It all started with Draco. But then again, a lot of things did. His first meeting with a wizard his own age. His first rival. His first lover. Yes, Draco was a lot of things.

Harry remembered their first physical contact. After all, they had never really fought each other, preferring words and wands to fists. But then Draco cornered him in a hallway, sneering at him, nudging his body into the wall, telling him he wasn't special, he wasn't a savior, he was plain old Potter, and nothing to worry about. And Harry kissed him.

He grabbed the other boy and crashed him against his own chest, tongue invading his mouth, one hand reaching up to pull on his hair, the other reaching to press low between their bodies, eliciting a hiss from the other boy.

And Draco responded hungrily, biting and nipping at Harry's skin, hand following the other boy's path and creeping downwards, squeezing and pressing and kneading. Feeling as their bodies responded as they rubbed and grabbed.

And then Draco was on his knees, and Harry was released from the confines of his pants, and everything was forgotten, only feel and touch and pleasure was present, and Draco's mouth was hot, so hot, and Harry couldn't hold it any longer.

And then it was Harry's turn, as he pushed the other on the floor, and pants were ripped off. And Harry and Draco merged as one, and they rocked and arched and whimpered and moaned and everything was complete.

And then Lucius found out.