A/N: Seriously, look at the rating. If you are not a fan of slash fiction (gay-mance) or stretching the Harry Potter plots to benefit my selfish desire to have fun with this story, then leave NOW. I am well aware that Harry should not be able to speak in Parseltounge since the bit of Voldemort within him is dead, but I thought it would be interesting if that characteristic stayed with him. Also, to those of you familiar with my more recent work, this is actually the first fanfic I EVER wrote- so taadaa! Lol thank you for coming, constructive criticism welcome, and ENJOY!

~~~ Lost and Found at the Shrieking Shack ~~~

3rd P: The weather was a chilling 37 degrees F, accompanied by sleeting rain and occasional gusts of harsh wind. The majority of the student populace at Hogwarts's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry huddled inside their common rooms, save for two boys in their second time as seventh years who enjoyed challenging the elements. They had both started out with intentions of being alone: after all, if the hardy Hagrid wouldn't brave the storm, who else would? So, the Boy-Who-Lived and a perpetually angsty Slytherin left the castle, one from the east tower, the other from the west. Both, however, had the same destination in mind: the Shrieking Shack.

There was nothing in particular going on at the Shack. It was simply a place of solitude and reflection (not to mention a rare opportunity, as the Whomping Willow was far too cold to 'whomp' anything at present). Therefore, both adventurous boys headed out, oblivious of one another and their approaching procimities. Unobserved and content feeling, they allowed their thoughts to wander.

: 'I can't help but liking the rain; it's so deliciously cold, but fierce and subtly passionate at the same time. Storms are beautiful, with the wind's howl and the rolling grey clouds with their silver luster. Hm, they're practically the same color as Draco's- stop it, Harry! God, what the- where the hell did that come from?! From storm clouds to the eyes of my . . . enemy? Nice. Ugh, I've got to get him off of my mind! This isn't . . . normal. It's gotta be hormones fucking with me again.' I walk faster and faster in angry confusion, kicking rocks and half running to the Shack. 'Once I get there, I'll sort everything out,' I promise myself. My thoughts stray to him again. I groan: "I'll do anything to get him off of my mind!"

D. PoV: 'Thank- I don't know- thank something that it's storming! If I'd had to spend another moment listlessly watching Blaise and Goyle compare "hot chicks", I would have thrown up! Gits. What could they possibly know about anything involving beauty? They couldn't even comprehend beauty if it stared at them face to face! All they see is miniskirts and boobs. Yech! As if that was attractive. Am I the only one to realize that liking girls is fucking boring? After my first crushes on Hermione-eh, Pansy- I realized that girls aren't really beautiful in that way. They don't have unkempt raven-black hair, or broad shoulders, or stubble on their chins, or twinkling . . . "Ohmyfuck I'm stopping that thought right there!" I yell. I cease walking, screeching to a halt with realization. My thoughts swirl in confusion, and I blame said bewildered emotions on the Gryffindor eliciting them: "Dammit, Potter, this is entirely your fault!"

H. PoV: "Well, at least my running got me here quicker," I grumble, looking up at the half- frozen Whomping Willow. I wipe rain off my glasses, and cautiously duck into the entrance, receiving nothing from the bizarre tree but a quiet groan of stressed branches. 'Hmph. What did the bloody tree have to be stressed about? There it was all rooted into an exact position, knowing that its sole purpose in life is to keep whack jobs and bints out of the Shack. Then here I am-' *trip* 'literally stumbling through life as the 'Chosen One' when deep down I don't know exactly who I am or what I want. I mean, Voldemort is gone; which is fucking great, but I . . . don't know what to do anymore. How am I supposed to find whatever, whoever, it is that I'm looking for?' I sigh, leaning against the stone walls and staring at the beckoning door that lies a mere yard away. I ponder metaphors involving the door: 'Could what I want be so close? Is it like the door- right there in front of me, yet oxymoronically pushing me away to draw me closer?' Shaking my head and biting my lip, I open the creaking door, step inside, and sit down among the dusty floorboards to wait. 'But what am I waiting for?'

3rd P: Draco quickened his pace, wanting to make up for the ten minutes he spent standing still in self-shock. He also wanted to get out of the rain. He loved the cold, of course; he was a Slytherin after all. However, he felt that something warm and preferably soft would cheer him up most (if such a thing was possible). About fifteen minutes after Harry had arrived, Draco ducked into the cavernous tunnel and walked swiftly, trailing his hands along the stone walls. He stopped everything, though, when he saw that the door was ajar.

'Could someone else be here?' he wondered. He immediately chased the thought away, thinking that no one else was crazy or lonely enough to brave the storm as he had. 'Still . . .' he got out his wand, took a breath, and flung the door open with a creak and a sharp SLAM! Draco's eyes widened. "P-Potter?! What are you doing here?"

H. PoV: I jump a mile into the air when the door slams into the wall. Surprised, I quickly fumble for my wand, then point it at . . . "Malfoy?! What the-"He cuts me off to reiterate his first question. I scowl. "What am I doing here?" I seethe. "What on bloody earth are you doing here?!"

Draco's steely eyes shoot daggers at me. "If you must know," he says hoarsely and almost sadly, "I came here to be alone." He looks me in the eye and sneers. "I can only handle being around so many of you Gryffindor prats in one day." I glare, and decide to tamper with his logic by saying "Well, I was almost a conniving Slytherin bastard like you, you know." Malfoy's face loses the anger and goes blank. I raise my eyebrow in confusion. Why did he look so . . . sad? Haunted?

Draco breaks the silence, replacing his blank expression with the customary sneer that he's reserved just for me. "As I said, I came here to be alone, Potter; unaccompanied, solitary- without YOU. So get out."

I seethe. "You think I have to listen to you, Malfoy? No. No way in hell. Aside from the fact that I can damn well do what I please, I was here first. So YOU can bugger off." Draco glares at me, and his usually pallid cheeks are tinted with an angry flush that makes his eyes- "Oh, stop it Harry, this is not the time!" I hiss under my breath. Malfoy grins deviously, as though the . . . malicious little prick knows that I'm arguing with myself. He then steps closer to me, his wand in hand, and his sneer in place.

"So, Potter, how about we settle this dispute? Winner stays here, loser . . . well, we can determine that later."

I grin right back. "For once, you have a brilliant idea, Malfoy."

D. PoV: "A duel, then," I crow in anticipation. I hadn't had one with him in ages, and so long as he didn't get too hurt, he was my favorite opponent. "Standard school rules," I elaborate. Harry raises a dark eyebrow, and icily says: "Then no cheating, Malfoy."

The malice in his voice- hurts. 'Is that how I sound to him all the time?' I pretend to inspect my shoes so that my face won't reveal anything. 'Why am I always seen as a cheat? I sure as hell am no angel, but . . . well, more fuel for the proverbial fire of truculence between us. Maybe a duel could clear my head of my recently unwelcome and disreputably suggestive thoughts.' I look up at his spring-green eyes and smile mockingly. "Let the games begin, Potter." We circle each other, stopping as our backs hit walls opposite from each other. "One," I declare.

"Two," he whispers back. My heart thuds, and we yell in harmony: ""Three!""

""Expeliarmus!"" We both say it in unison, both of our wands flying across the room away from us. Harry looks at me, and dryly asks "Well, now what do we do? I mean, we're both disarmed, so we both lose."

I can't help it- I smile amusedly. "Well, Potter, then that would be called a draw. We'll go again." He sighs gently, exasperatedly. "Fine, Malfoy. Have it your way." It is beyond me to grasp why Harry was so down all of a sudden. I clear my throat a bit as we pick up our wands. "Uh, something the matter, Potter? You've never had a draw before, golden boy?"

He looks up from the floor, where he had been nudging a dust bunny with his shoe. "No, I haven't. Besides, it's not that." He straightens up to his full height. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go already." His eyes blaze with determination, and I can't help but notice how luminous they are. 'Aggh! Come on, Draco! Get your head in the game!' I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

"Best two out of three, Gryffindor?" I tease. His cocky grin is catching. "You're on, Slytherin."

: We stand apart once again, wands and egos at the ready. 'Too bad your concentration's not ready,' my thoughts snicker. 'You would have a chance of winning if you could focus on something other than how soft Draco's hair looks. Shit I'm gonna lose if I can't focus! I mean, if I can't pay attention to the position that he's in, how am I supposed to judge what move he's going to make? Crap, I-'

"Harry."

I jolt to attention. Draco is staring at me expectantly. Did he begin the count already? Wait . . . did he just call me by my first name? "Um, one," I stammer, terribly bewildered. Malfoy looks at me, clearly puzzled, before saying "Two." I feel weird. "Th-three."

""Stupefy!"" We are both thrown backward. I hit the wooden wall behind me, feeling my ribs burn in protest. I try to say ow or something, but it just comes out a pained gurgle before I land, ramming into a hard, already busted up table. Things look blurry . . . but my glasses are on. Through the cracked lenses I can dimly see motion; he's over here, shouting something that I cannot hear. I cough, and taste the blood in my mouth. Everything's hazy as I look down at my body. There's a chunk of wood lodged into my side; a parting gift from the splintered table. I see a flash of deep red, then something shiny and "S-silver . . ." as everything fades.

: My body is yanked back from the spell, and I collide with a wall before landing face first on an ancient couch. "Ugggh . . ." I groan. I stare down at the faded striped cushion in all its antediluvian misery. 'The same spells again?! Why?' then I hear something horrible that forces me to sit up and look around. At first I think that Potter has just groaned strangely from hitting the wall, but I soon realize that I am wrong. He gurgles, sounding like a dying animal trapped under water. I run over, terrified. "Oh, God, Harry, what happened?! Y-your mouth is bleeding and . . ." then I glance down, and it's like someone has injected ice into all of my nerves. There's a piece of wood jammed into his side. It feels like all of the air has left my body. No . . . no, no, "NO!" I roar. "This isn't happening! Harry, stay with me! Come on, you arse, you can't be hurt! I-I didn't know that such a spell could. . . you can't be hurt, YOU CAN'T BE HURT, DAMMIT!"

Then he looks up. My heart floods with relief, but it fades when I see that Harry's eyes are wild. He looks up at me, hardly conscious, and mutters something about silver before shutting his eyes and becoming limp. 'FUCK!Fuckfuckfuckfuckshitfuckshit! What do I do?! I can't get to Madame Pomfrey fast enough in this weather, the school is too far. This is bad, this is bad! Okay, clam down, Draco-focus. I should, uh, ascertain the wounds. Let's see . . .' But it kills me to see his wounds. I spent all of these years wanting him to either befriend me or be off, and now this. His face is scratched up, but he's breathing, and his mouth is thankfully only bleeding externally; I mean, it's better than coughing it up. Okay, those are the more minor injuries. The other one – makes me sick.

A shank of wood is imbedded in his torso, around the lower rib area. I am hit with paralyzing fear. If six inches of wood are sticking out of him, how much is in his body? I gulp, and then scramble about madly for my wand, which has rolled underneath the treacherous table that stabbed Harry. I seethe with pure rage, and vow to obliterate the cursed furniture when I am done with Harry. I quickly take off my shirt, pressing it into the wound to slow the blood loss. My breath feels as fast as a Snitch, and my hands are shaking as I point my wand at the shank, praying that this will work. "Accio!"

: (while unconscious): 'It is very serene here; all warmth, with spots and streaks of color emerging from the dark. The colors are like . . . threads, little wisps of memories and dreams. There is a silver string approaching, and I wish that I had a form to grab it with. But it turns out that there is no need for grabbing. Instead, it pulls me into it, and I see what I came looking for; him. He's got white-blonde hair, eyes the color of storm clouds (only shinier), and he's . . . he's beautiful. He is taller than me by a scant inch or so, and he has a slim yet muscular build. He's got a smile which is only made more beautiful by its rarity; though I find myself wishing that I could coax that smile out of hiding a little more often. If I had a body in this place, I am sure it would be smiling. However, there is an issue with this beautiful man that appears so often in my sleep; I cannot see his face. I try to get closer to him, attempting to move- if such a thing is possible. But then a sharp pain tears through me, and the pain is so unexpectedly sharp in that instant that all space around me swirls in and out of focus. I whimper- I need him to turn around before I leave. I know I have to wake up . . . there is another voice in this place with me, coming from an outer realm; and it is comforting, yet begging me to wake up. I want to tell the voice to just give me a second more to see the face of my mystery man. He begins to turn, and I gasp in astonishment. The man is . . . is Draco.' "Draa-co? How . . . ? Draco . . ." I feel a tug, like I am coming back down to earth. I hurt, I definitely ache, but I could be a lot worse. 'At least I know who he is,' my thoughts whisper. 'It's good to know . . .' I smile, ignoring the pain in my lip as I come to. "It's good to know that he's-"

"HARRY?" What? That voice. I open my eyes. It's good to know that he's-"Draco."

3rd P: Draco gasps and nearly drops Harry in astonishment. Then he poorly attempts to hide his grin and cautiously half-hugs Harry's uninjured side. "Thank Merlin! Oh, I-fuck, Harry, I thought I had killed you! I'm SO sorry I had no idea that you were going to hit that blasted table! If I had known I wouldn't have used that damn curse. And I was worried because I couldn't possibly know if taking the shard out would help you more or not, but with the storm and the school so far I thought it was all that I could do. And . . . oh Harry I thought you were dying! I am so sorry- so sorry!" Then Draco starts to do what he has not dared to do in years- he begins to cry. He's not bawling, but tearing up like this over his guilty panic and relief is nearly the equivalent of doing so for him. Embarrassed and immediately tetchy, Draco lets go of Harry and quickly wipes his eyes. Meanwhile, a near-traumatized Harry is staring up at him as though he is seeing the blonde for the first time.

Harry clears his throat, finally able to speak semi-coherently. "Um, Dr-Draco?" The Slytherin immediately looks back at Harry, terrified that he would hate him for having hurting him. Draco can scarcely breathe. "What is it . . . Potter?" Harry shifts his weight to sit up more, his green eyes never leaving the silver ones before him. Draco was incredibly anxious. He started tapping his fingers against his thigh, a sure sign that he was nervous. Potter struggled to break the silence, and hesitantly resumed talking. "I can't believe I never accepted this. It just took so long to realize . . . that what I was feeling wasn't, uh, odd for me to feel. I suppose I was meant to have that dream, or whatever you call an unconscious vision. I . . ." he pauses to run his hand through his mussed up dark hair, trying to hold off the blush that was sure to ensue very soon. "I just-Draco-um, can I call you that?" he asked shyly, avoiding the topic at hand but feeling truly curious. Draco looked at him fondly, though he was still very puzzled. "Well, it is my name -Harry."

They both smile lightly at this small step forward. There were hurtles to come, though. Draco, having realized that Harry couldn't quite finish what he was saying, began the conversation anew. "So, um, do you remember your dream thing? You were talking about something silver a lot, and I thought I heard you say-"Draco stopped and debated with himself. 'Should I mention that he said my name? That could sound too presumptuous. And what if he doesn't remember? What if I just thought he said that but I was wrong? I wouldn't be surprised. I mean, what are the odds of him . . . ah, fuck it, liking me back?' Draco sighs heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry, meanwhile, knows how he feels. After all, how can you tell someone something if you don't fully understand it yourself?

: 'Okay, I can't just sit here. He has to know someday. Why not now? I- ugh I'm gonna fuck this up and what's worse is he will be here to see it. But I really should tell him-'

"Draco?"

I fidget more, my fingers violently drumming against my leg as I blush. 'WHAT DO I DO?!'

I improvise. "Um, I was just gonna say that you were describing . . . some blonde -girl in your dream state. And I was simply wondering if you knew what the reference to silver meant."(Now it was Harry's turn to blush- Draco thought he was straight? Sure he and Ginny had a past (largely due to her advances, but . . .)

"Hmm . . . I don't really know how to explain- everything. But I can tell you a few things. It wasn't a-promise you won't get freaked out?" I nod, a little too eagerly. Harry continues. "Well, I wasn't dreaming about a girl, exactly."

I snort. "They weren't exactly a girl? Then what was it- a broomstick? An erkling?" Oh, I did enjoy teasing him. He was looking away from me now, focusing on his feet instead.

"I was thinking about a guy. I said silver because his eyes are beautiful . . . and like storm clouds with a silver tint."

'Wow . . .' "Um, thanks-for the honesty, Potter. Your forwardness with such things is, I admit this painfully, is most admirable."

He looks up in shock, and he does it so quickly that he gives me a heart attack. "Ahh!, Potter, you prat, be more careful! I-It was hard enough trying to close up your wound with magic, and I don't feel like trying it again!" He starts chuckling, then outright laughing as he holds his side and practically rocks with the force of his outbursts. 'WTF?' "Um, Harry- is there something you wish to share with the class, or are you merely insane?" Harry's smile becomes decidedly wolfish, and he scoots a few inches closer to me. "I don't know- maybe I am insane. But maybe that's a good thing." He boldly closes the small distance between us in one swift slide.

I twitch, and the hand that is applying pressure to his wound twitches as well, spastically moving down to rest on his stomach. I withdraw it instantly, causing Harry to chuckle and. . . hiss a lot? I stare in awe. 'He's swearing, I think- his expression is one of amusement and something I can't define. Whatever he's doing is making my heart speed up like a tap dancing spider. But he's hissing, not talking. And it's . . . well, it's kind of hot.' I feel myself blush more, and get pissed at myself for thinking of such things while he is probably in pain. I need a distraction- or at least a confirmation. "Harry?" I inquire. "Are you speaking in Parseltounge?" He stops, and grins at me mischievously, a twinkle in his eye. "I guess I was. Why do you ask, Draco?"

'Why is he smiling like that?' "I was just curious as to what you were saying," I snap defensively. 'Why do I feel like he is cornering me? And why do I like it?' I can feel my body shake, my years' worth of pent-up emotions spinning and colliding in my . . .mind, yeah. Harry leans toward me, putting his mouth next to my neck. 'Oh, no . . .' Then, he starts whispering.

: 'I know that he can't understand Parseltounge, but he looked so wild when I spoke in it earlier that I have to try this- just to see how he will react.' I try to calm down, to tell myself that this is a test done out of curiosity alone- even though I know its results can mean much more. Calming myself, I lean inward, putting my mouth next to his pale neck. It is hard to see with my glasses all cracked, but I am enjoying the view of his shirtless chest immensely, especially when his muscles ripple with little shivers. 'Shivers of what?' I ponder. I decide to find out, and I begin whispering, recalling how absolutely Slytherin house Draco is so that I can think snake. I begin.

"So, Draco . . . why were you so curious about my dreams, hmm? And your comment about my open admittance to liking guys- why, you seemed still and cold on the outside, but your silver eyes *Draco gasps* showed that you were rather shocked, dare I say- thrilled?. Not to mention your lovely little blush . . . . I wonder what made you blush. Could it have, perhaps, been me?" I push my face into his shaking neck, and he gasps. I smile, inhaling his spicy cologne before continuing my torture. "I'll take that as a yes. Now, what could I do to make you repeat that, my little Slytherin? I suppose I could do this-" I bend down to lick his neck, and I feel him go rigid. "I'm glad to see that that worked. You know, the best part of this for me is knowing that there are so many, many things I could do to you. I suppose, for starters, I could do this as well . . ." I stop talking (well, hissing), and sit up to look at him. He's panting, and his eyes are half-shut, with his mouth open just a crack. But then Draco moves, almost imperceptibly twisting his torso toward me as he opens his eyes.

My mischievous grin is fading. I'm hit with a wave of nervous tension and desire strong enough to bring the shack to the ground. He is flushed and tense; at least I'm not alone. We lean forward cautiously. 'Was this meant to happen? Could he really feel the way that I do? Is it possible that our entire rivalry was formed out of . . . something on the opposite side of hate on the spectrum?' His breathing is arousingly ragged, and my own heart is beating so fast that my lungs are struggling to keep time. We get closer, the tips of our noses touching. His hand glides up my neck into my hair, and I can't contain a little groan of with-held need. I put my arms under his, and clutch his strong back possessively. I feel a million different emotions-like colors- all swirling around inside me. The dominating color, though is silver, and I know why that is. And I-I think I know what to do about it. "Draco, I-"

"Shut up, Harry," he whispers. And then we're kissing.

D. PoV:He was so close. So tantalizing, so palpable, so . . . sexy, with his effervescent eyes pulling me in like a rip tide. He was so very-Harry, with all of his sly grins and Parseltounge; in a strangely new (yet good way he was), dare I say it, sexy. And that lick. . . I couldn't stand to hesitate any longer. "Shut up, Harry," I whisper, and then I close my eyes and pull his face to mine, shuddering as our lips finally meet. Delectable electricity leaps into my body, kick-starting my scrambled heart, and propelling my body closer to his. This was heaven on earth. Fuck 'religious and moral satisfaction'- this kiss alone is so supremely satisfying that it makes me wish that sewing our mouths together wasn't daffy. I'd had no idea that kissing could be like this. I had missed out on so much!

I crush myself to him, and revel at his strong hands and the way that they tangle in my hair. He's softer and warmer than anything I've ever felt (eat your heart out Pygmy-Puffs), and I want more. I cautiously slip my hands under his shirt, running my hands over his shoulders before trailing them down to his abs and back. He moans, taking me by surprise before holding me tighter and slipping his luxuriously wet tongue into my mouth. Now I moan. And snap my eyes open in blissful shock. Harry has opened his eyes, too. We catch our breathes for an instant, and what remains of my logic is screaming at me that we used to be 'enemies' and that our kissing is against everything the Malfoy family stands for. This was the definition of family treachery. I am gay and I am kissing Harry Potter- and the worst part is that I am thoroughly enjoying it. Yet as we push our bodies against each other for more intoxicating kisses, I find that I could give a rat's arse about what my family wants. This tastes too good to ignore.

: I can feel Draco trembling under my palm, and I know that I am shaking as well, especially when he strokes my chest seductively. I take advantage of his shirtless state, running my hands over his petal-smooth stomach that is impossibly sweet under my lips. Draco draws in a sharp breath, and his following sigh makes me want to fuse us together so that I can feel him all the time. Greedy and nearly desperate, I pull my mouth away from his stomach to push him against the wall. My side burns, but the heat isn't half as intense as the one blazing its way down my stomach. Draco's silver orbs widen as I lean over him and kiss from the bottom of his ear to his jaw, then his collarbone and back. 'His skin . . . I need to be closer it.' I throw off my cloak, and Draco does the rest. Bracing his leg against mine, he unbuttons my shirt carefully, teasingly. He leaves the strips of his shirt around my wound though, and I am touched that he ruined a ridiculously expensive sweater to help me. However, it is written across his face that he is pained to leave my chest so unfairly covered. "Maybe you should change that," I hiss, causing him to groan with desire. His eyes shine like molten stars, and I melt as he nips my jaw and pants: "Now. Please . . . take of my belt now." How could I resist such a tempting request?

: 'Did I just say that out loud? Mmm, it doesn't matter because he's done it and he's holding my belt in his hand, grinning like he just won the fucking Quidditch Cup. I can practically see the light bulb above his head.' "Harry, you insufferable bastard, what are you . . ." And just like that, I'm pinned to the couch in a flash of motion. My head spins, but it is assuredly not from the movement. Harry's on top of me, his firmly muscled chest pressed to mine as he draws my face to his. I claw his shoulders in delight, and our lips stay locked for several minutes until he pulls away to groan: "Draco, my belt is hurting me. P-please get it off . . ."

I chuckle nervously. "You know, you were never a very good liar, Potter. Your belt must be at least six inches away from your wound."

"I wasn't talking about my wound."

I look up at him, shaking to bits as he gives me a roguish wink. I think: 'Ohshitshitshit oh SHIT that smug little prat.' I say: "Why you cheeky blighter." Harry chuckles lightly, and sexily inquires "Are you sure that you can *pause* handle my 'cheeky' side?" I swear I jump a mile. It doesn't help when he croons "That's fine- it's my job to do that. But for now, Draco-my belt, please."

'Okay, I can do this. I'm a Slytherin, for crying out loud- I can't be perturbed by a damn belt. Focus, Draco!' My hands shake like crazy, and I gulp as undo the buckle-which is, of course, right above his enlarged manhood. I gently slide the black leather strip out of his belt loops, terrified that he will laugh at my nervousness. I feel his hand gently pull my chin upward, and I blink in surprise. He's not laughing. Instead, he's blushing. He's blushing rather handsomely. And he's gazing into my eyes, my soul, my fucking being. 'Good god . . .' I drop the belt, but neither of us look away to watch it clatter to the ground. We're just looking into each other, seeing the meaning behind all of our bickering after he refused my hand for Weasley the first day we came here, so many years ago.

"You – you were jealous . . ." he whispers, and his eyes widen at the sudden realization.

I nod, biting my lip. "I-I didn't get it then. And my family . . . well, you know how they feel about you." I brighten slightly. "Except for my mom; she's-different." Harry nods. "I know. She saved my life in the Forbidden Forest last year by telling Voldemort I had died when she knew better. She just wanted to be sure that you were okay." Harry smiles softly, and I can't help but reciprocate it. 'Mom . . .' I clear my throat before I speak- I needed to keep my wits, (and shred of dignity) with me. "So, what now Harry?"

He grins in his devil-may-care way, wasting no time in turning me on further by murmuring: "Well, that's the fun part, isn't it? There's so much that we could do." He presses his forehead to mine, and I gasp as I feel his hand move to my fly. "Perhaps you should've asked 'what won't we do?' instead." 'Oh fuck.' His eyes are half-lidded, and I struggle to breathe as he grazes his teeth over my navel. We kiss with a passion that the storm outside should envy. He brushes my bangs back with feather light strokes, and I frantically clutch his back - I have to make sure that I am not dreaming. I rest my hand on his lightly stubbled cheek, and I feel that he is real, this is all real. 'Finally . . .'

"Draco . . ." Harry's whisper is so deep and hoarse and velvety. "Draco . . ."

He growls, and I whine under him, nervous as hell but knowing that what I want, what I need is right before me. We collide, and Harry smells of rain and parchment and musk. I lose track of space and time and everything in-between. There's only him; on me, around me, in me. Just Harry . . . .

3rd P: It had been a thrilling four months since that stormy night, and it is now the last night that the boys will spend at Hogwarts. They decide to celebrate, visit the place where 'They' began. The two left the castle slowly, recalling their old haunts and sweet memories within the castle. They were shielded by Harry's invisibility cloak and Ron and Goyle's semi-indisposed promises to keep quiet about their friends and their midnight 'goings-ons.' As they step onto the frost-laced grounds outside, they smile at each other and kiss softly. Harry wraps his arms around his boyfriend, and they gaze at the sky above. Storm clouds are approaching, but a few stars wink through the dark to shine upon the couple. After a blissful moment of silence, they entwine their pale fingers together and head toward to the Shack.

Harry's breathe forms before him in a wisp as he sighs "Draco, look at the Willow." Draco tore his gaze from Harry's grass-green eyes to look at the tree, which had sprouted a tangle of dew-covered vines on one branch. On the entangled vines two white flowers rested.

"What do you think it means?"

Harry beams, staring into the captivating and beautiful silver eyes that had claimed him. "I think . . .," he whispers, pulling Draco close, "that it means everything is best in pairs."

~~~ Fin ~~~