Harry, contrary to popular belief, was not a virgin. There was a pretty barmaid in Hogsmeade who had shared her friendly bed with him on more than one occasion. But nothing in his experience with sex could compare to this one simple kiss. He felt like his life was being pulled out, his whole being transported into the mysterious cavern that was Draco's mouth. And Draco was in turn being offered to Harry: everything he was, everything he had ever been, everything he could become. Draco's hand rested on his knee and Harry felt it like a licking flame.

The hand was what yanked him back into the world. He felt the hand, he heard the distant sound of students walking in the hallway outside, and he became aware of the taste of blood. He pulled back sharply.

Draco made a tut of annoyance. Then he raised a hand to his lower lip, which had been split in the fight and had starting bleeding freely from the new pressure. He looked down at the blood on his fingers, bright in the light from the swirling, glowing balls. "Huh. Didn't even feel that one."

Harry took the edge of his robe and pressed it to the wound without saying a word. Draco looked at him; he let his hand come to rest at the small of Harry's back. Feeling something that made his throat close and his eyes smart, Harry leaned closer until he was inches away from Draco's face, but he did not kiss him. He began to run his fingers over the injured flesh, brushed pale hair back from the cut on Draco's forehead. He looked into the storm-gray eyes and saw desire, impatience, a hungry need that sent a thrill coursing through his body.

But no fear. So why did Harry himself feel so afraid?

Draco was watching his eyes too, and he said in a low, quivering voice, "Do you believe in fate, Harry?"

"I don't . . . I don't know."

"We've spoken of these things we're meant to do, things we know will come, and I think . . . I think this is something we're meant to do. And I think you knew it, and I knew it, all these years, but we didn't *know* we knew it."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "That makes more sense than it should." He kissed Draco then, still holding the cloth to his lower lip. Draco parted his legs and Harry slid forward on the step until he was kneeling between them, his arms around Draco's waist, their mouths fiercely dueling.

It was Draco who broke away this time. "You're shaking," he said. Harry was; he could feel a violent trembling throughout his whole body. Part of it was craving and part of it was the fear that even now, encased in Draco's slender limbs, he couldn't seem to shake.

"Shhh," Draco murmured, stroking Harry's dark hair and reminding him of Hermione's concern for Ron earlier today. Is this what you feel? he thought in her direction. No wonder it makes you fight like that; it's terrifying. And it's beautiful.

Cruel and beautiful.

Draco freed one arm and fumbled for his wand. He said a spell Harry had never heard of and suddenly the stone they were sitting on became the softest down.

Harry touched the stairs that had just been Transfigured into a bed and laughed in astonishment.

Looking pleased with himself, Draco shared his laughter for a moment. Then they both faded into silence; their eyes met and they leapt at each other, tumbling back in the enormous bed. Through a confused jumble of body parts and kisses, they managed to shed their clothes; Draco maneuvered himself until he was poised above Harry, looking down into eyes that were wide and green. As he removed Harry's glasses, Harry recalled things Uncle Vernon had said about people like Draco, about -- he supposed, in what was more of an acknowledgment than a revelation -- about people like himself, ugly words that made the mouth twist like it had encountered something sour. He ran his hands down Draco's shoulder blades, his slim pale thighs, and felt no sense of shame.

Draco chuckled, shifting his hips to bring his groin into contact with Harry's, making Harry gasp. "Boy, if my father could see me now . . . I'm supposed to despise you, Potter, not fuck you."

"Are you now," Harry said in a mimic of Draco's earlier words. His world had narrowed to a very small number of outside factors: Draco's body against his, the soft sheet beneath him, and the dancing lights above their heads. The rest could be summed up in the pounding of his heart and the throbbing of blood through his veins. "I'm new at this, you know," he said awkwardly.

"I'm not," Draco responded, a mere statement of the facts. Harry nodded.A few more searing kisses, hands exploring each other's bodies, and Draco gently prodded Harry over onto his stomach. Draco said something in Latin, another spell Harry guessed he'd find in the restricted books, and he felt a cool, jelly-like substance being spread gently over his skin, coating the finger that Draco slid inside him. The strange pressure wasn't painful, but it made his limbs twitch. He felt Draco's hardness against him and a flutter of fear made its way to his fever-addled head.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes," Draco whispered into his ear.

Then with a thrust he was inside, and it did hurt. Harry panicked and struggled beneath him. Draco's arms slipped around him, stroking him. "Don't fight me, Harry," he said in a soothing voice. "Don't fight it, don't deny what we both know has to be." His rhythm gentled, his lips trailing soft wet kisses across his lover's shoulders. Words poured forth from his throat, euphonious words that no one had ever heard him speak, least of all the boy lying beneath him. "Ah, Harry, my sweet . . . the Boy Who Lived . . . the Boy Who *Lives* . . ."

Draco's voice caused Harry to relax, his busy hands caused him to feel something of the joy he knew was owed to him. Yes, that was it, it was better, that was . . . Harry often thought in terms of Quidditch; he had likened sex with Lenira the barmaid to chasing the Golden Snitch. This was completely different, this was like the whole game at once: he and Draco both were the Snitch, the Seeker, the Bludger, the Beater, the Keeper and the goal . . .

"Harry, my love . . ." Draco was murmuring, heated breath at Harry's ear.

"My love," Harry repeated hoarsely. "*Mine*."

"Yes," said Draco, "yours. Always yours. Only yours."

And Harry came with a cry that was muffled by the pillows, and Draco did the same with one muffled in Harry's neck.

His muscles twitching, Draco fell heavily to Harry's side, one arm still locked tight around him. When he could catch his breath and think clearly Harry shifted over, away from the sticky mess they'd made. Draco caught him tightly from behind, clutching as though he feared Harry would get up and leave.

Harry had no such intentions. He didn't want to move for a good long time.

Eventually the silence was broken when Draco said, "What did you see, Harry?"

He thought of Hermione's eyes when she looked at Ron. He thought of seeing his mother and his father in the Mirror of Erised, his first year at Hogwarts. He thought of Hagrid's creatures, Cedric, Fawkes, the centaurs, the ceiling of the Great Hall, polyjuice potion, Fleur Delacour's sister, Professor Trelawny, the sun on the lake, Nicholas Flemel, Wormtail, Moaning Myrtle. As he watched the two remaining lights -- one his and one Draco's -- glow self-importantly above his head, he wondered what the Mirror would show him right now.

"I saw the future," he said. Draco smiled in the darkness

~~~~~~~~
End