Because I wrote this for a friend, there are some inside jokes throughout, so if something seemed strange, that's probably why. I tried to make sure that it would still be enjoyable even if you didn't get the jokes. If you want me to explain something about it, just ask. Anyway, here's the last bit. Enjoy!

Unauthorized Surveillance

Chapter 4

Phase two of the plan was to get Oliver in there as well. Draco and Hermione were at this time hiding under the invisibility cloak, watching the mirror and waiting. They saw, through the mirror, Harry make his tent, and knew the twins would be gone. Draco got out of the cloak and headed for the Gryffindor locker room. He was certain Wood would be gearing up for some practice, which, of course, played right into Draco's hands. Draco rushed to the Gryffindor locker room, where Wood was just emerging, ready to head onto the field and practice some flight maneuvers.

"Wood," Draco called. "Where's Potter?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know. Why? Finally decided to beg for some snitch-catching tips?"

Draco bit back a sharp reply. "Actually, I was hoping for a casual game of Quidditch. I know you've only got yourself, Potter, and the Weasleys, but I've only got Flint and myself. We could run some drills, have a half-court scrimmage game or something. That is, if you're up to it," he said with a sneer.

"Malfoy, we can take anything you've got."

"Then go get Potter. I'll see you on the field." Draco turned sharply and left, heading towards the Slytherin locker room. Once in there, he hid for a moment, waiting for Oliver to pass far enough ahead that he could head back to Hermione and the mirror. He rushed back to her and ducked under the cloak in time to watch Oliver enter the Gryffindor common room.

"Potter! Harry! You in here?" Oliver called.

"Oliver!" Harry called, rushing to his door and pounding on it, heedless of the torrential downpour his actions caused. "I'm up here!"

Oliver climbed the stairs, following Harry's voice. "What are you doing up there, Harry?"

Harry tried to reply, but the water pipe became fiercer than ever, and the water streams began crushing him against the door and choking him. He pushed himself away from the door with all the strength he could muster, and still the water pounded him. "Help me!" he managed to yelp.

Oliver burst into the room and saw through the onslaught of water that Harry was being pounded into the floor and gasping for air. He rushed to Harry's side, and the door slammed shut behind him. The downpour continued. Oliver sat Harry up so he could breathe properly again.

"Thanks," Harry sputtered out, "but I think you're trapped in here too now."

"What?!"

"The door won't open. And I don't have my wand."

"Well I've got mine." Oliver strode to the door, bracing himself against the water. "Alohamora!" he cried out, desperate to spit out the words before the water could choke him. It didn't work. "Damn it!" Oliver cursed.

Harry coughed. "It looks like we're stuck here until someone notices we're missing or Fred decides to give me my wand back."

"Fred Weasley?" Oliver asked incredulously.

Harry nodded, and tried to wring out his sopping robe. It was no use. The flood increased exponentially. The downpour made it hard to see, but Harry found his bed and climbed into it. "Over here, Oliver. The sheet over the posters will keep us dry. …kind of," he added, as some water dripped through the bedspread.

Oliver climbed onto Harry's bed with him and promptly started kicking off his shoes. Harry looked at him strangely. "What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"My clothes are wet. If I leave 'em all on, I'll be soaked, but if I take some of 'em off, I can try to dry 'em out."

"Oh." Harry nodded and removed his own shoes and robe. His clothes underneath were drenched through, but he left them on, feeling self-conscious. Oliver, on the other hand, had no qualms about taking off his clothes to dry off. He removed a sopping sweater to reveal a white T-shirt soaking wet and clinging to every inch of skin. Oliver peeled that off as well. Harry did his best to avert his eyes.

Then, Oliver started taking off his pants. "What are you DOING?" yelped Harry.

Oliver looked at him strangely and slowly replied, "I'm taking off my pants."

"Well, I can see that, but, --"

"My pants are soaked too. What's the big deal, Harry? You've seen me change for Quidditch. And boxers are no worse than being in a bathing suit." Harry shrugged and nodded, though he still looked uncomfortable. Oliver, oblivious to Harry's discomfort, took off his pants. He then reached for Harry's sleeve and tugged on it to help Harry get out of the wet garment. Harry jerked away.

"What are you doing?!" Harry asked yet again.

"Your clothes are soaked too, Harry," Oliver pointed out gently.

Harry smiled uncomfortably. "Yeah…"

"What's the matter, Harry? …Afraid I won't be able to resist you with your sweater off?" he asked teasingly. Harry turned crimson. Oliver chuckled, "Don't tell me I guessed it on the first try…" Harry stammered, but never managed to form a coherent sentence. Oliver held up a hand to silence him. "Don't worry, Harry. I don't hit on straight boys."

Harry was speechless, as was Hermione, watching in the mirror. Draco however, crowed triumphantly, "I knew it!" Hermione shushed him needlessly, since the area was protected by silence spells. "I knew it," he repeated, whispering.

"Don't get too excited, Draco. The bet's about Harry, not Oliver."

"Yeah, but are you going to tell me that if you were Potter, you could resist that all soaking wet and half-naked in your bed?" he asked, pointing at the Oliver shown in the mirror. True to Draco's words, Oliver was wearing only blue plaid boxers that clung appetizingly to his lower body. The rest of him was gloriously naked and covered in tiny droplets of water. Hermione didn't trust herself to answer. "Exactly," said Draco. "This one's in the bag. Draco one, Hermione zero."

"Shut up and watch."

Back in the bedroom, Harry regained power over his voice. "Pardon?" he squeaked out.

"What? You didn't hear the rumors? It's all Flint's talked about for damn near three years. 'Course, it's just a lucky guess. I'd never hit on anything that looked like a snaggle-toothed troll." Harry chortled. Oliver grinned. "But seriously, Harry, are you uncomfortable around me now? You don't have to be. I mean, contrary to popular belief, gay men do not hit on everything with a penis. I can 'keep it in my pants,' as it were."

"It's okay," said Harry slowly. "I mean, this isn't the most ideal way to find out someone's gay…"

"Well, it could be worse. You could have walked in on me."

Harry was stunned. "You have a boyfriend here?"

Oliver stretched and grinned. "Nah. Don't have one at all, actually. Most teenage boys are either violently homophobic, don't care who's gay or not in the first place, or are too smart to come out while still in school. I," he paused for emphasis, "am dumb. In that regard at least. There's a hell of a lot less stigma in the real world."

"Did you ever have a boyfriend?"

"Nah. Made out with a guy once at a party over hols. But he wasn't my boyfriend or anything. He was just exceptionally drunk. …And I was a little less than sober… But anyway, that's the extent of my experiences."

"What about girls?"

Oliver made a face. "Girls are icky," he said, then grinned. "Actually, I've just never really been interested in 'em. Nothin' wrong with 'em or anything, just… not for me." Oliver glanced over at Harry. "So are you okay with this, Harry? Or are you still creeped out?"

"I wasn't creeped out!" he protested. "I was just surprised."

"Good or bad?"

"What?"

"The surprise. Was it a good surprise or a bad one?"

"Oh… Um… Good, I guess," Harry whispered, almost as if he knew someone (or two someones, for that matter) was listening.

Draco started to make victorious noises, but Hermione elbowed him gently and peered more intently into the mirror. Draco shoved her to the side so he could see too.

"So?"

"Um…" Harry blushed. He ran his hand through his messy hair nervously. Oliver caught his hand and used it to pull Harry closer. Oliver used his other hand to tilt Harry's chin up. Harry bit his lip nervously.

"Harry," Oliver whispered.

"Yes…" Harry replied, half asking a question, half-submitting to whatever Oliver might wish.

"Don't bite your lip. You might hurt it." Oliver leaned in and Harry's lips became too busy to be bitten. Oliver released Harry's hand. Harry gingerly put it on Oliver's shoulder. He moved his other arm around to mirror it. Oliver placed a hand on the small of Harry's back and used his other hand to keep Harry's face next to his. Oliver ran the tip of his tongue along Harry's lower lip. Harry let out a small gasp, opening his mouth. Oliver nibbled on Harry's bottom lip. Harry moaned and parted his lips further. Oliver smiled to himself, loving Harry's reactions.

Harry's grip on Oliver's shoulders was no longer tentative. He wrapped his arms around the older boy, pulling him as close as he could. Oliver tightened his own grip in return and slid his tongue inside Harry's mouth, caressing Harry's tongue with his own. After a minute or two of Oliver's ministrations, Harry started to lean back against his pillows, but Oliver stopped him. When Harry looked at him questioningly, Oliver grinned.

"You're still wearin' all your wet clothes, Harry," Oliver whispered breathlessly.

"Oh. Right," Harry answered, grinning wryly. Oliver tugged at his sweater sleeves, and Harry was all too quick to help him remove the sweater. It was quickly and unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Before the garment hit the ground, they were already wrapped in each other's arms again and kissing as if it were a life or death matter.

Harry leaned back on the bed, Oliver following to lay on top of him. Harry ran his hands over Oliver's back, feeling the muscles ripple with each movement the other boy made. Oliver, too, was doing his fair share of roaming, sliding his hands along Harry's sides, tracing his abdominal muscles, even gently toying with his nipples, hard from the soak in cold water and following exposure to the air. Harry moaned and whimpered. Oliver nibbled on his earlobes and gently sucked on his neck, leaving several barely visible hickeys.

The pipes had long-since stopped spurting water, but neither boy noticed, or if they did, they were beyond caring.

Draco and Hermione stared transfixed at the mirror. "This is wrong," said Hermione, unblinking. "We shouldn't watch this."

"Yeah. We're going to hell for sure," said Draco, staring.

Hermione managed to somehow snap herself out of her trance. "That's enough!" she said, swishing her wand over the mirror. "Incantatum finito!" she said hurriedly, before they could be tempted to look again.

"Oh Hermione, you ruin all my fun," Draco pouted, half-joking.

Hermione chuckled. "Well, I'd say you won."

"Yup."

"Got your assignment list?"

Draco grinned. "Yeah. But don't worry about it. I can do my own work. But," he added with a nudge, "I may need a tutor now and then."

Hermione grinned back. "Sure thing. But… Well, we're not going to be friends anymore, are we?"

"Nope," Draco agreed, shaking his head sadly.

Hermione smiled. "You hate me, don't you?" she said jokingly.

"Like leprosy," he agreed, smiling.

"Just so we're clear." She grinned broadly. They threw off the cloak and Hermione folded it up while Draco finished off the silence spells. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got some Weasleys to pay."

Draco smiled and nodded. "See you in Potions."

"Not if I see you first," Hermione laughed. They headed their separate ways and did their best never to be together again. But sometimes, they would catch each others' eyes across a room, and someone's eyes would flicker to Harry or Oliver, or both, and they would smile a secret smile at each other.

Harry and Oliver had a few secret smiles of their own as well. They never progressed past kissing that fateful day in Harry's room, but their secret relationship grew stronger each day, and their secret trysts grew more common. Of course, no one but Hermione and Draco suspected anything. After all, Harry and Oliver were absolute Quidditch freaks. It only made sense for them to spend hour after hour practicing and planning new moves. And then, of course, they were all sweaty after practice and had to clean up.

But that is another story, and best saved for another day.