A/N v.3: Le Purge.

This fic is 6 chapters long. It's a rare multi-chapter story that you will get from me, since I usually write one-shots. This is an eighth year fic. Ron and Hermione basically didn't come back because they wanted the time to shag like bunnies. Which is why Harry is with Ginny. Also, there aren't any lemons, but there's a lime in Chapter 4. It's the only M-rated thing int he fic, so please don't be mad.

You know, the title really doesn't make all that much sense at second glance, to me, since no making actually happens. But I think it sounds clever, so shmehever. *shrug* Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: Never was, never has been, never will be mine. Applies to future chapters as well.

Chapter 1

Harry was flaming. He had first learned about his sexuality after the war, in eighth year. Many seventh year students had returned to Hogwarts to finish their schooling, though of the Golden Trio, only Harry went back. Ron and Hermione said the place held too many memories; Harry thought they just wanted some space to shag like rabbits. Of course, upon returning, Harry and Ginny had immediately gotten back together, and their hormones had run rampant. But when the sight of Ginny spread wantonly across Harry's bed, ready to lose her virginity, failed to turn Harry on, he knew something was wrong.

Of course, he wasn't quite sure, so he just excused himself by saying sorry, the day had been stressful and he wasn't really feeling it. But the next day, he sought out Michael Corner, who was openly bi, and forcefully snogged him. When the awkward kiss left Harry more breathless than any kiss with Ginny ever had, he knew, without a doubt, that he played Seeker for the other team.

Ginny, ever the supporting friend, had been very understanding when Harry told her. She said she had suspected it for a while, but had wanted Harry to figure it out himself so she could selfishly take advantage of him for a little while longer. Harry, who had feared her wrath and, consequently, her infamous Bat-Bogeys, was quite relieved.

The weeks after were quite hectic. Some way or another, the news of Harry's sexuality spread through the school like wildfire. In this period, there were three main types of people, besides Harry's closest friends: 1) Those who insulted him ("I always knew you were a ponce!" Parkinson jeered. "You're too feminine to be straight!"), 2) Those who admired his courage ("I'd never be able to be in the spotlight so much, Harry!" some third year had said."), and 3) Those who really just didn't give a damn.

Of course, once Harry admitted to himself he liked guys, some of his repressed and pent up feelings had broken loose, feelings he had succeeded in ignoring for years. Feelings for that stupid, blonde, foul, pratty, overbearing, arrogant, aristocratic, tall, muscled, handsome git, Draco Malfoy. Harry had always been quite passionate towards the Slytherin, but he had grown adept at turning that passion into something negative. But now that he was free to act on his passion, and now that he had the choice, he wondered if maybe it wasn't time to start turning it to something more positive.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry confided in Ginny. She was the perfect choice. The two had remained good friends after the breakup, and she was comfortably dating Dean Thomas again. And Harry knew that she harbored her own little crush on Malfoy. So he had dug up his "Gryffindor courage" and confessed to her.

The moment he spilled the beans, Harry knew he had made the worst decision he had ever made in his life. Ginny had constantly made fun of him and tried to get him to ask Malfoy out. She always threw them into embarrassing situations, which left Harry floundering for words before meekly apologizing and storming off to find Ginny. But he could never stay angry at her for too long, and soon enough, he was back to whining about his problems to her. And so the cycle continued.

Today was no different. "You're drooling," Ginny said matter-of-factly as she buttered her toast.

Harry instinctively wiped his mouth and turned his gaze away from the dashing blonde. "Am not," he grumbled, spooning a bite of oatmeal into his mouth.

"Figure of speech, darling," Ginny laughed. "You really need to do something about your little crush, though," she said seriously. "It's killing your life."

Harry sighed. "I know, Ginny. I know."

Draco wasn't gay. No, of course he wasn't. He simply…liked sex with men. That's it. Besides, having sex with me often bent them to his will. Draco wasn't averse to using sex as a tool, not with such a gorgeous body. If he could sex to gather favors and place people in his debt, then why not use it?

Never mind that most of his encounters were one-offs and he would never see them again.

But no matter what, he wasn't gay. Malfoys were not gay. Hell, purebloods were not gay. And Draco was both a Malfoy and a pureblood. Add to that, he already had his future planned out. He was going to marry Astoria Greengrass, move to Paris, have two chil—

Oh, who was he kidding? Draco Malfoy was very gay.

He had always known, really. Ever since he knew what sex was. Maybe the fact that Blaise Zabini had starred in many of his early sexual fantasies had clued him in. Or perhaps he figured it out when kissing Pansy didn't arouse him at all. Either way, he was gay, and he tried not to delude himself into thinking otherwise. At least, not after he first figured it out, but he had never really been good at lying to himself.

Third and fourth years had been spent exploring his sexuality. He had had many conquests, most of them one-offs. He hadn't had full-on sex until the middle of fourth year, though, and the experience had been so painful he never wanted to bottom again. Fifth year he had spent shagging Blaise Zabini, and they had become pretty steady, but Blaise broke it off over the summer for some other guy he had taken a fancy to. Sixth and seventh years had been spent serving the Daft Lord and trying to get his family back into Moldymorts' good books.

So it wasn't until eighth year had rolled about that Draco was actually able to think about getting another partner. For some inexplicable reason, his thoughts landed on Harry Potter. But as he thought about it, he realized it was only logical. After all, the two were more alike than anyone could begin to guess. They had both been young adolescents with too much responsibility thrust onto their shoulders. And he realized that the Chosen One was steadily rising to meet his incredibly high standards. Handsome? Check. Muscular? Check. Smart? Not Granger-smart, but adequately so. Check. Enjoys Quidditch? Check. Isn't prejudiced against Draco? Well, the man had testified at Draco's trial and kept him and his mum out of Azkaban, so he assumed so. Check. Not manipulative? Check. Still a little sneaky? Check. Can put up with Draco? Well, he'd just have to find out, wouldn't he?

Draco wondered why he had even thought of Potter in the first place. Was he really that desperate, or was it something else? He didn't think it was desperation; he knew what desperation felt like, having experienced it on the Astronomy Tower in sixth year, and this felt nothing like that. So he had to assume it was something else. Maybe it was the bragging rights? The exclusive ability to say he was shagging the Golden Boy? Draco didn't know. But one thing was for sure.

The Boy Who Lived Twice was going to belong to Draco.