Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning(s): PWP; graphic sexual content (between two males); slightly AU, mainly in some people's deaths and other people's choice of career.

Author's Notes: Yeah, no plot. Lots of porn, though. Porn that I'm too embarrassed to even read again: I'm ridiculous. *sighs* On a different note, I can't name my awesome beta (Pionie), but their help was very much appreciated; thank you, hun! ;) To everyone else, enjoy!

Harry Potter sat in the reception of the Minister's office.

He was trying very hard not to let the rhythmic thud of the pen send his already strained nerves over the edge, and that was when he noticed the tick-tock of the grandfather clock; from there it didn't take long to notice the ping-ping of the small fountain in the corner, and then it was the delivery girl's bubblegum popping every five seconds and he really couldn't take it anymore—

"Excuse me, where the f—."

"Mr Potter?" the secretary interrupted him, without even looking up from that week's Witch Weekly. "You may go inside."

Harry snapped his mouth closed and narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you know I can go in? Were you keeping me waiting on purpose?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said cheekily, and Harry's hand twitched towards his wand. "If I were you, I'd go inside or you might lose your appointment."

"I just bet," Harry snapped, before stalking towards the Minister's office. But, since he was still choking on his fury, he turned back when he reached the doorway. "He's got you well-trained."

The young woman smirked—smirked! "Do you reckon I'd still have my job if I weren't?"

Harry gritted his teeth and sent her a last glower, to which she seemed oblivious, before entering the Minister's office. Severus Snape sat on his chair, feet propped up on his desk and the latest Potions Quarterly obscuring his face.

"It's quite useless to ask, Potter. My answer is no," he said by the way of greeting.

Harry closed his mouth, and tried a different tactic. "Why?" he demanded. "I thought you didn't hate me—you said you didn't hate me!" Snape rolled his eyes. "Were you luring me into a false sense of security?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Snape's lips twitched and his eyes glinted in amusement. Harry almost missed the bitter, jaded man he had pulled from the Shrieking Shack. Snape was still sadistic and sarcastic though; not much one could do about that. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

If Harry expected him to say anything else, he would have been disappointed. "Do you want me to beg?" Sad thing was, Harry really would if it got him out of his predicament.

Snape let out a short laugh. "I'm afraid I'm a firm believer in tough love, Potter. You are rooming with Mr Malfoy and that's my final word."

"Kingsley would have—," Harry started, but Snape interrupted him, lifting the potions journal again in clear dismissal, "Exit's through there, Potter. Do close the door."

Harry took great pleasure in not only closing the door, but banging it on his way out.

Harry climbed the narrow stairs to his assigned flat, two boxes of pizza balanced in his left hand and a carrier bag with fizzy drinks in the other.

It was his turn to make dinner, and Merlin forbid him from forgetting. Last time, Malfoy had spent the entire week in a snit, sending lame jabs at Harry for everything and nothing.

Harry didn't get it; Malfoy usually spent the entire meal complaining about Harry's cooking. Not that it stopped him from filling his plate twice every time, as Harry usually pointed out, and that was usually when they stopped speaking for the evening. Yes, living with Malfoy was trying for everyone involved, and Harry made damn sure he went to the Minister's office to complain at least once a week. No sense in suffering alone, he thought.

Still, despite knowing how sensitive Malfoy was about, well, everything, Harry bought Muggle fast-food. He rather thought Malfoy would appreciate the indulgence, even if the prat wouldn't admit it.

Harry juggled his hands' full, put his wand in the keyhole to open the door and got inside.

He immediately wished he hadn't — someone was moaning and grunting in a way that was too sinful and entirely male. Also, it was not Malfoy.

Harry froze. It wasn't such a strange occurrence to know more about your flatmate's sex life than you ever wanted to — they lived in a students' residence, after all, and Harry still recalled some of the things he'd heard Hannah Abbot say — shout — to Neville. Harry supposed he should just label the situation as hilarious for him and rotten luck for Malfoy, and go on with his business.

Unfortunately, there were unbidden images of Malfoy taking over his mind and Harry was starting to get hot and sticky. It really had been way too long since he last indulged himself, if Malfoy was all it took to get him randy these days . . . .

Someone else moaned. Dear Merlin, was Malfoy having a threesome?

Harry had never pegged Malfoy for a kinky kind of bloke. Then, precisely because of that, Harry heard what was missing — Malfoy's own moaning.

More than a little curious, Harry crossed the kitchen into the living room, leaving the food on the island in the middle, and then into his own bedroom, to find Malfoy sitting on Harry's sofa in the dark, looking very entertained by Harry's Muggle television and private DVD collection. "Malfoy?"

Malfoy nearly jumped out of his skin, and then fumbled for the remote, obviously trying to shut the TV off, but only managing to turn up the volume — Film Star could have woken the dead when Hot Journalist entered him from behind. Tomorrow there would be hell to pay from the other trainees.

Harry was torn between laughter and groaning, so he saved the reaction for later and simply walked around the sofa, taking the remote from Malfoy to press Pause and plopped himself down next to him. He glanced at Malfoy, who had his arms crossed in front of his chest, cheeks flushed and staring sullenly at the floor, but there was no mistaking the bulge in his jeans.

"I thought you were coming home late," Malfoy accused. As if his getting caught was Harry's fault.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I only meant I was going to get dinner first."

"Too lazy to cook dinner?" Malfoy snapped.

"Too proud to ask for my porn collection?" Harry shot back.

For a moment, they sat glaring at each other, before Harry glanced towards the screen. He quite liked this particular film and they had just started getting it on. "You hungry?" he asked casually.

Malfoy flushed. "Not much."

Harry felt himself get warmer, and shoved Malfoy slightly to get himself more comfortably settled. "Budge over." Malfoy did, and Harry pressed Play.

Mr PA began getting cosy on the car's bonnet, while watching Film Star and Hot Journalist.

Harry shifted and parted his legs, while Malfoy's breath hitched. Film Star leant forward and they got a screen full of his arse being pounded by Hot Journalist. Harry bit back a groan, extremely aware of Malfoy by his side, of his flushed cheeks and darkened eyes, and of how his hand was twitching, as if he, like Harry, was dying to touch himself.

Harry jumped when a hand settled over his own erection. "Ugh, Malfoy," he protested weakly, "wrong crotch there."

Malfoy's face was so red, it was practically glowing. "Shut up."

Harry wasn't about to turn down the best action he'd had in a while, so he spread his legs wider.

Malfoy finally took his eyes from the TV and they glowed with lust as he looked at Harry, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Cautiously, he unzipped Harry's jeans and sneaked his hand inside. Harry wasn't too proud of the whimper that escaped his throat at the contact.

Malfoy exhaled. It made Harry want to reciprocate. He let his arm fall from the back of the sofa to Malfoy's shoulders, and ran his other hand down Malfoy's chest to the seam of his sweatpants. Their eyes locked.

Malfoy froze, but then growled low in his throat and pushed Harry onto his back, his hand moving faster on Harry's cock. Harry groaned, and shoved Malfoy's sweatpants down his hips to reach the hardness below.

Harry couldn't last, wouldn't last, if Malfoy kept looking at him as if he were going to eat Harry alive, so he closed his eyes, struggling to catch his breath. They moved faster. Harry startled when Malfoy closed his lips over Harry's neck and sucked on his skin. He turned his face to the side, exposing himself to Malfoy's teeth and tongue.

But Malfoy stopped when the need to breathe became urgent, and he tucked his head in the crook of Harry's neck, inhaling deeply as his movements became erratic. Soon, Harry thought, soon they were both going to come, in each other's arms, and they hadn't even kissed.

On the TV, Mr PA was fucking himself with the handle of microphone, while watching Film Star ride Hot Journalist to oblivion.

"Fuck, look at that," Harry breathed, pumping Malfoy faster and hoping he understood. Malfoy did, because his eyes widened, his cock twitched and he tightened his hand around Harry's.

Harry saw stars. Malfoy groaned, his hips snapping forward unsteadily, and he spilled all over Harry's hand just when Mr PA cried out his release.

Malfoy's weight slumped on Harry, but Harry was too sluggish to tell him to get a grip and move away; in fact, his body wasn't even capable of shoving Malfoy off himself. On the screen, the next scene came along, this one with Hot Journalist and Pretty Photographer.

Unfortunately and unlike Mr PA and Film Star, Harry couldn't fade to black and avoid Malfoy.

But Malfoy didn't seem in a rush to move, still resting on Harry, all limbs and elbows, with his head tucked into Harry's collarbone. "That thing with the microphone looked dangerous," he commented after awhile. "Nothing can possibly be that good."

Harry snorted, "You've been deprived. Besides, that's a prop; it's perfectly safe."

Malfoy's head snapped up. "You've been buggered, Potter? Didn't take you for the sort . . . ."

Harry narrowed his eyes and suddenly it was much easier to shove Malfoy onto the floor. Malfoy yelped, but caught himself before smashing his nose on the coffee table. He glared at Harry from his spot on the floor, sitting on his bare arse. "I haven't been buggered by anyone," Harry snapped.

Malfoy lost his glare and quirked an eyebrow. "By a microphone, then?"

Harry felt himself flush a little. "Shut up."

Malfoy's eyes got darker. "Did you like it?"

The room was suddenly charged with something, the same solemn, secret mood from before. "I can show you," Harry said, lowering his eyes, unable to look at Malfoy.

"You're not shoving anything into me, Potter," Malfoy growled, voice low. Harry frowned and lifted his head to tell him that he could go shove something somewhere else, when he caught sight of Malfoy's face. Hungry. Covetous. "You can show me how good it is for you, instead."

Harry's breath hitched. He sat up, shoving his jeans and underwear off, and parting his legs. Malfoy smirked sexily. Harry gulped, watching as Malfoy got up on all fours and came crawling over to Harry, eyes radiating lust and desperation. Harry felt himself stir again.

"Accio dildo. Accio lube," he breathed, sure than he would soon be unable to say that much, especially if Malfoy kept all the promises his eyes gave away. The purplish thing he had bought using every ounce of courage he had came hurtling towards him, followed closely by a pink bottle.

Malfoy's eyes kindled when he saw them. He knelt in front of Harry slowly, every move full of promise and seduction. He ran his hands over Harry's calves, up his shins, over his inner thighs, mouth so close to where Harry wanted it that he could hardly breathe and Harry moaned aloud—

Thump, thump, thump. Harry and Malfoy jumped apart.

"For fuck's sake, Potter," came the voice from the other side of the wall, "pack it in! I've got class tomorrow morning!"

They froze, staring horrified at each other. The spell was broken, and Harry couldn't believe he had got it on with Draco Malfoy, of all people. This had to end. Like, right now. "I—," Harry started to tell Malfoy to get the bloody hell out of his room, ask what the fuck had he done to Harry and threaten him with dire pain if he ever tried anything again, but the words got stuck in his throat. "I—."

"Uh, yeah," Malfoy stammered, getting up and fastening his trousers in a hurry. "I—you know, classes and all, Potter. Maybe next time."

"Yeah, next time," Harry agreed half-heartedly, wondering why Malfoy hadn't got the fuck out yet, and if he knew that his hair was all tousled in a most appealing way. Oh, who was Harry kidding? Of course Malfoy knew; Harry could just bet he was doing it on purpose to tease him.

Harry pressed Stop and turn off the TV as Malfoy left, looking everywhere but at the sofa where Harry still sat, naked from waist down, with his skin tingling in the spots Malfoy had just kissed.

***hp***hp***

Harry met Ron for lunch the following day. "Blimey, mate! You look freshly dug up. Too much 'Gossip X'?" he asked wisely. "Seamus says—."

Harry glowered. "Seamus is lucky I didn't hex him the minute I walked into the gym this morning. Bloody wanker." Harry started to maul his pasta. "The times I had to listen to him fuck through the night, and he couldn't even do me the favour of enduring it for ten—just ten—more minutes."

"Uh," Ron said around his mouthful of steak. "It's not like you were getting real action, anyway."

"So not the point," Harry snapped, glaring at Ron as if it were his fault.

It looked like Ron was going to snap right back at Harry, but then he closed his mouth and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. After a moment, he gasped, "Blimey! You had company!"

Harry knew he was blushing. He felt hot enough for it, at least. "Yes, well . . . ."

"Did he put out?" Ron asked, excitedly. "With the final exams getting near, Hermione refuses—."

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed appalled, not sure if at the question or at the bit of unwanted information. "TMI, okay? Besides, I'm not going to tell—."

"Harry, mate," interrupted Seamus, dragging back a chair at their table with an unpleasant screech, "sorry about last night. I've been going through a bit of a dry spell and I really did have classes this morning. Besides, it's not like you were getting any real—."

"He had company, Seamus," said Ron mournfully, before Harry could draw his wand and cast the nasty hex he'd been saving just for Seamus.

"Really?" Seamus's eyebrows shot up and Harry wondered if he should take offence, before deciding that his pasta deserved his attention more than his stupid, non-virgin friends. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Harry."

"You don't need to sound so surprised. I had company, so what?"

Ron and Seamus exchanged a look. Harry did not appreciate it. "Yeah, well," said Seamus, looking very patronising, "I just thought that you'd refuse to get it on anywhere near Malfoy."

Harry tried to will it down, but the blush took over his whole face. Ron was the first to cotton on and he blanched predictably, making the freckles on his nose stand out all the more. "Uh, mate? You didn't get it on near Malfoy, did you?"

"It sort of depends on what—," Harry tried.

"Blimey! You got it on with Malfoy!" It might have been that everyone chose that moment to shut up or that Ron spoke a little too loudly, but a dropped pin could be heard in the silence that followed. "Uh, sorry mate."

Harry thought he might just go and drown himself in the wizard fountain, and save Malfoy the trouble of doing it himself when he heard that everyone knew.

***hp***hp***

"Why, hello, Head-Auror. Did you come to pay your debt?" asked Severus, pleasantly.

Kingsley glowered. "Bloody wanker. I didn't, no. You still haven't won."

Severus chuckled, patting the seat next to his, and Kingsley dropped on the Minister's sofa, accepting the cup of tea and the container of Chinese noodles. "You're a fool if you don't think so. Just wait a few more days. Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy are very close to rushing in where angels fear to tread."

"We'll see," Kingsley gritted out, but it was weak, he knew. "If you're right—and mind I'm not saying that you are—it's still going to be difficult to work around all that tension."

"As long as they can work it out in some way other than fighting," Severus leered, "we can make them work in harmony. And, if they do, we'll finally have a team that isn't entirely worthless — perhaps even adequate."

Kingsley quirked an eyebrow. "Adequate, Severus? You're still trying to sell me that? You care for the brats, don't deny it, and you think Potter and Malfoy are good for each other."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "That's slander, Shacklebolt."

Kingsley snorted. "Right. Well, I don't see you trying to match-make Finnigan and Weasley, and their magic is just as compatible as Potter and Malfoy's."

Severus harrumphed. "I believe that Potter and Malfoy can grow to be acceptable men, if they lose certain pre-conceived beliefs. It's our job as educators to show them how."

Kingsley smothered a smile. "And if they happen to be happy, then it's just by chance."

"Of course."

***hp***hp***

Unfortunately, the big confrontation wasn't going to happen in the privacy of Harry and Malfoy's home, because they had Kingsley's class together that afternoon. In fact, when Harry got to the classroom, Malfoy was already sitting at the front, shoulders tense and lips pressed tightly in distaste at the girls giggling near the back.

They giggled louder when Harry threw them a glare, and he just barely refrained from hexing them. Mainly because, even if Snape wasn't going to make him work in the canteen as punishment for starting a fight, most of those girls could kick his arse as easily as they polished their nails, despite their obvious penchant for gossip.

Harry turned his nose up and headed towards Malfoy's desk. To apologise, he told himself. "Don't even think about it, Potter," Malfoy growled, throwing his backpack onto the desk to stop Harry taking the place next to his.

Harry bristled in annoyance and they glared at each other for a moment, before Harry decided that he wasn't going down that easily. He took the seat behind Malfoy, just as Kingsley walked in. "Look, Malfoy, it wasn't me. I didn't even tell Ron," Harry whispered in Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy batted at his face, without turning back. "I don't care, you rag, go away."

"I'm sorry, all right?" Harry said reluctantly. "They wouldn't leave me alone and they guessed. You know I—."

"Mr Potter."

Harry froze. He was all too familiar with that voice and it wasn't Kingsley's. He looked up to see a pair of narrowed black eyes glaring at him. He swallowed thickly, just knowing he was about to start his career as a kitchen lady. "Sir."

"Have you, perhaps, mistaken Auror Academy for a Witch Weekly's luncheon?" Snape asked coldly. "I would have thought you, of all people, would understand the importance of countering fire spells during a duel."

Harry glared at the stinging words and lost his trepidation over punishment. "Professor Shacklebolt hasn't even started the lecture," he protested. "Sir," he added when Snape's glare reached a dangerous level.

"That's because there isn't going to be one, you reckless brat!" Snape snapped. "Which is precisely why I'm here today. Professor Shacklebolt and I are going to teach you how to work your fire spells to, say, keep Inferi away or block the path of Fiendfyre," his gaze settled over Harry and Malfoy, and Harry fumed at the unfairness of it, "while duelling your way through."

"Precisely," Kingsley put in with an amused quirk of lips that annoyed Harry. "Our first team is—," he stopped himself when Snape leaned in and whispered something in his ear. "Well, it seems that our first team shall be," he paused for effect, "Potter and Malfoy!"

Harry glared at them all the way to the dais. "I hate you both," he whispered when he got close enough. Both men smirked unrepentantly.

***hp***hp***

Later that evening, Harry and Malfoy sat in their living room, sharing a pack of ice, just because they were too tired to lift their arms over their heads to cast the proper Healing Charms. "They want to kill us," Harry complained, poking a bruise on his arm and wincing when it hurt.

Malfoy snorted. "No, they're trying to make us a team."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Malfoy gave him a look. "Really, Potter, you're so naive that it borderlines on stupid."

"Hey!"

"Why do you think they made us room together? Or keep pairing us up during practise?" Harry supposed it was odd, yes, but he had decided it was Snape's way of screwing with him. "Snape and Shacklebolt have decided we're going to be a team."

Harry wasn't convinced. "Why would they decide such a thing?" Malfoy cheeks turned pink, and he mumbled something Harry didn't quite catch. "I mean, I can guess why Snape would, but Kingsley isn't evil . . . Malfoy?"

Malfoy stared at Harry. "We, er—our magic works well together."

"Our magic?" Harry echoed, frowning.

"Yes, our magic," Malfoy said really slowly as if Harry would understand it better that way. He didn't. "Don't ask why, Potter; just accept it as fact. It works for me," he added pointedly.

"O-kay," Harry agreed with reluctance. It seemed like a sound argument for teaming someone up, but he didn't really get how it would be Malfoy and Harry of all people to share such magical harmony.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes and handed Harry the ice pack, before getting up and stretching. "I need a really hot shower," he said, "or I won't get up tomorrow." Harry found he didn't really trust his voice not to embarrass him right then, so he simply nodded.

When Harry looked up again, Malfoy's eyes had gained a calculating glint that made Harry feel the need to pull his clothes closer to his body. "What?" he demanded.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing, nothing," he said, "I was just thinking that it's still early. We could order takeaway, or something, and watch a film."

It took a while for the words to sink in, but, when they did, Harry found himself flushing all the way to the roots of his hair. Considering the last thing that had happened when they had a take-away and watched a film, Harry wasn't really sure what to make of the invitation.

Malfoy's smirk turned predatory. "I happen to know you've got a really nice collection." Harry's breath hitched when Malfoy leaned on the back of the sofa, face hovering just above Harry's. "What about it, Potter? A hot bath, food and a film?"

Harry whimpered at the scent rising up from Malfoy's collar and the heat seeping through his clothes. "Yes," he breathed, leaning further in Malfoy's direction, almost failing to resist the temptation to kiss the lips hovering so close to his.

Malfoy's smirk widened into a grin. "Great! Come on, then." He took Harry's hand and pulled him to his feet. "My bathroom is bigger." Harry nodded and followed him . . . . Wait, what? Did Malfoy mean an actual bath?

It seemed that way when Malfoy put in the bathplug and turned on the hot water; he dumped in the contents of a few vials and foam started to rise up. Harry frowned. "Malfoy, what are you—?"

Malfoy didn't let Harry finish his question, pushing Harry against the closed door and kissing him. Just like that, a noisy smooch on the lips.

Harry couldn't help melting against Malfoy's kiss, who was already fumbling with the hem of Harry's shirt to pull it over his head. He leaned back afterwards, eyes going hungrily over Harry's naked chest, before bending his head to nuzzle Harry's skin, inhaling deeply every time.

Harry groaned when Malfoy licked along his collarbone. "Fuck, Potter, you're addictive. I've wanted to do this all day."

Harry grunted in reply, and parted his legs to allow Malfoy in between, fingers combing through soft strands of blond hair to guide Malfoy's head to where he wanted it. Malfoy pushed his hips against Harry's and indulged him, sucking heavily just to the left of Harry's pulse point. Harry started to move his hips against Malfoy's, heat rising between them.

Malfoy's hands drifted lower, towards Harry's backside, as bit his way down Harry's chest, before taking a nipple into his mouth to suck hard. "Why don't you Summon that purplish thing of yours, Potter?" Malfoy asked, as he popped Harry's jeans open and pushed them down Harry's hips. "I want to play with it."

Harry leaned back against the door and pulled Malfoy back for a kiss. "Why don't you get this ready while I go and get my toy?" asked Harry, shoving his hips against Malfoy's for emphasis.

Malfoy's eyes turned a stormy grey. "You'd better hurry, Potter. Or I'll come and get you."

Harry thought he wouldn't mind if it came to that, but he did as he was told.

Malfoy smiled at Harry when he returned. He had shed his blue pants, and Harry's eyes were glued to that leaking prick begging to be sucked. He looked up at Malfoy, maybe to ask if he could, but Malfoy growled, "Don't even think about it. Turn around."

Harry's stomach flipped as he complied, leaning on his arms against the bath. He felt Malfoy's hands on his shoulders, lips on his neck, down his back, until his cheeks were parted and wet fingers circled his entrance. Harry groaned. "D-Draco."

Malfoy's breath hitched. "Don't move," he asked quietly. Harry groaned as two fingers breached him. "I have to—Merlin, Potter." Malfoy was fucking him fast now, stretching him, three fingers in. Harry felt the muscles give in, and tilted his spine up, to give Malfoy better access. "Give me that thing," he demanded, and Harry did so.

"Oh," Harry breathed when he felt his toy push against his entrance. He spread his legs wider.

Malfoy was breathing heavily. "Dammit, Harry, you have no idea . . . ." He started to fuck Harry with it; slow, so slowly that Harry was reduced to a whimpering mess each time Malfoy thrust the fake prick inside him, one hand ghosting over Harry's hip, lips sucking on his arse cheeks.

It felt good; it felt so good that Harry needed more. "Draco," he pleaded, although he wasn't really sure what for. "Come on, Draco." Draco groaned and bit him, hand suddenly closing around Harry's prick, and he started to wank Harry hard and fast, thrusting into him with each twist of his wrist. Harry moaned aloud, "Draco!" and threw his head back.

Malfoy stopped, but before Harry could protest, he pulled Harry up and made him lean on the sink. "Like this, Potter. I want to see your face, too." He pulled the dildo out and filled Harry with himself without warning.

Harry cried out for more. He could see Draco's eyes in the mirror, his hands on Harry's prick and he could feel each thrust aimed exactly right, filling him just like he wanted. "Merlin, Draco, hard—harder—please."

Draco growled lowly and quickened his tempo, teeth worrying at Harry's shoulder. The waves of pleasure coursing through Harry's body were nothing like anything he had ever felt before, and he twisted his neck, reaching back to pull Draco into a kiss.

Draco whimpered and thrust all the way in, shuddering as he came inside Harry. His kiss turned vicious as he fucked Harry's mouth with his tongue and milked himself in Harry's arse, both hands working fast on Harry's prick and balls. It was too much, too soon, and Harry found himself crying out his release, coming all over Draco's bathroom tiles.

Draco caught him before Harry fell against the sink. "You dead yet, Potter?"

Harry mustered the strength to flip him off through the mirror. "Shut up, prat." He felt Draco's smile against his shoulder. "So, can you believe that something does feel that good?" he asked, eyeing his purple dildo on the floor.

Draco turned him around and looked right into Harry's eyes, gaze dark and intense. "Yes."

Harry felt himself flush. "All right, so . . ." he looked for something to say to stop Draco from looking at Harry like he was his favourite dish, "weren't we going to take a bath?"

"We should have." Draco wrinkled his nose. "We're disgusting from class." He smirked then, and cast a heating charm on the water. "Never mind, we'll do it now, and then takeaway and a film. Just like a date."

Harry knew he was being teased, but he decided he didn't mind as Draco helped him into the bath and pulled him close, all wandering hands and demanding lips.

~The End~