"Potter?" a low voice came out from the dark alcove. Frosty winter air poured in from the open window, the voice's breath curling around him like a shroud of mystery.
"Malfoy," the second returned. A lighter was flicked and a candle was lit. The wan luminescence shone on the first man's face, something that should have softened his features, but it did nothing for Draco Malfoy.
His face was angular as a young man, but with age and grief it was rendered gaunt. Draco's strong cheekbones were made oblique, and his jaw bone sharp. A long, jagged scar ran from his left ear diagonally to his chin. It was as white as the rest of his alabaster skin; obviously old and well-healed. The only thing left the same as when Potter had seen him last was his hair. While it was quite a bit longer, it still shone brightly in the dimness. It was thick and straight, white-blonde and fine.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry Potter asked, holding the candle aloft.
Age was kinder to Harry, seeing as though he was only eight years out of Hogwarts. At twenty-five, he was still young and fit. His glasses were off, presumably he didn't need them any longer. A day or two worth of stubble rounded his chin and his hair was just a little past needing a trim. But his green eyes burned bright, and straight into Draco's dull gray ones.
"Why else would I be here? I've been summoned," he scoffed, shaking a long, skinny cigarette from its slightly crumpled pack.
"You're going to get cancer," Harry stated, doing the same. He flicked the lighter again and Draco nodded in thanks. The men drew in deeply, grateful for something else to do than look at each other in dumb silence.
"Hopefully," was Draco's repartee. "And what brings you to Hogwarts?"
"War," was his simple answer.
"How long has it been? Since we've last met, I mean."
"Eight years," Harry answered, drawing again. This time, as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, his golden wedding band glinted in the candlelight.
"Sweet Salazar, Potter. You're married," Draco chuckled.
"It's been eight years. Like I said."
"Who?"
"Draco…"
"Come on. It's been eight years. Can't you tell an old lover who you've gone and married?" Draco chided.
"Ginny," he stated, "Ginny and I married three years ago."
"The Weaselette? A woman, fuck, Potter," Draco laughed, putting a hand to his forehead.
"Don't call her that," the other man ground out.
Draco continued to laugh until he choked a bit on smoke, "That's rich, Potter. Now really; who? Merlin knows you're strictly dickly."
Harry was silent, and he glared harshly.
"No," Draco continued. "No, it can't be true. You never told anyone? Merlin! That really is rich."
"I was experimenting," he defended.
"Right-" Draco countered, "experimenting with me, Blaise, Finnegan, Finch-Fletchley, Oliver Wood, All of Puddlemere United and half the Muggle men in the world. But, then again, Blaise and Finnegan are dead, Finch-Fletchley went back to being a muggle, Oliver Wood is in the closet and Puddlemere United has disbanned, so I'm the only person of accord to vouch for your omnisexuality."
"My what?"
"Omnisexuality. It means you don't have any standards. You'll fuck anything that'll stand still long enough and has an arse."
"You really still are a bitch," Harry said, advancing quickly.
"Yes. Your point?" Draco got to his feet from the window ledge.
There are specific points in time, where, for an inexplicable reason, two atoms or neutrons manage to, under a huge amount of stress and pressure, merge into one and then become something else. An amalgam- a strange mixture of contradictory traits. It is in these extreme situations that the strangest and most astounding things happen.
When it happens in humans, it usually ends up in sex.
The two sets of lips crashed into each other with a frenzy that hadn't been felt in quite a long time. In fact, eight years. The opposite set of lips felt as familiar as if they'd never parted. Neither could figure who initiated, but that wasn't where their minds were.
When the pair resurfaced from their amalgamations, the slighter Draco was pinned to the inside of the alcove by the stronger Harry. Draco reached up to twine his fingers into Harry's hair, gripping the short spikes tightly as their mouths hungrily devoured each other. Draco's teeth impishly darted out and captured Harry's bottom lip. He gasped as the blonde tounged away the pain of the hurt and grasped at the buttons on his shirt.
"Drac..o," He cried when the other man's ever more curious teeth nipped lightly at his sensitive nipples. He sucked quickly before releasing it and pushing the shirt off Harry's shoulders.
Draco's pale hands flitted over Harry's tanned chest, toying with the sparse hairs and his ticklish ribs. Their breathing began to become laboured as Draco's tee shirt was pulled over his head and their bare skin came in contact. Stong arms grasped pale shoulders tightly as they yearned to become close enough to merge in body, not just in soul.
"Let me," Draco said, pulling away with a final kiss to the collar bone. A long backless wooden bench was extended and a cloak was made into a soft pallet mattress. Pillows were called from two handkerchiefs.
Draco looked back to Harry as he finished transfiguring and was caught transfixed at the sight. Harry was slumped back against the stone wall, his trousers undone. His eyes were steady on Draco as his hand pumped languorously up and down his shaft.
A low, guttural noise rose from Draco's throat as he pulled Harry to the make-shift bed. The two collapsed down in a hot, pulsing heap. Their hands were everywhere, smoothing over scars and grasping at joints. Two pairs of pants and socks and shoes soon joined the discarded shirts on the unswept floor.
"I've missed you," Potter breathed, "Gods, how I've missed you…"