Twist

Five years out of Hogwarts had changed Hermione Granger for the better, Draco Malfoy noted with interest as the sensuous, buxom Gryffindor strode gracefully into the cell. Her shapely hips swung rhythmically as she made her way across the room to where Draco stood as if she was drawn by the magnet that was Draco's raw sexuality.

Draco noticed the way Hermione's eyes widened as she took in his appearance, and he grinned roguishly at her. He had been the Slytherin sex god all through his years at Hogwarts, but he was even more devastatingly handsome now, his characteristic Malfoy good looks honed to startling perfection. His silvery pale hair was slightly longer then it had been in his school days, complimenting the clean, sculpted features of his attractive face. Broodingly, his eyes like deep grey thunderclouds peered out on the world with a charm that made Hermione's heart rate pick up. He was in perfect form, and even a week of brutal interrogations in the depths of Azkaban prison had not been able to steal a hint of Draco's overpowering attractiveness.

"My, my, Granger," Draco remarked in a sexual drawl as he gazed at Hermione up and down, stopping at all the good parts. "You have grown up."

"As have you," Hermione whispered, breathless. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts from the intoxicating affect Draco had on her, her auburn curls swaying. Struggling to focus in the midst of Draco's charm, Hermione turned to the subject at hand. "Tell us where your father and the rest of the Death Eaters are."

Instead of replying, Draco made a visual sweep of her body again. Granger filled out the skimpy, tight green sweater she wore very nicely and without all those schoolbooks holding her down he was able to appraise her slim figure. The short black skirt she wore displayed bronzed, shapely legs that were longer then he recalled, but the glasses she wore reminded him of her brilliance as well as her body. She was the image of female perfection, Draco decided.

"When did you become an Auror, Granger?" Draco asked as he stepped closer to her, amused by the effect of his proximity.

Hermione flushed slightly, no doubt strongly affected by Draco's manly charm as much as his physical closeness. "About the same time you became a Death Eater, Malfoy. Now do yourself a favour and tell me where they are hiding and we might be able to cut you a deal."

"What kind of a deal?" Draco asked without much interest as he raised an eyebrow and fixed Hermione with an intense stare that made her feel faint. "What will you give me?"

"What do you want?" she asked, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes traced the sleek lines of Draco's body, no doubt she was imagining the many things she would like to do to him.

Draco tilted his head slightly and smirked. "I have some ideas," he replied lightly. Brains and beauty, the perfect combination, even if she was a Mudblood, Draco thought to himself. "How about you?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned, her chin trembling slightly as if she was about to succumb to Draco's charm, from which she was defenceless.

"I think you know what I mean," Draco commented casually as he closed in the distance between them. He was aware of the way Hermione was looking at him, as though she had been dieting for years and he was a big slice of chocolate cake. He was used to being looked at hungrily by women, of course. He had been the object of desire for thousands of people for years. "I want you."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione exhaled as Draco's hands began to rove around under her sweater. Draco closed his eyes, drawing her nearer, preparing to give her the snogging of her life when his lips met --

Air.

Draco opened his eyes in shock, only to find himself standing in his cramped, filthy cell with his arms outstretched and his lips pursed with no one there to kiss him back. Heart sinking with disappointment, Draco slowly let his arms fall back to his sides, cursing himself. He had gotten hardly any sleep in the last few weeks; life at Azkaban was not what one would call luxurious, and he was clearly asleep on his feet, dreaming of Granger, no less. Ew, Granger. Was he mad to be dreaming of that Mudblood? For that matter, why was he dreaming of girls? Draco decided it was just the madness of prison life. Everyone knew being locked in Azkaban made one crazy.

As he turned, Draco's disappointment was overshadowed by a new feeling -- humiliation. Bad enough he had been having crazy dreams about a Muggle born Gryffindor bookworm he hadn't even seen in five years, but there was someone to savour his befuddlement. Harry Potter, the one person Draco hated above all others, was standing in the middle of the cell with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing an expression of supreme amusement.

"Wow, Malfoy, they told me Azkaban stole the sanity of prisoners but I didn't think it would happen so soon," Harry remarked with a rather Malfoyish smirk as he looked over at Draco. "So it's come down to snogging empty space, has it? Guess the girls aren't as impressed by that Dark Mark as you are."

Involuntarily, Draco clutched his arm and glowered at Harry. If looks could kill, the silvery flashes of hatred shining in Draco's thundercloud coloured eyes would have knocked Harry dead as effectively as Avada Kedavra. "Where's Granger?"

If someone had told Harry during his years at Hogwarts that he would someday be feeling sorry for Draco Malfoy, Harry never would have believed them, but here he was, a wave of pity crashing over him as he looked Draco up and down. He had been through tough times. Draco's face was thinner and had taken on the rather pinched look Harry had associated with Azkaban ever since meeting Sirius Black. A smudge of dirt was streaked across Draco's cheek and he was dressed in faded, torn Azkaban prison robes that were not nearly as flattering as the clothing he was used to. Draco's mannerisms seemed to have changed as well. In place of the haughty ease with which Draco had once moved there was now the halting, defensive posture of someone who had been through a hellish ordeal. Which, Harry reminded himself, was precisely what Draco had been through.

"Hermione?" Harry clarified. "She's not an Auror. She's not here. I imagine she's at St Mungo's." He wondered why Draco would ask. Hermione and Draco had never been what anyone would term friends. Draco had practically made a career out of insulting Hermione and teasing her about everything from her rather plain appearance to her Muggle parentage. Even now, when Harry met her for lunches or stopped over at the home she shared with Ron, Hermione was loathe to hear about anything remotely commented to Malfoy.

The pleasant fantasy about the beautiful Auror changed to one which featured sexy nurse Hermione dressed in scanty healer's robes and bending over a hospital bed. Draco grinned. "She's a healer? Hot."

"No, she's not a healer," Harry corrected him, confused. He stared at Draco for a minute, unable to come to terms with the nasty gleam in Draco's eye. Finally, after a moment, he understood what Draco had been thinking. "Ew, gross," he said, making a disgusted face. Harry was not fond of his arch enemies thinking dirty thoughts about his close friends, especially someone he felt as protective of as he did Hermione. "She works in the Ministry of Magic, drafting legislation concerning magical creatures. Her house elf rights laws have really improved the working conditions for elves."

"That explains it. I thought Narcissa was raving when she said we were to pay the house elves from now on. So, that's Granger's handiwork, is it? Half the pureblood wizards want her head on a plate." Draco paused, confused. "So why's she at St Mungo's? Some loony elf owner do the Cruciatus on her?"

"Hardly," Harry retorted. "She's having a baby, of course."

This was news to Draco. He could hardly picture the bookish, rather bossy girl he had known in school as a mother to be. "Granger's pregnant? Wow, her first kid, I bet she's all mad, reading parenting books and learning the latest protective charms."

"She's married to Ron, you stupid git," Harry snapped, tired of discussing the personal lives of his friends with someone like Malfoy. "It's her third baby. Now, let's get down to business. I've spoken with Fudge and he agrees that if you are willing to testify against the Death Eaters, we can reduce your sentence, let you out with nothing but a locating charm for six months."

Draco said nothing, but his already ashen skin paled considerably as he gaped at Harry. Had they really captured the hiding Death Eaters so soon? Draco could hardly believe it. He wondered if his father was in the bunch.

"Yes," Harry spoke again, understanding Draco's momentary silence. "Your father was one of the supporters we caught. They're all going to get the Kiss, you know, unless they can help us locate more of the traitors in hiding." Harry's green eyes were scorching as he met Draco's grey eyes. "You'll get the Dementor's Kiss too, if you won't name names and testify."

"Why would I do that?" Draco hissed, pulling away from Harry's intense stare. "I'm not testifying against Lucius and turning traitor to my own family."

"That's a very high and mighty statement, coming from someone whose father has already disowned him," Harry commented drily, his eyes never leaving Draco's face. As Draco's eyes flickered, Harry nodded. The gesture confirmed what he already knew, that Lucius Malfoy had disowned his son. "Come on, Malfoy, I know you've wanted out for years. Here's your chance. Six months with a locating charm on you and then you're free to do what you wish. If you won't, you're here to stay until the day you get your Kiss."

A million miles away, lost in thought, Draco only vaguely heard Harry's words as if Harry was speaking from a very far distance. Instead, Draco was picturing himself in the middle of a dark and tangled woods, standing in a circle of irate Death Eaters, his father pointing a wand at his throat. Draco's blunder, letting the Mudbloods go free, had cost him everything -- his father's love, his heritage and his wealth, not to mention the prestigious rank within the Death Eaters to which Draco had managed to climb. The truth was, Harry was right. He had wanted out for years. Maybe that was why he had let the girls escape in the first place.

"Nothing doing, Potter," said Draco defiantly. "If they go down, I'll go down with them."

"Do you think that's brave, Malfoy?" Harry asked angrily. "You're being so obstinate, you stupid prat! Don't you think we know all about you? You never killed anyone for Voldemort. Word has it, you actually released two of his prisoners, Muggleborn witches with vital information he could have used to sabotage the Ministry. Now why did you do that, Malfoy, if you're so loyal?"

Pretending to be unfazed, Draco turned his gaze lazily towards the stone wall of his cell. He was freezing. It was always cold in Azkaban, colder then it had ever been anywhere Draco had been to before. Somehow, knowing that Potter knew about his disloyalty to Voldemort hurt worse then when Lucius had coolly declared Draco was a traitor unworthy of serving the Dark Lord. Potter would think he was weak, and being thought weak by Potter was more then Draco could bear.

Draco had never wanted to be what Lucius had made him -- a Death Eater. He hated the black mark that had been burned onto his arm the day he left school, but there had never been any other option. His family had been into Dark Arts up to their ears for as many generations back as they could count, which was no small number. Like all of his predecessors, Draco was expected to join the ranks of those who supported pureblood causes. Lucius refused to have a son and heir who was not a Death Eater, so Draco had done what he had to and joined Voldemort's side, for all the good it had done. He realised with an ironic smirk that he was in precisely the same boat he would have been had he refused his fathers request -- penniless, reviled and alone.

"I made a mistake," Draco lied calmly, avoiding Harry's eyes. "It was late and I was tired. I thought the girls were bound securely, so I drifted off to sleep. They got away. Happy, Potter? I am loyal to Voldemort. I am."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Harry asked smoothly, not buying Draco's story for an instant. He had read the files himself, the words recorded directly from spy wizards who had joined Voldemort's ranks to report back to the Ministry. He knew all about the incident in which Draco had let slip some of the most important captives Voldemort had ever had. Thanks to the spies, not to mention the testimony of the Muggleborn witches themselves, Harry also knew that Draco had been neither asleep nor careless. "I don't know about the Death Eater code of ethics, but in my book releasing the two most vital captives needed for the mission, not to mention giving them their wands and pointing out the road back to safety, doesn't count as loyalty in my book."

At this Draco's face paled considerably. He did not know how Potter knew, but he knew all right. Draco remembered the furtive spells he had fired, the whispered exchange with the captives, directing them to the proper paths to take through the forest. He scowled. "How could you possibly know about that?"

"Does it matter how? The fact is, I do," Harry told him. When Draco said nothing, Harry explained. "The girls you released managed to make it safely back to London, where the first thing they did was come here. They told us all about how one of the Death Eaters, described as blonde and petite, set them free and helped them escape before Voldemort had a chance to probe them for the information he needed for the hostile takeover of the Ministry. Okay? That's how we know."

"Petite?" Draco demanded, outraged. He looked down at his body and then up at Harry. Potter was certainly not much taller then he. Well, maybe a centimetre or two, but not much more then that. "I am hardly petite!"

Harry shrugged. "That doesn't really matter right now, does it?

"You're not the one being called petite," Draco pointed out, still a bit ruffled. "So, what does that prove? Nothing. Maybe they did an Imperious Curse on me to forced me to let them go. Ever thought of that?"

"Yes, actually," Harry replied smoothly. "We have considered all the angles, which is how we also know there have been several of these incidents, all involving you. You're thwarting Voldemort's plan at every turn, Malfoy. You've done it, from what we know, since the second year of your involvement with the Death Eaters. Thanks to you he's had several Death Eaters killed, and several of his plans to kill me have been stopped. You're still telling me you're loyal to him?"

Draco said nothing. He leaned back against the wall of his cell, rubbing his bare arms in a vain attempt to work up some warmth. Goose bumps stood out on his fair skin, from the words Harry was speaking as much as the chill of the air. He could actually see his breath rising in smoky plumes. He wished he had a cup of hot chocolate.

Harry had never been one to keep his temper in check, and for all the training he had received from the Ministry aimed at cracking tough nuts like Malfoy, he still struggled to restrain himself. Abandoning his calm dialogue, Harry rushed forward and shoved Draco roughly up against the hard stone wall, relishing the sound of the wince that escaped Draco's lips.

"This is your life on the line, you idiot! You're going to get the kiss if you don't cooperate with me on this, and for what? So you can die for some cause you don't believe in anyway?" Harry shouted. His voice echoed hollowly in the stone chamber as he roughly shook Draco by the shoulders. "Why are you being so stupid?"

"Mmm, you know how I like it rough, Potter," Draco drawled, a haughty grin playing on his lips even as he grimaced in pain. His bones ground together as Harry pushed him against the wall.

As if he had found himself touching a burning hot stove, Harry instantly leapt back, a look of irate fury on his face. "Fine, play games with your life, Malfoy. If you want to die for Voldemort be my guest."

Draco brushed himself off slowly, as if he was not in dire straights in Azkaban but rather reclining in his favourite chair at home. After a moment he raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "I don't see why you should care if I die or not. You've always hated me, Potter."

"I don't -- care that is," Harry declared forcefully, averting his eyes. "I just think it's stupid that someone who hates Voldemort and never did anything illegal should have to die for no reason whatsoever. Do you think it'll impress someone, Draco? Do you think it will prove something, because it won't? Your father will have his soul sucked out and your mother will never get to hear about it, and as for me, I'll probably be at home reading Quidditch Through the Ages when you meet your untimely end."

"You called me by my first name," Draco remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"So?" Harry demanded as he blushed. He found himself staring intensely at the stone floor, feeling as disconcerted and out of sorts as he had in Potions class back at Hogwarts. It was almost as though any minute now Snape would be there to fire impossible questions his way and make him squirm.

Draco fixed Harry with an appraising glance. "So, Potter, you've never done that before. In school you always called me Malfoy."

"Well you're going to get your soul sucked out of your mouth in a few days anyway, so I hardly see why it matters what I call you." Harry frowned. He had entered the cell feeling confident, cocky even. It was his chance to break Malfoy, to interrogate the person who had tried to make life miserable for him at Hogwarts. Harry had looked forward to threatening Malfoy with the Dementor's Kiss - no idle threat, incidentally - and watching Malfoy grovel and beg, but as usual, Malfoy was trying to steal his thunder. He stood there so completely calm and unfazed that Harry wanted to slap him. "Have a nice life, Malfoy."

Chuckling, Draco sank down to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to coax his body to feel warm. When Harry had touched him, grabbing his firmly by the arms, his body heat had been heavenly, but now that Harry had moved away the cold had set in again. Draco debated trading his secrets for the promise of some blankets, but decided he would be letting Potter off far too lightly. "And you."

"Damn it!" Harry shouted, his hand hitting the bars of the cell roughly. A clanging sound echoed around the prison. He whirled around, green eyes blazing. "Why are you doing this?"

"What's it to you?" Draco asked, looking up at Harry from his perch on the floor. "Come on, Potter, tell me a part of you isn't loving this. Tell me you secretly can't wait for the moment the Dementor takes my soul and I'm gone forever."

"Is that what you think?" Harry yelled. Fuming, he crossed the room again. "No, no part of me is glad to watch you die like a fool for something as meaningless as Voldemort. It's stupid and I think it's pathetic."

Surprised, Draco glanced up. His own father's words, taunting him with how pleased Lucius would be when his son physically departed the earth, rang distantly in his ears. Of all the people who knew him, Draco had expected Potter would be the most elated at the prospect that he, Draco, was about to die. "Really?"

Refusing to be baited anymore, Harry shrugged. "I haven't got time for this. I need to go visit Hermione and I've got a whole drawer worth of files on Death Eaters I need to review. See you later." Grimly, he thought of the report he would need to give Fudge, saying that Malfoy had refused to cooperate. At least Fudge would be pleased. The Minister wanted nothing more then the elimination of the entire Malfoy family and it did not matter to him that technically, aside from his loyalties, Draco had never broken wizard law.

"No, wait," Draco urged. When Harry halted Draco looked up at him careful, his gaze scrutinising. "You're sincerely saying you won't be happy when I die?"

"Of course not. Death doesn't make me happy, Malfoy, not even yours," Harry answered wearily. He wondered if he had ever met anyone was draining as Draco Malfoy in his entire life. Aside from being an annoying, stuck-up, egotistical prat, Draco was also incredibly thick. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Draco answered, looking away.

With a sigh, Harry dropped to the stone floor beside Draco. He knew Malfoy better then most. Being Draco's arch enemy had taught Harry a lot about how Draco's mind worked. He did not want to die a traitor or a weakling and for a Malfoy, coming clean to the Ministry about the inner workings of those loyal to Voldemort was definitely traitorous. Harry could not, however, understand the other reason why Draco did not want to give up lightly. Had he looked into Draco's eyes at that moment, he would have understood, but instead he stared at the stone floor. "Why do you ask, Draco?" he repeated.

Beside Harry, Draco was relishing the body heat emanating from Harry. The warmth was sheer bliss. Hearing his first name on Harry's lips for the second time in a single afternoon, however, jolted Draco out of the sleepy semi-daze he had been in and made his sit up straighter.

"I just wondered," Draco answered, quickly dismissing the question with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter." His eyes told a different story, however, changing from brooding deep grey to a rather pale silver sheen they took on only when he was happy, which was rare. Did Harry...care? "I just would've thought you would -- be glad, that is."

"Yeah well, I'm not," Harry said truthfully. "Voldemort has caused enough death and destruction without someone innocent dying on his behalf."

With a mirthless little laugh, Draco shook his head. "I'm not innocent," he declared forcefully. "You should hear about all the things I've done. I mean -- I shagged Hannah Abbott in the prefect's bathroom when we were in our first year, and --"

"-- I meant of any crime against the Ministry, Malfoy, not your personal life...which I would really rather not know about, thanks," Harry broke in quickly. He frowned, trying to remember who Hannah Abbott was. "The point is, you didn't kill anyone for Voldemort. That mark doesn't make you a traitor."

"Some would differ with you on that," Draco told him with a knowing nod. He peered down at his forearm, where the black mark contrasted sharply with his creamy pale skin. Frowning, he ran a finger over it. The mark never came off, no matter how many spells Draco had secretly tried or how many times he had wished it away. He had hatred for the symbol of Voldemort in common with Severus Snape, although he did not know it.

"You're not a traitor to me," Harry said. He turned to look at Draco, the facts in his mind clashing with the image of the young man he had despised since stepping off the train at Hogwarts his first year. He knew how many of Voldemort's attempts on his own life had been mangled by Draco's purposeful interference. It was odd, to think of Draco Malfoy, who had hated him, working discreetly to save Harry's skin.

A rare flush bloomed pink on Draco's cheeks for a moment and he quickly looked away. He remembered his father's shouts, demanding to know if he, Draco, was actually trying to spare Potter's life. Of course, Draco had denied the accusations but he knew the truth.

"If you don't give us names, though, Draco, the Minister won't have any choice but to order you to receive the kiss. We need your testimony before the Wizengamot. I can probably arrange for you to be tried apart from the others if you'll cooperate, but I need your word," Harry said. He turned to the fair young man beside him. "Will you?"

"I don't know," Draco replied lazily, yawning. He felt warm and tired, as if he could curl up into a ball and go to sleep. The many sleepless nights filled with worry seemed to be weighing down on him, urging him to relish the warmth and comfort of having someone beside him whose body seemed to manufacture a good deal of heat.

That was not the answer Harry had been looking for. Angrily, he smacked his hand down hard on the cold floor. "What is your problem? You aren't proving anything by this! Do you want a kiss?"

Draco's ears perked up and he turned towards Harry with his lips curved into a haughty smile. "Sure, why not?"

Irate, Harry wished he could just use the Imperious and force Malfoy to testify. The young man was so infuriating! Even with his life at stake, Draco was being coy and refusing to be serious. "Let me get this straight. You want a Dementor's Kiss?"

"Oh, a Dementor's Kiss," Draco echoed, catching on to what Harry was attempting to say.

"Of course, a Dementor's Kiss," Harry snapped, wondering of Draco had indeed gone mad. "What did you think I was talking about? Did you think I was offering to kiss you or something?"

The deafening silence from Draco's end provided Harry with a clear enough answer to his last question. Gaping, he turned to Draco, his green eyes wide with shock. "Malfoy, if this is another one of your games..."

In response, Draco suddenly leaned over and, with a gesture far more gentle and graceful then Harry would have thought possible, brushed Harry's lips with his own. The brief kiss fuelled something deeper within Draco, a feeling he had always thought was rivalry, or maybe envy, but which turned out to be something much closer to lust. In a fluid motion, Draco was on his knees, his hands in Harry's hair and running down Harry's back as he pulled the black-haired Auror into a deeper kiss.

For a moment, Harry was too shocked to move. Draco Malfoy was...kissing him! Not just kissing either, for it was nothing like the polite pecks Harry had shared with the girls on the various blind dates he had gone on. This was intense. Draco was practically devouring him, all soft lips and hungry passion, the heat of Draco's mouth on his own and the shock of Draco's rough pressure. Harry found himself running his own hands through Draco's impossibly silky hair, fumbling as he tried to pull Draco closer.

Breathless, Draco pulled away. Had he been cold? He was hot now, fiery passionate heat running through his veins and warming him -- well -- everywhere. He smirked in Harry's direction. "You're not too bad at snogging, Potter. Had a lot of practise?"

"No," Harry said. "I mean -- yes -- er -- anyway it's none of your business, Malfoy. What the hell were you doing, kissing me?" His thoughts were a confusing jumble and Harry felt distinctly less in control then he had a moment before. Trying to smooth his hair, which was futile, Harry glowered at Draco. "Why'd you kiss me?"

"You asked if I wanted a kiss," Draco pointed out, logically enough. He felt like laughing at the blank look on Harry's face, but decided it would be wiser not to.

"Huh?" Harry exclaimed. "Hey, that wasn't what I meant. I was talking about a Dementor's Kiss, Malfoy, which you ought to receive now for the crime of --"

"-- Snogging you senseless?" Draco finished, flashing an irresistible grin. "I would apologise for that, Potter, but the fact remains, you kissed me back."

"Oh yeah," Harry murmured, awed for a moment by the truth in that statement. He bent forward, his hand tracing along the side of Draco's face. Draco's skin was unbelievably smooth. Before Harry quite knew what was happening, he had knelt forward and kissed Draco roughly on the lips, his tongue probing it's way into Draco's mouth, questing, exploring. He felt Draco press against him and Draco's mouth opening to his kiss.

As they parted, Draco grinned. "Is that some new interrogation method the Ministry has thought up, Potter? If so, I'm quite impressed. I'm convinced it's working."

"Are you ready to pour out your secrets now?" Harry asked, breathless. He had been through many interrogation sessions before, but none that had even vaguely resembled the situation he currently found himself in. Struggling to remember his official purpose, he continued. "Will you testify?"

"On one condition," Draco replied, licking his lips and grinning in a way that made him very tantalizing. "Interrogate me some more."

"You'll do it, really?" Harry verified, looking sceptical. A good kisser though Draco was, there was absolutely no reason for Harry to trust him. Malfoy delighted in toying with him, as was obvious by the snogging. Too bad I liked it, Malfoy. He levelled his glanced, meeting Draco's stormy, grey eyes. "If you don't testify, your next kiss with come from a Dementor, not me."

In response, Draco reached for Harry's belt, meaning to unfasten his trousers. He leaned forward, his kisses light and deft on Harry's neck, his hot breath sending shivers up Harry's spine. The repressed feelings he had harboured were at the surface now, and Draco had difficult restraining himself. How could Harry care about a stupid thing like the trial before the Wizengamot at a time like this?

"I'm serious, Malfoy, answer me," Harry breathed as his eyelids fluttered. Draco's kisses made him feel incredibly shaky. Trying to maintain a shred of sanity until he had Draco's word, Harry grabbed Draco's wrists and pinned him down to the floor roughly.

By way of response, Draco's eyes widened. "Mmm, again with the forceful technique, Potter. All right, I'll testify, now really, can we get on with it?"

"What the bloody hell?"

Harry, his trousers unfastened and his lips dangerous close to Draco's, turned to peer outside of the bars. Percy Weasley, red hair styled in an incredibly pompous fashion, was staring open-mouthed at Harry and Draco, clutching his clipboard to him as though using it as a shield from the unbridled lust emanating from the Azkaban cell.

"Er -- Percy," Harry said, leaping away from Draco.

Percy closed his mouth, then opened it again, then shut it firmly. After a moment he tried again. "Harry, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Interrogation," drawled Draco calmly from where he still lay on his back, arms over his head, looking perfectly relaxed and not the slightest bit fazed by the intrusion. "The Ministry uses this technique to break the really hard cases like myself."

Shooting Draco a murderous glance, Harry struggled to explain himself. "Er -- tripped. Fell." Realising that this did not provide an adequate explanation for his unhooked trousers, Harry flushed and fell silent.

"I see," Percy said slowly, shaking his head. He had seen a lot in his years at the Ministry. When one worked with wizards, there was no end to what crazy situations one might find oneself in. Still, he could not remember a time when he had seen a star Auror snogging a Death Eater in an Azkaban prison cell. Oh well, one more story for the book I intend to write upon retirement. He nodded, slowly. "When you're finished, Harry, a word in my office?"

"Sure," Harry agreed quickly, nodding. He brushed himself off and made quick work of fastening his trousers securely as he heard Percy's departing footsteps. Exhaling, he closed his eyes in relief. At least it had been Percy. Percy had the decency to keep the incident quiet; he wasn't a gossip, unlike some in the Ministry who could keep nothing to themselves. He would no doubt face a long and boring lecture about Ministry rules and situational ethics, but Percy would be fair about it.

Draco laughed as he got to his feet. "You should have seen your face."

"I could get into a lot of trouble for this," Harry pointed out truthfully enough. He was just glad it had not been Fudge taking a walk through Azkaban. Trust Percy to use his day off to tour Azkaban. "I better go talk with Percy. You swear, you'll testify? You swear it, Malfoy?"

"I swear, I swear, don't get your panties in a bunch," Draco replied. He smirked, the familiar smirk Harry had hated, which he now found oddly attractive, if infuriating. "Oh, that's right, you can't. I didn't feel anything but skin under those trousers."

Bright red, Harry turned to go. He raised his wand, preparing to open the cell and go face Percy. Better sooner then later, he thought. It was better to get the lecture over with. Before he spoke the words that would let him out, however, Harry turned back to Draco.

"When you get out, you're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" Harry asked. "I would really prefer if it stayed between us."

"Of course," Draco agreed readily. "Do you think I really want it spread around that on top of testifying against my father and abandoning my position as a Death Eater, I'm also gay? Even worse, that I snogged you of all people?"

In spite of himself, Harry could not help being stung. "Me? What do you mean 'of all people'? What's so bad about me? I'm the one who should be embarrassed to be seen with a Death Eater, given how I'm an Auror and all."

"No one has ever been ashamed to be seen with a Malfoy," Draco remarked, tilting his chin. "We're beautiful. If I were you, I'd be out bragging."

"Right," Harry said sarcastically, but he was amused by Draco's unfailing arrogance. It was actually rather charming, the way Draco thought of himself. "I've got to go."

"Leaving so soon?"

"I have to. I've got to explain to Percy what was going on before he really starts to suspect something. I don't think he'll write me up or anything, but --"

Harry's words were abruptly cut off by the sudden impact of Draco's mouth on his own. Percy be damned, Harry decided as he felt Draco's tongue sweep into his mouth and Draco's hands slide down his side. Kissing Draco was like kissing no one else. With Draco there was no hesitation, no dry pecks, nothing but tongues roving and mad passion and incredible heat.

"When you get out," Harry panted as they separated. He wiped his hand across his mouth, trying to focus. "When you get out, where are you going to stay?"

Draco shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't got a Knut to my name and my mother will never allow me back in Malfoy Manor if she knows I'm the one who testified against my father and provided the evidence you need to convict him. Why?"

"I was thinking," Harry said, blushing furiously and wondering why he always had to be so rash. His brain needed time to process what had happened, but his mouth was blundering on without him. "Maybe, if you wanted, you could stay with me for a while?"

"Sure," Draco answered easily.

Harry was stunned. He had expected Draco to lodge some lame protest, to claim he was fine and didn't need anyone's help, or to stubbornly declare he had no interest in living within a five hundred-kilometre radius of Harry's house. "Yes?"

"Don't kid yourself, Potter, it's not just your kissing. I need a place to stay, though the snogging does provide a nice fringe benefit. I imagine the shagging will as well." Draco managed to look perfectly serene as he spoke, not giving an inch to the mortification and embarrassment which had surrounded Harry.

"Who said anything about shagging?" Harry blurted out in absolute amazement, his face a brilliant shade of red closely resembling the Gryffindor flag he still had tacked over his bed at home. How was it Malfoy was always able to get him so off balance? It was the same as when they were in Hogwarts and Draco had made Harry feel unsteady and discombobulated most of the time.

"You will say something about it, at night when you're screaming my name," Draco said, allowing his ego to manifest itself. "Go on then, better have a chat with Weasley before he comes back down here and drags you away by the hair."

"Right," Harry agreed hastily, not entirely sure of himself. Hastily, before Draco could drag him into one more kiss, or more accurately, before Harry's lust could take over, he departed from the cell, refusing to allow himself the backward glance he longed for. He would see Draco again soon enough, as soon as the papers were finished and Draco was released.

Draco watched Harry go, still feeling the heat of Harry's lips on his own. For someone Draco had always presumed to be an ignorant virgin, Harry was surprisingly talented at kissing. He has always been good at physical things, Draco thought to himself with a smirk. Kissing Harry was a rush and made him feel heady and a little off balance and Draco was looking forward to doing a lot more of it upon his release. Turning away from the bars, Draco stared at the wall of his cell. It did not seem so chilly now that he knew he would be free from it in a matter of hours. He pictured his father's face, contorted in fury and disgust when Lucius saw him take the stand. He pictured his mother's angry, disbelieving expression when she heard the news that he had turned traitor on his family. None of it seemed very real to Draco. It was as if he had always known this day would come, the day when he would disown them as they had always threatened to do to him.

A clanking sound behind him made Draco jump. Was it dinnertime already? He had no intention of eating the vile concoction they called meals in prison, but he turned anyway, expecting to see the sour faced old service witch magicking his tray through the bars. Instead --

Harry was hurtling himself towards him, catching him in a fierce liplock. Draco staggered back against the wall, his hands already on Harry's cloak in a furious attempt to remove it, his mouth already parting to allow Harry access.

"Just needed one more," Harry said breathlessly as he moved away from Draco, grinning. His dark hair was tousled in an incredible attractive way and his face was flushed. Draco did not recall ever seeing him look better. He moved in closer, his fingertips running down the side of Harry's face while his other hand went to Harry's belt.

"Pity," Draco said as he succeeded in unfastening Harry's trousers and felt Harry's hands scrabbling to peel away his own clothes. "I think poor Weasley's going to have to wait a bit longer."