Haha... I forgot to write in a DISCLAIMER before, because apparently that's necessary now. So, Potterverse is not mine, I can hope that someday it will be, but as of now it is not. Any characters borrowed from the series do not belong to me.

**Say this word aloud, slowly, with a British accent, and you'll understand. If you don't, then that's just too bad. STBY.

The night was humid.

"The night is fucking humid," Draco remarked to Pansy. Pansy smirked.

"Yes, it gives your hair a sort of a..." she broke off, reaching over to muss his blond locks.

"Don't do that, you bloody chav," he snapped, swatting her hand away. She laughed.

"It's not funny," he muttered, attempting to flatten his hair...again.

"Oh yes, it is, Draco I'm-In-Love-With-My-Hair-Instead-Of-A-Decent-Man Malfoy."

"Shattap."**

"I'll do no such thing," said Pansy, playfully shoving him as they stepped through the oak front doors. A cacophony of voices swallowed them immediately, so that they had to shout to be heard.

"I'll have no more of your nefarious deeds!" shrieked a large, blond woman dressed in a rather tight, red dress, which unfortunately reached only from the middle of her breast to the tops of her thighs.

Draco turned away in disgust, as Pansy was overcome with a fit of giggles.

"Draco," she gasped, after a moment. "Look, she's swatting Harry Potter with her handbag!"

"Excuse me?"

"Look!" Reluctantly, Draco followed his friend's gaze once more and saw that she was indeed correct. Furthermore, to his complete surprise, he found the object of Rita's aggression uncomfortably attractive.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Draco spotted a furious-looking, bushy-haired young woman storming across the Entrance Hall; she collided with his shoulder as she passed, but was evidently too distracted to apologize.

"Oh, no, Granger, that's quite all right," he muttered, making a mental note to nurse a deep grudge.

"And just what do you think you're doing here?" exclaimed an irate Hermione, upon reaching her target.

"Me?" said Rita innocently, quickly shoving her ever-present Quick-Quotes Quill out of sight. "Why, I'm merely reporting on your lovely festivities here, Ms. Granger." Hermione folded her arms.

"Who told you you could do that?" she demanded.

"Why, the charming Ms. Parkinson, of course," said Rita smoothly, seeming to conjure Pansy and Draco from thin air into their circle. Instantly, Hermione rounded on Pansy.

"Why on earth did you invite her?" she demanded. Pansy looked affronted.

"I didn't!"

"Don't lie to me," snapped Hermione threateningly. Bored by these proceedings, Draco glanced at Rita's atrocious crocodile-skin handbag.

"Oh, Rita," he began, his tone saturated with sarcasm, "you simply must tell me where you got your handbag." As Rita began to stammer a response, Draco snatched her hideous accessory from her grasp, throwing it aside. She cried out in surprise, scrambling to retrieve it. Just as she was about to pick it up, Draco flicked his wand, vanishing the handbag.

"She's a stupid bitch," Draco muttered, barely audibly to the group in general.

Harry stared. Had two years in the company of Muggles really changed Malfoy so drastically? Even his appearance seemed to have been altered. Little though he liked to consider it, when Malfoy's disdain was not directed at himself, he found it quite sexy. Apart from this, the other man's tone planted enticing seeds of suspicion in Harry's mind regarding Malfoy's sexuality.

Harry was yanked unceremoniously from his thoughts as Pansy began to clap. After a few moments, Hermione joined her. Draco gave a modest shrug, though it was obvious from his expression that he enjoyed the females' attentions.

"Bravo! Encore!" cried Pansy, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Feeling slightly disconnected, as if he were dreaming, Harry proceeded to approach Malfoy and rest his arm on the latter's shoulders.

Draco felt himself stiffen. Potter's arm felt heavy around his shoulders, making him highly aware of the other man's presence. He smelled quite nice, warm and clean, with the scent of a freshly waxed broom handle underneath. The smell made Draco think of flying; God, he missed flying.

Harry felt Malfoy tense under his arm; after a moment, however, to Harry's complete surprise, the latter seemed to relax against him. Harry was also surprised to find that he and Malfoy were approximately the same height. A moment later, Harry felt Malfoy wrap his arm around his waist. Quite suddenly, a horde of professional Quiddich players, led by Oliver Wood, pushed roughly past the group, jostling Harry and shoving his face into Malfoy's blond hair.

Harry's immediate sensation was quite like having his face pressed into satin sheets. After the briefest of moments, he became aware that Malfoy's hair smelled exactly like a warm cake, fresh from Molly Weasley's oven. The aroma warmed Harry's heart, and before he realized what he was doing, he placed a gentle kiss on Malfoy's temple.

Instantly, Harry felt Malfoy jerk away ever so slightly, his gray eyes asking what Harry had just done.

"Ahem," Pansy interrupted, bringing them sharply to their senses. She and Hermione were staring at the pair as though they had sprouted second heads. Harry and Draco promptly separated.

"Er," mumbled Harry.

"Well, run along," prompted Pansy. "Don't let us keep you."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who hesitated before nodding slightly. Pleasantly surprised, Harry led Malfoy covertly through the crowd.

"Well, I don't like his boyfriend, anyway," remarked Pansy, watching their retreating backs.

"WHAT?" exclaimed Hermione, who for once in her life looked surprised by Harry's actions.

As Harry and Draco climbed the staircase and rounded the corner, the noise abruptly faded and vanished.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, a bit hesitantly.

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry replied, walking aimlessly through the corridors until they came upon a portrait of an attractive young woman, whom Harry recognized from Hermione's copy of Hogwarts, A History as the guardian of the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"You wouldn't like to let us in here, would you?" Harry inquired of the young woman. She smiled mischievously.

"As you wish," she said, sliding forward to allow them entry.

"Wow," breathed Draco. The room in which they found themselves was incredibly cozy and inviting. Despite the fact that nobody was currently living in it, a fire crackled merrily in the large fireplace. Huge, very comfortable-looking armchairs were placed sporadically throughout the room.

"I've never been in here before," Harry remarked, tilting his head to examine the high ceiling.

"Well, duh, of course not," laughed Draco.

"Hey, I've seen the other three."

Before Draco could make a response Harry, turning around, took Draco's left hand in both of his and walked backward toward the center of the room. Pulling Draco closer, Harry wrapped one arm around the former's waist and placed his other hand lightly on Draco's cheek. Draco's right hand rested lightly on Harry's forearm, while his left circled the small of his back. Pressed chest-to-chest, their lips millimeters apart, they felt the warmth of one another's breath. Bracing himself for the practical repercussions, Harry leaned forward just enough to brush his lips against Draco's. This seemed to be all the encouragement that Draco needed. Leaning fully into the embrace, Draco pressed his mouth to Harry's and tilted his head slightly to his left as Harry tipped his to the right. Harry brushed his tongue along the seam of Draco's lips, as though asking for permission, which he was promptly granted. Harry ran his tongue playfully along the roof of Draco's mouth; Draco, meanwhile, probed at the underside of Harry's tongue with his own. Harry began to lead Draco toward the nearest armchair. Pausing for a moment, Draco reached between them to the hem of Harry's t-shirt. He began to gently pull upward, exposing Harry's flesh. Harry assisted him with the last bit, tossing his shirt over his shoulder and, though he couldn't see it, onto a nearby bust of Helga Hufflepuff. They covered the remaining distance to the chair quite easily; Harry promptly lowered himself into its plush depths, pulling Draco down to straddle his legs. Pressing light kisses along Draco's angular jaw, Harry untucked Draco's shirttails, gradually reaching his hands beneath the thin fabric. He ghosted his fingers over Draco's stomach and chest; as he did so, he noted that Draco still bore scars from the unfortunate Sectumsempra incident several years earlier.

Meanwhile, Draco began fondling Harry's chest and caressing his nipples. This simple act seemed to set Harry over the edge. Grabbing Draco's shirt by the inside of its collar, Harry tore it savagely from his shoulders.

Immediately after Draco's shirt was removed, Harry's hand dove straight for the fly of Draco's jeans. Harry was mostly successful in getting Draco's button undone by tearing at it blindly. After a beat, however, Draco managed to bat Harry's hands away. He proceeded to kiss a flaming trail down Harry's chest, hunching his shoulders and folding his chin to his chest in order to do so. He slid from Harry's lap, stroking his fingertips along the other man's sides as he went. He landed softly on his knees, nudging Harry's legs apart and settling between them. The feeling of Harry's jean-clad legs along the length of his sides was delightful. Draco then ran his hands up the span of Harry's thighs from knee to hip. As he did so, Harry buried his fingers in Draco's soft, silky locks. The blond slowly brought his mouth to the button of Harry's jeans while his hands were busy caressing Harry's inner thighs. He was careful to avoid the obvious bulge that was continuing to develop between the other man's legs.

Draco's fingertips brought an explosion of sensation to Harry's crotch. He gave a slight gasp, tensing involuntarily and accidentally yanking on a large chunk of Draco's hair. Draco paused in his ministrations and cringed. In apology, Harry bent down to gently kiss the top of his head. After a moment, Draco continued in his endeavor, and Harry understood that he was forgiven.

Draco undid Harry's button with his teeth, pushing the zipper down with his tongue. Pulling away from Harry's groin, he brought his hands to Harry's trainers and ripped them off. He then clutched at the waistband of Harry's jeans and pulled them slowly, tantalizingly, down Harry's thighs, revealing a prominent erection. He continued to pull at Harry's jeans until he had completely removed them and cast them aside.

Quite suddenly, the portrait hole was flung aside, and in stumbled Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff from Harry and Draco's year.

"What, what, what are you DOING?"

Nervous that Zacharias would draw much unneeded attention, Draco began to collect Harry's clothing and toss it at him before yanking his wand from the magically enlarged right pocket of his jeans and piecing his shirt back together.

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are a couple of shirt lifters!" Zacharias screamed after them, with altogether unnecessary volume.

They sprinted along the corridors, Draco leading in some random direction. After a few minutes, they came to a halt in front of a heavy, wooden door. Sighing, Draco turned to Harry.

"D'you know the password?" he asked. Harry stepped forward.

"Bubble Bath Extravaganza," he said, and Draco snickered behind him. The door clicked open, and Harry pushed inside. They paused for a moment and looked around.

"Oh, no," groaned Draco, gesturing toward a portrait of a mermaid atop a glistening rock. "We've got to get her out of here." Harry frowned.

"How do we do that?"

"Watch." Draco strode over to the painting, withdrawing his wand from his pocket and brandishing it at the mermaid. He whispered an incantation, and the mermaid shrieked as though burned and abruptly flopped from her portrait. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't that hurt her?" he asked, shocked but slightly awed. Draco shrugged.

"No, I don't think it does. Besides, it's awful trying to do anything with her giggling at you."

"Er...Well, thanks." They were silent for a few moments.

"Well," said Harry finally. "That was..." he trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Interesting?" Draco supplied.

"Malfoy-Draco, I...We could-"

"I can't," Draco interrupted, looking genuinely afraid for the first time. "I-I just shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because, you idiot, you live here, in the Wizarding world, and...And I don't," he lied.

"You mean you weren't planning on this being a one-off?" Harry intoned. Sighing, Draco ran a hand through his blond hair, mussing it slightly.

"Potter...I know this is ridiculous, but-" He was interrupted, however, when Harry stepped forward, cupping the back of his head with his right hand, tilting Draco's head slightly to his right. He brought his lips to Draco's gently, laying a long yet chaste kiss to his mouth. Draco returned his kiss for a moment before pulling away, allowing Harry to continue holding his head.

"I'm attracted to you..." he sighed. "I think I'd rather not be, but I am. Undeniably so." As though to prove his point, Draco leaned into Harry, and clamped his mouth upon the latter's. He bit gently at Harry's bottom lip, electing a small gasp from the other man. Draco then expertly slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth and began stroking the latter's tongue with his own. On an impulse Harry pressed his still erect member, however restrained by clothing, into Draco's lower body. Draco gave a slight gasp, and this seemed to encourage Harry. Slowly, lightly, he traced his fingertips down Draco's bare torso, eventually coming to rest on his ass. Draco stiffened slightly, but allowed Harry to gently stroke it. However, as Harry's hands began to venture below his waistband, he broke away. The two men stared at one another for what seemed an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Draco said finally, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse, before turning and fleeing the bathroom. Harry watched him go, suddenly aware that it was extremely cold. He longed to chase after Draco, press against him once more, and feel the other man's skin on his. But he merely stood there, his penis throbbing slightly with the memory of Draco's fingers caressing his thighs.