A/N: Thank you very much for the kind reviews to LuckyCharmz, PercyJacksonROCKS4ever, mizzrazz72, Kelly185891, Fae0306, KioshiUshima, GhostGypsy, Psyka and TheOnyxSnake! Also thank you to all the readers who followed and favorited my story! Over 150 followers already, can't believe it!

As KioshiUshima pointed out, yes, Flint is catching da feels, so keep tuned to see how this turns out!

Also, a friendly reminder that this story is rated M for a reason – yes, there will be a Lemon in this chapter. Enjoy!

xXx

Chapter 6

During Potions, one day before the First Task, Harry's thoughts were drifting while he diced frog tongues for his Confusion Draught; there had been four dragons in the Forbidden Forest, surely that meant that there would be one dragon for each Champion. Considering his luck, he would probably get the vicious one with thorns on her tail – he still shuddered when he thought of the dragon's furious screeching – and then the inevitable happened, he cut his left palm deeply. Cursing under his breath, he dropped his knife and pulled his wand to stop the blood flowing. It didn't hurt particularly, but he didn't want to make a mess on his desk. "Deficio! Scourgify!" he whispered and the blood flow immediately ebbed.

Luckily, Snape was currently bent over Parvati's cauldron and berating her for "general incompetence", so he hadn't seen. As though nothing had happened, Harry continued dicing, concentrating on his work this time, added the frog tongues and checked his book for the next step.

He hadn't been prepared for his cauldron to send a steaming fountain up to the ceiling, leaving a deeply black mark in the diameter of his cauldron and falling back into his cauldron without the tiniest drop splashing – still, students were screaming and backing up.

"Potter!" Snape yelled, rushing up to him, his cloak billowing behind him. "What have you done now, you imbecile?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry said, feeling queasy – that was not good.

Snape scowled at him and bowed over his cauldron, sniffing slightly at the mixture that had turned the colour of ash. "Blood!" Snape hissed. "Did you add your blood to the potion?"

"No!" Harry said immediately, but then he blushed and turned his hands. The gash on his palm had lengthened and started bleeding again so his palm was moist with blood up to his wrist; Harry heard Parvati and Lavender shrieking. Honestly, one could think they had never seen blood before, Harry thought, slightly irritated.

"Do you know what human blood does to potions with dragon claws, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice dangerously low.

"It ruins them?" Harry offered – that much was obvious at least.

"It turns them poisonous and highly explosive, which you would know if you ever bothered to open a book on potions," Snape hissed. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your deficits in basic potion knowledge."

"But –" Harry protested, immediately interrupting himself; that had been stupid.

Snape smiled. "Contradicting a teacher? That will be ten more points from Gryffindor." An angry murmur rose, but no one dared to object in fear of losing Gryffindor even more points. "Report to my office at eight o'clock sharp for detention for creating a new level of hazard in my class, Potter," Snape snarled and whirled around.

Harry wanted to open his mouth to protest, but he knew it was futile anyway and he probably would only get even more detention. At least, his teachers had been fair enough so far not to give him detention on the last evening before the First Task.

xXx

"That was totally unfair!" Ron hissed when they sat at dinner, giving Snape at the Head Table an angry glare.

"It's not like Snape's ever been fair to me," Harry replied, shrugging.

"That was really unasked for," Hermione agreed, however, and glanced at him worriedly. "Do you think you can manage, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "I mean, I'd not be doing anything useful tonight anyway – I'm way too nervous. This way, I'll at least have something to do."

"Don't you want to eat something?" Hermione asked, frowning and looking at Harry's empty plate. "You must be starving by now."

Harry shook his head – actually he thought the food smelled nauseating and he had only accompanied Ron and Hermione to dinner because he didn't want to spend his last evening before the First Task alone in Gryffindor Tower – it was bad enough he had to spend part of his evening in Snape's classroom.

Hermione seemed about to say something, but Ron shook his head into her direction and she scoffed, but didn't say anything.

"Well, I'd better be going," Harry said, glancing at his watch, "otherwise I'll probably be in for another detention for unpunctuality." He imitated Snape's drawl with his last word and Ron snickered.

"I hope he won't be too mean," he said, patting Harry's shoulder.

"Keep your head up," Hermione added with a smile. "Hopefully he won't keep you too long."

Snape was not even there when Harry entered the classroom, but Harry found a scroll with Snape's neat handwriting that most students dreaded seeing in their Potions essays: Potter, I have better things to do than attending your detention. Dice these flobberworms and fill them into the jars I prepared for you. Scrub the cauldrons stacked on the right side of the classroom and clean all desks from any remaining ingredients. No magic. Professor S. Snape

Charming as ever, Harry thought and rolled up his sleeves with a sigh. He picked up the huge knife lying next to the flobberworms and began his work, chopping the flobberworms into neat dices. They were slimy and squishy and frankly disgusting, but Harry tried not to pay attention to them, but only to his work. He actually didn't mind preparing potion ingredients (except for their general nastiness), it was almost like preparing food and Harry was actually good at cooking; he had years and years of experience in chopping all kinds of comestibles into neat dices because God forbid the Dursleys ever ate food that was not chopped properly.

At least the flobberworms drove the dragons from his mind and Harry didn't pay attention to his surroundings, so he jumped and almost dropped the knife when someone touched his shoulder casually. He whirled around, knife raised, only to discover Flint looking at him oddly.

"Oh, it's you," Harry sighed, his pulse still running high. "What are you doing here?"

"Snape told me to make sure you would finish your detention properly and not use magic; and he also said he didn't want to bother with you," Flint replied with a grin. "I'm a prefect, just so you know."

"Yeah, I keep forgetting," Harry murmured, wondering who in their right mind would choose Flint to be prefect – oh right, Snape. Shaking his head, he turned back to his flobberworms and continued deftly cutting the remaining three worms into dices.

"Are you a chef?" Flint asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. He seemed to have forgotten about his flight after their last encounter, and Harry thought it best not to raise the subject.

"Kind of," Harry replied and filled all the flobberworm dices into the indicated jars.

"You are disturbingly good with a knife."

"I told you to be careful with me," Harry replied, flashing him a grin.

Flint raised his eyebrows. "Whatever, Potter. Are you done?"

"'Course not," Harry said, pointing to the dirty cauldrons and the messy desks. "Snape doesn't do things by halves."

"Scourgify!" Flint said, pointing at the cauldrons, and repeated the spell for the desks and Harry's forearms which were drowned in Flobberworm slime.

"I wasn't supposed to use magic, remember?"

"Snape never told me not to use magic," Flint replied, grinning. "You might want to be a bit more grateful, Potter, I just saved you roughly three hours of scrubbing."

"Well, thank you," Harry said pointedly.

"That is everything I get from you?"

"Oh, I know what you want," Harry said, grinning, "but I'm not that easy, y'know."

"Really? I never realized during our last encounters," Flint breathed and suddenly they stood only inches apart, "wouldn't it be most suspicious if you had finished your detention with Snape so early and you returned to your Common Room now?"

"Maybe," Harry allowed, then he smiled and gave up any kind of pretence; he pulled Flint down to his height and this time it was him who initiated their kiss. As it had been every time they had kissed, it was almost intoxicating and Harry moaned into Flint's hot, hungry mouth, forgetting everything around him, until Flint had pushed him down onto a hard surface.

Harry blinked, interrupting the kiss, and realized that he was lying on Snape's desk, pinned down by Flint's large hands. "Snape won't like that," he said slowly though it was definitely a very nice experience, lying under Flint like that – probably the best he had had so far in Snape's classroom.

"I couldn't care less what Snape likes," Flint growled and Harry had to supress a shudder at the roughness of his voice; and then Flint continued his kisses along Harry's throat, slowly unbuttoning Harry's shirt, and drew a pattern of fiery hot kisses on his flushed skin. Harry gasped; it felt amazing, Flint really knew what he was doing, he thought, arching his back and digging his fingers in Flint's hair to push him further down.

Flint laughed quietly against Harry's stomach, hot breath brushing his skin, and his thumbs stroked along Harry's hipbones which had been covered by his shirt just a few seconds ago, Harry remembered drowsily. "Impatient?" he teased and his fingers disappeared beneath Harry's waistband.

"You're too fucking good at this," Harry hissed and immediately wanted to bite his tongue; what had possessed him to utter that? But it was true, there was no denying.

"That's nice to hear," Flint drawled, grinning, and unbuttoned Harry's trousers with maddening slowness.

Harry hissed again, his voice slipping almost into Parsel, and Flint perked up. "I forgot you speak Parsel, Potter," he said, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. "That's kind of hot. Say something."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to pull up the image of a snake in his mind, and hissed: "You'd better hurry up, Flint!"

"Was that my name?" Flint asked, suddenly sounding more interested in Harry speaking Parsel than in sucking Harry's cock.

"Yes," Harry hissed, "and now stop talking!"

"I have no idea what you're telling me," Flint said, sounding intrigued, "but it's fucking hot." And finally, finally he unzipped Harry's trousers, shoving them down and his boxers, too, and he took Harry's cock into his mouth; and Harry groaned deeply, letting his head fall back. When Flint began to suck, slowly, his mind was nothing but a colourful kaleidoscope of whirling thoughts and memories and suddenly he remembered a fleeting thought that had come to the surface of his mind over and over again during the last days; he had wondered what it might be like, having sex with a man; and he knew Flint wanted him – though he hadn't said anything during their last encounters after the alcove-incident, but Harry could see it in his eyes, the way he looked up and down Harry's body with unspoken desire – and he was curious; he wanted to know what it would be like. He had told Flint he didn't want to; but that was not true, not anymore; his curiosity had sparked and he had realized that their… non-relationship might be more than just a game between two enemies, but he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself so far – but somehow he wanted it to be more; and he wanted Flint, there was a desire burning in him he had never known before; it was not love, surely, but he wanted him, wanted, wanted.

"Flint," he gasped, "stop."

To his credit, Flint immediately stopped and raised his head. "What?" he asked – was there the slightest look of concern on his face?

"I," Harry said, and stopped, and suddenly he didn't know what to say. His determination – well, it had never been determination, had it? – was crumbling away and he felt at a loss for words. "I… I want…"

"Are you alright?" Flint asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from Harry's face, a gesture of unexpected tenderness.

"No," Harry croaked, shaking his head.

"Do you want me to stop?" Flint was now caressing his face and Harry almost wanted to laugh – who would ever have thought Flint might caress someone?

"No," Harry said, "I want… I want you to…," he swallowed, his throat as dry as paper, "I want to… I want to sleep with you," he managed to croak.

"Are you sure?" Flint asked after a few seconds of disbelief.

"Don't you want to?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling small and afraid.

"I do," Flint said; and Harry had never seen him look so serious, "but do you really want to? I don't want you to feel forced."

"Remember what you said, in the alcove?"

"That was stupid of me, never should have said that… I kind of got carried away," Flint admitted, "you are too hot for your own good, Potter."

Harry actually managed a hoarse laugh at that. "You're the first to tell me that."

"I know," Flint said, his expression still so very serious, "but are you really sure, Potter? This is neither the perfect time nor the perfect place."

And suddenly Harry was caught in a rush of mad Gryffindor courage, and he whispered: "Yes, yes, I want to. Now."

"It will hurt, though," Flint warned him, Harry just shrugged. "Tell me to stop whenever you change your mind," he instructed him and raised his wand.

"Stop," Harry said before Flint had even opened his mouth to say a spell. "I want you to undress first."

"Gryffindor thoroughness, eh?" Flint asked, grinning, but his voice was trembling just the slightest bit. Nevertheless, he obeyed Harry's command and hastily undressed himself, dropping his clothes onto the floor heedlessly, while Harry shimmied out of his trousers and boxers and shirt. So Harry saw Flint fully naked for the first time; all well-defined muscles and smooth skin slightly darker than Harry's, glistening with sweat, and his cock in a nest of dark curls, erect and huge and red and pulsing; and Harry swallowed, Flint was hot.

"Like what you see?" Flint asked, and Harry nodded. "So do I," Flint said, his voice husky, and then his hands were on Harry's hips, "turn around then, Potter." He lifted Harry's hips slightly as if to flip him over, but Harry shook his head.

"I want to look into your eyes," he breathed, not caring if he sounded cheesy.

"Whatever you want, Potter," Flint replied, "it will be less comfortable for you, though." Harry shrugged; he had never cared for comfort all his life. "Very well then." Suddenly, Flint sounded nervous when he picked up his wand again and murmured a lube spell and a protection spell on himself and Harry – Harry recognized those; he had found them in a book Hermione had "accidentally" shoved among his books after one of their study sessions in the Library – probably it was her way of her saying "I know what you are doing, Harry", and Harry was pretty sure Hermione knew – well, of course not with whom, but she knew. And thorough as she was, she probably wanted him to be prepared for anything.

"Ready?" Flint whispered, his voice hoarse, and Harry nodded, feeling afraid and curious at the same time, and without saying a word, Flint began rubbing his cock with his left, with fingers sure and skilful, while his right stroked the inside of Harry's slightly trembling thighs, and then slipped deeper and… Harry inhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists; it was eerie, but there was a thrill of something he had never experienced before. "Alright there?" Flint asked.

"Just keep going," Harry gasped, and Flint did; and it hurt, but not overly so, and soon enough Harry enjoyed what Flint was doing, his back arching and his hips bucking; and then Flint added a second digit and a third, and his fingers brushed something inside Harry no one had ever touched before, and Harry screamed hoarsely, his toes curling with pleasure. "Don't stop," he moaned when Flint stopped moving his fingers and looked at him, his face flushed and glittering with sweat, but concern in his eyes. "It feels amazing," Harry added; and moaned again, when Flint brushed that particular spot again.

After what seemed like moments stretched to eons, Flint removed his fingers and Harry sighed in disappointment. "Ready?" Flint asked, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper, filled with so much want it made goose-bumps run over Harry's skin.

"Yes," he answered, his voice on the verge of breaking, "yes, yes, please." He had never wanted something that much, had never known he might want something that much. Without saying a word, Flint placed Harry's legs on his shoulders and leant forward – it was indeed uncomfortable, Harry thought, but he couldn't care less; and then he felt Flint's cock on his entrance, and Flint took his hand, intertwining their fingers; he was trembling, too; and then he pushed into Harry with such agonizing slowness Harry arched his back, moaning.

It hurt, it hurt a lot, but it was bearable; and then Flint began moving, slowly at first, his fist rubbing Harry's cock in sync with his movements, and then Flint's cock brushed that particular spot inside him again and Harry moaned, his hips moving against Flint's. There was a thrill of pleasure, a pleasure of feeling whole as he had never felt before running through his body, and he begged Flint, "faster, please, harder, oh God," and Flint obeyed, thrusting faster into him, groaning, his left almost crushing Harry's hand, and he bent down further, catching him in a kiss so passionate Harry forgot about his pain, caught up in a wave of ecstasy and lust, and his eyes locked with Flint's, dark with want. Flint sped up his rhythm again, thrusting harder into him, and Harry's head lolled back, his eyes rolling back and he screamed, wordlessly, and then he came, all of his muscles tensing, and then he could feel Flint coming inside him, his cock pulsing; and Harry shuddered violently, hissing Flint's name, his voice slipping into Parsel again.

Flint shuddered, too, his breath ragged, and his thumb stroked Harry's cheek. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

Harry didn't know if he was, he felt incredibly worn-out suddenly, but he nodded and even managed a weak smile. He had never been that intimate with anyone before, Harry thought with a shudder, never had anyone been so close, so close, their limbs tangled, skin touching skin, Flint cupping his cheeks and catching him in an intoxicating kiss again, slow and lazy, but full of lingering passion.

Carefully, Flint pulled out of him, which felt just as strange as him pushing into Harry for the first time, and covered his face and throat with light kisses. Harry closed his eyes; he was tired, so very tired, he felt dizzy – from lack of sleep and food, probably, and from strenuous physical exertion. His mind was drifting… "'M so tired," he mumbled, and then he knew no more.

xXx

When Harry awoke, blinking into blurry darkness, he was enveloped in warmth; a huge, warm body was pressed against his back and a soft bedcover pulled up to his chin; an arm was wrapped around his middle and a heavy leg dragged over his own. He didn't know where he was; and he hurt, but he couldn't remember why; he still felt incredibly dizzy, but on the other hand he had never felt that comfortable and safe before. When he shifted a bit, the arm wrapped around him pulled him even closer to that warm body, and with a faint smile, Harry closed his eyes again, slipping back into sleep.

He is annoyed – not furious, Wormtail has never seen him truly furious, and still he is lying on the floor, trembling and sobbing. He is not annoyed because he had to kill two muggles as they had seen Wormtail leaving their house when they returned home; he is annoyed because of Wormtail's incompetence and the fact that he depends on him.

He needs Wormtail, needs him to feed him, to protect him while he is so pathetically weak; and it is humiliating to be so weak, to depend on someone like Wormtail who is so unworthy of him. At least Wormtail is afraid of him, but that does not make him any less of a fool.

"Did you at least manage to steal the food?" he asks and Wormtail nods, still sobbing, and he is irritated at the inconvenience; he can live from Nagini's milk, but Wormtail of course cannot – even if he could, he would never cede her milk to him, no one but him would ever be worthy of that.

But today, today might look better, today it would show whether the boy has succeeded in his task. And he, he waits and smiles a smile that sends Wormtail into another round of sobs.

"Potter! Potter, for Merlin's sake, wake up!" Someone shook him violently and Harry groaned, he was still annoyed at the inconvenience of his follower's incompetence; but he opened his eyes slowly and suddenly he couldn't remember what he had just been annoyed about. Weird, he thought, blinking and seeing nothing but blurred shapes.

A dark figure loomed over him, large hands still on his shoulders, and Harry lay in a bed he did not know. "Glasses," he managed to croak.

"Oh right, you're blind as a bat," the looming figure said and his glasses were shoved onto his face. Harry blinked again, recognizing Flint, and then memories from last night flooded his mind. He remembered lying on a desk – Snape's desk, of all things – thighs spread and Flint thrusting into him and Harry begging him for more – what had he been thinking?

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, how could he? Everything hurt, particularly down there, and when he sat up slowly, it hurt even more. On top of the fact that he had just given his virginity to fucking Marcus Flint, he suddenly remembered that today was the day of the First Task and he was supposed to fly on a fucking broom. How had he not remembered that last night? Oh right, he had asked Flint to distract him from that. Well, fuck.

"You're really hard to wake up, d'you know that?" Flint said, sounding irritated. "I have tried to wake you up, over and over again, and waking you now took me twenty minutes. You sleep like you're dead."

"I wouldn't know," Harry mumbled into his hands, "but Ron mentioned something like that, yeah."

"That means you have forty-five minutes until the First Task starts," Flint informed him and Harry immediately jumped up, but he instantly regretted that. Ouch, he thought, wincing and then taking in his surroundings.

He was in Flint's dorm, obviously; the other four-poster beds were deserted, however, and Flint stood before him, arms crossed and frowning down at him. Harry wondered how he had gotten here, he only remembered dozing off for what seemed like a few seconds on Snape's desk – he cringed inwardly – naked, on top of that, so how had he gotten into Flint's bed, still completely starkers? "How'd I get here?" he mumbled, checking the floor for his clothing and finding his trousers.

"Why, I wrapped you into that nifty cloak of yours and carried you here," Flint replied with a grin.

Harry froze mid-movement and stared at him incredulously. "You did what?"

Flint scowled. "As I said, I carried you. I might've levitated you, but I'm not that good at levitating something for a longer time and I didn't want you to crash into some wall if I wasn't paying attention."

Harry swallowed. That was oddly romantic in a very wrong way, and also very humiliating. A blush crept over his face and he put on his own shirt, lowering his head to button it up. The fabric was cold on his skin, which was still heated from sleep.

"What? No thank you?" Flint asked. "I could have left you in Snape's classroom, you know."

Harry shuddered at the thought – he probably would have been added – in neat dices – to the flobberworms if Snape had indeed found him, lying on his desk naked and deeply asleep. Still… "I don't think last night was a good idea," he said quietly and raised his eyes to meet Flint's defiantly.

"You didn't make it sound like that last night," Flint said harshly. "If I recall correctly, you enjoyed it very much, it was you who begged me to fuck you."

Harry blushed even further. Yes, he had enjoyed it very much indeed, but it had not been a good idea at all. First of all, because he hurt all over and he certainly wasn't in any condition to out-fly a dragon; and secondly because, frankly, he still didn't trust Flint; and thirdly, because he should have waited until he had found someone he was actually in love with – yes, sure, there was a lot of sexual tension between him and Flint, but neither was Harry in love with Flint, nor Flint with him.

He was at a loss for words, so he just said: "You still shouldn't have done it. I… it shouldn't have happened."

"I asked you several times," Flint said, "and you told me to go on. How was I supposed to know?"

"I… I didn't want it to be like that," Harry admitted and absurdly, he felt like crying, but he wouldn't cry, not before Flint. "And it hurts."

"What did you expect?" Flint asked, scowling. "I warned you. Of course it does when you do it for the first time."

"I expected you to be a bit more understanding – well, no, actually I didn't," Harry said and suddenly he wanted to hurt Flint, somehow, "considering who you are."

"You knew who I was," Flint growled. "One thing I said in the alcove was true; I wouldn't change myself just to fuck you. If you expected me to be a knight in shining armour, well, then you are delusional."

"I don't want a knight in shining armour," Harry said though he didn't know whom he truly wanted; he just wanted to undo what had happened. Last night he hadn't really thought about what was happening, he had been, well, horny; certainly it had been enjoyable if painful, but it was something very different from casual snogging and blow-jobs. It was way more intimate and personal, but now it was too late.

And he didn't want Flint to be right; yes, Harry had asked him, not the other way around, but… but somehow it shouldn't have happened.

"Well, I'd better get going," he said hoarsely, and with his face still burning, he hastily collected his socks and shoes and stuffed them into his bag as there was no time to put them on, then he pulled his invisibility cloak over his head.

Flint didn't say a word, he just watched him with dark, piercing eyes; and Harry didn't know what to say either, so he bolted without a word.

xXx

A/N: How did you like it? The First Task will be up in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Please review and let me what you think!