Title: Don't Fight It
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Set during Half-Blood Prince. An alternate version of the bathroom scene in chapter 24.
Warnings: Teensy HBP spoilers.
Notes: Written for a friend of mine who requested/challenged me to write a H/D fic. Personally I feel I could have done better, but those who read it really liked it, so I'm posting it.

Harry Potter wandered along a seventh-floor corridor on his way to dinner, his eyes glued to the Marauder's Map, silently willing his worst enemy's labelled dot to show up. Finally figuring the Slytherin in question had disappeared into the Room of Requirement again, he was about to close the map when his eyes landed on the name he was looking for: the sixth-year he was seeking stood in a bathroom only a floor below, with... Moaning Myrtle?

Harry's puzzlement was quickly halted when he walked into a suit of armour, which noisily crashed to the ground, but he had barely regained his balance that he was already rushing downstairs, silently creeping through the door of the bathroom, which was ajar. Used to walk around hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry was almost a professional at stealth. What are you up to, ferret? What he saw was so unexpected, Harry stood rooted to the spot, astonished.

Draco Malfoy stood with his back to the door, his hands clutching the sides of a sink as he bent over it, his almost-white hair falling into his eyes. And he was crying, big fat tears dripping down his cheeks. Myrtle hovered beside him, looking concerned, which was for her a first, as far as Harry knew.

"Don't..." she pleaded softly. "Don't fight it... You can't fight it..." She moved closer. "I can help you..."

"No one can help me," Draco replied, his voice trembling. His whole body shook. "He'll kill me if he finds out. I... I am a Malfoy. Malfoys aren't like that. Malfoys don't-" He broke off suddenly, sensing a presence behind him. Looking up, he saw Harry's reflection in the cracked mirror hanging over the sink. His eyes widened in surprise, then, almost immediately, narrowed in anger. Myrtle floated silently, now staring at Harry, as the Slytherin beside her muttered something under his breath.

Draco whirled around; his cheeks were dry and his eyes were no longer red from crying – what he had muttered must have been a spell, Harry decided. "What are you doing here, Potter?" he spat, drawing his wand from the inside of his robes.

"Last I heard, this was still a public bathroom," Harry said coolly as he walked further into the room, pulling out his own wand. "So next time you want to hide your, uh, soft side, you might want to cast an Impertubable Charm on the room, or even find somewhere else to go – like a magical room, perhaps?"

Draco's jaw was clenched in anger. Who did that guy think he was? Oh, that's right – he was the Chosen One, he had every right on everything... "I don't know what you're on about," he said coolly. Potter didn't know anything.

As he watched the usually pale face become steadily blotched, Harry idly thought that Malfoy must have these crying fits regularly to know how to mask any signs of it so quickly. Or it was just a skill that came with being a Malfoy – or simply a Death Eather. "Whatever, Malfoy." His wand still out, clutched in his hand, Harry turned around and started to leave. Something about what he'd witnessed disturbed him; he just didn't want to pick a fight.

Harry had barely made a few steps that Draco launched himself at him, pinning him to the wall and making him drop his wand. Despite being small and somewhat delicate, the Slytherin had much more strength than people believed. Harry struggled against the boy's grip, his hand outstretched as he thought, Accio wand! over and over again, trying to regain hold of his fallen wand, but he was suffocating against the arm Draco had pressed against his throat.

Draco's eyes were cold and angry, but Harry could see something else in the silvery-grey orbs… fear? "If you tell anyone what you saw here," he growled, his voice laced with fury, "you will know pain as you never knew it." Harry tried to speak but only could make a gurgling sound – it was probably for the best if he was physically unable to articulate words, for it surely was a bad time to try and be smart. His glasses were sliding down his nose, making his vision blurry, and his face started to loose its colour.

Draco loosened his grip a little; despite the urge he had to press harder, it wouldn't be wise to make the Boy-Who-Lived suffocate to death. Then his father would really kill him. Plus, he found he didn't enjoy putting Harry through immense pain as much he thought he would.

The bathroom was silent, except for the two boys' quick breathing. Moaning Myrtle sat on the edge of the sink Draco had abandoned, ready to yell – or rather, shriek – for help if things got really ugly. For now, however, she judged that Harry wasn't really in danger, and besides, it was Draco's fight with his internal turmoil.

Draco shook with suppressed emotions; Harry stood limply but tense in his hold. Keeping his eyes locked with the Slytherin, his face screwed up in concentration, he willed his goddamn wand to zoom straight into his hand. Accio wand, accio wand!

"This is all your fault." Draco's voice shook. "All your fault." For a moment Harry thought he'd break down again, but then he reminded himself that this was Draco Malfoy, the Ice King of Hogwarts – whose ice seemed to melt from time to time.

War was raging between the rational and irrational parts of Draco's mind, he was forcing himself not to give in to his thoughts, and urging himself to just pull away from the boy, but he found he could do neither. He half wanted to just let go and curl up into a ball and cry, but that wasn't going to happen either. Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys aren't sissies.

Accio wand! At last, the sleek piece of holly wood flew into the outstretched hand, and fingers curled around it. Before Harry could do anything, something happened that made him drop it again, the sound of it clattering onto the tiled floor echoing in the room but ignored by all.

For Draco Malfoy had just reached up and roughly pressed his lips against Harry Potter's, before the latter's mind could even register it.

Once the shock had worn off, though, Harry found he quite liked it. The arm that once kept him from breathing normally was suddenly wrapped across his back, and the fingers that used to be twisting his robes at the shoulder now cupped his cheek in a gentle but rough manner. Harry freed his arms, one pressing Draco closer to him, the other winding up in his counterpart's white-blond mane.

How ironic it was, the Gryffindor thought dazedly, that someone as cold as Draco Malfoy could have hair so soft... and skin so warm...

Draco Malfoy is pressing up against me. He's kissing me. I'm kissing him back. There's something seriously wrong with that picture.

You're kissing Potter. Real smooth, Malfoy. What happened to your strong will? Talk about fighting your urges...

But it feels so good... The thought passed through both boys' minds, as if it settled everything. Tongues clashed, boys moaned and hands wandered, although they weren't every audacious as they didn't go very far. Clothes ruffled as bodies pressed together, skin burning under shaking, hesitant fingers. Myrtle fanned herself, subjugated by the sight before her; nothing was hotter than some boy on boy action – why else did she spend so much time spying on the users of the prefects' bathroom?

Suddenly, without warning, Draco pushed away from Harry, so hard that the Gryffindor's head hit the wall against which he was still pressed. The two boys stared at each other for a few long, silent minutes, then Draco turned on his heel and all but ran out of the bathroom.

Harry stared at the swinging door for a moment, then picked up his wand and left as well.

Moaning Myrtle was left alone, still shocked from the unexpected turn of events. Neither of the would say anything about ever being in this bathroom, she mused as she plunged down the nearest toilet. She couldn't help but smile in satisfaction at the thought that someone had listened to her advice for once, willing or not.

Don't fight it... You can't fight it...