The Subtle Knife

This chapter is dedicated to two people:

Adelina, for being wonderful and because I promised I would dedicate this chapter to you. *loffs*

That Bastard™ for being a complete asshole and making the angsty/unhappy parts that much easier for me to write. I know you’ll never read this, but I hope you rot in Hell. *smirks*

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Chapter 10: Mea Culpa

Draco was warm. In a comfortable and cozy place. There might have been drool at the side of his mouth. It was hanging open. And he was with someone else, wherever that happened to be.

He snuggled closer to this other person, who was radiating heat against his own body like a thermos charm.

There was a lot of skin-to-skin contact. That was very nice in itself- Draco usually preferred to sleep alone if given the choice. It wasn't clammy or moist or disgusting at all. He sighed in contentment. It was a very nice dream he was having; pity it wouldn't last...

His backside was cold. The winter air was biting his back and his bum and his thighs and his calves and his toes. It was inevitable that he would have to crawl back under his covers and disrupt everything.

He sighed, drowsily awake, but still on enough of the verge of sleep.

Then there was a frantic shifting under his body. A hand digging into his bicep, blunt claws into his muscle, pushing Draco aside, but not succeeding very well. Draco was heavier than said hand had thought apparently. Legs were starting to thrash wildly with his own that remained still for the moment. It was an uncomfortable battle.

He opened an eye blearily.

Straight into black hair just above a reddened ear.

One of those dreams!

Draco grinned and nibbled on the earlobe, ghosting his tongue along its edge. Might as well enjoy the dream while it lasted.

Someone hissed and turned to face Draco, their noses smashing together painfully.

It was Potter.

He knew it as soon as he saw the eyes. The haunting, horrible green eyes.

Draco reeled back in confusion. "What-" he croaked, but stopped. The truth of the matter dawned upon him along with full consciousness.

Potter- Harry in my bed. And we- and I...

He swallowed. His breathing grew shallow. His lungs ceased to function.

Oh. Dear. God.

What have I done?

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. It was supposed to be loving and beautiful and sweet and maybe romantic- as much as it can be for guys. Not violent and forced and...wrong...

What have I done?

Then Draco recalled more fragmented details from the previous evening- the sweet potion and the unsated desire that accompanied it.

"Oh, God,"

Harry was staring at him, emerald eyes wide and hurt. His mouth was closed in a straight line, lips bruised and swollen. There were dried tear tracks down his puffy cheeks, pooling at his chin. He closed his eyes after a moment, black lashes fluttering down like butterflies' wings.

"Just let me go," he whispered hoarsely and attempted to roll himself out of Draco's bed on his side.

Draco feared exactly how much Harry had screamed and pleaded to cause such the rough grate in his voice.

"No!"

The words slipped from Draco's mouth before he had time to think. No! No, that's not what I meant to say! "Harry, I-"

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to hear it, Malfoy," he said slowly. "Please just let me go back to my dorm."

"No, hear me out!" Draco pleaded- begged. Harry cringed at his words, shrinking down into someone younger, smaller, more afraid but no longer naïve. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I am so sorry. It w-"

"So am I," Harry said emotionlessly; he strained his head around and squinted, as though to locate his glasses. "I should have known coming here was a bad idea in the first place."

"Listen!" Draco was growing increasingly frustrated and he raised himself up partially on his elbows to get a better look at the Gryffindor. His chest and neck and shoulders were littered with violent crimson marks and raw imprints of jagged fingernails.

God.

"I am so, so sorry for this Harry," Harry winced at his own name. "I didn't want this to happen this way-"

"I didn't want this to happen at all!" Harry cried out. "Whatever...whatever ideas you have in your head about us, Malfoy....there is no us!" He was flustered and clawing at Draco to release him, his eyes glistening with nearly shed tears.

Draco felt distraught as well. "I swear I never meant to hurt you."

Harry turned his head and looked at Draco, but said nothing. He didn't even blink. There weren't words to describe the shear loathing and disgust Draco felt Harry was trying to convey. He could feel it himself. Directed at himself.

He hates me even more.

Draco didn't know what to say, or do. There was nothing that could make the situation better. Not now. Not ever. He was never going to be anything but a...a...rapist....to Harry.

"This was your first time, wasn't it?" he mumbled, then wishing fervently to take his words back. He hated himself even more. And yet he had to know; he had to be certain of his actions.

"Yes," Harry stated simply. "Are you happy now?"

Draco exhaled slowly and gently rolled himself off Harry, trying to bypass any obvious bruising. He disentangled their legs, unwilling to look at the other marks he'd undoubtedly left.

Harry was wincing and squeezing his eyes shut as he sat on the edge of the bed. Draco heard him hiss with the effort not to cry out or groan in pain.

"Please stay, Harry." Draco tried to sound gentle and softly touched Harry's left shoulder, willing him to turn around just a bit.

He did. "Why?"

Draco didn't answer him. Not exactly. "Because I-" he faltered. This was so hard. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Because I want you. I still do." He pulled back the covers and sheets and crawled under them himself. He didn't leave any of the sheets around his hips pulled back 'invitingly' for Harry. He sighed miserably; there was nothing more to lose at this point.

"It's Christmas. It was Christmas," Harry mumbled enigmatically. The he shifted again, as though to leave. "People will notice I'm not there. Ron and Hermione-"

If he wasn't feeling so wretched, Draco would have smirked. "They'll be too busy with each other, then?" he asked quietly. "It is the holidays."

Harry gave a curt nod and stoically slipped under the blankets himself. He didn't touch Draco in the least. Draco could sense that the Gryffindor's skin was icy from where he lay. He told himself that this was why Harry hadn't left yet. Because it was simply too cold in the castle.

"Did I hurt you that much?" Draco asked after a lapse in silence; then passionately, "I swear I'll kill Pansy for-"

Harry scrunched his brows and his eyes narrowed. "What does Pansy have to do with this?"

Draco blinked. He looked away darkly, his mouth set firmly. "She gave me this potion for Christmas. A 'Mischievous Heart' potion. Said I wasn't to use it alone."

"Which you did!" Harry said tensely.

Draco's throat lump was back. It was hard to speak. And harder to deal with the situation. "Yes." He swallowed, but the lump didn't leave. He felt his eyes well up with tears. How could he ever fix what he had done? "It- it must have been a lust potion. I would have never forced you if I hadn't been affected by it!"

"You took the damn thing!"

A sob wracked Draco's body. He opened his mouth to speak, but only let out another hitched sob.

"Your own stupidity gets you into so many messes! Why can't you just listen to all the warnings people give you?"

Draco couldn't answer that.

Harry turned closer to face Draco, and the verdant pendant that he wore around his neck bounced along his collarbone slightly. He didn't say anything except stare at Draco, brilliant green eyes clouded over with pain and something else. Something more....old. His eyes looked so ancient and worn.

Draco wondered if Harry had ever had the chance to be a child.

No, Voldemort had ruined it all.

And Hannah Abbott, for finding that stupid necklace in the dirt that Harry always wore.

And Pansy, for giving him that potion. She had to have known that he would take it alone. She knew him!

But then Draco didn't even seem to know himself lately. Six months ago he would have never believed himself if he wanted Harry Potter.

Draco's hand reached out to finger-comb a chunk of Harry's hair that stuck out by his ear. This other boy. This other poor boy didn't deserve any of this. He looked so melancholy. But all the while strangely lovely in his misery.

Harry stared at him wordlessly, but he didn't stop Draco's ministrations.

"You are beautiful," Draco whispered to himself, not being able to bring his lips to forming Harry's name.

Harry's cheeks flushed, as did his green eyes and necklace, but this time he didn't shudder or move away from Draco's petting. Maybe the Slytherin's touch was soothing. Draco hoped it was. He wanted to be harnessing some sort of untapped magic within himself and spreading his regret to the other boy.

"Why is this happening to us?" Harry asked slowly. "I thought we hated each other."

"We did. You still do."

Harry didn't deny this.

Nor did he agree.

"But now..." Harry trailed off, leaving unsaid words.

Draco leaned in closely, his lips almost touching the corner of Harry's mouth. He hoped the pink swelling would dissipate. "I think that's changed," he said in a voice so low it was barely audible.

Harry's lips parted slowly, baring white teeth. His breathing was less natural, more...

ragged.

Draco's mouth brushed against Harry's. He wanted the Gryffindor so badly, but he did not- in any way- want to hurt him. If Harry pushed him away, he would understand. "Would you mind...?"

Harry let out a breathy, almost-moan. "What?"

"...if I kissed you?"

Harry moaned out like silken ripples in the air; he brought his lips to Draco's, who responded with a small, tentative kiss. Draco wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry.

He wanted to kiss Harry some more.

He did. And deepened the kiss, his hands moving up to cup the Gryffindor's face. Mouths moving together much more initimately. Closer. Harder. Emerald eyes fluttered open. Draco smiled into them.

Could this be the start of his forgiveness?

Harry pulled his mouth back and sighed. "We're...changing...aren't we?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "I suppose so."

Harry didn't say anything more.

"Surely you don't want to hate each other forever?" Draco asked, worried that the other boy could change his mind in less than a moment's notice.

"I suppose so," Harry echoed Draco's words; he smiled a little, but the smile only toyed at the corners of his mouth.

Draco ran a slim finger along the other boy's protruding collarbone. It made him wonder sometimes, the way Harry's bones jutted out so angularly. The way his clothes were always several sizes too large. He met the malachite pendant on the old silver chain. "You still wear this?"

"Yes," Harry answered, sounding slightly puzzled.

Draco had to smirk. He rubbed the chain between his thumb and index finger. The chain was slim and fine and well-worn. A bit like its owner."Don't you think it's a bit effeminate?"

Harry's eyes darkened and his lips tightened. "Don't you think this is a bit effeminate?" He waved his hands around, gesticulating their situation.

Draco was silent. Please don't change your mind, Harry. Please. He tried to plead with his eyes.

"I mean..." Harry's forehead crumpled, "well...I don't know if I'm even okay with 'this' yet. If there even is a 'this'..."

"I want- very much- for there to be," Draco admitted, prying his eyes from Harry and over to the silver dagger atop his dresser.

Harry didn't reply to this. "You never opened your gift," he said instead.

Oh.

He sat up, gently pushing himself off the Gryffindor. Harry must have been talking about the package he brought with him when he came to visit and Draco...

raped him.

Draco looked down at the floor guiltily.

It must still be in the common room.

He slipped on his silver embroidered Slytherin prefect's robe, noticing for the first time the long red finger tracks on his sides. "I'll be back in a minute." He nearly swooned at the sight of his thighs, caked with dry blood and spit and...other stuff. He pulled the robe tighter and left his room quickly.

Harry must have known where Draco was headed because when Draco returned, closing the door once more behind him, Harry was sitting up in Draco's bed. The sheets were modestly bunched around his waist and his arms were folded across his chest, as if to protect himself. Or hide his body. His eyes were large, but his visage unreadable.

Draco raised an eyebrow and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Keep it light, Draco.

Harry smiled back. Slightly, tentatively, rubbing his arms from the chill. "Do you Slytherins have no heating whatsoever down here?"

Something like an internal sigh of relief passed through Draco. "Incendio." He raised his hand at his private fireplace and orange flames crackled up out of the logs that were continually replaced by school house-elves.

"Can you do much wandless magic?" Harry asked, in some awe as his mouth hung open.

Draco smirked. "Hardly. Lighting a fire and a basic summoning spell are about my limits. My father is quite disappointed at that."

Draco bit down on his tongue. Fuck! Why, oh why had he mentioned his father? Why did those things slip so easily off his tongue?

Harry's knuckles were gripping the sheets and were white. He didn't move an inch. But maybe his eyes were squinting some. Draco picked up Harry's glasses from the spot on the floor where they lay half-obscured. He handed them to him. Harry snatched them away then relaxed back onto the pillows a little.

Time to change the subject.

"I brought your wand," Draco said as he placed it next to his dagger, which emitted a faint hum. Then he dropped his robe and crawled back into bed next to Harry. It wasn't late enough by far to be out of bed.

"Thank you." Harry turned away as Draco got in, refusing to look at the Slytherin boy's body at all.

Draco pulled the covers up over the both of them. It was simply warmer that way. But maybe one day he'll want to look at me naked...

He set Harry's gift down in front of him. Harry glanced over at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Draco blinked. He had assumed that Harry was delivering a gift to someone. Harry had got him a gift? And still wanted him to have it after what he had done?

He nodded numbly and pulled the paper away carefully. It was stuck to the object- which was lumpy and soft- with something similar to Spellotape, only much stickier. It clung to his fingers and curled up around the tips. Draco flicked his hands a few times before the stuff slacked off, falling to join the paper.

Harry snorted. "Only you could get tape stuck to your fingers!"

Draco didn't reply to that.

He pulled out a pair of black mittens, knitted somewhat haphazardly, stitches dropped in places and a little knotted in others. They were lumpy and holey and each one a distinctly different size.

They were the most beautiful pair of mittens he'd ever seen.

He didn't know quite what to make of the gift. "Did you knit these?"

Harry nodded and turned pink. "Hermione taught me. Just don't tell anyone I did. You...you didn't have any the other day. Your hands must have been cold."

Draco set down the mittens, taking Harry's hands in his own, which were frigid as the porcelain collection his mother kept at home. "I will make this up to you," he said earnestly. "I promise."

* * * * *

Draco and Harry purposely avoided each other over the course of the next couple of days, not that it was a problem with either. Draco felt his blood run cold whenever Harry walked by. He hated himself. How did his father live with himself if Draco could barely stand it after only raping someone?

Draco didn't want to find that out at all.

He had decided that it would minimize the awkwardness, among other things, if he and Harry maintained a relatively 'normal' routine and Harry had agreed- how could he not? The other boy had slipped back quietly into his own dorms later that morning with nothing more said between the two.

Draco had watched him leave with a heavy heart full of mixed emotions. It would be best to return to normalcy, but at the same time- despite everything that he had done- he didn't want to.

He wanted to be with Harry. But he didn't want to scare the Gryffindor with over-eagerness- what an irony that would have been! He didn't want to ever risk a repeat of the previous night.

The days following the 'occurrence' Draco spent wandering the bleak lakeside, wrapped up in his warmest winter cloak and the mittens Harry had given him. Such a simple gift made him smile; the fact that the other boy had made them for him, that he had thought to take the Slytherin into consideration. It made Draco's heart all the more lighter and heavier at the same time.

You raped him.

Draco would return each evening from an afternoon of brisk winter air into the Great Hall for a steaming supper and warm mulled pumpkin juice. There must have been something in the drink because it not only made Draco (and the other students) a little more lethargic after dinner, but much more mellow.

This was probably Dumbledore's idea. And Draco might have thanked him for the gesture, if he weren't so proud.

So Draco spent his evenings still alone, in silence, as Blaise was always flitting off somewhere midday to meet someone. He would sit to eat with his back turned to the Gryffindor table. It was easier to ignore them that way. To go back to normal. He had also stopped trying to listen to the happy banter of the Weasel and Mudblood, or Weaselette and the Rat-faced Boy, as Harry's quietness during their conversations unnerved him a little more each passing day. Besides, it really wasn't very interesting to hear the Weasel go on and on for hours about the bloody Chudley Cannons - horrible team!- or the Mudblood reminding the three of them about their upcoming NEWTS in seventeen months.

However, sometimes Blaise would be there and talk to him at dinner. She never brought up Pansy, or the time when she found Draco crying or the Death Eaters. Mostly, she talked about lighter stuff, conversational topics- the trips to Italy to visit her grandfather, the vacations to Brighton and India she was planning to take after graduation. Draco just nodded along and muttered a polite 'sounds nice' once in a while, but he did appreciate Blaise's attempts to be....well, normal.

Neither of them brought up their relationships, although Blaise confessed that she was worried about her upcoming Ancient Runes exam in January.

"Why?" Draco asked, taken aback. Surely a professor wouldn't fail a student he was shagging. He leaned in close, for privacy's sake, and smirked. "I thought you two were...close."

Blaise smiled softly and snorted. She leaned even closer, so much so that her breathing was tickling the side of Draco's jaw. "Sometimes people change. Things happen and life takes two people in two different- or colliding- directions." She blinked at Draco, pulling back. "A lot of us have had...revelations in the past few days," Blaise stated causally, "not just you, Draco." She patted his shoulder affectionately and walked out of the Great Hall.

* * * * *

Six days after 'the incident' with Harry Potter, Draco still found his thoughts perpetually dwelling on it.

He was in the prefects' bathroom, attempting to purge his thoughts in the pool-sized tub that he had filled with foamy green lavender-scented bubbles that crackled all around him. He didn't have a pensieve of his own yet. And baths were always relaxing. Usually. Lavender, he recalled from Herbology, was supposed to be relaxing or rejuvenating, or something like that. He had run the water to the point where his skin was nearly blistering from the heat, and Draco felt feverish and listless. His mind wandered freely.

But he still felt horrible.

Draco was furious with himself. Beyond loathing. Beyond disgust. For losing control like that. For forcing someone like that- it didn't matter who, it was the act.

For forcing Harry.

Why did I have to take the bloody potion? Why did Pansy have to give it to me? Why do I want Harry so badly?

You still do, he told himself. But Harry will never want you, you know. Could never want you. Remember how he cringed at you that day? How he's so quiet at meals? How his walk is more of a 'shuffle-down-the-halls'?

After what you did to him...

Draco let his body slide down the slick marble bench that he was perched on in the tub. He slipped down into the water, fully submerging himself. The too-hot water surrounding his body, washing over his head was cleansing in some way and he stayed underneath it until his lungs were burning with lack of air.

His eyes were shut when he surfaced and he pushed back the veil of hair that covered them with his palm. He floated back against the marble bench that ran the perimeter of the pool. Draco felt his muscles tense involuntarily after a moment. Something felt...wrong. In the bathroom, a presence.

Probably one of the stupid ghosts that haunt this area of the castle...

He opened his eyes cautiously and turned towards the door.

Which Harry Potter was gingerly closing behind himself with a locking spell.

Draco sucked in a gasp. His mind was racing- what was Harry doing here? Did he not notice Draco? What would he do if he noticed Draco?

He must have.

The tub was smack-bang in the middle of the room.

Harry walked along the edge of the tub carefully, green eyes on Draco the whole time. The Gryffindor stopped just before he walked in front of a tall mirror where Draco had left his clothes piled messily. Harry began to tug at the hem of (another) Weasley jumper, this one yellow. It must have snagged in his necklace, because he paused and had to pull a thread out of the silver chain.

What is he doing?

Draco swallowed and decided to figure this out with the most direct approach possible. "Hullo, Harry," he said quietly. The high-vaulted ceilings in the room made his voice echo loudly.

Harry was working at the fastenings of his trousers. "Hullo..." he paused a moment, determining how exactly to address the Slytherin, "...Draco."

Draco felt strangely self-conscious. His hands were bunching up large chunks of foam above his body, to hide himself.

Since when are you bashful?

Never.

He stopped himself and lifted his chin a little higher, a little more arrogantly. More confidently. "What are you doing?"

Clad only in his boxer shorts, which his hands were gripping at the waistband, Harry looked at him pensively; strangely calm. "I'm changing- can't you feel it, lover?"

Draco blinked.

And got suds in his eye. It stung and he brought a hand up to rub it out. "Sorry?" he sputtered. His ears were deceiving him. The echo was very distracting.

Harry scrunched up his dark brows, confusion written all over his face. "I said I was changing."

"Oh. Right."

Harry set his glasses down atop his stack of clothes that now included his boxers. Draco turned away slightly. He didn't want to be reminded of the other boy's bruises more than was necessary.

There was a splash of water next to him. Then a wave of bubbles and ripple of water. Harry surfaced from beneath a spot of foam which clung to his unruly black hair. He smiled at Draco. "You don't mind me here, do you?"

Draco couldn't believe his senses for a second time that evening. He must be going nutters! Had Harry forgiven him? Did Harry hate him less? Was this some cruel joke concocted by the Gryffindors for some unknown, yet dastardly purpose?

"No," Draco blurted.

Harry hauled himself up onto the bench seat next to Draco. Only their torsos were visible above the water. Despite that, Draco prayed that he wouldn't get hard. That Harry wouldn't notice if he did get hard.

"Good," Harry said and looked around the room. He didn't have his glasses on and his eyes were larger than usual, and much more unfocused. His pupils darted about blindly.

"Er...what are you doing here...Harry?" Draco couldn't help himself. His mouth ran away before he could stop it.

Harry stopped smiling and thought a moment, absently toying with his malachite pendant. "I want to talk with you," he said solemnly.

To brace himself for the impending inevitable, Draco took a deep- and shuddering- breath. He didn't say anything. His tongue had shriveled up and he had swallowed it. It sat in the pit of his gut, a dead weight.

"What you did to me- I know you were under the influence of the potion and all, but..." Harry ran a hand through his wet hair. It was drying at the ends and beginning to stick up into the multitude of cowlicks as usual. Harry mumbled something very low and blushed, refusing to meet Draco's eyes.

Or had he really blushed? The water was very hot and steamy. It was hard to tell.

"Sorry Harry?"

Harry looked up with clear resolve in his jade eyes. The pink drained from his face and he brought a shy hand to Draco's warm cheek. Draco leaned into the caress, unthinking.

He's stringing you along. Touching you? Don't be fooled! You're a Malfoy. You raped him.

"Make love to me Draco," Harry whispered slowly.

Draco's eyes widened, but before he had time to respond- which would have been affirmative- Harry had boldly caught Draco's lower lip by surprise with his teeth. Draco moaned into the Gryffindor's lips and brought his hands around to Harry's back, which was slick and sudsy, to bring him closer.

Hands tangled in Draco's own wet hair, Harry feathered lambent kisses in a searing trail from the Slytherin's mouth to his cheek to his ear lobe. Harry caught it between his teeth and nipped at it. Draco gasped and arched his hips into the other boy's.

"Do you like that?" Harry bit harder, enough to sting.

Draco's ear was on fire. "Oh god..." he moaned, "yes!" His hips strained again and his hold on Harry's back strengthened and slipped on the slick skin when he gripped too hard.

Harry's tongue slid along the ridge of his ear. Draco shivered as the wetness. It made his spine tingle and blood rush to his groin. "You taste so good, Draco..."

Draco moaned even louder when Harry's husky voice sounded his name. Harry wanted him. Him! He was elated; he felt wonderful, alive-

and so horribly, horribly guilty.

Draco pulled back sharply, Harry's teeth catching on his ear and grazing it. "I can't do this," he managed and fumbled in the deep water to find the steps to exit the tub.

Harry grabbed Draco's left wrist with a violent splash of verdant water and spray of bubbles. "No," he said possessively, sneering.

Draco reeled back from the shock of hearing such force in the word. He slipped along one of the wet marble steps, falling painfully down another two underwater steps into the tub again.

Since when did Harry sneer?

Since you raped him!

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Harry was there first.

"I mean...I-" Harry stammered, off-guard, and frowned. "I know you won't hurt me again. I forgive you. I did that day. I know you weren't at fault."

Mea Culpa, Harry. I am.

He looked up into Draco's eyes, limpid pools of emerald staring down into stormy, unsure grey eyes. "Please Draco; I do. I want you inside me."

Draco swallowed, still uncertain, but he didn't move away. Or look down. "How can you be sure?" he asked warily. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of Harry's eye.

Harry smiled and caught Draco's hand; he stroked the back of it with the pad of his Quidditch-callused thumb. "I just have this feeling. That this is the way things are meant to be. You, inside me." He glided over in the water closer Draco, making a little trail of cleared water behind him.

Draco sighed. He cocked his head a little to the side. After a pregnant pause he said "Not here then." He held out his hand. It was shaking slightly.

Harry took the hand and gripped it firmly, reassuring with the confidence and strength. Gold-tinted skin met silver pale. Draco led them out of the tub and over to a neatly stacked pile of terry towels by a rack of white robes on wall-pegs. He took one off the hook and set it down on the floor, Harry doing the same in turn before he laid himself atop them on his back. His body was prostrate, like a gift for the gods.

Gods who raped mortals.

Draco kneeled down next to him, holding the Gryffindor boy's head in his hands as one would a rare relic. But then Harry was a rare relic, someone to be treasured in his own way. "Are you sure about this?" he asked earnestly. He needed to know.

Harry's eyes were twinkling like his pendant, a perfect match of green vibrancy. "Yes."

Closing his eyes, Draco finally brought their mouths together. He felt Harry's soft lips shudder under his and move against them, parting and urging Draco's tongue into a dance with his own. Draco let out a groan and tentatively complied. Harry's tongue met his own and they battled, roving, pulsing like living velvet against animate silk. Draco ran the tip along pearly teeth, along the roof of Harry's mouth and the Gryffindor moaned deeply and wiggled against the Slytherin.

Draco shifted his body along Harry's to have better and more direct access to the boy's mouth; he lay his body on top of the Gryffindor's, drying skin meeting its match with slight sweat. Draco hissed when their erections finally brushed ever so slightly, so innocently and accidentally. Harry groaned and stifled a curse. It was the most exquisite sensation. He did it again, on purpose, and Harry arched upwards, wantonly.

"Why, Potter, aren't we the little slut?" Draco's voice was thick and he smirked.

Harry's eyes darkened and he snuck his hands under Draco's hip until they fingered his hardness. He grated his fingernails along its length.

Draco's erection scorched and Harry's hand brought stars to his vision. Then Harry tiptoed them down back a second time. Who knew that that sort of pain and pleasure mixed was so...sensational? "Fuck!" he snarled and moved to rub himself against the Gryffindor's hand, which had ceased toying for the moment.

"Now who's the slut?" Harry chuckled and pulled his hand away, making sure to drag it ever so intentionally along Draco. Draco moaned in protest and Harry had his own turn to smirk.

"God..." Draco's eyes glazed over with absolute desire and he was determined to make Harry pay for the remark. He brought his own hand between their hips and ran the end of his index finger along Harry. Harry hissed and cursed and clutched at Draco's hair in desperation, yanking at clumps and pulling Draco's head back.

"Just...just fuck me...Draco!" he pleaded.

Draco couldn't help but smirk to himself- the way Harry had uttered that, just made him wonder! He didn't stop. Instead, he brushed his cheek along Harry- down there- watching the reactions from the other boy intently. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head, but were still open to slits. His cheeks deepened their carmine. Draco found that intensely erotic, in such an innocent manner. He had to lick the blush from Harry's face, then he returned to other areas. Harry's toes were starting to curl. The Gryffindor bucked underneath him and babbled incoherently and yanked even more viciously at Draco's hair- he could feel his roots being pulled out one by one.

I'll have no hair when this is over.

But Harry didn't relent.

His tongue darted out and tickled Harry, whose moans were gathering in frequency and intensity. The room echoed them. Draco was delirious- that he could cause such a beautiful reaction from Harry. That Harry was moaning his name more heavily, voice thick and laden with lust. That Harry could taste so. Fucking. Good. Salty and musky and earthy and spicy and...divine.

He was in Heaven.

He pressed his fingertips into Harry's hipbones with a slight pressure, not enough to leave welts as he had the first time, but firmly enough. Draco must have hit old bruises because Harry yelped in discomfort.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled. Or thought he did, he really couldn't tell at this point.

He held Harry's thighs instead, the smooth inner thighs that were the gloriously pale golden colour of the rest of the Gryffindor and hairless, in opposition of the remainder of his legs.

Draco nudged his head forward and breathed in the heady scent like a lifeline. He was light-headed with the scent and sight and taste of Harry.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

Draco pulled his mouth away and lifted his head to catch a sight of the other boy; Harry was flushed with a sheen of sweat and shimmering water droplets mottled his body. His green eyes glossy and milky, his pupils massively dilated.

He looked like he was on opiates. Or marijuana. Or possessed.

And just so sodding sexy.

Draco wondered if he had a similar appearance.

"Please, Draco." He saw Harry's lips move slightly, forming the round 'o'. "I want you inside me now."

Draco met Harry's mouth again and kissed him with all he had, thrusting his tongue through the Gryffindor's mouth and cutting off any and all air between them. Hard desperation melded two into one. "Anything."

After Draco had mumbled a lubrication spell he had learned from a pilfered magazine reputed to be Blaise's, their bodies moved together in a frenzy of thrashing limbs, thrusting hips, hands tangling in hair, fingers scraping marks into shoulders, mouths tasting, licking, sucking and blood, sweat and saliva mixing.

Draco had to force himself to wait to come inside Harry at the same time the other boy did. To reach completion in unison. Their muffled screams mingled together in the hazy silence of the bathroom.

Slowly, carefully, Draco pulled himself out of Harry, their hearts pounding loudly and chests heaving, but sated. The light of the room was stark and harsh in the moment, as the steam cooled and evaporated. Draco reached for his wand. "Nox Partium," he murmured and the torches dimmed to a murky darkness.

In the half-light, he lay beside Harry, spooned against the other boy's back. Harry was pliable and rested his head contentedly against Draco's collar. Draco stroked the plastered black hair with one hand and wrapped the other around his waist. Harry entwined his fingers with Draco's longer, slimmer ones and squeezed lightly, reassuring. Draco could feel his smile.

It mirrored his own.

"That was...very nice." Harry wiggled a little closer into Draco's chest and ran his ankle along the Slytherin's shin seductively.

"Mmmm," Draco kissed the crown of messy hair and smiled himself. This was the way things were supposed to be. He exhaled peacefully. This was good.

Harry squeezed their hands tighter and brought them to his lips, kissing Draco's palm. "'Palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss'..."

"What?" Draco wasn't familiar with what Harry had said. Maybe it was some Muggle ritual.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I don't really know where that came from."

"I didn't hurt you, then?" Draco asked abruptly, betraying a little too much emotion. He frowned at himself.

Weakling. He heard his father's condescending voice in the distance.

Harry shook his head, hair brushing along Draco's mouth and jaw. "No, this time it- it was very nice."

Silence fell over them again, like a blanket. Neither moved.

"What happens n-"

"Harry, I-"

They both spoke at once. Draco saw Harry blushing and took the cue to speak. "What happens now, Harry?" He cocked his eyebrows up and frowned a little, worried.

"I...don't know. I don't think this will work."

Draco smirked. "I know. It could never."

"Not us, no," Harry reiterated. Then he seemed to think a moment, before turning his head to Draco. "Are you still researching that dagger of yours?"

Draco was thoroughly puzzled as to why Harry would ask such an absurd question. "I suppose so," he admitted. "I really haven't done much since- since you stopped coming to the library."

"I'm sorry about that." Harry sighed and kissed Draco's palm again. "Well, now at least." He turned all the way around so their faces were even and noses brushed. Draco felt a compulsive urge to itch it. "Could I help you?"

Draco gave him a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes. He hadn't done that in a long while. It felt good. And strangely liberating."I'd...like that."

"Good," Harry paused. "I suppose it would be best if we went back to hating each other after this. Or mostly hating each other. It'd be easier."

"It would raise less questions,"

"Then perhaps it would be best." Harry finished off.

"But, maybe just until after Christmas...?" Draco offered up a hopeful suggestion.

Harry smiled, nodding. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me again."

"Alright."