either scenario—and he wore his school robes with a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck.

Wrapped around his neck.

The green eyes shot immediately to his, which was gratifying, especially when a delicate blush tinted Potter's cheeks, something that must have annoyed him, because Potter looked away and marched to his usual place at the Gryffindor table next to the Weasel.

Draco could not take his eyes away from Potter's scarf. It was not a typical look for the Gryffindor hero. If Potter wore it at all, it was usually draped casually over his shoulders. One of his minions must have said something about it, for Potter raised a hand to touch the portion at his throat, lips moving as he spoke, and his eyes shot to Draco's once more.

Salazar, it could only mean one thing. Potter had not healed Draco's bite mark. A rush of something primal surged through Draco's blood, causing his fists to clench in his lap. His short nails dug into his palms as he tried to process the stunning knowledge that Potter still wore Draco's mark of ownership. Why?

Draco's cock was half-hard and he could barely breathe. He remembered sinking his teeth into Potter's throat and coming, coming, coming… Merlin.

Something painful gouged into Draco's ribs and he turned with an oath on his lips to see Pansy glaring at him. She leaned close to him and hissed, "All right, Draco, you will tell me what is going on with you and Potter and you will tell me everything. "

Draco could not even form coherent words to deny her accusation.

Fuck.

XXX

Muscle by muscle, Harry relaxed. There had been no catcalls when he entered the Great Hall, and no out-of-the-ordinary behaviour from the Slytherin table. Harry had been unable to keep his eyes from Malfoy, whose gaze fixed on him with such rapt intensity that it nearly stopped him in his tracks. Only the knowledge that doing so would draw unwanted attention kept Harry's feet moving toward the Gryffindor table.

Hermione had glanced curiously at him as he sat down and he had lifted a hand lamely to the scarf around his neck. "Um… cold."

He glanced back at the Slytherin table to find Malfoy still watching him. Harry felt his cheeks heat—again—and looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye to see if she had noticed, because she generally noticed everything. Luckily, Ron had dragged a sleeve through the butter and she was chastising him and paying Harry no mind.

Harry tried to put the blond prat out of his mind by filling his plate with food, but he could not stop a quick glance in Malfoy's direction, only to find the Slytherin scowling while Pansy Parkinson leaned close to natter in his ear. She glared at Harry, who quickly looked away and busied himself building a sandwich with toast and bacon. He was not particularly hungry, but the knots formerly wrapped around his stomach had loosened slightly and he felt he could eat without experiencing nausea.

Harry made it through breakfast with only a few more furtive looks toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy seemed to have occupied himself, and Harry did not catch the blond watching him again.

Harry's first class was History of Magic and he spent most of the class reliving his last encounter with Malfoy, until the tightness in his trousers reminded him why that was a very bad idea. The next class was Care of Magical Creatures and Harry was alternately excited and panicked at the thought of being so close to Malfoy, even though the distance between them would be relatively great—the Slytherins might well have been on another planet, so far they stayed from the Gryffindor group.

On the way to the place chosen by Hagrid for their latest lesson—a shrub-infested patch of woods near the lake—Harry lagged behind Ron and Hermione, only half-listening as they argued about whether or not the marble in the Great Hall had been imported from France or native quarries. Harry knew Ron was only arguing for the sake of doing so; they both knew Hermione had read Hogwarts, A History more than once.

A sudden, bizarre compulsion forced Harry off the path and into the woods. He walked several long strides, trying to stop himself, before seizing up against a familiar, hard chest. His fingers instinctively clutched at the figure to steady himself, twisting in dark Hogwarts robes as his eyes met stormy silver.

"Malfoy," he breathed and then mentally kicked himself for the breathless quality of his voice.

Harry felt a sting as the scarf was wrenched away from his neck.

"I thought I told you not to cover it up," Malfoy said roughly as his eyes went to the bruise on Harry's throat.

Harry actually felt a moment of guilt before he scowled and forced it away. He pushed Malfoy roughly, not loosening his grip on the robes, shoving the blond off balance. Malfoy's back hit a tree trunk, drawing a surprised wince from the Slytherin.

"You don't own me, Malfoy," Harry said and then sprang forward and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss and he half-expected Malfoy to heave him back in a fit of anger. Harry's mouth devoured Malfoy's and, despite everything, the taste of him was blissful.

Malfoy wrenched his mouth away, although it took far longer than Harry had anticipated.

"Fuck you, Potter," he said, but his voice was rough and he lowered his head to press his lips against the mark on Harry's throat. A fresh twinge of pain shot through Harry… all the way to his cock. He gasped and pushed his hips forward, ramming their pelvises together. Harry hoped the rough bark of the tree scraped Malfoy's back.

Malfoy grunted, but only opened his mouth to bite down on the wound even as his hands clenched around Harry's arse, fingers digging in painfully.

Harry moaned at the renewed sensation and ground himself against Malfoy, whose erection was a welcome pressure upon his own. The fact that Malfoy was just as turned on, just as ready for it, made it difficult for Harry to regain control. He wanted nothing more than to… His fingers slid downward and tore at Malfoy's shirt, pulling it from his trousers. Harry needed to touch him.

Malfoy only gasped a little when Harry's cold hands reached beneath the fabric to touch the bare skin of his midriff. Harry dragged the shirt upward roughly, higher and higher, exposing Malfoy's torso until his pink nipples were visible. He felt Malfoy's cock twitch; obviously the Slytherin anticipated what was to come.

Harry smirked a little as he lowered his head and bent his knees, regretting the loss of pressure against his cock, but delighting in Malfoy's response when Harry finally closed his mouth around one of his nipples.

A groan tore from Malfoy's throat and his hands convulsed. Fuck, but his sensitive nipples were a source of endless delight for Harry, even when he wasn't wearing them by benefit of Polyjuice Potion.

Harry's thumb trailed over Malfoy's firm abdomen and then he slid his hand down until his palm pressed against Malfoy's erection. Harry looked up at Malfoy, who watched him through half-lidded grey eyes. Harry considered opening his trousers to swallow him down. There was nothing more erotic than the thought of Draco Malfoy coming undone in broad daylight.

The sound of voices froze their tableau and then Harry straightened to plaster himself against Malfoy and brush his lips over Mafloy's ear. "Not here. Come inside with me."

Malfoy pushed at him, but ineffectively, as if it were only a reflex. "What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you, Potter?" he murmured. His voice contained its customary sneer.

Harry's teeth nipped at Malfoy's earlobe and tugged. "The fact that you spelled me over here was a clue."

"I—" Malfoy's probable denial was cut off when Harry squeezed his cock gently, reminding him what lay in store inside. Malfoy made a breathy noise and then said, "Fuck, let's go."

Harry regretfully pushed away from his blond nemesis, took a shaky step toward the path, and then halted.

"What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Here," Harry said and slung his book bag onto the ground. He reached in and pulled out his invisibility cloak before straightening and draping it over Malfoy's shoulders. "We can't be seen together."

"Of course not," Malfoy snarled. Harry frowned, wondering if he had imagined the hint of regret in Malfoy's voice and decided he had. It was impossible to tell now that Malfoy was invisible.

"Come on," Harry said and picked up his bag before pushing back through the undergrowth. He reached the path and nearly ran straight into Ron.

"Oi, there you are. Hermione sent me to find you. What are you up to and will it get us out of this class?"

Harry was glad he still held his bag; he used it as a shield to hide his quickly diminishing, but still evident, erection.

"Actually, I don't feel well," Harry said, listening intently to hear if Malfoy was still nearby. He had been close enough to bump into Harry while they walked, but now there was no sign of him. Harry hoped the blond hadn't abandoned him in order to utilize the invisibility cloak for his own nefarious purpose. Merlin, he should never have given Malfoy the cloak. How could he have been so stupid? He concentrated on Ron. "I think I'll go back to the dorm and lie down. Might be something I ate. Hope it's not a stomach bug."

Ron had seemed about to offer to escort Harry, but at the mention of possible contagion, he took a quick step back, hands raised.

"Yeah, you might want to go lie down. Or go to the hospital wing. If it's catching, you don't want to take it back to the dorm, you know?"

Harry nodded, trying to look faint. "Good idea. Tell Hermione and Hagrid, yeah?"

Ron's head jerked affirmative and then he turned away. "Good luck, mate."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and quickly turned around. He took two steps, intending to hurry to his room and grab the Marauder's Map in order to locate Malfoy.

"Merlin, Potter! Watch where you're going!" Malfoy hissed as Harry walked straight into his invisible form and nearly sent himself sprawling. He straightened and glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed him walking into something invisible. To his relief, no one was in sight other than Ron, who hadn't stopped his trek back to class.

"I can't watch where I'm going when you're invisible!" Harry muttered. "You'll have to do the watching!"

"Fine. Lead the way, then, so I'll at least have something interesting to look at."

Harry stepped around the spot from which Malfoy's voice emanated and asked, "Was that a compliment?"

"I'm only suggesting that your arse is the best part of you," Malfoy said dryly.

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. "You're such a tosser," he managed to say without venom.

"A tosser you'd like to fuck," Malfoy retorted.

Harry sucked in a breath and had to force himself to keep walking. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, I would, at that."

To his surprise, Malfoy said nothing. Harry concentrated on the sound of his footfalls crunching on the gravel as they neared the castle. There was only one place he could take Malfoy at this time of day. He could only hope it wasn't presently occupied.

Harry walked without stopping, despite several students greeting him when they passed. He climbed to the seventh floor, cursing the distance and hoping Malfoy didn't give up and leave by the time they got there. He paused before the blank wall that hid the magical portal.

"Wait here," Harry said.

"The Room of Hidden Things?" Malfoy's voice scoffed. "We can barely move in there, Potter."

"Just wait," Harry said, unable to stop a smirk from forming at the knowledge that Malfoy did not know the full extent of the room's abilities. He walked back and forth three times, concentrating hard. He had a difficult time believing that Malfoy was here, with him, willing to do… what they were about to do. It made it hard for him to focus. And hell, it just made him hard.

The door appeared and Harry sighed with relief before stepping forward and turning the handle. After a quick glance inside, he opened the door and made a grandiose gesture with one hand. "After you."

He heard a rustle of sound as Malfoy went inside, and then a gasp. Malfoy's blond head appeared, and then the rest of him as he removed Harry's cloak. Harry shut the door with finality and cast an absent Locking Charm on it, just in case the Room decided to allow the door to appear to anyone seeking a similar chamber.

"How did you know this was here? What happened to the Room of Hidden Things?"

"The room actually provides whatever you need. You only see it as a secret storage closet, so that is what you think about in order to open the door. In actuality, the room can become whatever you want." Harry admitted to sounding a bit smug at knowing something Malfoy didn't know.

"Interesting boudoir, Potter," Malfoy allowed after taking it in.

Harry was rather proud of it, himself. He had based it on a photo he had stared at a thousand times as a child, found in a book his Aunt Petunia left prominently displayed on the tea table in the Dursleys' living room. As far as Harry knew, he was the only one that had ever looked at the book.

Harry's recreation of a bedchamber from the famous Kensington Palace was probably not historically accurate, but it would do for his purpose, which was to get Draco Malfoy naked. Harry strode forward with determination and stopped just behind Malfoy, almost touching, but not quite.

"I don't really care about our surroundings," Harry said. "And I doubt you do, either." With that, he wrapped an arm around Malfoy's waist and pulled him back until their bodies were flush against each other. Malfoy tensed, but Harry pressed a kiss against the side of his neck, then another, and another, moving slowly and teasingly until Malfoy relaxed and actually leaned back against him.

Harry's hands had been slowly caressing Malfoy's torso, moving in long, slow strokes from his collarbone to his waistband and back again, gliding over Malfoy's sensitive nipples until they were hard peaks. Harry's cock was hard against Malfoy's arse and he barely resisted the urge to rut against him.

His hands moved back to Malfoy's collar once more and then stopped there in order to tease open the buttons of his shirt, moving from one to the next until the white material gaped open. Harry's fingers touched bare skin and he repeated his previous motions, sliding up and down over Malfoy's flesh this time and plucking at his nipples when his fingers passed over them. A soft moan tore from Malfoy's throat, making the blood surge to Harry's cock, which was suddenly aching with the need to be touched.

"Take your shoes off," Harry murmured against Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy immediately put more weight against Harry as he balanced on one heel to nudge off his shoes. The movement caused his arse to grind against Harry's cock and he braced himself to keep them from falling backward. When Malfoy's shoes were off, Harry reached for his waistband and quickly unfastened his school trousers, absently noting that they were much easier to remove from this angle because it was just like taking off his own.

They fell to the floor and Harry placed his palm over Malfoy's cock, pushing lightly to give him a taste of the torture Harry had been feeling. At the touch, combined with Malfoy's breathy gasp, Harry forgot everything but his need to have Malfoy naked against him. His other hand dove into Malfoy's pants and touched the velvety heat of Malfoy's cock, feeling wetness streak over his palm. His fingers curled around it and pulled.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Harry said through clenched teeth. It was wretchedly unfair that no one but Malfoy made him feel so electrified, so alive, and so fucking whole. He stroked again, and then again, wanting nothing more than to make Malfoy come undone beneath his hands.

Except that he did want something more.

"Bed," he rasped, barely able to speak. "Get on the bed."

Malfoy hesitated for only a moment, but Harry hadn't released his prick and gave it a teasing squeeze that seemed to decide the Slytherin. He stepped out of his trousers and allowed his pants to fall to the floor as he took the last few strides to the bed. He sprawled on it and rolled over to face Harry, still wearing his unbuttoned white shirt and Slytherin tie.

Harry tore off his own clothing with record speed, possibly destroying some of the seams in his haste. His eyes never left Malfoy and he wondered how the bastard managed to look so cool and collected even while mostly naked with his cock jutting from a tangle of blond curls. Harry salivated at the sight, wanting it in his mouth, which was all sorts of wrong.

"Leave the tie on," Malfoy said as Harry was about to wrench it free. He hesitated and then shrugged and let his shirt fall to the floor, quickly joined by his briefs. He flushed for only a moment as Malfoy's eyes went to his cock. He hadn't bothered to change the lighting in the room, so the windows simulated the conditions outside and lit the room with sunlight.

Harry did not wait for Malfoy to speak, but instead strode forward and launched himself at the Slytherin, knocking him flat and then snogging him breathless. The feel of Malfoy's hot skin against his was incredible. Memories of the previous night assaulted him and he allowed his hands to roam over the flesh he had thought he'd never touch again. He wanted to know why Malfoy had sought him out, but he was terrified to ask, knowing such a foolish question would likely drive him away, if he even knew the answer. After all, Harry had no idea why he wanted Malfoy. He only knew that he did.

Harry's hands touched and Malfoy's did the same, raking his short nails over Harry's back and drawing a startled shout from him as he raised his head to stare down at the smirking Slytherin.

Harry glared. "What was that for?"

Instead of replying, Malfoy moved his hands downward until he cupped Harry's arse. His fingers slipped into the gap and two digits pushed against Harry's raw hole, which quivered. His cock twitched and Malfoy chuckled. "Ready for more, Potter?"

Harry was, even though he made an irritated sound. "I thought I was fucking you."

"Malfoys don't—" He didn't finish the statement and Harry thought he heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Harry kissed him and then said, "I don't plan to take an ad out in the Daily Prophet."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, it would sully your reputation, wouldn't it? Fucking a Death Eater."

Harry sat back on his haunches, genuinely annoyed. He grabbed both of Malfoy's wrists, dragging his hands away from his arse. He lifted them and pretended to study them, even though he knew Malfoy's body as well as his own. Malfoy tried to jerk away, but Harry held fast. "I don't see any Dark Mark."

Malfoy's mouth twisted. "You know what I mean." He yanked again and Harry let go. Malfoy's hands fell on the bed to land on either side of his head.

"What about you?" Harry asked. "I'm surprised you haven't told everyone in your House."

"How do you know I haven't?" Malfoy's gaze was challenging.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You Slytherins like to think you're good at keeping secrets, but something like this? No way could Zabini keep from looking smug and making rude comments. And Parkinson isn't much better." In truth, he wasn't sure how close Malfoy was to the girl. It was possible he had told her.

"Something like this?" Malfoy repeated with a sneer. "You have a high opinion of yourself, Potter. It's just a fuck."

Harry's jaw clenched as he bit back a retort. It stung, even though he knew it was true. His eyes narrowed. "Yeah, and you fucked the number one target of your precious Dark Lord. Did you send him an owl? Think he'll give you a bonus? Or will you get your evil tattoo that much faster?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed fire and his legs moved as he swung them over Harry angrily and sat up, obviously preparing to leave. Harry shoved him back against the bed and sprawled over him, grabbing at the thrashing arms that were trying to hit him.

"Wait!" Harry cried. He caught Malfoy's wrists again and slammed them onto the bed. Malfoy bucked beneath him and Harry used his legs to lever himself over until Malfoy was trapped, feet on the floor and back flat on the bed with Harry half-crushing him. "Wait," Harry repeated in a softer tone.

Malfoy stilled, glaring with thinly veiled rage.

"We should have known better than to talk," Harry said quietly and kissed him again.

Malfoy's teeth sank into his lip, drawing blood. Harry winced, but did not pull away. He deepened the kiss and loosened his grip on Malfoy's arms. When Malfoy's thrashing was not renewed, he let go and tucked his hands into the blond hair, massaging gently, as though trying to calm a raging beast.

Malfoy lay still, not returning Harry's coppery-tasting kisses. Stubborn, Harry thought with near-amusement, and took one hand from Malfoy's hair to slide it down his neck and over a ridged collarbone, heading for a sensitive nipple. Before he reached it, Malfoy's hands curled in Harry's hair and jerked his head upright with a sharp tug.

The grey eyes were still storm-filled. "I top," he said firmly.

Harry chuckled. "All right." It really didn't matter. He wondered if arguing with Malfoy would always be a reflex.

The hands in his hair relaxed. "Get off me, you oaf."

Harry obliged, rolling over and sprawling in the centre of the huge bed. In the opulent surroundings, when Malfoy crawled between his legs, Harry suddenly felt like royalty of centuries past, being serviced by his stableboy. He decided to keep that particular fantasy to himself, doubting Malfoy would be at all amused by the comparison.

"Why such a smug expression, Potter?"

Harry raised a hand and cupped Malfoy's face. "Because you're here."

Malfoy's features flushed and his pale lashes dropped to hide his eyes as his lips thinned. "God, you're annoying." Harry stared at him in bemusement for a moment and wondered what was going on in that Slytherin brain of his. There were so many more facets to Malfoy than he had ever dreamed.

"I know. Need your wand?"

Malfoy shot a glance at the floor and Harry wondered if he had broken some cardinal rule by allowing himself to be parted from his wand while in the presence of his "enemy". Harry pursed his lips—wincing at the painful reminder of Malfoy's bite—and knew he would received the verbal thrashing of his life if any of his friends, or members of the Order, knew where he was right now, with his own wand trapped in his jeans several feet away.

Malfoy climbed off the bed and retrieved his dark wand—hawthorn, Harry remembered—and then returned.

"Still eager, I see," Malfoy commented, looking at Harry's erection, which twitched beneath the perusal.

"Yeah, so get on with it," Harry replied.

As if to be contrary, Malfoy slipped his fingers beneath Harry's cock and lifted it with his left hand almost gingerly, as though the very act of touching another man's prick was anathema, which it probably was, and then he tapped it with the tip of his wand.

Harry should have been frightened—or at least concerned—at the very idea of allowing Draco Malfoy anywhere near his private parts with a wand, but for some reason he barely felt a twinge of unease. Perhaps it had something to do with Malfoy's expression, intense and filled with something that was definitely not malice.

His lack of anxiety seemed justified when thick, cool liquid trickled from the end of the wand and covered Harry's cock and Malfoy's fingers. Malfoy rubbed the lubricant over Harry's cock, seeming determined to cover all of it and send Harry back to the brink of orgasm with the sensation. He bit his ravaged lip to cover a moan.

Malfoy smirked and moved his hand lower, to perform the same treatment on Harry's overly sensitive testicles. Fucking hell, it was brilliant. Malfoy cupped and rolled them in his hand and Harry arched beneath him, legs falling open wider. Slick fingers moved even lower and another jet of lubricant shot out to sooth his receptive hole. It stung for a moment, and then Harry gasped as Malfoy's finger circled it once before plunging inside.

Harry shut his eyes, both to concentrate on the sensation and shut out Malfoy's potentially smug expression. A second finger followed, and then a third before Harry was quite ready for it. He jerked at the burn, but Malfoy's impatience was something he would have to get accustomed to if he planned to keep it up—and he had no intention of following that idea any farther at the moment.

His hips rose involuntarily as Malfoy's fingers moved in and out, seeking something, and Harry could not hold back a sharp cry when a fourth finger joined the others—it was too much, too soon—his hands convulsed on the spread, gripping the material.

"Shhh," Malfoy said gently, "You can take it. Relax."

Harry tried, but his body tried to expel Malfoy's fingers, which felt like burning coals and Harry wished they would just stop moving for a moment. "Fuck you," he said, knowing to ask would make no difference.

Malfoy's fingers, so deep now, brushed something inside and Harry remembered it from the previous night. He quivered and cried out, amazed that Malfoy knew his body so much better than he knew it himself.

"That's it," Malfoy crooned. His other hand wrapped around Harry's cock, increasing the sensation tenfold as the pain diminished. Malfoy's fingers rocked in and out, brushing over that wonderful place in tandem with each upstroke of Malfoy's fist on his cock.

Harry nearly cried out again when Malfoy's fingers withdrew, because he was getting so close, but he felt the head of Malfoy's cock nudge the tender flesh instead, and then slide easily inside.

Malfoy's slippery hand rolled over his hip and clung there as Malfoy moved closer, fitting his thighs beneath Harry's. Harry lifted his hips to assist. Once positioned, Malfoy began to move.

Harry used his grip on the bed to push himself downward with each of Malfoy's thrusts, which grew more violent with every gasp and quiver. Malfoy's hand on Harry's cock tightened, barely moving at all, but it didn't matter, because his length dragged over that place inside Harry with each motion, sending him closer and closer to the brink.

"Potter," Malfoy said, so quietly Harry barely heard it. Harry watched him through eyes half-closed, amazed at the way the Malfoy façade crumbled to nothing in the face of passion. He was entirely here, now, hair mussed, eyes fixed on Harry, lips parted and lightly smeared with Harry's blood, with sweat beginning to bead on his brow and curl the fine blond hair. Malfoy was undeniably gorgeous.

Harry let go of the bed and reached up to touch him, holding his shoulders lightly. Malfoy stroked once more and Harry arched, trying to keep his eyes open as he came, watching Malfoy watching him.

Malfoy's thrusts grew stronger for a moment or two, and then he tossed his head and bit his lip to stifle a cry. His entire body quivered and Harry felt it in his hands and his thighs, but mostly in the parts of him gripped around Malfoy's cock, melding them together. It was brilliant.

Malfoy fell atop him, jaw landing on the bite mark and making Harry wince, even as he wrapped his arms around the spent Slytherin.

Just a fuck, Harry thought and tried to make himself believe it. 

5  A Not-So-Secret Pastime

As if allowing Draco Malfoy to fuck him weren't foolish enough, Harry also fell asleep wrapped around the evil prat, only to wake up alone. Harry launched himself from the bed and checked to make certain everything was in place—his clothing, his wand, and his invisibility cloak. All were where he had left them and he snatched up his wand and cast a Tempus Charm. He had slept completely through Care of Magical Creatures and half of Herbology. Harry wasn't sure whether to be annoyed with Malfoy for not waking him up or grateful for the extra sleep—he had got little enough of that the night before.

Harry heaved a great sigh and sat on the bed, wincing at the feel of the fabric against his bruised arsehole. He scowled and wondered why Malfoy had to be so fucking rough. His tongue flicked out and touched the dried blood covering the tender spot on his lip. Evil prat, he thought even as his cock stirred at the memory of being bitten and savaged and taken.

He sprawled back against the bed with a groan. Already his cock was filling and lengthening, perfectly ready for another round with Malfoy and his wicked hands and bitey mouth and hard, thrusting cock.

"There has to be an end to this," Harry muttered. He couldn't spend the rest of his school days doing nothing but having sex with Malfoy or fantasizing about having sex with Malfoy. Harry had an evil undead wizard to deal with. And schoolwork. And his future to think about.

But first he had to content with his never-ending erection. He sighed and wrapped his hand around his cock to bring himself off. It didn't take long once he started to think about Malfoy's gorgeous body hovering over him, thrusting forcefully into him, dragging his nails down Harry's back in long scratches…

Harry came over his own abdomen, which was still sticky from his previous encounter with Malfoy, and then he sat up and cleaned himself with several spells before putting his clothing back on. He used the invisibility cloak to sneak into Gryffindor Tower and then dozed on his bed until Ron appeared later. After assuring his friend that his earlier stomach ailment had been temporary and not a horrible, contagious virus, they lounged around in the common room playing Exploding Snap until dinner time.

Harry hardly thought of Malfoy at all.

XXX


At dinnertime, Harry walked into the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, laughing at Ron's retelling of Dean Thomas receiving a face full of neon green sap from a Shivering Inkblossom during Herbology. Apparently the dye effects would last for days, much to the amusement of the entirety of Gryffindor House. Despite Harry's interest in the story, his eyes went straight to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy was already seated, listening to an apparent argument between Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson with a bored mien. His gaze sharpened when he saw Harry and one brow rose in surprise when Harry's mouth curved in a smile. Parkinson noticed and turned her sharp stare towards Harry, who quickly looked away and made a jesting comment about Dean.

Harry tried to keep from blushing as he sat down and focussed on his food. He thought he managed it until he looked up and caught not Malfoy watching him, but Pansy Parkinson, her dark eyes flashing with something that looked dangerous and feral. Harry nearly lifted a hand to tug the collar of his poloneck higher, just to verify that Malfoy's spectacular bite mark was covered.

Harry glared at her and looked away, but his former appetite was ebbing quickly, replaced by a new worry. Harry glanced at Zabini, but the boy was sneering at Goyle and seemed not at all interested in Harry. Parkinson, however, seemed very interested in Harry, particularly after Malfoy glanced up and stared at him expressionlessly for a moment. To his horror, Harry felt his cheeks filling with heat and he dragged his eyes away, but not before he noticed Parkinson's eyes narrow. Her lips drew into a thin line.

Harry kept his attention fixed firmly on his plate after that, until Hermione mumbled something about needing to talk to Angelina and left his side to move farther down the table. Hermione's spot was filled by Ginny Weasley, who gave him a shy smile and then reached over to pluck an orange slice from his plate.

"Hi, Harry," she said. "Can't wait until the grudge match with Slytherin tomorrow. I'm sure you'll kick Slytherin's arse."

Harry blinked at her. "What?"

At his other side, Ron coughed. "Oh, sorry, mate. I forgot about that. We sort of got into it with the Slytherins during Care of Magical Creatures. Crabbe insulted Angelina, who nearly hexed him, but then Neville suggested a grudge match. It starts at eight, tomorrow night."

Harry glanced down the table at Hermione, who vehemently disapproved of grudge matches, since they were held after hours and without the consent—or knowledge—of the teaching staff. They also tended to get violent.

"Yeah, we didn't tell her, either," Ron said quietly. Ginny giggled.

Harry chanced another glance at Malfoy, to find him staring straight at him with eyes narrowed; he seemed irritated. Harry tried to ignore the way his heart jumped at Malfoy's regard. Fucking Slytherins, he thought and resolutely dug into his food.

Sleep was a long time coming that night. Harry tossed and turned, haunted with images of Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, Malfoy in the Forest, and Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. When he finally slept, his dreams were peppered with even more tantalising visions—Malfoy's hot mouth and firm fingers, his smooth skin and warm breath. Harry woke hard and needy, and stroked himself off to the memory of Malfoy buried deeply in his arse, quivering against Harry's back and biting savagely into his skin.

Wednesday was a horrible day for classes, starting with Divination, which seemed interminable. Harry was too tired to spend much time thinking up gruesome ways for them to die, so he left it to Ron while he pretended to meditate while catching a few extra winks.

Transfiguration was also dreadful, as they were just beginning to learn Un-transfiguration, which meant studying an object and trying to cast a spell that would return it to its original shape, despite having no idea what the original shape was.

Harry spent the entire class period trying to restore his teacup to its original state, which he had somewhat stubbornly decided had been a book, and succeeded only in cracking the teacup. Ron had even less luck, shattering his teacup into bits so small a Reparo had little success returning it to a useable form.

In order to avoid Slytherins of all sorts, Harry snatched food from the kitchen and ate lunch in his room, telling Ron and Hermione that he wanted to get an early start on his Transfiguration essay. Ron decided to join him after giving him a suspicious look.

"Why are we really eating in here?" Ron asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

"So the Slytherins don't tempt us into a brawl in order to get out of the match tonight," Harry said and grinned at his own cleverness when Ron nodded.

"Wouldn’t put it past them," he said darkly. "Bloody hell. It's snowing."

Harry turned to look out the window. Thick, bright flakes drifted past. He shook his head. "It was sunny just yesterday. Think Slytherin will call the match off?"

"Would we?"

"Not likely," Harry replied and sighed. He would need to bundle up for a frigid game.

xxx

Herbology went smoothly, for the most part. Professor Sprout kept all troublemakers separated and busy spelling nearly invisible mites from Biting Hydrangea. The task took concentration to avoid nasty bites from the plants, whose leaves were serrated and could move quickly when it sensed an easy target.

Malfoy was on the other side of the greenhouse, barely visible, so Harry only gained three nips whilst glancing over at him. Pansy Parkinson had not left his side all day, from what Harry could see.

Professor Sprout walked over to see how many mites Harry and Ron had collected. "Very good, boys," she said. "A bit of murtlap essence will take the sting out of those bites. Harry, it's over on that table if you wouldn't mind fetching it for me."

Harry nodded and walked towards the indicated table, passing Malfoy and Parkinson on the way. They said nothing and neither of them even glanced at Harry as he walked past, but on his return trip he met Parkinson's dark glare.

She stepped out and blocked his path. "You'd better watch yourself, Potter," she said, "Or you'll find yourself missing a couple of vital objects."

"Like what?" he asked as his gaze shot to Draco, who watched them without expression.

"Your balls," she hissed and jabbed his lower abdomen with her wand.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, stepping away and thinking about drawing his own wand on the crazy bint.

"I think you know," she said. "So unless you want your little gay secret spread far and wide, you'll stay the fuck away from Draco."

Harry swallowed and glanced around swiftly. They were, thankfully, out of earshot of the other students.

"He's not interested," Pansy added.

"Oh, really?" Harry asked with a glare at Draco. He wondered why Malfoy had made her his little mouthpiece. "Maybe he should tell me that, himself."

"I'm not interested, Potter," Malfoy said and shrugged. He turned back to his hydrangea. "You were an amusing toy, but I'm finished with you. Run along, now."

"And prepare to lose tonight," Parkinson added maliciously and stepped aside.

"Whatever," Harry said. His hands clenched so tightly around the murtlap essence that he forced himself to relax his fingers before the jar cracked. Fucking Malfoy! Not only had he spilled his guts to Parkinson, but now he was acting like what had happened between them was nothing.

Of course, it was nothing. Right?

Harry's stomach hurt. He handed the jar to Professor Sprout and said nothing when she touched up his stinging bites.

"How did you get that on your neck?" she asked. "That isn't from one of my plants, is it?"

Harry clapped a hand to his neck and tried not to blush. Ron looked at him curiously. Harry tugged the fold of the shirt back into place, hiding Malfoy's mark as he tried to bury the memory. "No," Harry said quickly. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Sprout said and shook her head. "You might see Madam Pomfrey about that one. Mr Weasley, your turn."

Ron hissed and complained as she touched up his hydrangea wounds. Harry risked a glance at Malfoy, to find both him and Parkinson concentrating on their plants.

An amusing toy. Fucking arsehole.

XXX

To Harry and Ron's dismay, Hermione seemed to sense that they were up to something and she refused to leave their dorm room.

"We all need to get a good start on this essay," she explained. "I am determined that both of you are going to get good marks this time."

"But, Hermione, I'm really tired," Ron said and faked a yawn.

"It's barely 7:30," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm pretty tired, too," Harry added when Ron gave him a look.

Hermione crossed her arms. "All right. What is going on?"

"Can't a bloke be tired?" Ron countered.

She got to her feet and angrily snatched up her books and scrolls. "Fine. Don't tell me. Be secretive all you want. But when you get into trouble, do not come crying to me asking for help." With that, she stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

"Bloody hell," Ron said.

"Maybe we should have told her," Harry said.

"And suffer hours of endless nagging?" Ron shook his head. "Trust me, this is better."

Harry supposed he was right. He spent the next few minutes bundling up. Extra socks, two shirts, his warmest trousers, and large mittens over his gloves. He was sweating by the time he finished getting dressed.

"We'll have to use the cloak to get past Hermione," Harry said.

"Yeah, and a distraction probably wouldn't hurt."

A distraction was provided for them in the form of Ron's sister. Ginny was already at the portrait hole when Hermione, seated in a chair before the fire, barked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get some pumpkin juice!" Ginny protested. "Merlin, do we need passes for that, now?"

"Well… no, but it's nearly curfew."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'll be back before then."

"All right," Hermione said.

Ginny turned and went through the portrait hole with Ron and Harry close on her heels. They let Ron's sister get well ahead of them before taking off the cloak. "Let's hurry."

The pitch was dimly lit with strategic glowing areas. The light was too dim to be seen from the castle, but enough that low-flying players could see the pitch and the lights around the goal hoops. Each of the balls had been given a different coloured glow--purple for Bludgers, orange for the Quaffle and gold for the Snitch. Even with the colours, Harry wondered if they would be able to see at all, thanks to the thick snowflakes still falling.

"This is ridiculous," Ron said as they walked onto the pitch. One of the assembled Slytherins heard him.

"Giving up, then, Gryffindor?"

"No!" Ron spat.

"Good. Then let's do this."

Harry looked at his teammates: The Weasley Twins, Ron, and Angelina. Ginny had agreed to play Keeper. The Slytherin team had Crabbe and Goyle, Miles Bletchley, Montague and Warrington and, of course, Draco Malfoy. Except for Malfoy and Bletchley, all of the Slytherin players looked enormous and much warmer than Harry felt.

A handful of students had gathered as spectators, among them Pansy Parkinson and Lee Jordan.

"I'll release the Snitch," said Parkinson.

"No. How do we know you won't hex it?"

"I'll do it!" said Lee.

"How do we know you won't hex it?" Parkinson demanded.

Harry heard Malfoy snort and glanced over, but Draco wasn't looking at him.

"Do we have any Hufflepuffs here?" Ginny asked. "They are impartial."

"I'll do it." Luna Lovegood stepped closer to the wooden case that held the assorted balls.

"Why are you even here, Loony?" Parkinson asked with a sneer.

"Don't call her that," Harry said and stepped forward, fists clenching. One held his broom, but he figured the other could give Parkinson a quick shove if she didn't watch her mouth.

"What are you going to do about it, poncey boy?" Parkinson's hands were propped on her hips and an ugly smile twisted her pug-like face.

Harry saw red and might have done something unforgiveable, but a sharp crack across his forehead sent him sprawling backwards into the snow. Stars swam before his eyes and he heard a roar that could only have come from Ron.

"Go, Draco, go!" Parkinson yelled.

A hand gripped Harry's and helped him to his feet. He blinked away the dark spots that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness and mumbled, "What happened?"

"Draco hit you with his broom." The voice was Luna's and after a moment Harry was able to focus on her.

"He hit me?" Harry lifted a hand and sucked in a breath when his gloved fingers prodded at a tender spot on his head, just left of his scar. He looked over at the others, but only a handful of students remained.

"Ron went after him, but Draco took to the air." She lifted her head and scanned the sky. "I don't think he'll catch him. The others joined the pursuit, I think. Should I release the Snitch?"

"I suppose you might as well," Harry growled. He bent down and picked up his broom, shaking off the accumulated snow. It was just over ankle-deep now and the wind seemed to be picking up. He wasn't sure if they would be able to play at all, but it didn't seem to matter. What Harry wanted now was to punch Malfoy in the face.

"I'll show him an amusing toy," Harry growled and hopped onto his broom. He was twenty feet up before he found his proper seat and shot forwards. Muffled shouts drew his attention; he could hardly see at all through the falling snow.

A dark shape appeared before him and he pulled his broom up sharply to avoid collision.

"Harry! You all right?" Fred Weasley asked.

"I'm fine," Harry replied, even though his head was pounding something fierce. "Where is Malfoy?"

"Dunno. Can't see in this--oh hey, there's a goal! I wonder who has the Quaffle?"

Another shout drew Harry's attention and he angled away from Fred. He had cast an Impervius Charm on leaving the castle, so at least his glasses were free from the effects of the weather, but it was still impossible to see in the heavily falling snow.

A dark shape flashed by, followed by someone roaring insults. Malfoy and Ron! Harry dove after them and quickly caught up to Ron. Malfoy was a darting, dark blur before them.

"Harry! You okay?"

"Yeah!"

"I almost caught the bastard twice--look out!" Ron twisted away and Harry jerked his broom sideways into a spiralling roll, narrowly missing one of the Slytherins that had nearly ploughed straight into them. With a gasp, Harry forced his broom onward, trying to keep the dark patch that was Malfoy in sight.

Putting on a burst of speed, Harry caught up to him. Their elbows jostled and Malfoy looked over at him. He wore weatherproof goggles, so it was impossible to see his eyes. Harry jerked his broom sideways and shoved against him, hard.

"Is Potty angry?" Malfoy taunted and pushed back.

"Why did you do that?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy halted his broom so quickly that Harry had to pull a sharp manoeuvre and double-back. They glared at one another, breath fogging the air in clouds.

"I couldn't let you harm Pansy, old chap. Nothing personal."

Harry felt another surge of rage. "Nothing is ever personal with you, is it?"

Draco shrugged. The movement dislodged a bit of snow that was already building up on his shoulder.

Harry moved his broom closer, fighting the tangle of emotion that swirled within him. Part of him wanted to hex Malfoy, another part wanted to punch him in the nose, and yet another wanted to get closer still, and taste those lips just once more.

Malfoy took off. He nearly disappeared in a swirl of snow and Harry raced after him. Had the idiot seen the Snitch? Was anyone actually playing in this?

A booming voice, fuelled by a Sonorus Spell, reached Harry's ears. "Everyone come inside. This game is postponed!"

Not called, but postponed. Harry would have breathed a sigh of relief, but he needed every breath of air to keep Malfoy in sight. He was giving no sign of heading towards the ground. Harry pushed onward, ducking low upon his broom to gain more speed. He drew even with Malfoy again.

"Did you hear that?" he called.

"Fuck those Sallies!" Malfoy spat. "Are you quitting?"

Harry gaped at him. "Are you fucking mental! We can't see anything in this!" Harry flung out a hand to indicate the snow falling all around them. A gust of wind pummelling him, covering his glasses before the Charm kicked it and melted it away.

"Scared to play a Seeker's game in a little weather, Potter?" Malfoy taunted.

"I hate you!" Harry retorted, knowing he would never leave as long as Malfoy remained on the pitch. He scanned the falling snow, looking for any sign of gold. It was up to him to find the damned Snitch so he could quit this foolishness and go inside.

"That's been established!" Malfoy replied.

Harry's hands tightened on his broomstick and he fought another current that tried to pull him into Malfoy. Hate was a funny thing, he thought, because he certainly hated Malfoy, especially right now with his cheeks freezing and his forehead throbbing in pain, but there had been moments… There had been moments when maybe he hadn't hated Malfoy quite so much.

He remembered Malfoy sprawled on the bed, cock hard and leaking, waiting for Harry to walk forward and touch him. He remembered Malfoy's hand stroking him gently, and he remembered them lying together quietly, passion and anger spent, leaving nothing behind but… what?

Heat pooled in Harry's midsection, warring with the hot ball of rage already there. He wrenched his broom sideways suddenly, slamming into Malfoy.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelped. He swept away and to the right and Harry went after him, diving low and hard and ramming Malfoy's shoulder with his knee. Anger had won, and Harry wanted nothing more than to hurt him.

Malfoy cursed and yanked his broom into a loop, curving up and away from Harry, who followed. The tip of Harry's broom nearly brushed the bristles of Malfoy's as they spun and then Malfoy dove towards the ground, gaining speed as he went.

Harry followed, keeping his broom directly behind Malfoy's until it became obvious he was gaining. "Catch the Snitch," Harry muttered and reached out a hand, intent on snaring Malfoy's bright hair, which was currently matted and wet, but still long enough for Harry to get a good grip.

"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry yelled and stretched, almost close enough. Almost…

Malfoy looked over his shoulder and then executed a barrel roll, spinning away from Harry's hand. His shouted epithet, torn away by the wind, made Harry chuckle. He could run, but he couldn't hide. Harry felt melded to his broom as he coaxed it downward, easing after Malfoy. He locked onto his target again.

Malfoy led him a merry chase, spinning and dipping, climbing upwards and then diving, pulling breakneck manoeuvres that impressed Harry, despite his growing determination.

"Potter!" Malfoy finally called when Harry's fingers had brushed the sodden fringe of blonde hair--so close. "Stop!"

"Seeker's game, Malfoy!" Harry taunted mercilessly. He felt possessed, half-crazed with the need to hurt Malfoy, to pay him back for making Harry feel things that he should never have felt, things that were far too dangerous to entertain.

They were better as enemies, Harry thought, eyes narrowed as he glared at Malfoy. The Slytherin did not seem so cocky now. He was obviously tiring, and making foolish mistakes such as glancing over his shoulder time and again. His lips were twisted into a familiar angry line, but there was no superior sneer there, not now, not when--

The pole was suddenly there, appearing out of the snow without warning, nothing more than a tall, dark shape with the hoop of the goal lost in the white-dark far above. It was there and Malfoy had craned his neck again, wasn't watching; his eyes were on Harry and he didn't see--

"Look out!" Harry shouted and pushed his broom ahead to do something, anything--

Malfoy crashed. The gong of his broom hitting the pole sounded loud even with the muffling qualities of the snow and wind. Torn from his broom, he fell.

Harry dove, heart in his throat, watching as Draco fell with a swirl of dark robes and flailing limbs. The pain Harry had wished for him was suddenly an all-too-real possibility. He drove himself faster and snagged a hand in Draco's flapping robes--and hit the ground.

Harry's broom hit first and he slammed forwards to land mostly on one shoulder, although his chin hit something with an explosion of pain. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he realised he had bitten his tongue.

Everything hurt for a moment and then he pushed himself up with both hands, dragging his face from the bank of snow that had partially cushioned his fall. Malfoy lay next to him, a dark, unmoving shape.

Harry tried to speak, spat a mouthful of blood, and tried again, crawling across the powdered snow. "Malfoy?"

Harry's shoulder throbbed and he thought something might be broken. He ignored it and reached Malfoy, who was spread-eagled on the ground. To Harry's relief, Malfoy groaned when Harry gave him a hard shake. His goggles were gone; lost in the fall. Harry thanked his stars that the Sticking Charm he'd applied to his glasses had held, or he'd be fumbling around half-blind.

"Malfoy!" he cried again.

"Fuckin'… hate you," Malfoy muttered.

Harry laughed weakly, relieved that at least the prat wasn't dead.

"Where's my broom?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head. "Accio Malfoy's broom!" It slapped into his hand and he tossed it atop Malfoy's chest. "There. Now let's go inside. I'm half-frozen." He was, he realised once he'd said it. His feet felt numb, as did his face. A flurry of ice crystals stung his cheeks and he noticed it had grown colder. His breath fogged the air with every exhalation.

"Can't move," Malfoy said.

"What?" Harry turned back to him and half-sprawled over him. "What did you say?" Bloody hell, had Malfoy broken something vital? His legs? His spine?

"Tired. Just gonna lie here."

It occurred to Harry that Malfoy might simply have a concussion. "No, you are not going to just lie here," he snapped. He ran his hands up both of Malfoy's legs, squeezing as hard as he could to elicit a reaction. Surely Malfoy would cry out if Harry touched a broken bone?

"Feeling me up now? Potter, you're… such a perv."

"Shut up. I'm trying to see if anything is broken."

Harry glanced towards the castle, which suddenly seemed very far away. It was pitch-dark and the snow was nearer to ice now. By the time he ran for help--or even flew on his broom--Malfoy might freeze.

"Come on," Harry said, levering him up by grabbing Malfoy's robes in both fists. "Let's get you somewhere warmer." The broom shed, Harry thought with a flash of inspiration. It was out of the elements and Harry could leave him there before going to find Pomfrey.

"Can't you just leave me?" Malfoy asked with a slur.

"No, I can't," Harry retorted. He began to half-carry, half-drag Malfoy across the snow. It seemed to take forever, plodding through the drifting, knee-high snow. Partway there, it seemed to get easier, as though Malfoy were taking more of his own weight. Perhaps he was regaining his wits.

Harry finally pushed in the door to the shed. The lights came on instantly and Malfoy cried out and lifted an arm to block them. Harry blinked against the brightness and tugged out his wand to dim them to more bearable levels. He shut the door with another spell, blocking out the howling wind with a sigh of relief. It was not exactly warm in the shed, but at least they were out of the blowing snow.

Harry levered Malfoy onto a padded stool that rested against the wall. Malfoy hadn't released Harry, even while he had been casting spells. Malfoy sat heavily and then pulled Harry close with a grip on his collar. Harry's injured shoulder cramped in protest, but Malfoy only put his lips next to Harry's ear.

"Brooms," he said softly.

Harry glanced at all the brooms that lined the walls in puzzlement for a moment, and then Malfoy's meaning clicked. "Yeah, okay. You'll need to let go of me, first."

Malfoy's grip loosened and Harry staggered back to the door. His teeth were beginning to chatter and he suddenly did not want to open the door and let in another blast of icy air. Steeling himself, he stuck his head outside. "Accio broom!" he shouted. "Accio Malfoy's broom!"

A moment later, he shut the door again and propped both snow-coated brooms against the wall. He hoped the snow and ice hadn't damaged his prized broom any. He brushed at the snow.

A small sound from Malfoy drew Harry's attention and he saw Malfoy's head loll against the wall. His eyes were closed.

"Don't go to sleep!" Harry said and hurried over to him. He cast a Warming Charm and nearly gasped when the backlash of heat hit him. Bloody hell, why hadn't he done that before? He turned his wand on himself and cast another, sighing with pleasure when the blessed warmth seeped into his icy skin.

He stripped off his wet gloves and sodden outer robes, wondering if he could cast a Drying Charm on his clothing whilst wearing them.

"Don't sleep, Malfoy!" he warned again and pulled off Malfoy's gloves. "We need to get you out of those wet clothes." Harry figured once they were dry, Malfoy could put them back on and then he wouldn't be in danger of falling asleep and going into shock. Harry wasn't exactly sure what happened when people went into shock, but Aunt Petunia had always been screaming about it whenever Dudley got a scratch, so he assumed it was something bad. By then, Harry would be a bit warmer and could face the thought of returning to the cold without cringing.

"Always trying to get my clothes off, yeah, Potter?"

He sounded almost teasing and Harry snorted. "You know it, Malfoy." He worked at the fastenings of Malfoy's Quidditch robes, cursing when his fingers kept slipping off. They were number than he'd thought, and felt like lumps of clay. He finally got the robes open and then Malfoy's arms wrapped around him and crushed him close. Harry toppled forward and his legs splayed open; he found himself straddling Malfoy's lap.

Malfoy nuzzled Harry's neck, grazing over the bruise there that Harry still hadn't healed.

"Want you," Malfoy said breathily.

Harry pushed away. "That's not what you said earlier." An amusing toy, Harry recalled, and felt the sting once more.

"I had to say that. For Pansy." His hands gripped Harry's hips, preventing escape.

"You had to say that?" Harry said incredulously. "For Pansy? Why?"

"She suspected."

"She suspected what?" Harry frowned at Malfoy, who was making far less sense than usual. He had to have taken a serious blow to the head to be speaking the way he was now.

"Us, Potter. She suspected about us. I had to tell her something." Malfoy's hands moved up Harry's back and attempted to pull him down, possibly for a kiss. Harry braced his hands on the wall on either side of Malfoy's head and resisted.

"And what did you tell her?" Harry's eyes bored into Malfoy's, even though the grey eyes were half-lidded and looking into them too long was a dangerous endeavour. Even now, Harry felt weakness stealing over him, carried by Malfoy's hands and the feel of his hard thighs beneath Harry's.

So his surprise, Malfoy looked away and then his lids fluttered shut. "No."

"No?"

"Don't want to tell you."

Harry pursed his lips. Based on their conversation in the greenhouse, Harry could well imagine what Malfoy had told her. "Let me guess. You told her I was a… a shirt-lifter, and that I was gay for you and tried to get into your pants, so you humoured me once or twice. For laughs. Is that about right?"

"Something like that," Malfoy whispered.

Harry pushed, angered, trying to escape. He had been beyond stupid to initiate anything with Malfoy and now he was paying the price. Malfoy's grip tightened and Harry shoved harder, wrenching himself away from Malfoy and stumbled backwards.

It did not work quite as well as planned; Malfoy refused to let go and fell with him; they both toppled to the floor, with Draco sprawling between Harry's spread legs. Agonising pain coursed through Harry's injured shoulder and he saw white sparks before his eyes for a moment.

He growled, struggling to breathe through the pain. "Get off!" he snarled.

"No. Wait," Malfoy said. "I want--"

"I don't care what you want, you--" Too many words crowded Harry's mind, insults piling upon insults and none of them quite enough to express the anger that threatened to boil over. He held onto it, feeding it with memories of Malfoy's sneers and jibes, of his slurs against his friends and moments of childish malice. Malfoy was obviously fine and in no danger or freezing to death or going into some sort of life-threatening shock, so Harry needed to escape. He would go back to the castle and think of Malfoy no more.

"Potter." Malfoy's voice sounded strange; like nothing Harry had heard before. He levered himself upwards and then clamped his lips upon Harry's, kissing him with an urgency that would have been desperation on anyone but Malfoy.

Harry kept his lips closed, determined not to give in. He had no idea what game Malfoy was playing with him after his admission about Parkinson, but he needed to get away and clear his head. He lifted his hands, intending to grab Malfoy's hair and drag his maddening lips away but he hitched a breath when his fingers encountered cold, wet hair, matted together with ice crystals. It felt so different from normal, so wrong, that Harry felt a surge of remorse, remembering that he'd been trying to tear the hair from Malfoy's head earlier.

Malfoy stopped kissing him, but his lips slid over Harry's cheek and halted near the upper curve of his ear. "Harry," Malfoy said. The word jolted through him; he could not recall Malfoy ever saying it before, and especially not breathed into his ear like a request.

I can't, he thought desperately, I can't, I. Can. Not.

"Harry," Malfoy said again and exhaled into Harry's ear. Warmth seemed to travel from his ear canal down to his chest, and settle there before radiating confusion throughout the rest of him. Rational thought departed and Harry could do nothing but hold tightly to Malfoy's wet hair and listen to the thudding sound of his own heart.

When Malfoy kissed him again, Harry shut his eyes and let himself feel the soft brush of Malfoy's lips, and the wet pressure of his tongue. He opened his mouth, lost, and a fleeting thought raced through his mind. This could be the last time. It hurt, kissing, from where Harry had bitten his tongue, and he had to taste of blood, but Malfoy didn't pause.

Harry groaned as Malfoy licked at his mouth, sliding into places that belonged solely to him, locating regions that had never been explored. Malfoy tasted them all, gliding his wicked tongue over every surface, and spending extra time on those that solicited a response, whether whimper, quiver, or tightening of hands in tangled hair.

Harry was hard in no time, desperately so, because it had been a terrible, anxiety-ridden day after long hours without Malfoy, and now he was here, warm and solid and calling him Harry and…

He surrendered completely, feeling almost like he was melting into the floor. One moment he was tense and ready to fight, the next he was warm and pliable as taffy, ready to mould himself to whatever Malfoy desired.

"Clothes. Off," Malfoy said and tore at the fasteners of Harry's Quidditch robes. They were a bloody pain, Harry knew, and nearly smiled at the knowledge that Draco would have a difficult time with them. Until Draco drew his wand and muttered a spell that severed them all in one fell swoop.

"What--?" Harry asked with a gasp, pulling his lips away from Malfoy's assault with difficulty.

"Shut up, I'll buy you new ones," Malfoy said and then his cold, cold hands were on Harry's warm skin, shoving the hem of his jumper up to his neck. Harry yelped.

"Sorry," Malfoy said and chuckled. "Warming Charm isn't quite warm enough, is it? Don't worry; I'll heat you up." He snogged Harry again and then started downwards, kissing a path over his throat and down to lick at one nipple, and then the other. While not as sensitive as Draco's, Harry was not immune to the sensation, and grew even harder under the determined onslaught.

Draco's hands tugged at the laces of his trousers and Harry let go of Malfoy's wet hair to assist. The sooner he got his cock freed, the better, because if Malfoy was determined to give it some attention, Harry was not about to stop him.

The laces parted and Harry had only to moment to thank his lucky stars he hadn't worn pants before Malfoy's mouth closed over his cock. Harry's head banged against the floor and his mind went utterly, utterly blank. His ability to think was overcome by raw sensation; his world narrowed to Malfoy's hot, hot mouth upon his cold cock.

Harry's hands clawed against the floor with every glide of Malfoy's tongue. His back arched with each sucking sensation, and an incoherent cry tore from his lips when Malfoy's fingers stroked over his sensitive balls.

"Please," Harry gasped, finally managing a single word. "Please, please."

Cool, slick fingers probed at Harry's hole and his legs fell open even wider. He no longer cared about being wanton, about the fact that he lay upon the dirty floor of a broom shed, or about anything at all other than the fact that Draco Malfoy was about to make him come, by whatever means necessary.

Malfoy's brilliant mouth pulled away with a popping sound and the cold air assaulted Harry's wet cock.

"Going to fuck you so hard you'll be tasting my come from the inside," Malfoy said roughly.

"Do it," Harry said. "Do it now."

Malfoy fumbled with hands and wand, words and spells, and then Harry's confining trousers were gone and Malfoy's slick, slick fingers were where they belonged, teasing, coaxing Harry into opening wider, taking them all.

"Fuck me, Draco," Harry whispered.

"Yes," Draco said. "Yes, yes."

Malfoy's fingers pulled out and Harry opened his eyes to look at the vision above him. Malfoy's hair was a damp, tangled mess and his eyes were dark slits in the dim light. He still wore his jumper and Harry put his hands under it to fondle Malfoy's pert nipples.

"Hands are bloody cold," Malfoy muttered and Harry thought Malfoy's were not all that warm, either, feeling them brush against Harry's testicles as he lined up his cock. The tip was also cold and Harry realised his Warming Charm was wearing off. Malfoy's breath misted the air above him.

Harry let go of one nipple to cast about on the floor for his wand. He was far too lax about keeping it close to hand whenever Malfoy got amorous. He needed to work on that. The tip was caught beneath his hipbone and he lifted his arse just in time to meet Malfoy's initial thrust.

A guttural sound purred from Harry's throat and he shut his eyes as Malfoy plunged in, determined, as always, to fill Harry on the first stroke. Harry concentrated on breathing as his body adjusted; it was getting easier. The pain was overshadowed this time by the sensation of being claimed, underscored by the kiss Malfoy pressed against his lips. He must have thought he was being too gentle, because the kiss turned into a bite, albeit not an unpleasant one. His teeth tugged at Harry's lower lip and then licked over it.

Malfoy pulled out and thrust back in, but without his usual brutality. One hand reached for Harry's cock and stroked; Harry barely kept from wincing at the cold. It was still slick from whatever lubrication spell Malfoy had earlier used.

Warming Charm, he remembered, and fumbled the first cast when Malfoy's palm curved over the hood of his cock, gliding through the precome and making Harry lose his train of thought. He was more successful the second time, and a cocoon of warmth enveloped them. Malfoy sighed and quirked him a half-smile.

Malfoy fucked him, but it was different than before, slow and almost languid, as if he didn't want it to end. His hand stroked in time with his thrusts, a maddeningly slow tease. Harry did not want to think about what it meant; there were too many variables and he understood nothing about Malfoy, anyway. It could have meant nothing at all.

It was almost more tortuous this way, Harry found, with Draco dragging his cock over Harry's sweet spot, again and again, until Harry was shaking with the need for more. The sensations were building, but slowly, agonizingly.

"What… oh." Harry gasped and arched, shoulders aching. His fingers dragged over Malfoy's ribcage, eliciting a shiver and answering gasp from above. Harry filed it away as a positive response and did it once more for verification. Malfoy quivered; he was ticklish. "What happened to tasting your come from the inside?"

Malfoy's eyes--half-closed before--snapped open. A familiar smirk twisted his lips. "Almost forgot you like it rough," Malfoy said and Harry wondered if mentioning it had been a mistake.

The next stroke pushed Harry several inches across the floor and Malfoy let go of his cock to grip his hips and hold him in place for the next three. Harry cried out and reached for something--anything--but Malfoy had reared back and fitted his thighs beneath Harry's, lifting and holding him tightly with hands like bands of iron. Each rhythmic pounding was like a hammer blow inside--and Harry loved every violent stroke of it.

"Like that, Chosen One?" Malfoy asked in a taunting tone.

"Yes," Harry hissed. "Yes, yes, damn you." His cock was leaking, slapping against his abdomen with every movement aching for another touch. Harry reached for it, but Malfoy stopped moving to slap his hand away.

"That's mine," Malfoy snapped, "You'll touch it when I tell you to."

Harry nodded, and wondered how a few harsh words could be an even bigger turn-on. He was shaking with the need to come; every nerve ending felt electrified. A low, groaning cry tore from his throat when one of Malfoy's hands wrapped around his cock and drew slowly upwards, coaxing a drop of liquid from the tip. His cock slipped wetly out of Harry as he moved back and arched down to lick the precome away. His tongue felt molten hot and so, so fucking good against the sensitised head of Harry's cock.

Quivers shook Harry's entire body and he struggled not to come. He needed to prolong this encounter; this strange dance between them, for a long as possible.

"Say it," Malfoy said. "Say 'my cock is yours, Draco.'"

Harry's eyes widened and then narrowed. What game was Malfoy playing now?

"Say it." Malfoy squeezed and Harry bit back a moan. If he didn't say it, would Malfoy leave him, aching and half-begging for release? He couldn't risk it.

"My cock is yours, Draco."

Malfoy squeezed again, more gently, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up Harry's--or was it now his--cock. Harry shuddered and his hands fisted in the Quidditch robes beneath him.

Malfoy's fingers drew down and curled over Harry's sensitive balls. Harry hissed a breath.

"These are mine, too."

"Yours," Harry agreed and wondered how to get Malfoy back to the fucking.

"All of this is mine," Malfoy said. "All of it." His voice was rough, harsh, and his stare was suddenly intense. He was serious, Harry realised.

"All yours," Harry whispered.

Malfoy's teeth sank into sank into the soft flesh above Harry's hip. Harry shouted and thrashed at the sudden sharp, unexpected pain. One hand clenched in Malfoy's hair; it was beginning to dry.

"Ouch, you fucking prick!" He pulled at Malfoy's hair, but it only seemed to make him more determined; he bit and sucked at Harry's skin, marking him yet again. Harry squirmed, but the movement only caused his cock to drag over the wool of Malfoy's jumper, wrenching a surprised moan from him. Bloody hell, he really did like it rough. Heat bloomed from the pain in his hip and seemed to travel straight to his cock, giving it yet another jolt.

Malfoy's teeth loosened and he licked the spot until the sting lessened. Harry's hand loosened in Malfoy's hair, but he did not let go. His fingers twitched in a not-quite caress. Malfoy moved his head and shifted his attention back to Harry's cock, wrapping his lips around the head in an erotic parody of a kiss, and gliding his tongue into the slit. Harry's toes curled inside his boots and he fought not to come. Malfoy's maddening tongue flicked, flicked, flicked, driving him wild.

"Stop," Harry gasped, near sobbing. "Stop."

Malfoy seemed to know why. He growled low in his throat as he launched himself upwards again, claiming Harry's lips in a kiss that tasted bitter-salty. In the same motion, he impaled Harry again, thrusting hard and quickly regaining his earlier, punishing rhythm.

Harry cried out and arched when Malfoy's teeth bit into his tongue, digging into the spot Harry had earlier bitten. He tasted blood and bucked against Malfoy's hand, once again twisting on Harry's cock, and then he couldn't hold it back any longer.

Harry came, with a scream that was muffled by Malfoy's mouth, which never stopped moving, licking and biting at Harry's lips and tongue, even as his movements became more savage, battering into Harry roughly.

Malfoy's long, hard thrusts become short, staccato jerks and his teeth clamped into Harry's lower lip. A low, moaning sound rumbled from his chest and he shuddered atop Harry just before he relaxed utterly. Everything seemed to go limp at once and Malfoy's full weight sagged onto Harry. His mouth--his damned teeth--slid away and his cheek came to rest just above Harry's throbbing shoulder.

Harry ached everywhere; he wasn't sure what part of him hurt the most. And yet, the tingling heat still flickering through his nerve-endings smeared it all into a jumbled mass of pain-pleasure. He was well and truly fucked up, a notion solidified by the hand splayed across Malfoy's lower back, lightly stroking the bare skin there.

His other hand was still tangled in Malfoy's hair.

They didn't move for what seemed ages; the Warming Charm slowly dissipated and Harry considered removing his hand from Malfoy's flesh long enough to renew it, although it seemed like far too much effort and he really didn't want to move, to break the soft, warm stasis that held them.

"My arse is turning into a block of ice," Malfoy said finally. His breath was hot against Harry's neck.

"We should get back," Harry said.

Malfoy lifted his head and looked down at Harry. He lowered his mouth and Harry thought he was going to kiss him, but instead he felt Malfoy's tongue lap at his lips. It stung.

"You're bleeding," Malfoy murmured and licked again.

Why is that? Harry was about to ask sardonically, but then Malfoy kissed him in earnest, a deep, possessive kiss that was everything and nothing like what had come before. Harry's chest ached more than all of his physical pains lumped together.

The door opened, letting in a blast of icy air and a flurry of snowflakes.

Harry gasped and craned his neck, tearing free of the kiss and blinking through his glasses that were still intact, but smeared with Malfoy's sweat.

Hermione stood in the doorway. She stared at them for long moments and then backed out and closed the door gently behind her. Harry was so stunned he couldn't move; could barely breathe.

"Fuck," Malfoy said softly.

Harry had no idea what to say, or even how to feel.

Malfoy levered himself away, taking all warmth with him. Harry sat up and yanked his jumper down to cover the mess on his stomach and hide his softening cock. His cheeks flamed. His trousers were gone--apparently Vanished.

Malfoy tucked himself into his trousers and straightened his jumper before picking up his Quidditch robes and shrugging into them. Harry's stasis broke and he leaped to his feet. He put on his own torn Quidditch robes and pulled them around himself as tightly as possible. He nearly gasped aloud when his knuckles dragged over the raw, bruised patch on his hip. Malfoy's mark of ownership.

Harry took two steps towards the door, intent on fleeing, but he found himself suddenly slammed against it. Malfoy's solid length pressed against his back and his mouth nuzzled Harry's earlobe before nibbling at it gently.

"Don't forget," Malfoy said and then his mouth found the mark he'd made on Harry's neck, his mouth and his teeth fastening there to bite and suck. Harry tried to shake him off, but only managed to wrench his injured shoulder. He relaxed with a sigh and let Malfoy do his worst. It did not take long for Malfoy to renew his claim, but Harry felt weak in the knees, all the same, and his cock was taking an interest in the proceedings.

There was a tap on the door. "Harry?" Hermione questioned.

"Coming!" Harry said.

"You already did that," Malfoy replied and finally released him.

Harry wrenched the door open, gripped his Quidditch robes more tightly around himself, and fled. He walked past Hermione without speaking and she joined him in his trek towards the castle. Harry did not look back.

After long, awkward minutes, he glanced at Hermione. "Just. Don't ask yet. Please?"

She gnawed her bottom lip for a moment. "All right."

A gust of wind blew Harry's robes and snowflakes stung his bare legs. Bloody Malfoy. He hoped Hermione hadn't noticed his lack of wardrobe.

"I was worried about you when you didn't come back with the others," she said. "You look, um. You look terrible."

Harry snorted. He could well imagine. Bloody, bruised, and vigorously fucked. He had to look an utter mess.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." The silence grew between them for another minute or two and then Harry looked at her and quirked a rueful grin. "I feel pretty good, though."

And crazy as it seemed, he did.

WIP