Red mittens, cooking shows, and the crowd favourite, Draco sliding around on linoleum - so did you miss me? Sorry! If it helps, it's the beginning of finals week, and instead of studying (which is what I really, really, want to be doing *wink *wink), I've produced the latest chapter. I need to answer a few questions, but if you could care less then skip all this junk. Many want to know how long this is going to be. Umm, I will hazard a guess that we are about halfway. Am I going to add any more characters? Ron and Hermione will definitely be making a cameo appearance sometime (ooh, what a scene I have planned), anyone else, probably not (how long do you want this to be? Sheesh!) Am I ever getting back to the Lucius thing? Yes, eventually (I really do have the whole thing worked out, I swear), but I wish to emphasize that this is a romance, meaning that while I may wax on poetically for five pages about the exact shade of Harry's hair, I doubt I'll spend three sentences on Lucius' politics. I want to focus on the troubles of the relationship more then anything else – so expect at least three more chapters of fuzzy, warm, couply stuff. A few of you mentioned my grammar (or lack thereof). I can't promise that I'll edit any more intensively then I've already been doing, since, if I did, these chapters would take even longer to get out (and nobody wants that, right?) Finally, a few have asked if I'm archived anywhere other then fanfiction.net, and the answer is… no. Well, there's my site, but I don't actually control that and it hasn't been updated in awhile, and there were a few requests to have this story posted at a few sites, but maybe my e-mail is warped, because I replied and never heard from them again. I think that's it - keep the questions coming, and if you've requested to archive my story and I haven't gotten back to you, try again, because I may have screwed up somewhere. This is dedicated to my roommate: Happy X-Mas! Thanks so much everyone (sorry I babbled!) Enjoy!

" Hey, Draco, come lend me a hand, will y'a?" Harry yelled from just outside the front door. Draco got up from his sprawled position on the couch with a lazy sigh, and propped the door open, while Harry struggled to bring in a heavy, unwieldy, box. The bottom of the box had failed and Harry had to carry it carefully with one hand bracing the box flaps closed.

Harry brought the decrepit box into the main room and let it fall. The box promptly divulged its contents all over the floor; a deluge of neatly rolled newspapers spread out in a sea of black and white all over the carpet.

" You know, when you said read the paper, I thought you meant paper as in one, singular. Not the complete works of the last few decades," Draco scoffed.

Harry reddened slightly. " It's been a couple months, I admit. They come bi-weekly, and I put them in the box, swearing I'll read them later, and then… well, you can see for yourself how well my method is working."

Draco smiled and began putting the newspapers in chronological order. Draco diligently took-up the first one and began to read, noting that it was dated well before his arrival. ' Wonder what happened while I was in seclusion?' Draco thought. Harry ignored the meticulously arranged order, and grabbed a newspaper at random, earning him a reproachful glare from Draco.

Taking no notice, Harry flipped directly to the sports pages. Professional Quidditch had been cancelled for the duration of the war; large crowds, like those attending game matches, were simply too vulnerable to an attack. Quidditch was gradually getting reorganized, however, and there was much heated debate over possible teams and try-outs. After picking his way through a few more sports articles, Harry soon got bored, and turned to a more engaging activity. Watching Draco.

The long elegant fingers that turned the pages gently, the intent expression that would alternate between being thoughtful or frowning, dependent upon the reading material, and even the way he swallowed his last few sips of coffee, were worthy of the utmost attention. Draco wet his lips, and Harry wondered if he would ever blink again. Draco and coffee – the combination definitely had its appeal.

" I must say I'm impressed, Potter," Draco said dryly, not looking up from his paper.

" Huh? What?" Harry mumbled, breaking out of his silent reverie. He came to realize that while he had been daydreaming, he had rested his head against his paper, and now newsprint had left a grey smudge across his cheekbone.

" You're the first person I've met who can read a paper through osmosis," Draco replied, smirking slightly.

" Shut-up," Harry said. " What are you reading anyway? Looks fascinating."

" Oh it is," Draco enthused. " It's a horrible time to have money in the marketplace, of course, but the economic theories being presented during this fiscal crisis are really quite…" Draco trailed off when he noticed Harry was trying desperately to keep a straight face. " And you couldn't care less, since you're really just mocking me. Honestly, don't you know sarcasm is the lowest form of humour?"

" Well, you would know, being an expert at it, as compared to my amateurish fumbling," Harry said. " Just answer me this, do you have a coin collection?"

" Of course I do, doesn't everyone?"

" I'm living with a nerd," Harry muttered.

" Quiet you. And go get me some more coffee," Draco said imperiously, immersing himself back in the stock market, and ignoring the triumphant chuckling he heard coming from Harry.

Several newspapers later, the coffee had run dry, and Harry was flipping idly through the more recent papers, looking at the moving pictures. Ironically enough, it was a non-moving photograph that suddenly arrested his attention. It was a blonde woman; her cool blue eyes were fixed slightly to the right of the camera lens as though she couldn't be bothered to turn her head, and there was no hint of a smile on her uncompromising face. For all that, it was still a highly attractive face, one that spoke of breeding and expensive care. In many ways, the woman reminded Harry of Draco. Which was understandable, seeing that the photograph was of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. The deceased Narcissa Malfoy.

Why did he have to be the one to find this particular article? If Draco had come across it himself, then Harry wouldn't be in the position of having to find the right way of telling Draco his mother was dead. Then again, maybe it would be better if Draco heard it from a person, instead of coming across it by accident.

Harry steeled himself, and took a few steadying breaths. He looked up only to find Draco looking straight back at him, one elegant eyebrow raised in silent query.

" It's… oh, Draco, I'm so sorry, but…" Harry was stuttering, searching for the right words. Draco plucked the paper from Harry's shaky hands.

Draco read the article through quickly, and then he read it over again with greater concentration. Every time he got to the end of the brief paragraph, he started again at the top, almost as if he believed that if he kept on reading indefinitely, it would never actually become reality. His mother; dead. He had had his suspicions, and in most of his thoughts, he had already accepted that he was never going to see her again, and yet somehow a small part of him was still shocked. Until this proof, there had always been the tiniest flicker of hope that it wasn't true, that his mother was alive and well and as uncaring as ever. Now the hope was gone, and pain replaced it. He hadn't anticipated any pain, but he supposed it was inevitable in a relationship that had always been plagued with regrets. He regretted the fact that they had never talked about Lucius, the one subject they would have agreed upon. He regretted that her life had been, for the most part, a life of disappointment. He regretted that she had had to die before her natural time, and that she had died alone. Nobody should die alone.

" I kind-of knew she was dead. But it still hurts, the shock, does that make any sense?" Draco whispered. He felt Harry's hand on his shoulder, and wondered how long it had been there.

" Knowing something for sure is always different then just thinking it, and there are some things we just can't prepare for," Harry said tentatively. " Is there anything you want me to do?"

" No… I," Draco didn't bother to finish his sentence. He didn't know what he wanted to say anyway. " I hate this photo of her. I can't see her properly. She would have hated it, she would never have let this picture go out into the public," Draco said, suddenly angry. He could just bet that his father had chosen it for the very reason that Narcissa would have disapproved. Even in death, his father would have wanted the last word. He vehemently and methodically began ripping the paper apart with his fingers.

Harry stood up, and uncovered his old school trunk, which stood in the corner of the room under a cheap tablecloth and served as a makeshift side-table. He lifted the lid and began searching through his belongings, finally coming upon his pile of photo albums. He quickly grabbed the one from his fourth year at Hogwarts, sending a quick thank you to Hermione for having organized and labelled all his photos at one point, and began flipping through the pages.

There had been several photos taken while he, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley family had attended the Quidditch World Cup. He was looking for one in particular; a photo where the aim had been a bit off, and instead of showing the grinning faces of him and his friends, the image was that of Narcissa and Draco, who had been sitting in the row behind. He remembered the image because when Ron had first seen the photo, he had come up with numerous nefarious ways for disposing of it. For some reason though, Harry had held onto the photo, despite the fact that it depicted his then worst enemy. Now, he was exceedingly grateful that he had.

" Here. It's the only one I've got, I'm afraid. But she looks… sort-of content, or something. You can keep it," Harry said, handing Draco the photo.

Draco traced his fingers lightly over the photograph. In the picture, Narcissa was comfortably seated with her long legs crossed, and her hands resting lightly on a program in her lap. Her eyes roved slightly, obviously following the trajectory of the Quidditch players, and then the Draco in the picture leaned towards her and spoke. Narcissa inclined her head towards him, listening, and then she gave a brief nod before resuming her carefully sculpted position. Draco wished he could remember what idle pleasantry he had said to her that day, but he couldn't. So he merely watched as the pattern repeated itself: Narcissa watching the game, her expression peaceful, and then turning to converse with Draco.

Theirs had never been a loving relationship, nor even a close one, and Draco didn't want to romanticize it even now that she was gone, but this photo… It was so simple, so subtle, and exactly the way he wanted to remember her.

" Thank you," Draco said sincerely.

" I know it's not much. And I'm really very sorry Draco," Harry said anxiously. He was expecting some reaction from Draco, anger maybe, or bitterness, but instead, he was faced with a detached, non-talkative Draco, who didn't even seem to know that Harry was still in the room.

" Is it okay, if I just be alone for awhile?" Draco asked. Harry nodded, and Draco, still gazing at the photo, went into the bedroom and closed the door. Harry sat in the living room, wishing he could ease Draco's pain, and knowing that he couldn't.

To keep his mind off things, Harry started rummaging through his Hogwarts memorabilia. His Quidditch robes were folded carefully near the bottom along with a replica snitch that someone had gotten him for Christmas years ago. There were the rest of his photo albums, as well as the school yearbooks. On impulse, he flipped to Draco's picture, and wasn't surprised to find him sneering in almost every shot. The fifth year photo, however, showed a much more sombre Draco, and there was no yearbook for the sixth year – the war had put a stop to such frivolities.

Harry looked up the rest of his friends, and saw that Draco wasn't the only one who had changed over the years. Hermione, Ron, his dorm-mates; everyone had matured, grown, and their personalities had become solidified and certain. Even himself, he admitted, had changed, and in some ways, not entirely for the better. For one thing, he would never again have that look of wonder and innocence that his first year self wore so clearly.

So, if anyone were to ever ask, how he could forgive Draco Malfoy for all his past transgressions, Harry would be able to tell them, that he didn't need to. Because the person who had done those things didn't exist any more, and neither did the person that had been hurt. So Harry smiled when he found evidence of the stupid pranks Draco had pulled on him, especially when the tricks were ones that had backfired. He pulled out other mementos – sweet wrappers that still smelled heavenly, and trading cards that had long since lost their charms; textbooks and jars of decaying potion ingredients with the labels beginning to yellow and peel. There was the first infamous Weasley jumper he had ever received still shoved in a corner of the trunk, and as he held it out, he couldn't help thinking that it looked ridiculously small. Harry pulled out scraps of parchment, notes that his friends had scribbled out hastily, along with broken quills, and pots of dried up ink. There were three perfectly shaped white feathers, tied with a black silk bow, in remembrance of his owl, Hedwig. Finally, his hands settled on a thin case that contained his wand.

Harry packed away his belongings again, but left the wand case out. He stared at it for quite a long time as though expecting it to do something other then just lie there. Eventually, he reached out, flipped the small golden clasp, and lifted the lid. Harry lightly touched the wand, but didn't pick it up. The phoenix feather at the core had turned to ash the instant that Harry had cast the Avada Kedavra curse on Voldemort. He knew this because his wand had broken in two when he had tried to use it to stab deep into Voldemort's flesh, as he lay dying. That was one piece of information that had never made the press; the world wanted a hero, not someone who in the end had given in to hate, and bitterness. Harry wasn't too sure if his wand would even work properly anymore, but he wasn't concerned with finding out just yet. Maybe someday, he would want this part of his life back, but not yet. He closed the wand case with a decisive click, and put it back in the trunk.

Feeling more then a little melancholic due to the circumstances, Harry found that though it was past dinner, he wasn't all that hungry. He stood in the kitchen, noticing little signs of Draco's influence, like how there were spices lined out across the stovetop (alphabetically arranged of course), and actual fresh fruit in the fruit bowl. Harry reached up into the cupboards and retrieved two large earthenware mugs. On the stove he prepared some thick, dark, and aromatic hot cocoa, and poured the steaming mixture into the two cups.

Carrying the drinks carefully, Harry entered his bedroom. At first, it seemed the room was empty, but once Harry's eyes had adjusted to the gloomy light, he saw Draco outside on the narrow wrought iron balcony, staring out at the coming night. The sliding glass door was partially open, and Harry pushed it wider still.

" I thought maybe you might want something to drink," Harry said. Draco looked up and took the proffered cup. Draco gratefully took a sip, wrapping his chilled hands around the warm mug, as Harry wavered on the threshold, unsure whether his presence was welcomed or not.

Draco seemed to notice Harry's hesitation, and took pity on his indecisiveness. " Sit down, Harry."

Harry was pleased at the invitation, but tried not to appear too eager. There wasn't a lot of space on the balcony – it was about a person's length long, and only a few steps deep. Harry slid down awkwardly at the end of the balcony, near Draco's feet. It was a rather uncomfortable position, but Harry didn't complain, though he couldn't help but shiver in his thin T-shirt when a cold night wind blew across the balcony.

Two strong arms suddenly wrapped around Harry's waist, and before he could protest, he was being pulled up against a warm chest. Harry wound up sitting between Draco's legs, with his back to Draco's chest. Draco leaned up against the sidewall, and rested his chin on Harry's shoulder. As though offering an explanation for his action, Draco said,

" You looked cold."

" I'm thinking you're probably colder."

" I'm not the one shivering," Draco replied. Harry remained stiff in Draco's arms, wanting to sink into the unexpected warmth, but not quite able to. Curious, Draco asked, " Why do you do that?"

" Do what? Shiver?"

" No, I mean, why do you get so tense and nervy when someone gets close to you?"

" Because it's so strange," Harry answered quietly. " Unfamiliar."

" So you don't like to be touched?" Draco asked, his voice soft in Harry's ear.

Harry paused to consider his response. " I like to be touched. I like it when you touch me," Harry said, laying his hands over Draco's as though to emphasize this point. " It's just that this is all new, and maybe it comes natural to some, but it might take me some time."

" I've got lots of time," Draco said patiently, seeking to soothe the anxiety he heard in Harry's voice.

And so, Draco waited for Harry to get accustomed to the new arrangement, saying nothing, yet being supportive just the same. It was remarkably comfortable, Draco thought, sitting as they were on the balcony. With his chin positioned as it was on Harry's shoulder, he could breathe in the smell of Harry's hair. His right hand was draped over Harry's stomach, rising and falling with every breath. In his left, he held the mug of hot cocoa; warm, sweet, velvety chocolate, that would have been charming regardless of taste, if only because Harry had made it for him. The pervading warmth that spread out from Harry's body was enough to take the chill from the air, and to melt those icy doubts that lurked within Draco's soul. Even the silence was comforting, and Harry obviously felt something similar, because he began, almost imperceptibly at first, to relax. Harry pressed tighter to Draco's chest, turning his head as though nuzzling Draco's face, and Draco accepted this gesture as proof that Harry was sufficiently reassured. Draco drew them both a little closer together, needing the contact as much as Harry did.

" That's better," Draco said.

" Yeah," Harry said. " I'm sorry, it's just… I've taught myself not to expect it, or need it. With me, because of one stupid little scar, it was always 'look but don't touch', you know?"

" Hmm, I used to hate those rules," Draco said.

" Why am I not surprised? You never did have a problem invading my personal space. Damn prat," Harry chided gently.

" I've always been a tactile person. I have to touch something before I can make myself believe its real," Draco said. He began stroking the underside of Harry's wrist with his thumb, almost without meaning to. He laughed suddenly, " It used to drive my parents mad. Nothing and nowhere was safe – museums, shops, other people's homes… I had to touch everything, even take things apart to see how they worked, and the more valuable the item, the more I wanted to reach out and grab it. My mother said that at the very least, it proved I had good taste."

The memory prompted Draco to pick up the photograph of his mother again, and he held it in front of both Harry and himself to gaze at it.

" Tell me about her," Harry requested.

" There's not much to tell. I don't really have many memories either good or bad."

" Tell me anyway," Harry insisted.

Draco stayed silent for a while, and then, suddenly, a memory appeared, something he hadn't thought about for years.

" I remember, when I was very young, my mother would let me watch her as she got ready to go out for the evening. I would sit in the middle of this huge bed, and she would sit at her vanity with seemingly endless amounts of cosmetics surrounding her, painstakingly arranging her hair and make-up. She was so adept and skilled, with a grace that comes from having done an action a thousand other times, and I used to watch in awe as though this was a show she was enacting just for me. Then she would notice the time, and would call for a house-elf to come take me away, but as she pushed me out the door, there would always be this sudden rush of perfume, and powder, and warmth. I used to imagine when I went to bed that I could still smell that scent in the air, and it made me feel very safe."

" I liked that one, tell me another," Harry encouraged. It went on like this, well into the night, with Draco telling stories about his mother as they came to mind. There were frequently times where there was nothing but silence, but Harry would wait, because eventually Draco would start speaking again. Gradually there came a point where there was nothing left to say, but still they lingered. If it was cold, they didn't feel it, and if there were anyone at all in the world other then them, they had no way of knowing. Nothing at all existed but the two of them, wrapped up in each other.

Draco came to the startling conclusion, that despite all that had occurred that day, he felt at peace. Despite all the suffering and pain, in this moment, he was content.

" Harry? Thanks for listening, and for letting me be alone before," Draco said sincerely. Getting no response, Draco detached himself slightly to look at his companion. Harry had fallen asleep, so secure and comfortable had he become in Draco's embrace, and the sight was so moving, that for a moment, Draco hardly dared breathe. Draco ran fingers through black hair, and stroked the scar on Harry's forehead with a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed. Eventually though, they had to move and with much prodding, Draco woke Harry sufficiently to get him as far as the bed, where Harry promptly fell back asleep. Draco tucked Harry under the covers, before moving to the other side of the bed, and falling into his own dreamless sleep.

The following morning was a Monday. Harry disliked Mondays. No, thought Harry, as he reached for his glasses and instead managed to knock both the glasses and the bedside lamp onto the floor with a loud crash, he hated Mondays. The alarm clock decided at that moment to start ringing shrilly. Usually, Harry would have turned it off the moment he awoke (Harry generally woke up a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off), to avoid hearing the incessant beeping, but today he had forgotten, and the noise startled him. Harry could already tell it was going to be one of those days.

Having dispatched his alarm clock in such a manner that the clock was unlikely to ever have a function beyond that of paperweight, Harry rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. In seconds his pillow was rather rudely taken away from him.

" Do not go back to sleep," Draco said sternly. Harry protested, using a well thought out and articulated argument. He whined.

" But I don't wanna go to school. You can't make me."

" Yes, you do want to go. You like learning. And if you don't go, you'll have to stay here with me all day, and watch me alphabetize your bookshelves."

" That doesn't sound so bad," Harry mumbled, pulling the blankets over his head.

" Cross referenced by genre, and subject matter, and complete with a list that I'll write out, which will include the placement of your books, a brief synopsis for each one, and possibly a short statement regarding their condition."

" All right, all right, I'll go! Psycho," Harry said, getting bored just listening to the description of Draco's day. Still unbelievably sleepy, and intensely jealous that Draco could, if he so desired, spend the entire day in bed, Harry got to his feet, realizing for the first time that he was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday. He looked questioningly at Draco.

" Sorry, I was going to undress you after you fell asleep last night, but then I worried I wouldn't be able to control myself," Draco said.

Harry blushed slightly, but then shook his head, " Why do I get the feeling there's more to it then that?"

" Okay, so I was really too lazy and sleepy to do it myself. Now, don't you think the lie was ever so much more flattering for both of us?" Draco said.

Harry rolled his eyes, and went to take a shower. He came back to his empty bedroom to find his bed already made. After getting dressed, he searched the floor for his glasses, only to find that the lamp had crushed them to pieces. Fortunately, the hideous lamp was just fine. Groaning slightly, Harry returned to the bathroom and struggled with his contact lenses. Blinking rapidly, he headed into the kitchen, where Draco was annoyingly cheerful.

" What's for breakfast?" Harry grumbled.

" Nothing with that attitude," Draco retorted.

" Draco, darling, you are not only the smartest, handsomest, cunning… uh, est, person I know, but you are also the best cook in the whole wide world, so can I pretty please have some breakfast?" Harry said, his voice sickeningly sweet, and his eyelashes fluttering (the latter mostly because his contacts were still bothering him, but Harry was hoping it added to the winsome affect).

" Ugh, I'll feed you only if you promise to never do that again," Draco said, grimacing. He put a plate of food in front of Harry, along with a cup of coffee that Harry latched onto as if it were gold. " And you missed the most important part. That I look adorably cute in my pyjamas."

" Draco, you gave me coffee. For that you shall have my undying devotion," Harry replied.

" And?" Draco prodded, brandishing his spatula like a weapon.

" And you look adorably cute in your pyjamas," Harry said with a sigh.

" Damn straight," Draco said.

Harry's day did not improve overly after he left his flat. To begin with, he was late to his first class, and the teacher paused unhappily while Harry searched for a seat, finally finding one right smack in the middle of the row, forcing everyone already seated to shuffle around as he worked his way towards the chair. He spent the next hour wondering why he had bothered coming to the class, since he couldn't really focus, and ended up writing little snippets of stories and random rants in the margin of his notepaper.

His next class wasn't for a while so he thought he would go to the library to study, but unfortunately he ran into someone he knew. Unfortunate because the person, Dale, wasn't someone he really got along with, but Dale had never caught onto the fact that Harry was less then enthusiastic about their encounters. Harry was forced to listen to Dale ramble on about his latest drunken adventure, and only got away when it was time for his next class. Dale followed him right up to the door.

His classics class (the mythology of ancient Greece) was fortunately quite interesting, and he was able to stay awake. He dropped his favourite pen as he was leaving however, and it is never, ever, wise to stop and search the ground when vacating a classroom filled with a few hundred other students. Sighing, he gave the pen up as a lost cause, and hurried to make his next class, which was all the way across campus. By the time the day was over, Harry felt completely drained, and was asking himself why he had ever wanted to attend university, when he really didn't have to. Oh, it had sounded good enough in the beginning, but somehow the thought of the projects and papers that would be due soon, was making him question both his decision and his sanity. Quite honestly, writing an analytical paper on 'the role of poetry in the 21st century' sounded particularly onerous.

Walking home, Harry indulged in a little self-pity. His stomach was growling, his muscles were sore from sitting in ridiculously small desks with hard plastic seats all day, and his eyes were killing him because he was not accustomed to wearing his contacts for so long. Plus, he realized he had forgotten to get a new pair of glasses after class, as intended. He considered back tracking, but the flat was in view, and it was already late, so he told himself to screw it, and kept on walking.

The door to the flat seemed unwilling to cooperate with the key, and in the end, Harry just kept banging on the door until Draco opened it for him.

" No need to ask how your day was," Draco observed, as Harry brushed past him. Harry headed directly for the couch, dropping his book-bag, his shoes, and his coat on the way. He crawled onto the couch, lying flat on his stomach, and breathed a great sigh of relief that he was finally home, and that the day was nearly over.

" You okay?" Draco asked, concerned. Harry didn't move so his voice came muffled through the couch.

" I'm fine. Just one of those days, I guess."

Harry felt a comforting hand gently touch his shoulder.

" Wow, tense enough?" Draco asked rhetorically. Draco placed his other hand on Harry's shoulder and started to tentatively massage the stiff muscles. " Is this helping, or should I stop? I've never really done this before."

" Mmm good yes. No stop you," Harry said, near incoherently.

Draco smirked at Harry's lost ability to speak actual sentences, and redoubled his efforts. It was almost intoxicating to be so in control of a situation. Draco leaned in closer, his fingers drifting to touch the soft, pale skin on Harry's neck, an area usually hidden by the back of Harry's hair. There was no protest from Harry, so Draco grew a little bolder, sliding both his hands down Harry's spine, exploring the planes and the muscles of his back. Draco's own back started to hurt, stooped over as he was. A solution came instantly to mind, but he wondered how Harry would react. Harry sure looked relaxed though, so maybe…

Draco made certain to keep up his gentle massage, as he settled himself on top of Harry, straddling the slim hips. Harry's eyes sprang open, and he tried to crane his head around to look at Draco, but soon gave up on the idea, as it required too much effort. So instead, he queried,

" Draco?"

" I… I was tired of standing, but I could move if you wanted."

Draco waited with baited breath for Harry's decision. When Harry spoke it was barely above a whisper, " I don't mind, I mean, if it's easier for you this way."

Draco smiled, and resumed the steady motion of his hands over Harry's back and shoulders. Harry's breathing began to slow and deepen; his green eyes had long since drifted closed. Draco wasn't so much massaging anymore as he was stroking, loving the feel of Harry beneath his hands, beneath his body. He had a sudden desire to feel skin, and as he had never been very good at denying himself the sensation of touch, he was soon slipping his hands under the edge of Harry's cotton shirt. Harry started slightly at the intrusion, but then, almost as quickly, he stilled, permitting Draco to continue.

Harry's skin felt warm and soft under Draco's questing fingers. There were scars present – Draco could feel the slight ridges of damaged skin and he paid homage to every mark. He rubbed gently at the muscles he encountered, making a thorough progression up Harry's back. As his hands reached Harry's shoulders, much of Harry's shirt had ridden up, uncovering the pale white lines of healed over wounds, and revealing large areas of smooth golden skin, which contrasted pleasantly with Draco's pale hands. Harry shivered, feeling Draco's breath brush over him, as Draco leaned forward, ostensibly to be in a better position to massage Harry's shoulders.

It was the shiver that broke the last of Draco's resolve.

Draco pressed fervent lips to Harry's body. Retracing the pathway his fingertips had taken, Draco caressed the trembling skin with his mouth. When Harry's breathing began to speed up, Draco could feel the vibrations. He loved the soft feel of Harry's flesh against his sensitive lips, loved the warmth. With his tongue he traced the more obvious scars, wondering at their origin, promising himself he would ask later. He reached Harry's shoulder blades, pushing the bunched material of Harry's shirt out of his way, and then his body was pressed flat along Harry's back, as he kissed behind Harry's ear and moved towards his jaw-line.

Harry had gone into sensory overload the moment he had felt Draco's cool hands on his body. The feeling of lips tracing gently over his responsive skin, had sent his nerve endings screaming. He struggled to turn over, and Draco, once realizing his intent, allowed him room to manoeuvre. Draco now lay flush against Harry, chest-to-chest, and nose-to-nose.

" Hi," Harry ventured, gazing straight into darkened grey eyes.

" Hi yourself," Draco said, grinning slightly.

" Quite the massage," Harry said, returning the smile. " I don't think kissing is generally involved."

" I told you I was new at this. I just followed my instincts."

" Good instincts," Harry said. He lifted up his head slightly, and Draco lowered his, and then they were kissing each other, deeply and passionately. Draco's hands greedily sought out skin again, becoming frustrated with Harry's shirt, which had become twisted. Draco broke away from the kiss, muttering,

" Off with the shirt." Harry flushed, but didn't hesitate to help Draco, who was eagerly pulling up on the fabric. Draco's eyes swept over Harry's chest hungrily, coming to rest on a small glint of gold. A smile made his eyes light up, as he said, " That I didn't know about. A nipple ring Potter? Most intriguing."

Harry blushed a deeper red; " I got it when I turned eighteen. A birthday gift to myself."

" Did it hurt?"

" Like you wouldn't believe, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Of course, it'll always be rather sensitive…" Harry let out an undignified squeak, blocking out whatever else he was going to say, as Draco reached out and gave the small golden ring a little pull.

At Harry's response, Draco said, rather breathily, " Ooh, I definitely like this." Before Harry could respond, Draco's mouth was once again pressed to Harry's. While tongues delved deeply into hot cavernous mouths, Draco's hands roamed the entirety of Harry's bare chest. Completely involved in what he was doing, it came as something as a shock when Draco felt Harry's hands on his skin, kneading the flesh at the small of his back. Harry gloated over Draco's reaction, glad that he too had the ability to shock and delight.

The encounter became more passionate, more needy. There was a definite rocking motion to their hips now, and the heat building between them was getting hard to ignore. Their lips separated only to take desperate gulps of necessary oxygen, before slamming into each other again, growing more and more reckless and wild. Draco pressed his palm against Harry's nipples, feeling them harden. He traced the outline of the gold ring with his fingernail before giving it a slight tug, hoping for a strong reaction.

He got one. Several things happened at once: Harry groaned, and there was an unmistakeable jolt of arousal, made more obvious when Harry instinctively thrust his hips upwards against Draco's.

" Oh God, I'm sorry," Harry burst out. He began pushing at Draco, trying to wriggle out from under the blond.

" Huh? What?" Draco said, completely mystified. But although Draco tried to calm Harry down, to get him to talk, Harry was not to be reasoned with.

" Please, get off me," Harry said plaintively. Draco couldn't refuse such a request, no matter how much it hurt him. He pulled away, and Harry stumbled off the couch, and went straight to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly.

Draco stared at the ceiling, waiting for his breathing to slow down to its regular pace. That was the easy part - next he had to get his whirlwind thoughts into some kind-of order. It seemed that lately his thoughts and emotions were getting pushed and pulled all over the place, and Draco for one was getting tired of it. Why should he feel guilty for what he had done? Harry had wanted it, he felt sure. Charged with indignant energy at his unfair treatment, Draco stood up. He rapped sharply on the bathroom door.

" Harry? I'm coming in," Draco said, swinging the door open. Harry was sitting in a pathetic little ball on the bathroom rug, leaning up against the bathtub. " What the hell just happened?"

" I know! I'm sorry – I'll never do it again."

" Harry, try to think like a normal human being for a change, and explain to me what it is you think you've done wrong?"

Harry's face turned a dark crimson colour, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. With his finger he traced the grout line of the bathroom's floor tile. " I… it moved."

" It moved," Draco repeated coolly. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the sink. " What moved?"

" It, you know, it," Harry said desperately.

Draco winced, feeling like a parent describing sex for the first time to a teenager. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose to forestall the approaching headache, Draco spoke,

" You are aware that that is what generally happens to males when they're aroused?"

" Of course I know that, you idiot," Harry said darkly, a trifle angry that Draco was being so condescending. " But all we were doing was kissing, and then I had to get all hot and bothered and ruin it."

Oh, so that was it. This time when Draco spoke his voice was a little softer, " Harry, did you ever stop and think that maybe I was trying to get that kind-of reaction from you?"

" But… But you think sex is disgusting. I remember you saying that, and all I could think when it happened was that I was turning something so nice into something… sordid."

Draco stepped away from the sink, and sank down on the floor next to Harry. " If you recall me saying that I thought sex was messy, then you should also remember that I was still interested in it, providing I had found someone I really trusted. That's you Harry; I trust you completely. Though why I do when you keep pulling stunts like this, I'll never know."

Harry was quiet for a time. " So I screwed up again?"

" Big time," Draco said, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders.

" Sorry," Harry said.

" Can we clear something up right now? I'm as new at this relationship stuff as you are, maybe even newer, so when you do things like this, I don't always pick up on the reasons why. I mean, I thought for a moment just now that I had taken advantage of you, forced you to do something you didn't want to."

" No!" Harry interjected. " I liked it, all of it. I just…"

" I know; you just got scared. But that's the thing; you can't just run off and expect me to figure that out on my own. You're going to have to tell when something's bothering you, okay? And I'll do the same for you."

Harry sighed. " Okay, I agree. And I've got something already to confess."

" Now? I should have known this plan was going to backfire," Draco said. He took a deep breath, and set his shoulders in a straight line, " Okay, I'm ready. But if you tell me your leaving me for a wild fling with the Weasley twins, I can't guarantee that I won't kill you."

" I was hoping… I want us to slow down a little. Well, I don't really want to, but I think we should. I only admitted to myself that I liked you on Saturday, then you got hit, we had a fight of sorts, then I kissed you, and then… the news about your mother," here Harry paused to squeeze Draco's hand, before continuing, " And I still have school and work, so to ignore all that is happening, and rush straight into some deeply emotional stuff, seems like a good way to wreck everything. I don't want to mess this up – you've become really important to me."

" Ah Harry, you really must tell me how you can manage to reject someone, and yet still make them feel special."

" Not rejecting, exactly. I mean, I liked what we were doing," Harry admitted. " But I think we should keep it at this level for awhile, until we've had some time to think things through properly."

" So we can mess around, so long as we keep it above the belt?" Draco asked, one eyebrow raised.

" In a manner of speaking, yes."

" But I can't pinch your butt?"

" No… Do you really want to?"

" I didn't," Draco said. Harry looked relieved. " Until you said I couldn't."

Harry rolled his eyes, and got to his feet. Draco persisted, " What if it was just a little pinch?"

" No."

" A friendly slap?"

" No."

" Okay, not even a pinch, just a nudge in passing?"

" Okay."

" Really?"

" No."

" What if I accidentally slipped on some ice, and happened to fall, and in doing so grabbed your posterior in order to save my very life, my life you understand, what about then?"

" Your life huh?"

" Yep, you're the only thing standing between me and a horrible, ghastly, death."

" No."

" You're a cold man, Harry Potter. A very cold man," Draco said, glowering.

Harry smiled sweetly, and gave Draco a hug.

The end of chapter seven. Okay, your mission (I won't ask for threats or bribes anymore – you people scared me!), should you choose to accept it (you don't think I'd let you get away with just reading this story did you? Don't you know I'm an evil, evil person by now?), is to write a brief summary of this story, mentioning all pertinent facts. If yours is the best, then you'll be rewarded by having it posted, with full credit given. Some prize huh? Well, sorry, but in addition to me being evil, I'm also cheap!