Right off the bat, I'd just like to say that this will/may be a series of one-shots - they jump right into the world of Harry/Draco, and there is little backstory as to how their feelings started out. If you're more of a long backstory type of reader, this fic might not be for you. This chapter starts out with lines directly taken from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince - I just end up filling in from there. The characters may not be depicted exactly as they were in the original story; this is my first shot at a fanfiction, and I really do hope no one comes after me with torches and pitchforks.

All characters belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter.

Enjoy!

Continued from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, "Sectumsempra."

Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear to the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.

Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

"Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't…tell me what's wrong…I can help you…"

"No one can help me," said Draco. His whole body was shaking. "I can't do it…I can't…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he'll kill me."

And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Draco was crying – actually crying – tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

Harry was seized with the sudden, overwhelming urge to step forward into the bathroom, to comfort Draco, to rest his hand on the trembling boy's shoulder. He teetered uncertainly on the spot, unnerved by the swell of emotion rushing through his chest.

Draco gasped in a long, shuddering breath and looked up into the cracked mirror to see Harry gawping at him from the bathroom door.

Draco whirled about, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. On instinct, Harry drew his own and pointed it at Draco.

"Don't make me jinx you," he warned, taking a deliberate step forward. "I didn't mean to intrude…"

"Oh, like you care," Draco spat, his thin face twisted angrily. Tears still glistened on his high cheekbones and Harry's gut clenched. "Prince Potter, The Chosen One, what would you care if you intruded or not?" His fingers clenched and unclenched furiously, but Harry noticed that Draco had not drawn his wand.

"Look, I can just leave –" Harry began gruffly, glancing upwards to see Myrtle observing the scene through her pearly glasses, wide-eyed but, for once, silent.

"No," Draco snapped, cutting Harry off. He was breathing hard, his tongue running nervously over his pale lips. Harry stared, almost transfixed by the sight, and his wand hand trembled. Draco noticed where Harry's brilliant green eyes had strayed, and he rubbed his sleeve hastily over his mouth, his stomach flip-flopping unexplainably.

"Do you plan on pointing that wand at me all day?" he barked to cover up his inner turmoil, a scowl creasing his brow. He was out of breath – why was he out of breath?

Harry lowered his arm, glancing up once again at Moaning Myrtle. Draco followed his gaze and immediately ordered Myrtle to leave. She whined at him, opening her mouth to let loose some sort of god-awful shriek, but Draco, losing his patience, whipped out his wand and, with a loud bang, sent Myrtle flying down into the pipes again.

Harry analyzed Draco's agitation, the way his hands still shook as he tucked his wand back into his pocket, the way his breath repeatedly hitched in his chest, and especially how Draco's silver eyes kept flitting back to Harry.

"So," Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "If you don't want me to leave, are you going to let me in on why you were crying?"

Draco hissed through his teeth, whirling away from Harry to stare into the depths of the rusted sink. He gripped the porcelain, wrestling with the anger and fear roiling inside him.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He rubbed absently on at his left forearm, feeling the raised edges of the Dark Mark burned into his skin and shuddering against the tears threatening to overcome him.

Harry exhaled, aggravated.

Was Draco just trying to get under his skin? Stringing people along was not out of the proud Slytherin's nature, and yet… he seemed so vulnerable, tears glistening in his eyes, delicate fingers gripping the sink edge with enough pressure to snap bones…

"Draco," Harry said, and Draco flinched at Harry's use of his first name. His eyes flickered open to glare at Harry in the mirror.

"It's… it's him, isn't it?" Draco inhaled harshly, and Harry pressed on, feeling quite sure his previous hunches were correct.

"It's Voldemort, isn't it?"

Draco stared at him, parted lips trembling, holding out for one eternal second before he broke. With a strangled howl his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the damp tile, his shoulders heaving, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Harry froze for an instant before he shoved the door closed behind him and turned the lock. He waved his wand over his shoulder, muttered "Muffliato," so no one would come running, and stepped tentatively towards Draco's hysterical form.

"He's going to… he's going to kill me…" Draco sobbed, his words strangled by his tears. His carefully-slicked blond hair swung messily over his forehead and his fingers sought out the loose locks of hair and knotted there, nearly uprooting his scalp.

Harry knelt beside the distraught boy, unsure of what to do. Every fiber inside of him yearned to gather Draco into his arms and comfort him, but even the thought was ridiculous. He settled with a hand on Draco's back, but he writhed underneath Harry's touch and bellowed, "Don't TOUCH me!"

Harry yanked his arm back, teetering on his heels, shocked by the ferocity in Draco's voice. The next thing he knew, however, Draco was lunging at him, his thin fingers seizing Harry's wrist, yanking the Gryffindor onto his knees, and suddenly Draco's breath was on his face and his hand was fisted in Harry's shirt and bloody hell.

Their lips crashed together and it was clumsy, messy, completely undignified, but electric, much like the explosion of an atom bomb, and five years of pent-up tension came flying out, roaring in the boys' ears.

Harry's fingers knotted in Draco's hair, and Merlin's beard, Draco's lips tasted better than firewhiskey. Their teeth clacked together and Draco gasped as Harry exhaled heavily into his mouth, his fingers scrambling at his collar because he couldn't breathe worth a damn. His legs were cramping underneath him and he was pretty sure his knee was digging into Harry's ribs, so he lurched to his feet, dragging Harry up with him. Harry stumbled on the way up, pushing Draco into the edge of the sink. Draco hissed in pain as the porcelain jabbed into his spine but Harry was almost positive that he'd never heard a sound more intoxicating in his life.

Draco drug his fingers through Harry's wild black hair, enjoying how Harry leaned into him, how his inch or so height difference put Draco in control completely.

Harry yanked on Draco's Slytherin tie, trying to bring the taller boy down to his height, thrown off by how he had to stretch to keep their lips moving together. Having the lower hand was alien and strange; when he kissed Ginny, it was easy – he was the taller one so he was in control, but why was he thinking about Ginny? He was kissing Draco Malfoy – how was he thinking at all? Draco traced his tongue over Harry's bottom lip and bloody hell, he couldn't even breathe anymore.

Draco was not exactly an expert at kissing – Pansy Parkingson was good for a quick snog in-between classes, but he could only go so far with her, and anyway, she was a girl – weak. Not strong enough to force her will on him. But Harry was tugging on his tie, slowly gaining control of the situation, which Draco both relished and resented at the same time. He unwound the tie and smiled vindictively against Harry's lips as Harry's point of leverage slid limply into his hand. Harry's glasses cut into the bridge of Draco's nose as Harry angrily forced himself closer, and then he went and bit Draco's lip. Draco reeled backwards, tasting blood in both their mouths, his spine grinding painfully back into the sink. Chosen One indeed.

Harry felt Draco give a little, loosening his iron grip in Harry's hair, curving back over the sink, letting one hand fall to clutch again at the sink edge and the other to seize a fistful of Harry's uniform shirt. Harry took control, deciding to experiment a little now that he had the haughty Draco Malfoy under his command for what might be the first and last time. He pulled his lips from Draco's grinning dangerously as Draco groaned and let his head fall to the side. He trailed his lips over Draco's sharp jawline, breathing hotly on the side of Draco's neck.

"Watch yourself, Potter," Draco panted, and Harry cracked his eyes open to see Draco smirking down at him, his silver eyes dark and his pupils dilated, scarlet blood sliding down his chin.

Harry raised one eyebrow and bit down on the sensitive skin of Draco's throat, a triumphant laugh escaping him as Draco shouted profanities and jerked frantically at Harry's shirt. Draco crushed their lips together again and caught Harry's lower lip between his teeth. Harry inhaled so sharply he went light-headed and pressed even closer, feeling Draco's hipbones press into his stomach.

Neither boy could think as their lips moved together, their kisses hot and angry, filled with bottled-up resentment and frustration. Neither of them had expected the intensity or passion that had caught ahold of them, causing their breath to come in restricted pants and their skin to slick with sweat. Neither of them had realized that this was what those sly glances meant, what had come of their façade of hatred. It was overwhelming and exhausting and utterly exhilarating, and neither Harry nor Draco was thinking of the repercussions or the consequences, they were just thinking of each other, and how good and how right this felt.

Last but not least, neither of them expected how an instant feeling of loss would settle heavily in their stomachs when they broke apart and surveyed each-other, each mussed and unkempt, lips swollen and eyes burning with lust.

"Well," Harry gasped, his whole body trembling. His hand was still locked around Draco's tie, now slick and damp with sweat in his grasp.

Draco eyed him, lips parted, tongue darting out to swipe at the ragged hole in his lip.

"Well." he echoed. His hair hung in sweat-clumped strands over his forehead and his pale skin was completely flushed, which he was all too aware of as he saw his image reflected in the lenses of Harry's glasses. He snatched his tie out of Harry's hand and turned away to loop it once more around his neck.

Harry stood there, lifting a shaking hand to try and tame the hedge of black hair that stood up in every direction on the top of his head. Draco licked his lip again as he swooped the tie over itself, and Harry wanted nothing more than to yank him close again. But the time had passed, and Harry was feeling it with every tick of the clock.

Draco finished fastening his tie and paused, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, not really caring the blood that stained the white fabric. "No one hears about this," he warned finally, looking at Harry over his shoulder. "Not your ginger pal, not your Mudblood girlfriend,"

Harry almost laughed. Yes, of course, he'd be running off to tell Ron and Hermione all about this.

Draco glared at him. "I mean it, Potter," he snapped, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach as he stared at the cocky smile on Harry's lips. God, why did he have to taste so good? "No one."

"Or what?" Harry whispered, his fingers snaking under Draco's shirt. Draco inhaled, teeth snapping together audibly. But he regained his calm and smiled coolly at Harry. He leaned forward, teeth brushing at Harry's ear.

"You don't want to find out," he breathed, and the tickle of his breath made Harry shudder.

With a swift, wet, messy kiss to the side of Harry's mouth, the tall, haughty Slytherin strode out of the bathroom, leaving Harry staring at his own reflection and both boys completely and utterly unsatisfied...