It was about mid-November at Hogwarts, but the temperatures were already to sub-zero levels, though it hadn't started snowing yet, to the joy of some and to the chagrin of others, who had hoped to engage in a giant snowball fight. The corridors were mostly silent, as many had remained in their common rooms trying to evade the chill, and Harry and Ron walked purposelessly around the castle (Hermione was in the library, of course).
The Slytherins as usual had taunted them endlessly, mostly because of the upcoming Quidditch match. It was impossible to make it to class without receiving insults, jeers and a few jinxes. Ron had fallen victim again to the slug hurling one. Harry shuddered. It hadn't been a nice sight.
Despite the Slytherins' threats and disturbances, Harry couldn't help feeling a twinge in his stomach whenever he saw a certain blond, even if Draco had taken matters into his hands and was conducting the anti-Potter campaign, armed with badges that were distributed around the entire school (somewhat like the ones that were used in their fourth year), a series of songs, ranging from taunting to downright offensive – Harry really wondered who'd written the lyrics for those, because they didn't seem to be products of Crabbe and Goyle's minds, especially the whole part on Pothead and his supposed crack overdose, or some weird romantic affair with Dumbledore (though the old man might have been slightly touchy-feely in a few moments, he couldn't stop and ponder it. Just the thought made him retch) –, articles discussing his supposed insanity to the Daily Prophet, an intensification of Snape's meanness and daily pranks.
Lo and behold, and there he was, the blond git, accompanied by his cronies and the rest of the Quidditch team, strutting towards their side of the corridor. As they caught side of the two wanderers they all smirked in near-synchro.
"Well, well. Potter, did nobody ever tell you not to wander the corridors alone?"
Ron's face grew red with some unknown pressure and he started yelling. "He's not alone you fucking git!"
Ron, of course, was probably worsening the situation, and did tend to overreact too quickly. Much too quickly for their survival, and though he'd take on Malfoy and his cronies on every day, maybe this was a tad suicidal, as in two against a Quidditch team of evil Death Eaters-in-training.
Draco raised an eyebrow, half disdainful and half mocking.
"Well, I don't see who would call you company, Weasel. Except maybe your family, since they don't know what civilized people are like."
Ron's entire body tensed and his face deepened in color until it became an ugly beetroot-burgundy shade, but he seemed too constipated to form words.
"They're not filthy Death Eaters like your lot, Malfoy." Though Harry intended to insult him and humiliate him (hopefully), in hindsight it seemed half-assed, useless and lame. The blonde's silver eyes flashed dangerously and he advanced on the other teen grabbing him by the front of his robes.
"You don't know anything about me, Potter. So shut your fucking mouth up, half-blood." Even if Draco whispered the words, they were so ominous the Boy-who-lived was intimidated. But when he heard the insult, he saw red.
He punched the other boy in the jaw. Hard.
Harry remained still for a moment as Malfoy sagged down a bit. He'd lost control in that instant and was already regretting it. He wished he'd broken something, but at the same time he hoped the blond hadn't gotten too hurt. And apparently he wasn't, because he punched the black-haired boy in the stomach with equal ferocity.
Then it all snowballed: Ron and some Slytherins came in, trying to defend their respective allies and injuring (best if fatally or very painfully) the opponents. The two Gryffindors were starting to lose hope as they were surrounded on all sides by the enemies when the rest of their Quidditch team appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"
And with that, Katie, Demelza, Ginny, Peakes and Coote joined the fray. Fists, kicks, and curses flew, and Harry was sure he was going to be very bruised. He had no idea who he was hitting or who'd hit him, and he kept throwing punches at anyone too close to his personal space (he might have punched Ron or a teammate a few times). At some point, a few people pulled out their wands, and most followed suit, except Crabbe and Goyle, who were taking on Peakes and Coote barehanded. Luckily, the two seemed to be doing quite well on their own, even while fighting gorilla look-alikes.
Spells, jinxes and curses flied all over the corridor, some parts of the wall broke, and various busts and paintings were smashed. A few teens on each side had been knocked out, others were subjected to various jinxes (like the Tarantallegra or, in Ron's case, the slug hurling one, once more cast by Malfoy) and the rest were still fighting.
Nobody noticed Professor McGonagall for a while, who was standing at the end of the hallway, lips pursed in an impossibly tight line and face white in rage, disapproval and fury. She drew her wand and with a quick non-verbal spell all the fighters were immobilized on the spot.
"I hope you are all ashamed of yourselves. During all the years I have taught at this school, I have never seen such an outrageous thing. I never thought I'd live to witness such a disgrace for the whole student body here. I hope you will reevaluate your actions in the next few moments as I fetch the Headmaster and Professor Snape, because this fight might as well result in your expulsion."
All teenagers managed to move a few facial muscles to glare at their foes as the sound of McGonagall's footsteps faded into the distance.
XxX
Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape arrived quickly. The latter's face was set in a positively terrifying expression, but it waned into a satisfied smirk when he saw the damage inflicted on the Gryffindors – they were far worse off then their opponents –, the vast majority of them bloodied, bruised, or under the effect of some spell (McGonagall hadn't been nice enough to end the incantations, even if subjected on the members of her house).
Dumbledore, instead, had a strange expression: he was half amused, half furious, half disappointed, and half sympathizing – yes, we know that equals two and not one –, but his eyes didn't stop twinkling in the least, in fact they seemed to be going full blast, especially when he turned towards Harry.
"My dear students, when Professor McGonagall here informed me of these events, I was shocked: how can members of these two illustrious houses fight like this? You will be severely punished for this in due time, but first I would like to know who initiated this brawl."
Clearly, the Headmaster was interested in the brawl and would very much like a dvd of it.
"B-but Albus! This behavior should not be pardonable! It shouldn't be tolerated on Hogwarts grounds, it is utterly preposterous!" McGonagall seemed a bit hysterical, and her face had deepened in color.
"I believe that their actions should not be tolerated, but I think that only the party responsible of this whole ordeal should be expelled." The Potions Master's eyes slid towards Harry and Ron with a sneer and a questioning gaze, as if he knew they were somewhat the culprits of the whole accident. And Harry wondered, not for the first time, if Snape had psychic powers or if he could practice Legilimency without the receiver being none the wiser.
"I will consider your opinion, Severus. Now, my dear students, please tell me who and what caused all this upheaval between you." An extra eye-twinkling was given to enforce the statement.
Draco, with a wicked grin stretching his mouth (that Harry had to find oddly beautiful on his face, even at the moment. He mentally face-palmed a few seconds later), answered immediately. "It was Potter, sir. He punched me first as he overreacted."
Harry's face contorted in rage as he saw Malfoy's smirking face, while Dumbledore took a moment to process the news and then looked up at the Boy-Who-Lived, eyes still twinkling like neon lights outside a seedy strip club. His eyes had always creeped him out. Not to talk about the weird analogies he came up with when confronted with the laser-beam eyes. How the hell did he manage it?
"Well, Harry, did you do it? I'd like an honest answer if you don't mind."
"I wasn't overreacting! He provoked me! Ron and I were walking down the corridor when they saw us and started insulting us! How can you expect us to not respond to their provocations?" Harry finished talking, his face flushed with a pleading look to it.
The Headmaster nodded. "Very well. For now no punishment will be given to you except detention with Professors McGonagall and Snape for two weeks, but I'll have to look into this matter more closely. Go back to your dormitories, now."
With a swish of his cloak, the enchantments were undone and Dumbledore strode away, flanked by Snape and McGonagall, ignoring the latter's protests and pleads to augment the students' punishment.
XxX
The rest of the week was uneventful, except for the increase of Snape's deathglares, piles upon piles of homework from McGonagall – not to get started on the painful subject of Potions essays, all gaining the lowest scored he'd ever seen (like T-) and lots of rain and hale. Harry had also gotten many weird stares from the Headmaster – and this really creeped him out –, whose eyes seemed to be twinkling more than usual.
Dumbledore's promise to see more into the whole affair didn't seem too realistic, and life went on as always amidst detentions and too much homework.
XxX
Dumbledore was a weird lemon-drop freak. Everybody with enough sense knew it at Hogwarts. He was just batshit insane with all his ideas of equality, justice, freedom – and, for God's sake, love, the 'most powerful weapon of all' or whatever the hell it was supposed to be. But, even if he disagreed with the wizard on a few things, Harry respected him for some others (which, strangely, he couldn't remember at the moment).
And then, Dumbledore politely asked the students in the Great Hall to be quiet – meaning Snape's death glare had just made a few victims in the crowd and had scared the rest into silence. Harry had a really bad feeling in his gut, which only intensified as the Headmaster rose to speak. The wizards-in-training tensed as Dumbledore opened his mouth to talk, not knowing what new insane notion was about to be conveyed and subsequently forced upon them.
"My dear students of Hogwarts, it has come to my attention that there is a serious enmity between the houses, especially between two in particular." Everybody eyerolled, knowing he was referring to Gryffindor and Slytherin, as it was an unspoken, yet unbendable rule that they should hate each other. "Professor McGonagall has recently reported to me that there was a brawl and a duel last week in one of the corridors, between members of the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin. When I became acquitted with this knowledge, I was indignated: I do not wish any of my students to behave in this way ever again.". But then, the Headmaster's eyes began twinkling like Christmas lights piled on a tree. Harry's gut twisted again. This was definitely not good. "I have decided that Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams, to promote inter-house unity…" the pause was dramatic, and Harry honestly didn't want to hear the rest of this. " … will be sharing locker rooms and practice together! And of course, the rest of their Houses will share all activities and classes with them! "
The students looked at Dumbledore as if he'd sprouted a few dozen heads from various parts of his body in shocked silence. Putting the two teams in the same room was probably the most dangerous thing known to man. Not to talk about practice. That could only evolve into murder. And the classes, oh the classes! A few were ready to get permanently injured by one of Hagrid's deadly beasts just to avoid the whole tremendous ordeal.
As the trauma partly wore off, the entire student body went in hysterics: some were yelling imprecations towards the Headmaster and the teachers (like a red-faced Ron who didn't appear to take it too nicely, as many others), some were screaming 'Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!' or tearing their hair out and others begged for explanations, reassurances that it wasn't a cruel joke, and pleads to just let them live the normal life they had before this lunacy. A few Slytherins were threatening Dumbledore in ominous tones or yells from the most desperate, and others were begging Snape to intercede and free them from this punishment (the Potions master had gone from sallow to green to ghost-pale in a matter of seconds, so he couldn't accomplish much besides a few twitches while thinking of the fate reserved for his little snakes). After the Great Hall had been quieted with McGonagall's tight-lipped frown – as Snape was in no fit state to do hardly anything except stare vacantly into space and emit soft (but rather evil) curses directed to the Headmaster for a while – Dumbledore continued his soliloquy.
"Well, since you all seem so enthused by the prospect of cooperation, I think we might want to fuse the two dorms in one." Everybody began protesting once more in an outburst of yells, only to be silenced by McGonagall again. "I'm afraid that it may take a while to do this though, as there are many complicated wards surrounding the castle, and most of the magic is rather powerful and ancient. But do not worry, it might only take a month, and then you'll all be able to coexist peacefully!".
Fred and George, who were 'visiting ickle Ronniekins' for the night, were already devising plans to undermine this horrible new reality. All other faces in the room turned to Harry, pleading him (not the Slytherins) to convince that insane idealist that it was a bad idea. Also the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were silently begging the Golden Boy, as they knew massacres would be frequent and that they were probably going to get involved as well by default, resulting in injury, and as most of the members of these two houses weren't practical in battle, disaster and the Hospital Wing would be imminent for them if nothing was done. Hermione, with a conspicuous eyeroll at the teen's obliviousness, kicked the Boy-Who-Lived in the shins, and Harry got up, wincing. Hermione's kicks were too violent for her own (and his) good. He walked towards the staff table, determined to get Dumbledore to lay off the whole 'interhouse unity' crap. After all, being the savior of the wizarding world (which featured Dumbles as the bad guy sometimes) was a hard but necessary task. Harry snorted mentally. That was something Percy or that pompous what's-his-face Hufflepuff would say – or rather think in this case.
Harry approached the staff table. He looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes, trying to give them the best poor-little-mistreated-orphan-kid look he could manage. The headmaster's twinkling orbs softened, but kept on being their dazzling selves non-stop.
"Professor, I would like to ask you to not do this whole interhouse unity project because we really all get along. The other day's events were just a… little squabble… we were frustrated and upset, and took it out on each other… we promise we won't do anything of the sort ever again, and we'll be on our best behavior. So please don't make us share dormitories or locker rooms…" as he finished talking, he softened his features even more to give the whole speech a little more oomph.
"Headmaster, I find it hard to admit, but I agree with Potter. It is inappropriate." All heads turned to Snape in surprise. The Potions professor seemed to have regained the use of his vocal cords. "I think it would also be breaking tradition, as it would mean going against the founder's wills. And anyways, the Slytherins and Gryffindors" – the last name said with particular spite and disgust – "have very different characters. They would only end up arguing and giving us teachers – included you, Headmaster – more trouble than it is worth." For once, everybody from the tiny first-years to the more (supposedly) mature seventh-years were about ready to thank Snape for everything he'd ever done in his life to survive for that moment. If he was smushed by a hippogriff a few seconds later was unimportant. Maybe it would help convince the barmy old coot to let the world return to normality.
"Thank you, Severus, Harry, for your enlightening comment, but I'm afraid, m'boy, that I'll still have to do this interhouse unity project, but I have decided that it is indeed best if you don't sleep in the same dorm, at least for now. Well now, off you trot! It's bedtime for you darling children!" he exclaimed in an all too joyful tone, eyes twinkling enough to make anyone sick.
With a loud scraping noise, each student dashed away from their seats, trying to put the greatest distance possible between themselves and the lunatic talking at the staff table. Said mentally unstable person gave Harry a last full force eye-twinkle – at which the Boy-who-lived's stomach felt ready to propel its occupants from the poor teen's mouth – and turned tail, his ridiculous robe (in the colors of the four houses with weird – for lack of better word – things embroidered on it) dragging around some dustbunnies that had accumulated while giving his speech.
His day, which had been terrible, had just gotten a lot worse.
XxX
It was Saturday. Fucking Saturday. He was supposed to be sleeping, but oh no, he just had to go and practice with the Gryffindors. Cursing Potter to oblivion for not convincing the idiotic Headmaster, Draco managed to find the strength to get off the goddamn bed and pull his Quidditch robes on. And then, with matching expressions of impending doom, he and his team made their way upwards to reach the pitch.
And to make his day a whole lot nicer, it was raining. The dungeons were inconvenient only for this: you lost sense of time and never knew what the weather was without casting a charm. And if there was somebody up there, he clearly hated Draco Malfoy with a passion.
XxX
Except for the throng of insults thrown at each other and the occasional small brawl, the atmosphere in the locker rooms could be cut with a knife. Draco's ears would burst if the weasel didn't stop complaining, grumbling or cursing his person to hell in any possible way. But every time the redhead spoke, he could stare at his face and admire his handiwork. A bruise was blossoming on Weasley's left temple, he was pale from throwing up slugs (again) and there was crusted blood on his nose. The blood traitor didn't stand a chance against him.
They all went outside when Bell howled at them to move their asses (or else! By the way, Potter's – Harry's – had swayed in a positively sensual way) and the balls were released. Potter, who had been strangely quiet today, immediately started scanning for the snitch, and then began to turn in lazy circles in the air. He seemed oblivious to what was happening further down: twenty minutes had passed since he'd kicked off the ground, and after three brawls, two duels and about a dozen heated arguments – all ignored by Madam Hooch, who'd been sleeping since she'd been administered sedative-laced tea by a first year Slytherin (thank god for personal lackeys!) – he'd continued to circle in the air. His brow was creased and to Draco's utter confusion, he kept glancing in his direction with an expression he'd never seen on Potter's face before, but it was somewhat akin to longing. Weird.
Oh well. Not that Potter would ever feel more than hatred for him. And maybe, disgust.
He grimaced, and before he had time to hear the air whistling, he was hit by a bludger full-force on the stomach. He felt the air rushing around him as he fell earthwards, and was about to splatter on the ground when he landed on a broom. It was, of course, Harry's, as it should be in fairytales or fanfiction.
The brunette twisted his upper back towards him, and Draco realized he'd hardly ever been this close to Potter. He could feel the other's breath on his face as he gripped the broom's handle, nearly brushing the other's warm behind. "You alright?"
"Y-yeah." Yeah? Where the hell did 'yeah' come from? Malfoys weren't supposed to behave or talk like this!
And the thought was swept from his mind as Harry landed on the ground.
"You need to see Madam Pomfrey. C'mon."
Draco made a face. How dare he order him around! "I don't need the hospital wing! And I didn't ask for wee Potty's help." he half-sneered, half-snarled. If the other teen thought he needed to be helped, he was sorely mistaken. He didn't need anybody's pity or assistance.
"You're impossible, Malfoy! I try to help you and be civil for once and you badmouth me! I've had enough with your crap!" and with that, the Boy-Who-Lived stomped away towards the locker rooms, broom in hand, before giving an angered growl and flying off into the clouded grey sky .
Before he realized what was going on, Katie had hit him with her broom yelling a 'Good job, Malfoy!' and had stomped off with the rest of the Gryffindors, muttering what sounded like curses under her breath. The Slytherins mostly grunted or smirked, and he was alone on the Quidditch pitch again.
Of course, it started to rain again.
Draco just sighed and plopped down onto the muddy ground, wondering what he had ever done wrong in his life to deserve this.
XxX
Harry was furious. He slammed his locker door, he slammed his clothes and junk on the bench, yelled at Ron and some other people just for the heck of it, and then kicked the chest with the Quidditch balls, opening it up and accidentally freeing the Snitch and the Quaffle. He kicked said ball as well and watched the snitch fly out into the field. He kept to a corner and swore under his breath until everyone had gone away.
Why did Malfoy have to be such a git! He was being nice, and courteous, and polite and had brought Malfoy down on his broom and had saved said blond from impending death. And he had to go and be the biggest git on the planet. It was frustrating. It was infuriating. And it was totally maddening.
He had no idea where his infatuation or whatever the hell it was came from, but he'd tried to at least be nice to him for once and had been treated like that. Should he give up on Malfoy completely? It seemed that it was useless, futile, a wasted effort. A sob escaped his throat, and a hot tear burned its way down his cheek. It seemed foolish, idiotic to be crying, all alone, in the locker room for Malfoy, it seemed petty and completely nonsensical. But he couldn't stop crying. So he made his way to the showers, stripping and turning it on, the hot water soothing his body but no the troubles of his mind.
XxX
It was cold outside. The rain kept pouring over his head and he was full of mud – he'd been sitting in it for what felt like an eternity and he was positive he'd already gone into hypothermia long ago. Still, he sat under the rain. It had something soothing about it, even though it fell hard on his face and it soaked him thoroughly. Maybe it was because he felt as if the downpouring rain was cleansing him of his wrongs.
The whole surroundings were gray and damp and thoroughly wet. Water seemed to impregnate everything. His clothes were full of it, his hair was full of it, the ground, the trees, the castle, the bleachers, the Forest – they were all full of water. They were all sort of grayish, a waterlogged landscape in which the colors were sort of faded and looked identical, blending, merging into one another.
The moving stillness was broken. A smattering of gold caught Draco's eye, far up in the air. He squinted through the rain, barely able to see anything. It was the Snitch, flying high above him. He gazed at it in wonder, but then realized he had to move it if he actually wanted to catch it. He grabbed his broomstick, determined on catching the small golden ball.
He rose higher and higher, twisting and turning in gigantic loops through the rain, making what seemed some sort of dance. He was always just barely in reach of it, but then it always managed to escape. After a dozen tries, his numbed fingers closed around the flying golden globe. He descended slowly, leisurely. He'd had enough of the rain. He was cold and wanted a shower and, if he could, he'd apologize to Harry. That look he'd thrown him, full of hate and contempt and pity and pure disgust – and maybe, maybe he'd seen, for a moment, a single fleeting moment, the tiniest touch of pain, some sort of great pain he'd caused him. Not indifference.
His feet sank in the mud and each step to the locker rooms was an agony – it lasted forever. He didn't dare use his broom. The last time he'd tried a similar maneuver he'd nearly destroyed both the building and his broomstick.
He dumped his stuff on the nearest bench, not even bothering to get undressed before getting into the shower. When he actually realized the water was running and looked up, his gaze was met by Harry's startled one. It took Draco a moment to realize some things.
Harry Potter was under the shower. He was naked. And as he was under the shower, he was also wet. Dripping. Draco blushed, something stirring in his nether regions, and then did what was the least awkward thing he could do.
"I…uh, found the Snitch." He held it up, screaming 'Idiot, idiot, idiot, IDIOT! What in Merlin's pants' name are you doing?' in his head.
"Oh."
And then, upon closer inspection, Draco noticed something. Harry had been having some 'alone time'. His lips were parted and he was panting, his skin was flushed and his erection was standing straight in the midst of soft black curls. And then, Draco sort of lost control. He dropped the Snitch, letting it fly away, and strode towards Harry in quick stride, pinning him to the wall. Both moaned as Draco ground their erections together. His eyes bore into Harry's searching for any reluctance or unwillingness, but he found none, Harry's green orbs piercing through him, taunting him to do something. Words were unnecessary.
He kissed him. Slowly, softly, caringly, prying his bottom lip open with the gentlest of nips, sneaking his tongue into the other's mouth, mapping its surface and memorizing all the ridges and plains, relishing in the soft moans that the other boy emitted, spurring him on. And then, the kiss grew wild and passionate and almost violent: teeth clinked and tongues battled, Draco's hands digging into Harry's hips, nearly bruising. They detached briefly, only to attack harder and more passionately than before, lips straining and aching to reunite.
Draco moved down to his white neck, sucking and nipping in all the right spots, Harry moaning incessantly, eyes closed in raptures of pleasure as the white skin of his neck was tinged red, and bruise-blue, and purple as Draco continued his descent, constantly mindful of the hard shaft pressed against his leg, pulsing, begging to be touched. He made his way to his collarbones, suckling on them, caressing them lovingly with his tongue, relishing in the taste of Harry mingled with the shower water. Harry's moans became a single drawn-out moan as he teased the dusky pink disks of his nipples, licking and rubbing between his fingers. Through the daze of pleasure, Harry managed to lift part of Draco's Quidditch robe, the blonde dealing with the rest of it, remaining in his boxers, then slipping those off as well and flinging them somewhere.
For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound provided by the water pouring down on their bodies. They stared at each other's body as if in a trance, beads of water gleaming under the light and refracting it. Both were silent, drinking in the sight of the other, both pale and chiseled by Quidditch, both perfect to the other. Harry lifted a hand to stroke the smooth skin of Draco's side, entranced, and the spell was broken: passion coursed in heavy, addictive waves through their bodies and Draco knelt between Harry's legs, tongue travelling over the Gryffindor's hard shaft, eliciting moans that fell from his mouth like honey. Just the thought of pleasuring Harry, of being the one who could make the other turn to putty in pleasure, the one who was making Harry pre-ejaculate his salty essence into his mouth, made him become so much harder than before, made him suck even harder than before. Harry's hands, already clutching his hair tightly, nearly tore his hair out a he came, screaming with the force of his orgasm. Long strands of come made their way down Draco's throat, and he savored every bit of it, licking up a small amount that had escaped his mouth after he'd withdrawn from Harry's spent cock, quickly hardening again at the sight of Draco's tongue darting out to catch the last bit of cum.
Draco stared at Harry. Harry stared at Draco. Their eyes talked and communicated where words failed, and Draco's look spoke volumes to Harry. He wanted it, needed it as well, and nodded his head slightly.
Draco rose in a rush, kissing against the half-opened rose petals of the other's mouth, tongues dancing once more, the taste of Harry's cum shared between the two of them. The kiss broke, and Draco offered Harry three fingers. Harry engulfed them in his mouth, playing, toying with them, relishing Draco's excited moan because he imagined that tongue, and those lips encasing something further down.
The fingers slick and moist, they were removed and pressed, reverently, meaningfully, to the pucker of quivering rose-colored flesh, a finger slipping inside, Harry moaning and adjusting to the sensation.
"More."
Draco complied, slipping anther finger in, eyes never leaving those piercing green orbs as he searched for the bundle of nerves that would bring him to the peaks of ecstasy. He moved his finger slightly, and Harry's mouth opened in a silent O, his cock back to full attention, Draco smirking as he pushed against the patch of skin again, eliciting continuous moans from Harry's mouth. He added a third finger, feeling the other's muscles contracting against his intruding fingers. Harry's voice came as a pained whimper.
"I need you now… Draco!"
Entranced by the sound of his name falling from those perfect, perfect lips, he complied, spreading Harry's legs apart and positioning himself between them, the head of his cock nudging against the puckered flesh.
He caressed his thighs slowly, lovingly, looking in Harry's eyes for approval. There was only resolution in the Gryffindor's eyes, and he pushed forward slowly, the heat of his throbbing arousal nothing in comparison to Harry's ass, sweet and round and tight and burning hot, like a flame, scorching him and torturing him. Harry emitted a soft whine, unused to being penetrated like this. Once fully seated, deep inside of Harry, he could feel the other pulsing around him, the flow of life through his veins that now seemed attached to his own, a single harmonious being. He withdrew a bit, slamming forward, trying to angle onto Harry's prostate, and hit just in the right space, Harry moaning and throwing his head back in pleasure. He captured the other's mouth again, united in every way, both felt complete, something perfect that moved at the right rhythm, with the right intensity, the water's friction accenting the movements their bodies made, no: not their bodies, but their single being divided in two. Both never thought sex, a common carnal act, could feel so unique and so spiritual, so perfect and complete.
Every thrust was followed by Harry's who pushed down on Draco, searching that delicious friction. It became wild then, evolving into a frenzy of thrusts and moans and mouths left slack with pleasure. They were moving so quickly, in-out, in-out and again, that they could feel themselves nearing the edge, the murky waters, the skin caressing waves of passion and pleasure just there, not too far away, but no one wanted this to end, the thrusts and both of them moaning in unison as they went higher and higher. Draco's eyes never left Harry's, even when they closed in pleasure. They spoke, and they spoke for what felt like eternity through their eyes, looking down in the other's soul, both pleased to see that the other didn't see this as carnal only, seeing affection deep into the other's eyes.
The peak was just a thrust away now. Draco joined his lips to Harry's, desperate for more contact. They moaned in unison, calling each other's name as they as they came, Harry's cum splashing on their stomachs, only to be washed away by the water, whispering three little words as he lay, utterly spent, leaning heavily against the tiles, panting.
"I love you."
Draco's eyes shot wide, looking up into Harry's green ones. There seemed to be love there as well. Heart soaring, he answered him.
"I love you too."
Tears trickled out of Harry's eyes.
The Snitch, outside, kept flying up into the air.
A/N: I've been wanting to publish this for ages, but even though I started writing it around when I started Shattered Lives I finished it this morning (yeah, I know, I know.). I just couldn't figure out an ending for it. I'm glad it turned out like this. Review please!