Scarlet Woman

In the privacy afforded by his father's bequeathed Invisibility Cloak, Harry Potter retrieved his Marauder's Map from the breast pocket of his silk pyjamas. He tapped it lightly, uttering the simple phrase, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Once he had said it, and the lines began to spread from the point at which his wand had touched the parchment, he thought about what he actually was up to, the reason he was out of his bed in the dead of night, and why he didn't feel the slightest bit tired. He grinned as he surveyed the battered parchment - it showed that they were the only two people out of bed in the entire castle. It was late enough, it seemed, that Filch had finally given up and gone to bed. Even Mrs Norris was stationary, tucked in a corner of her master's office. Still excited beyond belief, and on the same train of thought, Harry couldn't bring himself to wipe the parchment with the phrase, "mischief managed," as he told himself it would be inappropriate until they had gotten up to some.

Minutes later, Harry uttered the password to the prefects' bathroom, which was still "Pine Fresh," and once he entered the room, he found that Draco was already floating on a fluffy bed of very dense bubbles. The pool-sized bath at the centre of the prefects' bathroom was brimming with dense foam - and every time Draco moved, a large plume of bubbles burst from the surface, high into the room, before floating lazily back down and joining the comfortable-looking, powder-white mass beneath his boyfriend's lithe form.

Draco scythed his way across the surface of the bubbles, moving to gracefully and elegantly that he practically walked across the bubbles, his motion so smooth and fluid that he did not sink beneath the foamy surface.

Harry felt the silk pyjamas slide over his skin, as Draco caressed the garments away from Harry's body, before tenderly moving closer. When their skin touched, there was a fiery electricity between the two boys, and a summers' pent up desire was loosed in a wondrous flood of passion as they sought for maximum bodily contact. Neither could get enough. Harry was lost in Draco's silver-grey eyes, and Draco saw his entire world reflected in Harry's emerald irises, in the inky blackness of his pupils. Yet each, through the other's eyes, saw their single united heart, beating steadily faster as their love grew. Both their chests pounded, as they got close so that they could no longer focus on the reflected love, but lived within the radiance of their passion. Their lips touched - the contact tender at first, teasing their tongues apart, before falling head over heels together into a fountain of love.

They gasped as one, and fell backwards into the pool sized bath. In a froth of foam, Ginny awoke, cold, breathless and in her dormitory. She reached over into her nightstand, and withdrew a Spellotaped photograph - it was actually two photographs, taped together. She gazed at it, and sighed.