Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.
(Unredeemed)
"Bloody hell, what's he doing here?"
Ron and Harry stared down at the prone body of Draco Malfoy sprawled on the hallway floor, fast asleep, his prefect's badge askew.
Harry lifted the edge of the Invisibility Cloak and pulled it over his head, leaving Ron underneath.
"I'll take it from here, all right?"
"Sure about that, Harry?"
"I'll be fine."
Harry waited until he couldn't hear Ron's retreating steps any longer; they seemed to go on forever, until he realized the rhythm in his head was the pounding of his own heart.
He knew he could get away with it.
---
Harry knelt down.
One light kiss wouldn't wake Malfoy. And if it did, he'd be blurry with the amnesia of the newly wakened, fumble to rise as Harry restrained him, confronted him about his Dark dealings.
Malfoy's lips, fresh and pink in daylight, looked oddly gray in the dim light provided by the hallway torches, but Harry knew they'd be soft, pliant, might even part for his tongue. It was now or never.
He lowered his head, his own lips swollen with longing, so close he could hear Malfoy's even breathing, smell his sweet breath.
And Malfoy opened his eyes.
(Unreserved)
The room spun. Harry's face burned; he opened his mouth to explain.
Malfoy spoke first. "Don't move," he growled.
Harry sucked in his breath, feeling his muscles tighten in a familiar way. Malfoy was spoiling for a fight again, and a fight he'd get.
But before his hand could reach his wand, two long hands seized each side of his face, and Malfoy's mouth was upon his, kissing, his stubble scraping Harry's chin, Harry not caring, his knees crumpling, clambering on top of Malfoy, hands sliding under Malfoy's heavy robes, and when Malfoy, breathless, gasped pleasedon'tstop -- he didn't.