Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and any other characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry story I tell here is not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Warning: if love between two males distresses you, this is not the story for you.

The Open Mind:

-By Mangachick1

Harry couldn't believe it. There we're frustrated tears pricking in his confounded eyes, and he faintly noticed he was gaping. He clenched his jaw tightly, eyeing the wand brandished to his chest. The glowering, unyielding baby-blue eyes encompassed with livid scarlet and Harry could barely see where the splattered freckles were in the mass of hatred. "I can't believe you'd do that!" Ron scoffed, shaking his head and wand still raised, "You, you…damn it Harry!"

He felt the anger whirling to a great, towering clawed beast, his own fingers clasped over the fissures in his wand. "You really think I'm with Him? Do you?" his voice was a bleak low, lower than he had thought himself capable and Neville anxiously flickered between the two of them. "Answer me!"

Ron snarled viciously, jamming his wand into Harry's collar. "I'm not made to answer your every beck and call Harry Bloody Potter!" Harry recoiled as if struck, his heart frustrated against it confines in his chest.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he rebuffed, his own wand braced against Ron's for he could not point it at his friend, he wasn't there yet.

His once-best friend laughed, as if Harry had proclaimed his imaginary dog had been run over by a honking truck. "You haven't even noticed have you!?" he paused as if waiting for Harry's divine intervention and when none came, he scoffed. "You always get us, your alleged best mates, almost killed every year! I've been with you through thick and thin Harry, honestly I have, but this-" Harry stared bewildered on how this came to be, and a vicious pulse in his temple weakening his risen arm, "this is it," Ron licked his cragged lips, nodding to his own and fixing a glare on Harry, "you killed Cedric-"

The fuming heat withdrew from his cheeks, a numbing chill of shock freezing his bones. His throat constricted over his heaves but images of the bright green ray rocketing into a slim, shadowed chest to flash barren orbs; soft, relishing cackles hissing in his ears. His head throbbed sharply; he pressed a hand to his temple to fight because damn, he couldn't deal with this now.

Ron scoffed again; he seemed to be trying to find some pleasure in his act but failed tremendously. Fiery hope surged, "-and not just that, you've been sharing your bloody mind with Him," Harry flinched as it withered and died. He wanted to retort, to protest how these were petulant lies. He couldn't though, for how else would he explain a connection he held with Voldermort. The whipping cold realization lowered his wand to his side, and Ron's eyes widened at the dismissal. No! That wasn't what he meant – "Aah, hell!" he staggered backwards, his wand unfocused on Harry's face in his trembling grip. "He's listening in right now, isn't he?!" Ron shook his head frantic, "stay away from me! You're not going to hurt my family, you hear me, you bastard!"

His ginger hair frazzled in the moon's serene shimmer, Ron jarred into Harry and fled down the corridor with a vicious glance backwards. Vicious, Harry determined, he could handle, it was the fear in his gaze which stilled his retorts. Ron was terrified of him; as if he had proclaimed himself the new Dark Lord or pale face's right had man. How could Ron even dream of that? Harry just couldn't leave it there; he swiveled to chase him down. A hand on his arm stilled his upset. "Give him a while Harry," Neville pacified.

Harry snapped his forearm from his grip, backing away suspiciously as his fury lurched to the forefront of his mind, for he once may have stilled his tongue beneath the onslaught of his best friend. Neville was an easy release for his anger, "you believe that too then?" he spat.

Neville rolled his eyes, crossing his arms easily. To Neville while some of the words spoken and the reactions not given were telling more than he had known, he was not daunted for he knew enough of the quiet, secluded boy who jittered with nightmares in his dorm. He did not agree with Ron, who was blinded with his need to protect his family, and a jealously Neville had fretted over. He had been certain Ron would explode on Harry concerning his ranking's in Tri-Wizard Tournament which had ended just days prior. He hadn't expected though for Ron to be afraid of Harry. "Course not Harry, " he shrugged, staring at the arched ceiling, "sure I'd like to know if You-Know-Who is catching the conversation," Harry winced, and Neville shoved the fear lurching his gut down and picked at a cringed smile. "But, erm, I trust you Harry," he bowed his head as Harry fisted a glinting green eye.

"Thanks mate," Harry whispered creakingly, his wand dangling precariously in his palm.

Neville nodded to his own, wringing his hands and saying. "It'll smooth over, you'll see," he told a slouched Harry, it unnerved him; Harry usually held his head high, proud and silently exuding confident. Now though, he didn't trust a Chipper Bloom to his care for he may depress the inspiriting aroma of the flower. "I'm heading to the dorm, you coming?"

Harry shook his head slowly, steadying a hazy gaze on the moon draped courtyard and its many ominous shadows, his words were wispy, spectral when he answered. "No, I'll come up later…"

Neville nodded to the unseeing Harry, and with an inspecting, concerned to the condoned boy he carried his way to the dorm.

Harry stared at the bloated, morose moon, pretending the sting in his eyes were from the glares. A cricket broke the silence and Harry released a shaky breath; his mind could not comprehend the words his best friend had said. And even though it was meager seconds after the deeds had been spat, he couldn't recall the exact words. He remembered with astounding clarity the contortions of disgust and hatred and fear, amplified by his own self-mutilation. Harry stumbled down the stairs in the courtyard, and slid down the wall to meet the cold, prickling glass.

He didn't dare startle the silence, and instead, cleaned his glasses on his jumper. It was a pitiable distraction, and Harry's hands gripped into his clothes at his own cowardice. Ron didn't want to be friends with him; he wished to toss four years of friendship under the knight bus. He could do that! Harry though wasn't going to just leave it quit!

…he couldn't bring himself to stand. His heart was still thundering in his chest, he could feel his pulse thumping threatening his skin. He laid his glasses to rest at his side, massaging the angular weary bones in his face. He just needed to relax, Ron would see sense. He hadn't left Harry, they were best mates, and he couldn't leave Harry after everything they had gone through together, and what about Hermione?

Harry couldn't rid himself of the notion that some irreversible damage had been wrought, he was terrified he would be as friendless as he had been during his childhood, only then it hadn't been such a gut-wrenching ache because he had never had any friends. He cursed as a tear wormed from his eye, he slapped it away, and probed his throbbing temples. "Potter?"

"Fuck," was the first thing to leave his lips, he rammed his glasses on and staggered to his feet. He couldn't muster enough energy so reduced in his pitiful state he glowered hastily at the unwanted company and slouched on the wall. "What Malfoy?"

Malfoy was, oddly enough, garbed in slim, partially ripped jeans and a zip-up gray jumper, with a designer print over one breast. His hands were hidden in its pocket; Harry could see the poke of his wand from the other end. It was his expression though which confused Harry greatly, and he decided he was too exhausted to pick it apart. "Were you run over by a bloody hippogriff, you look terrible Potter." He came forward slowly, and Harry backed into the out-jutting window. Malfoy rolled his twinkling gray eyes; there was no frown in his brows, or a sneer on his lips. He seemed almost serene, and Harry was positive he was enduring a vivid hallucination. "Oh relax; I just wanted to check if you had brain damage…"

He chuckled softly, Harry didn't know what was funny and he didn't understand why Malfoy hadn't cackled, dramatized his forlorn moment to the entire school already. "Why you dressed like that?" he eyed the getup, deciding not to comment on his actual thoughts less he ruin a lag of spitefulness in the blond.

To his surprise Malfoy's pale, high cheeks tinged pink and he withdrew his gaze from Harry to exhale in what may have even been content. "I'd applied for an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's," he eyed Harry minutely, and his lips quirked upwards until he was beaming, "and I got into the program."

"Oh," he couldn't say anything else, his stomach was lurching and his cheeks flushing, since for one moment the gaze had changed from awkward in his eyes to incurably beautiful.

Malfoy tilted his head, as if he were a painting he couldn't begin to decipher but recognized its worth. "You'll keep it to yourself," he paused as Harry continued to try and cool his cheeks, "or I'll tell everyone what I just walked in on."

Harry rolled his eyes, exhaling in shaky relief; he chuckled and waved he hand dismissively. "Deal," Harry tilted his head, Malfoy wanted to be a healer? He could never have seen it but as the blond was so relaxed now, he thought maybe he could. He had impossible high, smooth cheek bones and bright, intrigued gray eyes, it was a handsome face - some might say - and stood with a calm confidence that was brought by knowing you were comfortable in your skin. "How about we forget this entire night happened," he mumbled, sliding back down the wall and resting his wand on his thigh.

Malfoy's white lashes flickered as he appraised Harry, a barest of smirks on his moist lips, he licked them once, and Harry removed his gaze to stare at the shadowed, bleak courtyard, completely mortified where his attention had found home. "Why's that?" Harry's neck licked heat and he hooked a finger round his tie and unraveled it for the welcome breeze. "I think it's been a rather extraordinary night," and much to Harry's horror, Malfoy settled beside him, hoisting with two thumbs his jeans higher on his slim hips.

"Yeah, you're sadly mistaken," Harry snarled bitterly before he could comprehend the intention; then he exhaled since he had sounded like a complete prat, "sorry," and rested his head on the wall behind them and exposing his neck to moonlight.

Harry didn't know if he was imagining a terse, heated gaze on his throat, but it made him oddly coconscious and he lowered his chin, crossing his arms. "It was Gryffindorks wasn't it?" even with his mild tone, Harry did not like it.

He scowled, "If you here to pick on my friends then keep it to yourself Malfoy," the blond rolled his eyes upward, pleading momentarily for the strength to continue with the imbecile. He wasn't completely certain why he even bothered. He blamed it on the fuzzy thrum of warm elated blood in his veins from all the healing magic he had performed, and the joy that his efforts had not gone to waste. He was in a comforting mood and Potter would just have to deal with it. And it had absolutely nothing to do with crush which had sparked this troublesome year.

"I don't care about your poesy Potter," he smirked unwillingly at the jibe and drawled onwards, still sincere even with his blithe tone, "I want to know why England's Golden Boy is sulking-"

Harry, most predictably, clenched his fist in his biceps and shot a dark glare his way. "I am not sulking Malfoy," Draco exhaled, smoothening his jumper to fit over his slim stomach.

"My name is not a curse Potter, so stop spitting it," Potter's expression fizzled comically, until he rubbed his nose agitatedly and brooded petulantly into the abyss. Potter was annoyingly brash and positively nauseating with his vibes of sentiment which he spewed hourly. He didn't know how he had ever found any grace in him, but still, Draco knew Potter shouldn't be scowling so severely when the world had finally aligned to his whims. "Did you see that?" he asked, nodding to the inky blackness.

His raven brows furrowed, orbs glinting as he peered into the night. "What?"

Draco spoke in a calm, bored voice –"Are you blind Potter? The Snargles pivoting, doting on your otherworldly attention, I think it maybe some erotic mating ritual. The Weasel joined them not too long ago; I did not wish to see that much hip movement and arm flaying from him, I assure you, the moaning is uncalled for as well…"

Draco lay his head on the wall when Harry began to choke, then chuckle, then full blow laugh until he clutched his stomach, peering out through a watery emerald eye to squint at him. His gales of laughter were contagious, spindling in cool air and Draco smugly congratulated his deed well done. No doubt Potter was imagining his words, and the image while enough to put him off his dinner, was enough for the Golden Boy to quit his brooding. "You prat," Potter kept his tone strictly teasing, a clasp in his chest fluttered, "I actually believed you for a second…"

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the quirk of his own lips, "I was counting on your lack of intelligence." He wasn't counting on the satisfaction, and white-hot heat to course through him at Potter's sincere laughter.

Harry snorted, nudging his elbow into Malfoy's side. "Oh, shut it," Malfoy snickered, leaning away from Harry's bony crook; he shot Harry a curved smirk. Harry relented, a tight knot in his gut which always appeared with Malfoy, unraveled and vanished and he thought, perhaps, they could turn another cheek because he actually liked talking to Malfoy. It felt good, almost effortless. "So, Healer?" he prompted.

Malfoy eyed him, his smirk rebelled by an off-cast grin, a dimple poked his smooth cheek and Harry had never been more fascinated with how impish Malfoy looked. "Yes Potter, is my preferred career to your satisfaction?" Harry elbowed him again, exasperated, Malfoy swatted his hand away haughtily. "Violence is unnecessary," Harry didn't stop the mirth from shaking his frame with snickers, "glad I amuse you," he commented dryly. Harry's toothy grin widened stupidly. "Why are you wandering about this late?"

Harry felt the elation dim morosely, he sighed, yanking off his tie and knotting it in his lap. "I went for a late check-up at Madam Pomfrey's," he shrugged, and an endearing tilt of Malfoy's concerned jaw had him blushing, "nothing's wrong, mind you. Just Ron said something's," he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. When the fear that Ron wouldn't relent on his anger and fear amplified to a panicked jitter of emotions wreaking havoc in his gut, he pawed it and unwound his few top buttons under his robe.

Malfoy exhaled, tugging on his index finger in what was probably a nervous gesture, which did incorrigible things to the growing fondness in his chest. "Don't you have others to talk about this sort of thing? That godfather of yours or someone-?"

Harry reeled backwards, head hitting the wall and he felt the hollow that is his brain vibrates painfully. He grunted, interlocking his fingers in his head to meet the pulsating bruise, "Godfa-?"

Malfoy snorted superiorly, fixing a gaze on Harry, who spoke wonders to pompousness; his lips though were pursed tightly. It took an embarrassing moment for the reason to be clear, and he felt those walls bracing his nerves. "Your father was there," he spat, his fingers meeting the livid scar on his forearm absently. Harry, half-expected Malfoy to begin hexing him, to curse the very truthful notion. Instead his jaw tightened, and he remained silent.

Malfoy's esteemed in-society father, was in all truth a loyal death-eater, and no doubt Malfoy would soon follow in his treks into the flaming pits of hell. As a destined death-eater he was privy to their knowledge, he fisted claws into his thighs, he wondered how much the rat had blathered. Did that traitorous rat still feel kinship, maybe held his tongue? Did the death-eaters know of his godfather's animagus form, was he safe to use it in public? His heart ached painfully at the realization his godfather was more confined then he had believed prior.

"So how much did the Rat blabber?" he inquired testily, he wanted to know and he would likely curse Malfoy if he dared pledge innocent to his involvement.

Malfoy grimaced, as if whiffing cow dung, with a mixture of repent marring his long thin lips. "I've had the displeasure to meet the man," he began, shocking Harry from his anger with the forthcoming, distasteful nature of his words, "vile creature. I do hope he is the rare in your father's little gang."

Some reason this vastly amused Harry and he snorted, his tie twisting over one of his fingers, and cutting blood to the area. "He is, don't fret." He glimpsed at Malfoy, who still seemed disgusted with the mere thought, "how much do you know?" he inquired, currently purely curious.

Malfoy frowned, flicking pale fingers over his forehead to brush aside feathery locks. "Not as much I would have hoped honestly," he appraised Harry and sighed, "I know about Professor Lupin, and I still believe he helped Sirius Black into the castle last year," Harry frowned, mouth open to retort, "I know I would have."

Harry smothered the rising respect at Malfoy nonchalant admittance, he smiled hazily. "He didn't know the truth then," Malfoy hummed, and Harry realized how very strange it was to be sitting at Malfoy's warm side discussing that which was shrouded from the outside glares. There were no warnings of discretion with the secrets; there were no shrugs in answer to his wondering questions. It was refreshing, and suddenly Harry wished to discuss and bring up all the things he and Malfoy had experienced together. But had been on opposing sides to truly allow the conversation to grow for better; he wanted to talk about that atrocious detention in the Forbidden Forest, how he and Ron had infiltrated Slytherin (he desperately wished to see Malfoy's horrified gape), how Malfoy always seemed to know when he was sneaking out late; everything. They had history, none of it was welcoming mind, but Harry wanted, if the boy in his memories was the same teen at his side, wanted to know what he had been thinking in those moments. "I still don't think he should have resigned," he added, cunningly (in his opinion) prompting Malfoy to lower his walls.

Surprisingly, and much to Harry's silent exhilaration, Malfoy shook his head, eyes gazing thoughtfully into the distant and worrying his bottom lips. Harry turned away, uncomfortable with the intensity and longing prying into his gaze. "He was an excellent teacher; there is no mistaking that, even if his monthly disappearances were less than subtle."

"You knew," he surmised, astounded with the realization that Malfoy had known the werewolves darkest secret all along, and had never uttered a word about it.

Malfoy nodded, smirking slyly in Harry's opinion and his long arms folded over his slim chest, in a gesture which was goading in Harry's mind. "My father told me during the summer, though the sources he referenced were less than satisfactory for Ministry inquiry." Harry laughed, served the bloody prissy right. He couldn't stop the amazement he was cultivating for Malfoy. It was as if the unflattering, infested glares illuminating the blond were banished and its place, the cocky smile, and hidden, steady soul shone through, with all its bemusing glory. "He didn't approve of course and never refrained from saying so, so by the end of the summer I was rather numb to the idea."

Harry snorted, "That backfired," he commented.

"Yep," he said, tilting his head and slinking just a bit closer to Harry's side. He was warm, and Harry's fingers wished to unfreeze themselves and tangle in silky locks dusting Malfoy's smooth, tall cheeks. His needs must have shone in his eyes, for Draco leaned forward, and kissed him.

Harry blinked; heat flushed his cheeks, at the moist lips appearing in his vision again. He was so close; iron and silver flecks marked tender grays, and even in the faint light there were sprinkles of light freckles dusting Draco's pixy nose, and those high cheekbones. He uncurled his toes, a rush of anticipation and heat striking to muffle his thoughts when he realized he could touch them. His shaky hand cradled his slim face, fingertips curling in the pale locks, he grinned breathlessly, seizing moist lips which melted his troubles and curled his toes.

"You're okay with this?" Draco mumbled, tickling Harry's lips, the intimacy gripped Harry. Harry didn't know how the answer wasn't clear, and pressed a kiss to the side of his lips, relishing the cool, slightly chaffed texture of skin. "Is that a yes?" the quiet tone restructured with passed insecurities, his heart quivered under its torrent.

"Yes, it's a yes, you prat," Draco chuckled bunglingly, fluttering his eyes closed timidly as Harry was swept in another blood-pounding kiss. Nightly breezes whistled coldly, Harry dredged his fingertips in the silky thin locks, tangling with the short fuzz in the dip of his neck. Draco shielded him from the cold, leaning lower of him, pawing his shoulder to run to his chest and massage the solid mass. He fingered Harry's earlobe, directing Harry to deepen their dizzying kiss with playful tugs. Harry smiled on his lips; Draco nuzzled into his neck and bestowed a warm snog on his pulse point. "Fuck," he cursed, throwing his head against the hard stones to expose his neck.

Harry tightened his grip in Draco's hair, pools of heat quivering through his body. "Only if you want," Draco murmured huskily, cooling the pulsating mark - no doubt - marring his flesh in a way completely welcome. Harry shifted, allowing Draco to slink between his legs. He smothered another curse, when the heat of Draco's bony knees wriggled heat from his burning thighs to tighten northwards.

Harry had never done anything like this before, but considering his track-record of luck, he decided he was more than prepared. Why, he had been so suspicious of these interactions was beyond him. He wished Draco would consume him, blotching out everything Harry couldn't handle and shield his body from the cold for as long as it remained, maybe not even then.

Draco steadied his heaving breaths on Harry's shoulder, laughing quietly. He couldn't believe he had just made out with Harry Bloody Potter. He had trouble believing he wasn't having a very vivid horny dream, there was no way-And here, he could hear the bounding pump of blood in his ears. He glimpsed upwards, Harry's glasses askew, tipping off his perfectly straight nose, cheeks brilliantly rosy and lips bruised and gaping, awaiting his own. He quivered with a storm of pleasure and approval in his blood.

Draco slid the glasses from Harry's nose, cradling the angular cheeks in his gentle palms so he could smooch his lips fully on Harry's curved ones. His stomach jolted with the fervent acceptance, fingers splayed on his taut thigh and rubbed along his spine, the fingers massaging and pressing delightfully into each knot. His nose brushed Harry's hot cheek and he relented slightly, knowing he was probably manhandling him too much. Harry surprised him, finger dancing up the side of his neck and into his hair to allow their tongues to reacquaint heartily.

They shifted backwards, needing to inhale the bristling air. Draco panted, shuffling on his pained knees to lift one to his side, barricading him in Harry's bent knees on either side. They preserved most of the warmth of their bodies, and Draco couldn't help but believe this was a calculated effort. Harry had meant it, and the knowledge almost had him pouncing to ravage him again. Still, it could not continue, father would brandish a wand at him for his preferences and if he were ever to find out Draco had taken to Harry Potter, of all people. It would not be wholesome; he did not trust the knowledge of his preferred career to his father, this – this would never come to light. So, with a heavy, remorseful, already battling heart-ache, he says, "this night never happened."

Draco wished to swallow his words, his body reforming into the outside world and away from Harry's startled, aggrieved emeralds. "What?"

"This night never happened, just like you promised earlier, right?" Draco's words were small, lacked gusto and bored drawl. The pleasant, anticipating heat in his gut enflamed with humiliation, certain Draco had played him somehow. But he hadn't, he relented to glimpsing Draco's forlorn orbs which were more silver than anything duller, his bruised, moist lips seized Harry's gaze and it physically hurt to remove his gaze.

"I never promised," he muttered, wishing Draco would look him in the eyes again, to just see how much he meant it. His clasp tightened on Draco's jeaned thigh, his fingers slipped between a slit and met heated skin. Draco flinched at his cold fingertips, his hand grasping Harry's knuckles as if he battling temptation to remove them. His grip while tight warmed his hand and Harry spindled circles into the soft hairs over his smooth skin.

Draco inhaled shakily, catching Harry's emeralds on the way upwards, they were beautifully hazy and Draco mournfully slid the cool frames up his impeccable straight nose, unable to stop his fingers from fingering the length. He may never have a chance to do this again, Harry didn't have a right to be so charming and handsome and lively and lovely, especially when Draco forbade himself from inclining towards him. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, because he was, and wearily palmed his knees to rise to his full height. So much taller he was than the slouched Potter who was strikingly mussed. Draco had done that, and satisfaction lit his lips while remorse dimmed them. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, so Potter truly knew how very sorry he was for indulging in him, and then abandoning him just as heatedly.

Harry clambered to his feet when Draco turned away, his momentary dizziness from the pure pleasure he had experienced receiving precious seconds. Harry latched onto the swiftly speeding blond, shoving him bodily against the wall in the barren hallway. "No," he said, unable as he was to regain sense of his emotions, "this did happen Draco," he flinched at the use of his given name, as if Harry had lashed onto where it pained. Harry proceeded slower, wary as he was with these emotions, and Draco's obviously vulnerable ones. His fingers drifting over his beautiful face, and the aggrieved silver fluttered closed. "I've never done anything like this before," he admitted, Draco winced, silver pleading for him to continue. To change his stupid mind from whichever lonely path he had already begun strolling down, "But I want to, with you, like this."

Harry kissed him tenderly; a pitiful whimper rustled his throat as those strong hands cupped on his cheeks, fingering spectrally the rim of his ears. "Fuck you Potter," his words rendered no clash or snap, they, instead spoke of his weary resignation.

Harry smiled impishly, revealing in the cheeks in his grasp and planting a quick kiss on the slim, distinguished jaw, "if you want." Draco laughed breathlessly on his lips, gripping his biceps, securing solid bodies together, and they kissed. Harry sunk into the muffle of fuzzy warmth and quivers of pleasure; in times, he wished to curse the tease. But then Draco would chuckle huskily on his skin, rutting their bulges together, and Harry would groan and seize him in a fiery kiss.

They separated much too soon for Harry's comfort, stolen was their time by a practiced condescending meow. Harry blinked in growing horror as the cat darted away; he turned to Draco smiling regretfully, as if he had known their pleasure would be interrupted. Draco bent those few inches to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, knocking Harry's head lightly against the wall he was leaning on to starve off the weakness in his knees. He gripped Harry's now-clammy palm with his slim, thin fingers and tugged him from the wall. "Come on," he directed Harry through the corridors, his smile tight. "Go," he nodded west to the Gryffindor common rooms.

Harry brushed the blond hair he had severely mussed with a small smile; the wistful, downcast gaze of Draco's eyes did nothing to soothe him. "Tomorrow I'll be Potter and you'll be Malfoy, but," he paused dramatically, grinning as he pressed a kiss to Draco's slim jaw, "If you want to stick to your word about the whole fucking thing I'll be more than willing to participate."

Draco chuckled, his arms wrapping lightly round Harry's slim waist. "Is that on your Gryffindor honor Potter?" Harry snickered, nodding and trying to stop kissing the prick for two seconds so he could regain his sanity. An echoing meow broke them apart once again, and Harry harrumphed irritably. Draco laughed at his disappointment - the prat - but the joy and mirth in his eyes made it all worth it when he withdrew his hands with lingering passes to Harry's figure. "Tomorrow then," he nodded, Draco bit his lips to curb his smile, still blissfully mussed from Harry's wandering hands. He disappeared round another corridor with a final backward glance, and Harry dashed to his own common room to curb the urge to simply follow Draco into his green-draped bed.

Harry stepped through the portrait hole as the first rays of sun peered on the horizon, grinning crimson with dawn. Neville was curled up on the couch, probably in an attempt to wait up for him. He ran a hand over his tousled clothes, noticing he was missing his tie than shrugging his acceptance. His heated cheeks managed to crawl down his neck to burn his collar in warm memories. Harry draped a blanket over his loyal friend, and practically fled into the cold showers.

He wondered if he and Draco were participating in the same actions, the thought spurred them further.

A/N: This was written for my pleasure, I am pleased with how it came out. And I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did. :)