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"You look about as nervous as I feel, Draco," Harry mutters softly and smiles at the tall, thin boy standing in front of him.
It's an attempt to lighten the mood. It's Harry's way of trying to convince himself that this isn't such a dumb idea as it may seem at first, second and pretty much any glance.
Malfoy, however, is having none of it. "Please. I'm not nervous, Potter. I'm merely… mildly astonished."
Harry finds that he can't really argue with that sentiment, even if 'mildly' isn't exactly the word he would have chosen.
Just how the hell did the two of them even arrive at this point?
One minute they were arguing, shouting at the top of their voices, throwing vicious insults back and forth the way they had always done, their usual routine of leisurely loathing that was familiar and safe, a single certainty still left to either of them in the middle of the unpredictable circumstances of this grim, seemingly endless war, and then Malfoy had to go and ruin it.
He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, familiar ground fell away and the entire universe shifted.
With just one kiss.
Harry knows, rationally, that this makes absolutely no sense, that it's stupid, irresponsible and potentially dangerous, and that there are countless perfectly good reasons why they shouldn't go through with this, why they shouldn't even consider it.
Yet here and now not a single one of those reasons stops him from kissing Malfoy back hungrily, again and again, with a passion he has never felt before.
Caught up in a bitter rivalry for so many years, is this what they've been missing out on, a small taste of what they might have had?
Harry can't deny that things haven't been the same since that rainy day just over four months ago, since that odd, awkward Monday afternoon when Snape dumped a very reluctant Draco on the doorstep of number 12, Grimmauld Place.
"The concept is simple enough, or it should be, Potter, even for the likes of you. Mister Malfoy possesses plenty of knowledge that may be of vital importance to The Order. It would be in your best interests to ensure that no harm comes to him."
It's no secret that Harry wasn't at all keen to take Draco in, give him sanctuary and offer him a room at Order Headquarters, Harry's current home.
But he agreed to do it anyway, because when push came to shove, he decided he owed as much to Dumbledore.
The old wizard had trusted Snape implicitly. He had even declared as much in his last Will and Testament.
The lengthy document had explained everything that had happened that fateful night in the tower, referring to the tragic outcome as a 'regrettable but necessary pre-planned sacrifice'. It had also stated that Draco Malfoy deserved a second chance, that unlike the father, the son could still be saved.
So when Harry saw his former classmate, his childhood nemesis, standing there that day, looking pale and thin and angry (even more furious than Harry himself was at the time) he couldn't bring himself to refuse.
Here and now, he doesn't doubt that there has to be an odd sort of irony to the way the so-called hero complex Malfoy had always mocked him for had actually ended up working in the prat's favour.
"Maybe we should take this to bed?" a husky voice next to Harry's left ear says, and then warm, soft lips kiss his neck, making him shiver.
"All right."
Draco holds out his hand.
Harry looks at him and he can't help but notice that the boy appears uncharacteristically self-conscious all of a sudden and then, as a pivotal scene from their first year at Hogwarts flashes through his mind, Harry understands why.
This is like coming full circle. More or less. In a twisted way that neither of them would have dared to imagine back then.
Were all those years of hatred really a waste of time or did the two of them actually need them in order to make it this far? Harry may never have the answer to that question, but then again, does it even matter?
He takes Draco's hand and smiles.
Draco smiles back and Harry finds himself thinking that he really ought to do that more often, rather than smirk or sneer at everything and everyone. When Draco smiles, he looks younger, kinder and if Harry's entirely honest with himself, absolutely gorgeous.
"Do you really want to go through with this, Malfoy?" he asks, suddenly even more nervous than before, because there's not a hint of doubt in his mind as to where this will lead.
He knows what the two of them are like. Once they begin, there will be no turning around, no holding back, and they won't stop.
But maybe it's high time they finished what they started.
"Please. You're not weaselling out on me now, are you, Potter?" Draco challenges, and then he adds, somewhat pleadingly, though not quite because a Malfoy never asks for anything, "Come on, you want this just as much as I do."
Harry sighs. He knows that's true, even if he doesn't fully understand the reasons why.
Cabin fever? Anxiety? A strange variant of Denmark Disease or Scandinavia Syndrome or whatever it's called? Or maybe all those jokes Fred and George made last year about unresolved sexual tension held some truth after all?
"Now really, Harry. Even Ron's starting to notice. Why don't you just get it over with, go and shag Malfoy already? Get him out of your system so we can all get on with our lives, yeah?"
Everyone laughed, except for Harry himself, and Ginny, who had just been dumped.
She still considered Harry Potter to be the love of her life at the time, and she didn't find her brothers' sense of humour quite as amusing when the supposedly funny remarks did nothing but take her already shaky self-confidence down a few notches and fuel her own unvoiced theories about her ex-boyfriend.
She had a feeling back then, you see, a strong suspicion that bordered on certainty, that even after the war, she would never be Harry's girl again, for the simple reason that Harry didn't really want a girl to begin with.
Standing there in the dimly lit living room, Harry takes a deep breath. He looks at Draco, who's still waiting for an answer, preferably one that doesn't make him look like a complete fool.
"Yes, I want this, too," Harry finally admits, his voice shaky. "It's just that…" He swallows hard. "I'm kind of worried about the after."
"The after," Draco parrots with a quizzical frown.
"Yeah. I mean, we're both stuck here for Merlin knows how long. If we... erm... do stuff and things get really awkward between us afterwards..." He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh. "Then what?"
Silence reigns for a full forty-eight seconds, before Draco says, "I see your point. I suppose we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen, then, won't we?"
Harry sighs again. "You make it sound so simple."
"Isn't it?" Draco slowly trails a finger over Harry's lips. "For starters, it's just the two of us here tonight and for the rest of the week. No Weasleys to voice moronic opinions, no Granger to Honestly-Harry you into submission, no Snape to ask me what I was even thinking or to offer to test me for Imperius."
"You know, Draco," Harry points out with a small smile, "I may not want to go through with this anymore if you're going to drag Snape into it."
Draco chuckles. "The point I was trying to make, Potter, is that I'll never even mention this afterwards if that's what you'd prefer. It's just..." He takes a deep breath. "It pains me to admit it, but I think I need this right now… I need..."
Draco looks terribly confused all of a sudden and even though he doesn't say what he means (Maybe he can't, maybe just this once, he's actually lost for words), Harry understands.
To a point.
Perhaps it's the loneliness, the desolation, the uncertainty at what tomorrow might bring that drives them to do crazy things. Maybe this is just another side effect of a brutal, harrowing war that shows no signs of ending.
But on the other hand…
Harry's been wondering about it for a while now. He still doesn't fully comprehend how his past feelings of deep loathing could have changed into this strong attraction.
Or at least, he thinks it was loathing he once felt. He's no longer as certain of that today as he used to be.
You see, sometimes he used to sneak glances at Draco in Potions or observe him across the Great Hall, and he would catch himself thinking that those grey eyes were fascinating, as was the way the sunlight captured that impossibly blonde hair.
Harry can't recall exactly when 'delicate aristocratic features' replaced 'pointy' in his head, but he does remember quite vividly the emptiness he felt last year when Malfoy had suddenly vanished with Snape.
Time and time again, he would sit and stare at the spot that Malfoy used to occupy at the Slytherin table, and much as he tried to deny it at the time, even to himself, the sense of loss Harry experienced at the sight was almost tangible.
Maybe even back then, he…
Draco clears his throat, the loaded silence unsettling him once again, and Harry instantly snaps back to the here and now. "Yes," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Me too, Draco."
"Bed?"
"Yeah."
Both of them feeling like they're stuck somewhere between giddy and frightened, they head up to Draco's room, which is neat and tidy, and in that respect, nothing at all like Harry's that presently looks like one of the Twins' prize inventions exploded all over it.
They sit down on the bed. Draco places a hand on Harry's knee, scoots closer and starts to kiss him heatedly.
Not before long, Harry finds himself being pushed down onto he bed with Draco crawling on top of him, eagerly tugging at his clothes, trying to remove them as quickly as possible.
Harry gulps. Somewhere through his bewildered haze, he's sure he can hear a button pop. He curses inwardly, wondering where the hell it landed and whether it could still be sewed back on. This is one of the few good shirts he has.
His enthusiasm clearly getting the better of him, Draco starts to attack Harry's neck with bruising kisses—or are they bites?
Harry starts to panic, just a little bit. "Um, Malf—Draco," he says quickly. "Would you mind taking it a little slower... it's... kind-of-my-first-time."
Draco smiles. "Well, it's my first time with a bloke, too," he offers, not showing any signs of slowing down.
Oh shit.
"Um... that's not what I meant," Harry begins hesitantly, hoping that what he's about to reveal won't get him mocked. The old Malfoy, who's probably still in there somewhere, would undoubtedly jump at the chance. "I've… um… I've never done this with a girl either."
Draco frowns. He rolls off Harry and props himself up on one elbow, giving the former Gryffindor a confused look. "Are you actually trying to tell me that you and the She-Weasel never shagged?"
No points for subtlety there. Harry suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "Her name is Ginny," he says, "and no, I never went that far with her. We broke up before… well, anything really intimate happened."
"Ah."
"Is that a problem?" Harry asks. He sounds defensive all of a sudden. In truth, he feels a little defeated, and an odd clenching in his stomach suggests that there's probably more to it than simple disappointment at the thought that maybe he won't be having sex with Malfoy after all.
"No." Draco smiles reassuringly. "It's not a problem as such. I'm just surprised that I'm going to be your first."
Harry laughs nervously. "That makes two of us, then." He pauses for a moment, before he asks softly, "Have you… um… already done this kind of thing a lot?"
"Twice," Draco answers honestly. He sees no reason to lie; Potter's still a virgin, for Merlin's sake!
"With Pansy?"
"That's right."
"What... um…" Harry bites his lip. "Was it okay?"
Draco frowns, not at all happy with where this conversation (or is it an inquisition?) seems to be heading. "It was adequate," he says a little too quickly, fervently hoping that Potter really is every bit as gullible as he looks.
The embarrassing fact of the matter is that Draco's two disastrous fumbles with his best friend were what finally led him to realise that girls don't do anything for him, romantically or sexually. He couldn't even manage to stay hard long enough.
This is one topic he doesn't much feel like breaching with Harry Potter though (even if they are about to shag), so he forces a smirk and fast changes the subject.
"So, Potter. You'd like us to go a little slower, would you?" He climbs back on top and whispers huskily, "I suppose that could be arranged. Now, where were we?"
Harry's breath hitches in his throat. There isn't a part of his torso that doesn't get kissed, licked or caressed as Draco slowly makes his way downward.
Fulfilling a long-time wish, Harry lets his fingers roam through Draco's hair; it's amazingly soft to the touch, even more so than he imagined.
He closes his eyes, concentrating on everything he feels. Yes, he definitely wants more of this…
Draco carefully loosens Harry's jeans. He takes out Harry's cock and gives it a feather-light lick.
Harry gasps, his eyes flying open again. "I suppose you've never done that to another boy before either?" he asks. He's not sure why he even wants to know. Maybe he just feels the need to say something because this seems so terribly intimate all of a sudden. It's almost more than what he's comfortable with.
"No," Draco admits with a sly grin, "but there is such a thing as Slytherin curiosity as well, you realise."
Harry wants to say more, but the next thing he knows, his cock is in Draco's mouth and Draco is sucking it with fervour, and suddenly the intimacy that seemed so threatening only a moment ago no longer bothers him.
The sensations now coursing through him are too bloody incredible to think (let alone worry) about anything else.
He emits a strangled moan, and another.
Far too soon in Harry's opinion, Draco pulls back again. "Let's get you out of these trousers, Potter," he suggests in a whisper.
"What about you? Don't tell me you get to keep your clothes on?" Harry tries to keep the mood light, but his earlier nervousness has returned, seemingly with a vengeance.
Draco chuckles. "Point taken."
He helps Harry out of his jeans and boxers, and then he gets up and strips off completely.
Stark naked and not the least bit shy about it, he saunters over to the cupboard and retrieves something from the top drawer.
"What's that?" Harry asks, gesturing towards the blue jar and struggling to tear his eyes away from Draco's lithe body because even now, he thinks, it would be sort of rude to stare.
Draco joins him on the bed. "Care to attempt a guess?"
"Um… some kind of lubricant… thing?"
"Bravo! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
"But why would you… um… have something like that in your room?" Harry stammers. "I thought said you hadn't slept with a boy yet."
"You don't necessarily use it with another person," Draco points out.
A slow minute later, realisation sinks in and Harry blushes profusely. "Oh."
"Quite."
Draco smirks smugly and returns to his earlier ministrations, licking and kissing Harry's chest, repeatedly flicking his tongue over Harry's nipples, until the boy's whimpers get loud and needy and his cock is glistening with pre-come.
"Roll over onto your stomach," Draco urges softly.
Harry does, even if he's more than a little nervous, and not too sure what to expect. He hopes this won't hurt. But it probably will. How is Draco's dick even going to fit up there, he wonders? Harry swallows hard. Maybe he should have suggested giving each other blowjobs or something instead.
But it's too late now to still change his mind…
Draco pushes a slicked finger inside Harry's entrance, exploring him, stretching him, carefully preparing him with a lot more gentleness than Harry would have expected from someone like Malfoy.
It all feels a little strange, but hardly unpleasant, and certainly not painful so far.
Harry tries to relax. If this really hurt like hell, he tries to reassure himself, people wouldn't keep doing it, right?
Draco adds another finger and suddenly he presses against a certain something that has Harry crying out in pleasure as well as surprise.
"Guh. Malfoy. What the hell was that?"
Draco chuckles softly. "Brace yourself, Potter," he whispers between Harry's shoulder blades, the exhalation of warm breath leaving goose bumps in its wake. "We have just located your prostate. This is about to get a whole lot better."
Harry frowns. He thinks he should probably know what Draco is talking about, but he doesn't. He has never even considered gay sex before.
Well, all right, he has fantasised about Malfoy and he has touched himself imagining certain things he wanted to do to his former rival, delicious, mind-blowing things, but they never involved any kind of penetration.
They were just…
Draco touches that spot again and Harry groans loudly, almost arching off the bed.
"Just so you know, Potter," Draco says, starting to sound a little breathless himself, "that noise you make when you're enjoying yourself is one of the hottest things I've ever heard. You're really giving me lots of incentive and inspiration here."
He continues to finger Harry, who moans even louder when Draco picks up the pace and goes deeper, faster, and presses down harder.
Experimentally, Harry starts to move, thrusting back against the fingers (there are three of them now, he thinks) that are playing with him, stretching him, making him feel needy and wanton and desperate and…
"Lift your hips," Draco whispers. "Just a little bit."
Harry complies without question. He'd probably do pretty much anything right now—any bloody thing—just as long as Malfoy doesn't stop.
Draco reaches down. He encircles Harry's cock and starts to pump it vigorously, moving his left hand up and down and down and up, while the fingers of his right hand continue to press and scissor, until Harry moans and whimpers and almost begs for more, for something-anything-just-please-Draco-MORE!
"Ready for me?"
Three simple words that make Harry's cock throb with need. "Yes," he says. "Please."
He almost can't believe that this is happening. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he still thinks that his is just a dream (a really brilliant, lucid dream), until he feels Draco's fingers slip out of him, only to be replaced by something else, something hard and thick and warm and moist and...
"Oh God."
"All right?" a voice by Harry's ear asks.
"Yeah," he whispers, and then Draco begins to move, slowly at first, thrusting in and out, and at the same time stroking Harry's cock.
Harry takes a deep breath and moves with him, rocking his hips back and forth.
Soon they fall into a rhythm that's not too slow and not too fast and just perfect.
Harry moans deeply. He clutches at the sheets and squints his eyes shut. "So good, Malfoy. This. Is. So. Damn. Good."
Relieved that he isn't causing Harry any discomfort, Draco quickens the pace. He starts to thrust as fast and as hard and as deep as he possibly can.
"Yeah," he says with ragged breath. "We should have done— fuck, you're tight! —this a whole lot sooner, Potter. Just think... all those times we could have shagged during detention instead of throwing juvenile insults at each other."
The only response Harry manages is a loud groan. He has a feeling that this will be over soon, and the fact that he's now stuck with a vivid mental image of Draco and himself bent over a Hogwarts desk, doing pretty much what they're doing now, but still half-dressed in their school uniforms, doesn't exactly help his self control either.
Mere moments later, Harry whimpers.
Between the warm, soft hand that's enthusiastically pumping his cock and the wonderful stimulation deep inside of him, it all gets too much, too intense, too-bloody-wonderful.
"Fuck... Yes... Guh! Draco!"
With a moan-shout, Harry throws his head back and lets go, spilling his release all over Draco's hand.
Draco kisses the back of Harry's neck and not before long, his movements turn frantic.
One, two, three, four more hard thrusts are all it takes before he too reaches completion, letting out a deep guttural cry of his own.
Through his post-orgasmic bliss Harry thinks that his given name has never sounded more desperate or erotic.
A few seconds later, they separate, both collapsing onto the bed.
Lying side by side, they stare up at the ceiling, a little too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all to make eye contact just yet.
Slowly, their breathing steadies and for the longest time, silence reigns.
Harry wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, surprised at how hot and clammy it feels. He's vaguely aware of hard rain clattering against the window.
Odd. He didn't even realise it was raining.
In the end, it's Draco who finally speaks again, softly muttering a cleaning spell, before he reaches down and pulls the covers over them both. "It's getting chilly," he says.
Harry slowly turns his head around. Shyly, he gazes at his companion from underneath his lashes, and their eyes meet.
Harry gets the impression that Draco has been watching him for a while. He's not entirely sure how he feels about that, but he can't say he really minds.
"So, Potter." Draco grins deviously. "Is the awkwardness setting in yet?"
Harry laughs. "No. I...." Impulsively, he scoots closer and buries his face against Draco's neck. "I feel pretty good, actually."
Draco fluffs Harry's hair. "Me, too," he whispers. "Albeit mildly exhausted as well."
"Oh." Harry pulls back slightly. "Do you want me to leave?"
"What? Leave? Whatever makes you think that?"
"Well…um… so you can get some sleep?"
"Ah. Well. Erm. Yes. Sleep." Draco clears his throat. "You know, you're welcome to stay, Potter. My bed's certainly big enough for two."
Harry frowns. He's a little stunned at the suggestion, but not in a bad way. "Spend the night here, you mean?"
"Yes," Draco says and adds with a grin, "We could go for another round in the morning. Provided you're up to it."
Harry chuckles. "Try me."
"I believe I just did," Draco says dryly.
And Harry can't help but laugh at that, feeling a little giddy and a lot relieved because this isn't uncomfortable at all. It's rather nice actually, and…
But wait...
Ending up in bed together once, Harry reasons, is one thing. You can blame it on raging teenage hormones, the heat of the moment, boredom even, but if they were to do it again, wouldn't that signal the beginning of some something-or-other between the two of them?
Not that Harry would mind terribly if it did.
The sex they just had was nothing short of phenomenal and when he stops to think about it, he has to admit that he likes Draco a lot. The evidence suggests that he has probably fancied him for ages.
Still, all that doesn't necessarily mean that it's also a good idea to start an actual relationship with the boy.
They have such a volatile past, they come from such different backgrounds, and most importantly, Harry still has a battle to fight and a Dark Lord to vanquish, and he hasn't a clue, not an inkling where Draco even fits into that part of the equation.
Carefully, Harry begins, "Wouldn't that... um… complicate matters?"
"How so?"
"You know, make us… expect certain things from one another, that kind of stuff?"
"Please," Draco says. "It's not like you're desperately in love with me or anything, Potter."
"Um. No," Harry mumbles. He takes off his glasses and lays them on the bedside table.
Not just yet anyway, Draco thinks. Feeling slightly triumphant, he kisses Harry on the cheek, rolls over onto his other side and biting back a grin, he whispers, "Good night, Potter."
"Hm."
Harry snuggles closer, spooning against Draco's warm back and snaking a tentative arm around the boy's waist. He half-expects to be shoved away. Draco probably isn't the type who likes to cuddle afterwards.
"Interesting," Draco says softly. "I never figured you for a snuggler, Potter." He takes Harry's hand, the one that's resting against his stomach, and he links their fingers together.
Harry smiles. He kisses Draco's shoulder, closes his eyes and sighs happily.
Outside, the rain continues to pour down relentlessly, almost as if it wants to wash away all the dust of yesteryears and ready the world for a brighter, more brilliant dawn.