A Recitation Impromptu

"Should I be afraid, Potter?"

Harry's grin was wicked. "Of course not. Just because I told you to meet me in the broom closet closest to the dining hall during dinner is no reason to give up that famous Malfoy courage. At least, not before I've told you what the requirement is for this week."

Draco gave him a wary look. "That's the problem with you Gryffindors: you have absolutely no ability to understand the difference between cowardice and a healthy instinct for self-preservation." He paused, his grey eyes narrowing. "By the way...what is this week's requirement?"

Harry's grin, illuminated by the small point of white light at the tip of his wand got even bigger. Draco braced himself, ready for something terrible, something like -

"Poetry."

Okay, he hadn't seen that one coming. "Poetry?"

"Poetry."

Draco looked thoughtful, feeling somewhat as if he had just dodged a bullet. Last week had, after all, involved whipped cream, a candy cane, and a string of Christmas lights, none of which had been used for their intended purposes. "What kind of poetry?"

Harry shrugged, his shadow huge against the wall. "Any kind - " It was Draco's turn to grin. " - as long as it's good."

"For how long? And how do you even know that I know any poetry? My interest in the stuff could have disappeared as soon as I finished reading Green Eggs and Ham. "

"First of all, length is up to you. Secondly, I thought Dr. Seuss was a muggle. And thirdly, I forbid you to recite Green Eggs and Ham while we're shagging."

"With a name like Seuss? How little you know, Potter," Draco said loftily. "Anyway, I never memorized that one. Horton Hatches the Egg, on the other hand..." Harry just folded his arms and looked at him, green eyes amused and perhaps a tad impatient. "Oh, all right, Potter. Just let me think." He closed his eyes, running through the somewhat scanty list of poems he had ever considered interesting, beautiful, or just plain dirty enough to memorize.

"You have exactly ten minutes before dinner gets out and the entire corridor is swarming with peo..." Harry trailed off as Draco opened his eyes, giving him what could only be described as a Look through his surprisingly long lashes. The shadows from the light seemed to gather in his eyes, turning their usual grey black. He began to slowly circle Harry, trailing a finger along his back.

"A rose, by any other name," he began, suddenly giving Harry a shove hard enough to make him stumble against the wall of the closet, in the process knocking over an umbrella stand and its contents with a clatter easily loud enough to be heard outside in the corridor.

Harry's breath hitched as the light went out and he felt the lightest of brush of lips against his collarbone. "A rose, by any other name," Draco said again, "would get the blame for being what it is, the color of a kiss, the shadow of a flame." Harry felt his fingernails trail across the back of his neck, digging in just a little.

"A rose may earn another name," Draco whispered, pausing to bite Harry's ear with enough force to make the other boy flinch slightly. For a moment nothing could be heard in the dark of the closet but heavy breathing. Draco turned the bite into a lingering kiss, moving it down to Harry's neck.

"So call it love," Harry whispered, very nearly out of breath. There was another pause in the darkness.

"So call it love I will," Draco agreed finally, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. "And love is like the sea, which changes constantly..."

The sound of voices filled the hall outside as students streamed from the dining hall. Neither Draco nor Harry were, by now, in any position to appreciate this.

"...And yet...is still...the same," Draco breathed, nimble fingers undoing the buttons on Harry's shirt as they sank in a tangle of limbs to the floor.

***