Before Sunrise

Before sunrise, everything is quiet. No one speaks of the things that go bump in the night. Everyone has their secrets, and everyone understands that some things are better left unsaid. This place is no different. Once the sun sets, once the moon is out in all its glory, everything changes. Robes are discarded in favor of mini skirts and tee shirts. Students creep through the corridors, sneaking to places they would never go in the harsh light of day, to do things they would never speak of.

And they are no exception.

Hatred becomes exhausting, after a while. The fervor it requires wears on the nerves, on the heart and the mind. Punches traded leave hands bruised, shouted insults strain the vocal cords. It becomes a dull routine, one that must be followed to the tee, or everything shall change. But in the darkness, anything goes, and the lesser feelings of lust and need take over in primal form.

They meet in the same empty classroom. Night after night. In that room, a new routine takes hold.

The slight, blonde boy whispers a charm on the door.

"I could have done that," the black-haired boy whispers, face twisted in a scowl.

"Yes, you could have. But mixed blood sometimes muddles magic, you see."

For a second, the old urge to fight creeps though veins, a tingle spreading through fists. But it is gone as lips meet lips, a burst of white-hot electricity and a painful explosion of nerves.

"You're such a wanker, Malfoy," the smaller boy whispers, his voice holding just a slight edge.

"Such creativity, Potter. Especially coming from the one who wanks to the thought of my face every night."

Harry growls low in his throat. A mix of anger and lust. He can't decide which one to follow, but Draco decides for him, as usual. Another kiss, hungrier this time. A low laugh muffled by tangling tongues.

After that, words are useless. Unneeded and unwanted. It is all heat. Lips and tongues on flesh. Draco's mouth trailing and nipping at Harry's fragile, protruding collarbone. He hasn't been eating enough, but it's not anyone's place to lecture him. Least of all Draco, who is simultaneously wasting away. Neither ever asks what travels through their minds when they are separate. There never seems to be any need.

The moans begin softly, getting louder and echoing through the silence. Draco's heart is pounding a fierce rhythm against his ribs as he watches Harry writhe beneath his touch. Nimble fingers trace paths down the tanned, concave stomach. Too tender, and Harry mumbles to stop, but doesn't dare say that he wishes Draco would always touch him like this.

"I need you," Harry whispers, and burning green eyes prove the words.

"Don't you always?" Draco retorts, but he is breathless. He has never quite gotten used to those three words. Or to the fact that the first person to ever utter them was his most bitter rival.

It is over with a single cry coming from two sets of lips. Hot, white explosion and a last sigh.

Harry straightens his glasses, which became skewed sometime during the night. He presses a kiss to Draco's neck, the only gesture either one of them allows. He has learned to pack so much meaning into that simple touch. A scream of I-love-you-I-need-you-Don't-go. In response, Draco tugs gently at the hair on the nape of Harry's neck. I-love-you-I-need-you-I-must.

"The sun's coming up," Harry whispers.

"As it does every morning, Potter. No need to remind me."

Draco's voice is bitter, as it always is at this time. He turns his back and pulls on his black trousers. Harry sighs and follows suit, wanting very badly to wrap his arms around the other's waist.

This is where the routine breaks. Giving way the old standards of the day. The clothes are on, the hair straightened, the scowls and glares back in place.

Draco leaves first. Harry looks at the floor. He never watches Draco walk away; he isn't sure he could handle it. He waits until the corridor is clear, and walks slowly to the Gryffindor tower.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears approaching footsteps. Who the hell is out this late?

Familiar, bushy brown hair comes into sight.

"Hermione?!"

The girl jumps, snapped out of her obvious reverie. "Harry! What are you doing out this late?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says, shrugging. The lie rolls easily off his tongue. "What are you doing out?"

"Oh, I--erm-- was studying. Yes, studying."

He takes in her appearance and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay."

Silence, and then, "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You missed a button."

fin