DISCLAIMER: The characters are J.K. Rowling's, and no profit is being made off of them. Male/male theme.

NOTES: Written for the Slash_Challenge community on Livejournal.com, 4th week challenge: On the Hogwarts Train leaving for the summer. End of their Seventh Year (Meaning they won't be coming back!)


Promise Not To Stop

Draco humphed noisily and theatrically upon entering the compartment, closing the door rather forcefully behind him. Harry, sprawled languidly across several seats, stole a sideward glance of the fair-haired boy standing in the middle of the small room, his pale grey eyes almost undistinguishable from their white surroundings in the harsh mid-morning light.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry spat in greeting. "I wanted to be alone."

Draco turned his face towards the window after throwing the other boy a venomous glance, his hands wrapped casually around his slim body. Harry yawned and stretched out both of his hands as if waiting to be tied up, while the salacious movement caused his robe to slide open, revealing a pair of Quidditch-toned thighs clad in grey denim.

"500 points from Gryffindor for being a fucking tease!" Draco hissed, his face slightly febrile even though he was still feigning interest in the scenery passing by.

"You can't do that anymore," Harry said, smiling a rather evil smile while running his fingers innocently across his chest in slow circles. "Head--Boy."

Draco smirked in response and turned to face the other youth, the words flowing off his tongue in a mellifluous tone: "Is that what you think?" His only answer was a grin and a pair of slightly flushed cheeks.

Grabbing Harry by the collar of his robe Draco backhanded him in the face, his glittering eyes full of dark desire. A pink tongue flicked out of Harry's mouth to spread the thin stream of blood across slightly swollen lips, while the grin they sported grew steadily deeper. He pulled Draco needily on top of him.

Mouth met mouth in frenzied need, and fabric was abandoned in place of flesh on flesh until two sweat-slickened bodies slid against each other, urging towards passionate, violent entropy that was the product of knowing that it was, inevitably, the end. The last time. Perhaps in some other world things might have been different, they might have had a chance. A future together. But even amidst a sudden bout of emotional inanition, he knew it to be a foolish fantasy. The Boy Who Lived making mid-night visits to Malfoy Manor? The sole heir of one of the most dangerous pureblood elitists finding contentment in the Muggle world?

It was -- impossible.

And so with sadness pouring a thin plaint of troubled breath where tomorrow never existed they joined together in silent screams -- distinctive releases of young men forced to discover the world of carnal pleasures inside shared dormitories. And somehow, for the moment, it seemed enough.