Black Sheep

"Harry."

He dragged his eyes up from where they had been fixated on the floor. Almost unwillingly, he looked towards the kitchen, where that most unwelcome of voices had come from. He should have wondered why the lights were on in a house where he no longer lived. He stared at the witch and when he spoke next, his voice was flat. "What the hell are you doing in my house, Ginevra?"

He felt a small, cruel pleasure when she winced after hearing her full name. He had never used it before, but calling her 'Ginny' now seemed far too familiar when she was hanging about his house, uninvited, like some sort of creepy stalker. He didn't even wait for her excuses. He just let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes sliding shut, as he said in an unapproachable tone, "Just leave. Just get away from me."

He sighed in relief when the next sound he heard was the pop of her disapparating. Alone again, and free to wallow in his misery. Or so he thought, but it seemed only moments later that he heard his front door rattle as someone - someone familiarly cursing a blue streak - tried to get in. Harry held his breath, but the rattling stopped. For once, Harry was not at all sorry that Draco had lost his magic, or there would have been no stopping him. As it turned out, there was still no stopping him: he hadn't lost a shred of his reckless determination.

Something came flying through the large plate glass window to Harry's right, sending shards of glass and clumps of dirt - because, as Harry realised, the missile was one of his potted geranium plants - into the living room. Draco soon followed, clambering through the window frame and knocking out any remaining pieces of glass, in case they might catch him.

Harry stared at him with burgeoning disbelief. "You just... my win-... but...!"

Draco shrugged and said dismissively, "What, like you can't fix it all with a quick reparo."

Well, yes, that was quite so, but...! "Dammit, it's the principle of the thing!" In his drunken state, even Harry wasn't sure what he meant, as he sat on the floor and ranted madly at the man who he'd just pronounced, well, feelings for less than fifteen minutes ago.

Apparently Draco hadn't forgotten, because he brushed off the dirt from his hands, stamped over and dropped heavily onto Harry's legs, pinning the man where he was against the wall. "Now then, Potter," he breathed the words onto Harry's face from only inches away. "You can't run away. Let's talk, shall we."

Harry's attempt at a cutting retort came out as something like, "Meep." Draco was sitting on top of him. He could feel the warmth of the blond on his legs; the bony fingers, still cold from the night, that were wrapped around his upper arms. Here in the room where he had first seen Draco naked, glistening with a sheen of bathwater, as the small droplets had run down his -

Harry shook his head furiously. If he kept going down that path, he was going to embarrass himself even more than he already had. He tried to think of cricket, of cold showers, of boring history of magic lectures - but then he looked up into the crystalline grey eyes of the newest history tutor and he was lost again.

Draco watched the play of emotions on Harry's face with some interest, but he still wanted answers to his questions. He shook the man slightly. "You said," he spoke slowly and clearly, "that you wanted me. Is that right?"

Harry nodded mutely. It turned out that Draco didn't need real magic or even special questions; if it would keep that face close to his for even a moment more, Harry felt like he might answer anything.

Sitting easily on his prey, his weight all on Harry's thighs, Draco asked blandly, "And what does that mean? Exactly?"

Harry waffled wordlessly and Draco continued to press him. "Are we talking about a platonic 'I want you to be my BFF?' Or a sexual, sort of 'I want to see you naked and do naughty things to you?'" There was a wicked glint in his eye as he corrected himself and suggested, "'With you?'"

Harry continued to whimper and he finally managed to whisper, barely louder than a breath, "The latter."

With a sigh that almost drowned out that small voice, Draco said, "Well, thank God." Then he kissed Harry. At least, that is the conventional way of describing what happened next. If Harry had to describe it - well, Harry was never known for his way with words. He did, however, remember a science experiment that he'd done when he was a student in Surrey. They'd had to make circuits out of batteries, wires and little light bulbs. While Dudley and his cronies had still been trying to figure out a way to electrocute Harry with their 9-volt batteries, Harry had managed to set up his circuit according to the diagram that the teacher had drawn for them. He'd connected the last wire and the light bulb had burst into life, its tiny wire glowing with an incandescence like a tiny star in his hand. Draco's lips touching his felt something like that.

For a long moment, Harry couldn't react. He felt Draco begin to pull away and then his arms came up of their own volition, wrapping around Draco's narrow back and holding the blond where he was. Then Harry started to kiss back.

This was more like it. Draco loosened his grip on Harry's arms to snake one hand up to dig in that wild black hair. He knew without looking that his white fingers would have disappeared into the darkness of Harry's hair; he let his fingers press into the base of Harry's skull, making him moan into the kiss. His fingers worked knowingly at the tense muscles there and he was rewarded by Harry melting into his touch, before trailing warm kisses along his jaw bone. Even Draco couldn't help a sharp intake of breath as Harry's lips found the sensitive skin along his throat. "Jesus," he cursed, in his adopted Muggle manner.

Harry pulled Draco even tighter against him, if such a thing were possible. His hands roamed restlessly across Draco's back; he didn't feel close enough, not even when pressed against the man so tightly it verged on pain where their bony bits collided. Fingers knotting in the cloth of Draco's jacket, Harry strained up against the blond, their lips and tongues locked in a fight for control and their hearts racing as the cool night air wafted over them from the broken window.

Outside the small house, Hermione thought she had almost figured it out. Of course, she couldn't see the small house. All she could see was another patch of dark Somerset overgrowth, as surrounded her from both sides of the little lane. But she had seen Draco rush into the wilderness and disappear to the sound of breaking glass and, if only for a moment, she thought she had seen a stone cottage surrounded by wild gardens and lit with a warm electric light from its front room.

If it were some kind of Fidelius charm that Gin - that whoever, she quickly corrected herself - had used then it couldn't have been perfectly completed. After all, Harry had to be able to find his way into his own house. As the Secret Keeper, he would have that right, but he hadn't known anything about the spell and with the Fidelius charm, the Secret Keeper had to be active in the casting. Besides that, it appeared that Harry still got his post and paid his T.V. licence, so somehow Muggles were able to bypass the spell.

Her mind bubbling with half-formed ideas, Hermione twirled her wand in her fingers and tried charm after charm as they occurred to her.

"Revelum. Ponere. Pateo publicus?"

She knew that Harry's home was directly in front of her. She just had to convince whatever spell was cloaking it that she had as much right as Draco or the postman to see it.

"Expositus. Patesco."

She thought she saw something waver in the dark shadows before her and she flicked her wand in their direction again.

"Patesco. Patesco dissimulo sua; patesco specialis mea. Patesco!"

Suddenly the house popped sheepishly into existence, its windows twinkling with warm light and, in places, with shards of broken glass.

Unable to help a brief shout of "Harry!" she ran towards the house. Not bothering with crawling through broken glass, she waved her wand as she ran and cried, "Alohomora!" She burst through the front door. Looking around wildly, she rushed into the sitting room and the two men there sprung apart, staring at her with shocked eyes. They were flushed and flustered: their hair was mussed and their lips looked bruised and swollen. Hermione jumped to the only possible conclusion and wailed, "Can't you two be alone for two minutes without resorting to violence?!"

Draco blinked, then managed to quip, "But it's been so long since we've had a spot of good violence. Men can get very frustrated when they haven't had... violence."

Hermione ignored his innuendo and barrelled on. "Whatever Harry said to you at the club couldn't justify following him to his home and then trying to pound him into the ground." Draco was awkwardly raising himself off the man in question, while Harry himself quickly pulled his knees up to his chest in a childish manner. Hermione added grudgingly, "Though I am glad to have sorted out the charm on Harry's house..."

Draco moved to stand up, glanced down, then desisted. He grabbed a pillow that had fallen near the couch and held it in his lap, kneading it tensely. Harry snorted when he noticed this move and Draco looked at the other man's clasped knees pointedly, effectively silencing the wanker, before replying to Hermione, "No, I find that I performed exactly as the situation warranted. You needn't worry about me 'pounding' him into the ground, either." His look at Harry suggested that there would definitely be pounding, but somewhere a bit more soft and bouncy than the ground.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Really, Hermione. We're fine. Why don't you wait in the hall and we'll just... make ourselves presentable."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but did as Harry asked. From behind the single wall that separated the sitting room from the hall, she muttered unconvincingly, "Poor Marianthi must be worried sick. We left without saying a word..."

Draco had thrown aside his pillow and stood up. As he made some minor adjustments in his jeans, he called back cheerfully, "That's right. You should really go back and check on her." He glanced at Harry, one hand still tucked in the front of his trousers. "Potter can take care of me."

Harry glared at Draco in his usual humourless way, but then his expression melted into an awkward but suggestive smile. Draco couldn't help himself; he held out a hand to pull the bewitching, bumbling man to his feet. As soon as Harry was up, Draco's other hand snaked around his back and pulled them together at the hips. Harry's faint smile grew more confident and he leaned into Draco's hold, his lips just millimetres from Draco. They were almost exactly the same height when standing. Everything fit perfectly.

"I'm not leaving the two of you alone until I know you won't hex or poison one another," drifted Hermione's voice from the hall.

A slight flex of Draco's fingers, a small pressure at the small of Harry's back, and then they were kissing again. One of Harry's hands was still caught in Draco's grip; his other arm was pinned to his side by the arm that Draco had wrapped around his waist. The kiss was almost tortuously slow, as they tried to reach each other as deep into each other as they could. With a nearly silent whimper, Harry tried to get closer to Draco the only way that he could without his hands free: he ground his body against the slender man, feeling the wonderful pressure of Draco's body trapped between himself and the couch behind them. He dimly heard Hermione's voice in the hall, but he didn't care, as he pushed himself more urgently against Draco's warm body.

Suddenly, it wasn't just his head that was dizzy from that kiss and he realised belatedly that they were falling. His weight had forced Draco to topple over and now they fell together over the arm of the couch. Harry landed briefly on top of the blond, knocking the breath out of him, and then they both tumbled off the couch, crashing into the coffee table and landing in a sprawl on the ground with a series of pained grunts.

Hearing the ruckus, Hermione rushed back around the corner and into the room. "What on--" she started and then broke off by snapping her mouth shut and grabbing her wand from her jacket pocket. "Eadraig," she snapped. Draco felt himself inextricably propelled away from Harry and, most oddly, found himself hovering a couple of inches above the man on the ground.

"Oh, Hermione, not the bloody Separator! Come now, this is ridiculous." This came from Harry.

Forcing himself up off the air bubble that seemed to exist between them, Draco said sourly, "And what might that be when it's at home?"

Harry got up as well and explained, "It's a charm Mrs Weasley used to use on the twins, or whoever was causing trouble that day. It makes the castees unable to touch one another, which effectively makes it impossible to fight."

"Or do anything else interesting," Draco surmised, then turned to Hermione. "Honestly, Granger. We are grown men. I don't see how it's any of your business-"

"Grown men?" She snorted. "Who act like little third years, getting into fistfights every five minutes?" She tucked her wand in her jacket. "When you stop acting like children, I'll stop treating you like children."

Draco experimentally tried to jab Harry with a finger, but it was rebounded several inches from the scowling wizard. What a curious spell. He was quite disappointed that he'd never heard of it. He could have had all sorts of fun with it as a student, back when he'd had power.

He glanced at Harry, catching the man's green eyes, then looking pointedly to where he knew the wizard kept his wand. Harry gave him a quelling look, but nodded slightly; of course he could remove the spell with a simple finite incantatem - just because Hermione was trying to treat them like children didn't mean they were. But for now, they played along and trooped out of the house behind her, flicking off the lights as they went. Harry relocked his front door and they stood on the front lawn, their breath misting in the cold night air. Harry absently muttered a repair spell in the direction of his front window and the glass appeared to refill in the dark.

"Now, then," Hermione said as she rubbed her hands together for warmth, "we should head back to the club to collect Marianthi. Obviously, I'll take Malfoy with me. Harry, I expect you'll follow us presently."

She grabbed Draco's arm, having no trouble at all touching him, and pulled out her wand yet again. Draco said pointedly, "I'm beginning to dread seeing you with that meddlesome stick of yours." She gave him a unfriendly smile and then apparated the two of them away. Harry hesitated only a couple of moments before he followed.

Back at the club, Marianthi had been (probably rightfully so) going a bit spare. She'd gone around the entire club three times, checked the ladies' lavatories, and even asked some Scotsman to check the gentlemen's for her. When the others finally reappeared, she immediately attached herself to Harry's side with a relentless grip.

"We really are terribly sorry," Hermione apologised for what felt like the dozenth time.

Draco was watching the Greek witch with dispassionate eyes and drawled, "Yes, terribly." Harry and Hermione both looked at him. It'd been a while since they'd heard a good drawl. He waved a hand at the now-empty stage and said, "Well, my band has gone and I'm feeling pretty, er, knackered from all this excitement. I'm ready to call it a night."

Harry nodded earnestly and Hermione agreed, "Yes, that's probably for the best." Those who hadn't already collected their coats did so, and Harry managed to shake off Marianthi when she reluctantly let go of him in order to slip into her own coat. They apparated away from the hall outside the lavs and landed in Hogsmeade amid a light flurry of unseasonable snowflakes. "Snow," Draco said disbelievingly, then again, "Snow? It's hardly October!" Next he stuck one of his cold hands up the back of Harry's shirt and made him yelp shrilly, disturbing the quiet night and alerting Hermione to the fact that Harry had removed her spell - though, really, the whole apparating together should have been a little clue.

What the pair of witches didn't see, as they walked on ahead of the men, was that Draco's hand stayed under Harry's shirt, rubbing small, cold circles against the warm flesh there. Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he was quite sure he didn't give a damn as long as it didn't stop.

They trudged back up to the castle in very different groupings than when they had left it. They passed through the large front doors and headed straight to the staff quarters in awkward silence. At least, Hermione thought it was an awkward silence, but had no idea what to say to Marianthi, who was walking beside her. Marianthi was debating whether she could ask Harry to her rooms for a nightcap - and some other night activities. Harry was growing more and more agitated, as he and Draco approached the privacy of their rooms. And Draco wasn't particularly thinking anything, just enjoying how his hand felt on Harry's hot skin, where no one else could see it.

They came to the history rooms first and Draco used his hand on Harry's back to propel him forward, while saying, "Well, this is our stop."

Marianthi asked with a determined air, "Harry, would you like to come by my rooms for a-- "

"Oh, uh," Harry interjected before she could even finish, "I'm just so tired. Really. Sorry." He was careful not to say anything like, "Some other time?" He knew she wouldn't forget it if he did.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but Draco reached around Harry to open the door and then shoved the man in ahead of him. "Goodnight," was all he said before he slammed the door shut after them. Hermione and Marianthi stared at it for a moment, then continued walking towards their own rooms, carefully avoiding each other's eyes.

On the other side of the door, Harry had Draco pinned against its carved wood; the ornamental designs dug into the blond's back, while Harry pressed himself against his front.

Harry murmured into Draco's clingy hair, as he nibbled at his ear, "I suppose we should talk."

"There are a lot of things we should do in this world," Draco replied, his fingers digging into Harry's back, "but I can pretty much guarantee that none of them will be as much fun as this."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He wrapped his arms tightly around Draco's waist, one hand drifting down to knead in the suddenly irresistible muscle of that arse. He'd never been this forward before, but then he'd never snogged another guy before. Or wanted to.

Draco groaned and ran his hands under Harry's jacket, trying to pull it off but not wanting to stop Harry touching him for even a moment. He burrowed his hands into Harry's sweater and undershirt, finally reaching the hot dry skin below them. Running his hands along that skin, he was rudely interrupted when the door behind him bucked, knocking him in the head and resulting in a muffled curse.

"What the-" Hermione's puzzled voice came from behind the door that she'd just attempted to burst through, and the two men disentangled themselves and stepped away to allow her in. "What were you doing, standing behind the door?" she asked, before waving her own question away. "Never mind. Harry, I think you should come immediately. It's Ginny."

Harry tugged at his clothes. "Did something happen to her?"

Draco piped up, "Yeah, something involving a blunt object and appropriate force, I hope?"

"No - well, she..." Hermione was wringing her hands. Harry hadn't seen the gesture in years. "She's here and I think you should hear what she is saying."

Sighing, Harry looked wistfully at Draco, whose white blond hair was falling in his eyes and nearly obscuring the grey stare that was directed at him with undisguised hunger. He realised belatedly that he seemed to have sobered up. Hating himself for having to say it, he spat, "All right, let's go take care of this mess once and for all."