Chapter Twelve: Sex and Intuition

Time passed and Harry was starting to become sick and tired of the feeling that he was holding his breath. What was Voldemort waiting for? The longer that he allowed Harry to continue with his schooling unhindered, the stronger Harry would be when he faced him. It made no sense. Dumbledore, too, he noticed, was on edge. Why hadn't he struck yet?

On the other hand, it gave Harry more time to get to know his boyfriend. At this point he had more of his stuff in Draco's dormitory than he did in his own. He pretty much lived there now. He and Draco slept together every night, but they still had not yet taken that last step. They were both still virgins—as far as Harry knew, anyway.

Harry spent much of his free time memorizing as many defensive and offensive spells as he could. Hermione, Draco, and Ron often helped him. Well, Ron came along and shouted insults and encouragements from the sidelines, but Draco and Hermione helped. Harry was as ready as he ever could be.

He spent a lot of time thinking about the sex thing, too. He wanted desperately to bring it up with Draco, but kept chickening out. He wasn't sure where he himself stood on the subject. He would love to have sex with Draco, and who knew how much longer he had to do it? But he didn't want to simply do it because he didn't want to die a virgin. It was complicated.

One night, as they both cuddled together in a chair in front of the fire, Harry decided he would stop putting it off.

"Hey, Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think about sex?"

Harry couldn't have shocked his boyfriend more if he'd tried. Draco gasped in surprise and ended up having a choking fit. Harry patted him on the back and looked at him with a half-amused, half-embarrassed half-smile while he waited for him to recover himself.

"Um... what?"

"Sex. What do you think about it?"

"I'm a seventeen-year-old male. Could you be a bit more specific?"

Harry sighed and blushed and attempted to explain himself. Draco listened silently. When Harry finished, trailing off in embarrassment, Draco smiled gently.

"I know exactly how you feel," he said. "I've been thinking about the same thing myself."

"Really? What conclusions have you come to? I've only succeeded in confusing myself."

"That's about as far as I've gotten as well," Draco admitted.

"A lot of help you are," Harry teased.

"Well, look at it this way. You love me, right?"

"Right."

"And I love you. There is no risk of either of us getting pregnant—unfortunately—and, since we are both virgins there is no risk of STD's. We have magic to prevent all of that anyway. So, why not? I am of the opinion that we should live life to the fullest for as long as we have it. It would be sort of a victory for You-Know-Who to separate us before we'd experienced that bliss."

"Draco, if Voldemort separates us, it will be a victory for him anyway."
"So? It would be more of a victory if he prevented us from ever making love."

Harry laughed. "You sweet-talker. So does that mean you want to?"

"Yeah. If you feel that you're ready, of course."

Harry paused. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. I think I'm ready. Are you?"

"Always," Draco said, suddenly soft and serious. He leaned closer and their lips met in a passionate kiss.

Their desire had been building higher and higher all these months that they had been together. Now that they had unleashed it, it took all the willpower they had not to let it take over. Harry got Draco's shirt off and his long fingers danced along his belt. As he began to undo the latch their eyes met, knowing that they were moving into uncharted territory.

They moved painfully slowly, Harry removing Draco's slacks first, then Draco depriving Harry of his jeans. Finally, the stood before each other in only their boxers, both of them aching to discard that last obstacle.

"Ready?" Draco whispered hoarsely.

"Yes!" It was almost a moan.

They made short work of their boxers, and they stood for a moment, each awestruck by the beauty of the one before them. As the sexual tension built, Harry broke first. He leaped upon Draco, pinning him to the bed, moaning and shuddering as his naked shaft rubbed against that of his boyfriend.

All shyness was replaced by frantic desire, and it wasn't long before twin screams of pleasure echoed off the stone walls of Draco's room.

As they lay together afterwards, both drifting off to sleep, Draco had enough clarity of mind to think Thank god I remembered to put that silencing charm on...

"G'morning handsome," was the first thing Draco heard when his eyes fluttered open the next day. He focused enough to see his boyfriend stretched very naked across his bed, emerald eyes dark with mischievous lust as they surveyed Draco's much-exposed pale skin.

"Hi," Draco replied sleepily, running his hand through his hair. He paused mid-gesture as he realized that that was Harry's trademark gesture. He never ran his hand through his hair. Damn, Harry must be rubbing off on him. All such thoughts were banished as Harry stretched, showing off his sexy form. "Damn, you look good," Draco said fervidly. "I wish we didn't have to go to classes today. I would love to stay in bed with you all day..."

Harry gave him a saucy wink and slid cat-like from the bed. "I doubt I would mind staying in bed with you... all naked and warm... and then I could take you again and again until you were utterly exhausted... and then we'd sleep... and I'd start all over again," he said, with another wink at Draco's shocked face. "But, unfortunately, love, we have classes to attend."

Draco closed his eyes and groaned. This was so wrong. Here they were, Harry alert and eager to go to class—and Potions class at that—and he could barely get out of bed. "How come you're such a morning person all of a sudden?"

"Well, I've heard it said that great sex can work better than coffee."

"Oh, it was great was it?" Draco asked with a cocky grin.

"Yes... but we wouldn't want you to get a big head, now would we?" Harry asked with a wink. It took Draco a moment to get Harry's alternate meaning, but when he did he groaned again.

"Ugh, you've got such a dirty mind." A pair of clean slacks landed on his head.

"Come on, get dressed. We wouldn't want to be late for breakfast!" Harry chirped.

"Ugh."

"Good morning, all!" Harry practically sang as he joined his friends in the Great Hall. His fellow Gryffindors stared at him.

"Now who's chipper in the morning?" Ginny asked with a giggle as Harry began piling food on his plate. He was ravenous this morning.

"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "It's the morning, for God's sake. What's wrong with you?"

Seamus grinned widely. "I bet I know! I bet Harry got laid last night."

Silence fell as every stared at Harry.

"Please tell me that's not true," Ron said, looking a bit green.

Harry blushed, but continued grinning. "I don't kiss and tell!"

Ginny gave a triumphant shriek. "Oh my god, he did!"

The others began bombarding him with questions but Harry ignored them all as he wolfed down his massive breakfast.

"Time for class!" he said, picking up his bag and leaving his friends complaining bitterly behind him.

Harry's cheerful mood lasted until DADA where, in the middle of class, Harry froze, hand to his scar. Tonks gave him a worried look—which deepened to even greater concern as Harry got up and left her classroom without a backwards look.

Heart pounding frantically, Harry ran all the way to Dumbledore's office. He didn't bother waiting for a response after a quick knock. "Professor Dumbledore..." he gasped as he threw open the door.

"I know," Dumbledore replied grimly from where he was sitting behind his desk, Fawkes on his shoulder and a pained look on his face. "I felt it, as well."

"It's going to be soon, isn't it?" Harry asked, feeling his stomach drop to his toes as Dumbledore nodded solemnly. After all his complaining about wishing Voldemort would hurry up and make his move, he instantly wished he could go back to waiting. "When?"

"There is no way to know for sure, Harry. It would probably be best for you to go back to class. You have Defense Against the Dark Arts now, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Warn Professor Tonks for me, please, and keep on your guard. I do not think he will keep us waiting long now."

Harry returned to class with a heavy heart. The bell rang soon after he got there, and Tonks pulled him aside.

"What was that about, Harry?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Harry said woodenly. "I'm fine. Dumbledore and I think that Voldemort," he ignored her involuntary wince, "is going to strike soon. We both got a... feeling."

Tonks looked the most serious he had ever seen her. "Thank you for the warning, Harry. Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a small smile. "Can you write a pass for my next class?"

"What? Oh right, sorry. I guess I've made you late by now. Just a sec." She scribbled a note on a piece of parchment, and he left, desperately wanting to find Draco.

That evening Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Draco all sat with Harry in the Gryffindor common room by the fire. McGonagall, proving that she did indeed have a heart, allowed Draco entrance "in Potter's time of need." They huddled close together, Harry on Draco's lap, and everyone jumped at small noises.

"It might not be tonight," Hermione said softly.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said restlessly. "It's just that... I don't know, it's hard to explain. I just think it will be." She nodded, and they went back to their silent vigil.

A little past midnight Professor McGonagall came in again. Harry tensed, afraid that she was going to tell them that they had to go back to their separate dorms. He would completely go insane if he had to sit in the dark by himself without his friends to hang on to.

Instead she said, "The Headmaster says that you and your friends can spend the night in his office if you wish to remain together."

Harry nodded his thanks and he and his friends stood up wearily and ducked out from behind the portrait. They had just started going down the staircase when a deafening boom echoed through the castle. Hermione, jolting with surprise, lost her footing and slipped. Thankfully Ron was able to catch her arms and haul her up, roughly but efficiently, so she was standing steadily again.

"Thanks," she whispered, rubbing her arm. "What was that?"

Harry didn't bother answering. Instead, he took off down the staircase as fast as he could without falling face first, and heard the others rushing after him. He ran down seven flights of stairs, then stopped so short at the bottom of the second-to-last one that Draco bumped into him.

He peered cautiously over the railing and saw that the main doors had been reduced to splinters. In the rubble covering the Entrance Hall stood nine figures dressed in black with hideous skull masks.

The Death Eaters were in Hogwarts.