WARNING: Mature Content abounds. There is also the possibility of slight ridiculousness. Prepare yourselves.

oOo

"Please, Harry," Ron groaned. "Don't start this again. Not this year. This is supposed to be a happy year."

Harry stared at his best friend in growing frustration. "Ron, I can't help it if that's the reality, though. I didn't ask for it to be this way."

"No! You're making it be this way," Ron argued furiously. "You're seeing things that aren't there. Hermione thinks you're bored without all the constant danger and you're imagining things in an attempt to make the school year more exciting."

Harry adopted a hurt look. He was not imagining things. His growing suspicions were all perfectly legitimate, thank you very much. It was not his fault if certain people were incapable of becoming reformed. Clearly, Malfoy was up to something and Harry intended to find out what it was.

Opening his mouth to tell Ron just that, the redhead cut him off. "Malfoy is not up to anything, Harry," Ron hissed. "Just stop obsessing over him already!"

Harry nodded tightly but said nothing. Maybe it had been a mistake to share his suspicions with Ron. Evidently, he no longer cared if there was evil running loose in the castle. And that evil was obviously blond.

"Just promise you won't start following him again, at least," Ron sighed.

At those words, Harry's fingers began to itch, longing to draw the Marauder's Map from his bag and scan it for Malfoy's dot. His evil dot. Probably doing evil things right now and Harry was just sitting here, not doing anything to prevent them.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron swore. "Have you actually seen him do anything shady this term? At all? Seen him hex anybody? Let any deranged werewolves loose in the castle? Make any first years cry? For fuck's sake, have you even heard him speak this term?"

At the question Harry's eyebrows raised. Had he heard Malfoy do or say anything? He wasn't so sure, but it didn't matter.

"That's exactly why it's so suspicious, Ron!" Harry argued in a low voice. "He's been so quiet, not saying anything or strutting around like his usual arrogant arse. He's clearly planning something terrible—maybe even worse than last time." At Ron's raised eyebrows, Harry flushed.

"Worse than last time?" Ron echoed in disbelief. "You really think he's planning something worse than unleashing Death Eaters in the castle or trying to kill Dumbledore?"

Shrugging helplessly, Harry shook his head and sighed. "All right, maybe not," he relented grudgingly. "But he's up to something!"

Ron just gave him a pitying look. "You really need a hobby, mate."

Green eyes shot him an icy glare. Thwarting evil was a perfectly acceptable hobby, one he had been doing practically since birth. And the evil he thwarted was never imagined. It was real and it was dangerous and it was still happening. Just because Voldemort had been defeated didn't mean all the evil in the world had died with him; the evil had simply reverted to a form less noseless and more blond.

"Whatever," Ron grumbled, slamming his textbook shut. "I can't concentrate anymore, I'm going to bed." Joints popping, he stood and collected his parchments, books, and quill from the table in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room the two had been working at. "You coming?"

"In a minute," Harry said. "I just have a bit more left on this essay, may as well get it done now." Trying to force a casual tone was not as easy as it should have been, but Ron seemed to believe it well enough.

"All right," the redhead nodded. "Night, then." He turned to walk away but paused before twisting back around. "And please, Harry, for the sake of my sanity if not for anything else, drop the Malfoy subject."

Resolutely not looking his best friend in the eye, Harry nodded.

"Good," Ron sighed. Shifting his belongings in his hands, he crossed the Common Room and trudged up the stairs out of Harry's line of sight.

Quick as a flash, the Marauder's Map was spread open across the table and green eyes were scanning it earnestly. "Malfoy…Malfoy…" Harry muttered, looking for the Slytherin's dot. The evil dot that was clearly up to something. As Harry spied it, he grinned smugly. Malfoy was alone and, according to the map, had broken into Snape's old office. Ha, suck it, Ron.

Already planning all the enthusiastic I told you so's he would assault Ron with first thing in the morning, Harry quickly piled his books together and folded up the map, tucking it into his bag atop his Invisibility Cloak. Both Ron and Hermione had asked him why he still carried it around with him everywhere he went, but he could only shrug and tell them it was habit.

Slipping out of the portrait hole, he swung the cloak over himself, disappearing into the heavy darkness. It was well past curfew. The corridors were empty and Harry's footsteps echoed lightly off the stone walls as he made his way to the dungeons, pausing every now and then to check the map to make sure that Malfoy was still in Snape's office.

If Harry was being truthful with himself, he wasn't actually sure what he expected to find. He had no idea at all what Malfoy might be up to—he only had the niggling suspicion that the blond was up to something.

Malfoy had shown up at the start of term different: he no longer spoke in a loud condescending drawl or ordered people around. He no longer strutted up and down the corridors as if he owned the school or threatened students and staff alike with the wrath of his father. He kept his head low, spoke to almost no one, and refused to look in Harry's direction. All fucking term. All of which could only mean one thing: he was clearly planning something horrible.

Although to what purpose, Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed to keep an eye on Malfoy. Just in case.

As he neared the room he slowed, creeping toward the door and casting a silencing charm before breaking the admittedly weak locking spell Malfoy had cast. But the fact that he had cast one at all made Harry even more suspicious.

The door was eased open gently, just enough for Harry to slip inside the room and shut it before glancing around. It was nearly exactly the same as he remembered—low ceilings, dim lighting, stone walls covered in shelves still groaning beneath dusty jars. The only thing missing was the overbearing presence of Snape, swooping out of the shadows and deducting House points. But even without the man, Harry was surprised to find the office largely untouched.

The eyes that had been busy scanning the room focused almost immediately on the slash of white-blond hair bent over a cauldron set up atop the large desk in the center. The slim boy was facing away from Harry and muttering as he counted anti-clockwise stirs aloud.

Deciding against waiting all night for the Slytherin to finish his potion, Harry silently removed his cloak and waited until he had set the stirrer aside before speaking. "Malfoy."

Malfoy whirled around, grey eyes large and wild. Harry took a moment to wonder how he knew the color of Malfoy's eyes so certainly when he was unable to distinguish between inky pupil and the silver surrounding it in the dim lighting of the room, but he pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment. What was more important: eye color or stopping evil?

"Potter," Malfoy choked, then straightened and attempted to adopt his usual cool demeanor. "What are you doing here?"

"What, you mean hanging out in a dead professor's old office after curfew?" Harry raised an eyebrow and gestured toward Malfoy. "Apparently everyone's doing it."

Two pale fists clenched tightly as rage flashed across Malfoy's face—a rage that Harry hadn't seen in a very long time. At the feeling that swept through him at the sight, he paused. Had he possibly missed Malfoy's tempers?

But the next second the blond had regained control and the anger had faded behind his smooth mask. "You followed me." He spoke in a tone of voice that suggested boredom but held himself far too stiffly for it to be believed.

Harry shrugged. "Obviously someone has to."

"And you so graciously volunteered for the job," Malfoy sneered.

Ah, there's the Malfoy I recognize, Harry thought victoriously. "So you're saying you aren't up to anything at all anymore, then?" One eyebrow still raised, Harry glanced around the room pointedly. Malfoy turned pink.

"This isn't the same," he replied stiffly. "This isn't anything dangerous."

"Yeah? And what is it, then?" challenged Harry. "What are you doing sneaking around at night breaking into offices for?"

The glare Malfoy leveled him with made him fidget uncomfortably. "Yes," he hissed. "Because I'm clearly the only one sneaking around at night breaking into offices."

Harry felt his face heat as he turned away. "I'm just making sure you're not up to anything."

"For fuck's sake, Potter!" said Malfoy angrily. "I'm brewing a potion for me. A perfectly legal potion, I might add. Certainly not one meant to harm anybody."

"So what does it do then?" Harry asked curiously in spite of himself. The potion was tangerine-colored and the steam it gave off almost crimson. Despite his conviction that the potion was to be used in some sort of nefarious plot he still had yet to figure out, he found himself intrigued.

"It's a Retention Potion," the blond sighed heavily as if resigned to having to explain himself. "It's very difficult to make and is meant to aid in studying. All right?" The grey eyes narrowed. "Nothing malevolent about studying, is there? Not that you would know."

An uncomfortable prickling was beginning along Harry's neck. A Retention Potion to help him study? That was his evil scheme?

"You just…want good marks?" Maybe achieving good marks was the first step in Malfoy's real evil plot. Maybe once he secured good marks he would…what? Secure a good job? Step number two on the path to evil?

"N.E.W.T.'s are coming up and I just want O's." Malfoy sounded exhausted, as though his earlier anger had drained him completely. "So if you'll excuse me…"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" asked Harry suspiciously. As if Malfoy hadn't lied to him before. As if Malfoy didn't get off on lying to him.

"You don't," Malfoy shot back, anger returning instantly to the pale features. "But the days I owed you any sort of explanation are long past. In fact, they never existed. This potion is very tricky and I have to get the timing just right, so if you'll kindly fuck off." And following the pointed glare, he turned his back to Harry and returned his attention to the book spread open next to his left hand. Lifting a large vial of dark liquid, he began counting drops.

"It's not like you've never done anything suspicious before," Harry argued petulantly, refusing to give up so easily.

"So I should expect to see you lurking in my shadows keeping tabs on me for the rest of my life?" Malfoy gritted out between clenched teeth. "Because of actions taken out of fear of a madman's threats made against the lives of both my family and myself?"

"Maybe not the rest of your life," Harry disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Just until I feel you're not up to anything depraved."

"Depraved?!" Malfoy shrieked, whipping around to glare at him. "Fucking depraved? Fuck you very much, Potter! I knew I should have identified you at the Manor and been done with it!"

At his words, hot shame pooled in Harry's stomach. "So why didn't you, then?" he asked coldly, in complete contrast to the molten swirl of anger and shame spreading through his intestines. If Malfoy wanted him dead so much, why not seize the opportunity when it had presented itself?

"Perhaps I selfishly wanted to make it out of the war alive?" Malfoy drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And naively thought you the only viable option for that wish? I assure you it was not done out of the desire to be accused by you of becoming the next Dark Lord."

Harry wanted to stamp his foot at those words. He was not accusing Malfoy of becoming the next Voldemort, only implying that the blond was slightly more than your average, everyday evil. He was his own kind of evil. He was platinum blond evil.

Opening his mouth to say something along those lines, he was stopped by a curse from Malfoy.

"Fuck!"

Harry's eyes widened as he followed Malfoy's eye line to the potion, now bubbling angrily and spilling over the lip of the cauldron. Several large bubbles popped wetly, spitting rust colored drops that landed in audible splashes along Malfoy's face and bare forearms. His robes were nowhere to be seen and both sleeves had been rolled up to his pale elbows. Raising his wand—a new wand, Harry noticed with another pang of guilt—he quickly vanished the entire cauldron, but his eyes grew larger as he noticed the colored drops staining his skin and lips—had any gotten in his mouth?

"Fuck," he managed weakly as his knees gave out. Harry ran forward, catching him just before he hit the ground.

Lowering the slim boy gently to the floor, he quickly vanished all traces of the liquid that had landed on the unconscious teen. Fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck! Harry began to panic, convinced that he had just killed Draco Malfoy. Fuck, he told me not to distract him and now he's dead!

Two fingers slid along the skin beneath Malfoy's jaw, searching for a pulse. The beat beneath Harry's fingers was stuttered for several brief moments but slowly evened out, Malfoy's chest rising and falling gently. Harry sagged with relief.

"Malfoy?" he asked cautiously, tilting his head to peer closely at him. Harry had never seen him this close before. His skin was impossibly pale and appeared to be almost glowing in the dim light of the dungeons; his eyebrows and eyelashes were long and silvery and nearly translucent. His cheeks were hollow and elongated, lips thin and several shades darker than his alabaster skin. His hair, once worn slicked back so fastidiously, was now worn loose and swept gently across his forehead.

Harry's fingers itched and he had to fight the urge to brush the blond fringe out of the unconscious boy's eyes. With his eyes closed like that, he looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

The second the word passed through his brain Harry shook his head frantically. I did not just think of Malfoy as beautiful.

Luckily for Harry, at that moment a low groan issued from the other boy's mouth, drawing the brunet's immediate attention. "Malfoy?"

Grey eyes flicked open suddenly, startling Harry. A slow, lazy smile spread across the pale features.

"Hi," he whispered shyly.

"Erm, hi," Harry responded in confusion. "Are you all right?"

"Now that you're here, I'm fine," said Malfoy in the same bashful tone.

"Er, okay then?" Harry's confusion was growing by the second, as was his concern. What the hell did that potion do to him? "Good, that—that's good."

"So green," Malfoy breathed, looking him straight in the eye and reaching up one pale hand to trace Harry's eyebrows lightly. "So pretty."

Flushing, he ducked out of Malfoy's touch and clambered quickly to his feet. "Well, come on, then. Can't lie on the floor all night, can we?" he said with forced cheer. Was this real? Or was this part of Malfoy's plot? Was he attempting to flatter Harry into lowering his guard right before springing the villainy on him?

But as Malfoy blushed at his words and giggled, Harry felt certain this was no act. "Why don't you take me somewhere more comfortable to lie with you, then?" Malfoy suggested coyly.

Harry's cheeks burned and he turned away so Malfoy wouldn't see his embarrassment. Spying the abandoned textbook on the desk, he began scanning it quickly, hoping it would have an idea of what had happened to the boy still lying on the floor.

"Fuck. It only mentions side effects if the potion is touched before it's finished," said Harry in frustration. "It doesn't say what those side effects are." His eyes continued scanning the page. "Wait, it says that they shouldn't last more than a few hours, so that's good!"

"Yes, very good," a voice breathed into his ear, and Harry felt arms wrap around him from behind. "Excellent, in fact." One pale finger began tracing shapes into the fabric covering Harry's chest and he shivered at the touch.

"So, we should probably just take you back to the dorm then, yeah?" croaked Harry. Was Malfoy caressing him? What the hell did that potion do to him?

"All right," the blond agreed instantly. "Let's go back to my dorm." His hand drifted lower along Harry's abdomen as he spoke and Harry quickly grabbed it before it could continue its downward path.

"Yes, we will take you back to the dorm," he said firmly, spinning around to look Malfoy in his eyes. His very, very grey eyes, so very near Harry's own. Shaking his head swiftly, he squared his jaw.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Malfoy pouted, and Harry's gaze couldn't help but be drawn to those lips, looking impossibly pretty and soft when pulled into a pout. They were the lightest shade of pink and somehow delicate-looking.

"I, er, what?" Harry asked, tearing his stare from the blond's mouth—a mouth that quirked into a sly grin at Harry's obvious distraction.

"Why don't we just wait here for the side effects to wear off?" the mouth suggested. Wait here? With Malfoy and his perfect, lovely mouth? Harry nodded in agreement before he caught himself.

"Er, no, wait, what?" he stammered. "We can't wait here. What would we do?" The instant the words left his lips he regretted them. One corner of Malfoy's mouth pulled up into a seductive smirk.

"I'm sure I could find some way to entertain you, Harry," he purred. Did he just call him Harry? Did he just volunteer to entertain the brunet? "You wouldn't just leave me on my own, would you?" As Malfoy spoke he shifted closer until he was practically molded to the front of Harry's body. "That's hardly very chivalrous of you, is it?" One pale finger gently stroked the length of Harry's cheek and he unconsciously leaned into the light touch.

"No, I s'pose not," Harry swallowed. Malfoy had a point. Harry could hardly just drop him off somewhere to care for himself when there was clearly something wrong with him, and it had been entirely Harry's fault that the potion had boiled over in the first place.

"Your eyes," Malfoy said solemnly, "are the loveliest shade of green. Like wild ivy or purest emerald."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. Did Malfoy just compliment him? Call him lovely? Compare him to nature and gemstones? Maybe the side effects he was experiencing were all positive. Maybe Malfoy should always be doused in that potion.

"So green," he continued in the same formal intonation as if what he was saying to Harry was of the utmost importance. "So pretty."

"You think my eyes are pretty?" Harry chuckled. God, Malfoy would be so mortified the instant he snapped out of it. But for now…may as well enjoy the flattery.

"No," Malfoy answered, and Harry frowned and began to rethink enjoying the flattery—until the blond continued speaking. "I think all of you is pretty."

I think all of you is pretty. Did Malfoy just call him pretty? Harry's frown deepened. He wasn't sure how he felt about being called pretty.

But the next second he was distracted as Malfoy pressed his hips into Harry's and Harry felt an unmistakable bulge poking into him. Attempting to avoid the contact, he took a step back, only to be met with solid wood digging into his spine. He was trapped between Malfoy and the desk and was at a complete loss for what to do.

This was not exactly the evil I had imagined him to be up to, Harry thought wryly.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy asked. There was a sadness in his voice that gave Harry the unexplainable urge to comfort him; he wanted to wrap his arms around the blond and chase the heartbreak from his eyes.

"Erm, nowhere?" Harry replied sheepishly.

"Why are you always trying to get away from me?" The sadness was even more pronounced.

"No, I'm not going anywhere!" Harry said quickly. "Look, Malfoy, I'm here. I'm right here and I haven't gone anywhere." To emphasize his point, he placed both hands on Malfoy's shoulders, hoping his touch would comfort the blond.

"No, I can see it in your face," Malfoy shook his head stubbornly, breath hitching. "You don't want to be here. You want to leave." He dropped his arms and turned away from Harry, breathing rapidly.

"No, I'm sorry," Harry apologized as he stepped back in front of the other boy. "I didn't mean it. It's just that, you know, this isn't how you normally act and I suppose I'm just getting used to these side effects on you…" His words trailed off awkwardly as grey eyes met his own.

Pale arms were suddenly flung around Harry's neck as Malfoy clung to him tightly. "Course you are," he cooed, warm breath tickling Harry's ear. "I suppose I'm more used to it because I've always thought you were pretty. But I suppose I've never told you until tonight, so of course you're not used to it."

Harry wondered for a moment whether mood swings were part of the side effects, but then the words Malfoy had said sank in.

"Wait, always?" he asked sharply, pulling back to look Malfoy in the eye.

"Of course always," Malfoy responded, rolling his eyes. "You've always been pretty, so I've always thought of you as such." His tone implied that he thought Harry really very stupid for not understanding what was so clearly a simple concept. "Your eyes are perfectly green and your hair is perfectly black and your skin is perfectly perfect," he continued in a sing-song voice. "You're perfect, Harry." His head bent forward and his lips ghosted over the skin of Harry's jaw, who was standing stock-still in a frozen daze.

Always? Perfect? What?

"No," he managed to croak. "You hate me." The light kisses being placed on Harry's neck and jaw did not pause.

"No, you hate me," Malfoy corrected. "I simply pretended to hate you back."

Harry felt dizzy; tilted and unsteady as if the entire world had slipped off its axis and was now dangling at a dangerous angle. Malfoy didn't hate him? He thought Harry pretty? Perfect, even? Had the potion somehow transported the real Malfoy somewhere else and replaced him with this new strange, flattering look-alike? One who knew how to do amazing things with his tongue and the skin of Harry's throat?

"Erm, Malfoy?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Draco," the blond corrected.

"I, er, what?" As Malfoy's tongue traced over the tender skin below Harry's ear, he shivered and bit back a moan.

"Draco," the other boy repeated. "My name? You've never called me by it."

"Oh, er, right, sorry," Harry stammered. There was a reason, he was sure, that he should be pushing the blond away. Wasn't there? A very good reason. Probably almost as good as the feel of his earlobe in Malfoy's warm mouth. "Draco?" he tried again and felt a hollow disappointment when the feel of that mouth disappeared.

Malfoy leaned back to look Harry in the eye very seriously. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Please shut up now." And with that Malfoy jerked Harry forward into a kiss. Their mouths were suddenly pressed together and Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. Malfoy sucked on Harry's bottom lip for a moment before pushing his tongue inside Harry's mouth and holding his face firmly between two palms. Malfoy held him tightly, kissing him with a fierce single-mindedness that Harry did not expect from the blond. There was a faint ringing in his ears and his head felt far too light.

Was Malfoy kissing him? Was Draco fucking Malfoy kissing him? And, gods above, was Harry kissing him back? As his hands twisted in Malfoy's shirt and pulled him closer, Harry felt fairly certain the answer was yes.

The instant his lips unfroze and hesitantly molded themselves to Malfoy's, the blond whimpered and clutched him even tighter. The kiss was searing, intense, almost less of a kiss and more of a pleasant struggle, but to Harry it was perfect. Malfoy clung to him almost desperately, kissing him passionately and making tiny sounds in the back of his throat. His body was warm where it fit snugly against Harry's and he was doing things with his tongue that the Gryffindor had never imagined.

The only thing missing is my ability to survive without oxygen, he thought dizzily as he pulled back to gulp in large lungfuls of air. Malfoy's lips did not stop their assault, moving down Harry's chin to the skin of his throat, sucking on both collarbones and the hollow between them before moving back up to the skin below his ear. Harry tilted his head and groaned.

"Harry," Malfoy murmured. "Want you. Want to fuck you."

Swept away in the sensation of it all, Harry hummed in response before his eyes flew open and his head jerked back, dislodging Malfoy's lips from their placement on his jaw. Ignoring the sounds of protest from the other boy, Harry shook his head frantically.

"No, Malfoy, no."

"Yes, Potter, yes," Malfoy insisted, silver eyes glittering.

"I—no—really—" Harry stammered. Fuck him? Malfoy wanted to fuck him? Well, Harry supposed it really wasn't that big of a surprise, considering the way the blond had been attempting to devour him only moments ago. But fuck him? Couldn't they just keep kissing? Harry was fine with kissing—as long as it wasn't the beginning of some sort of evil plot. But did Harry want to get fucked by Malfoy? Or anybody, for that matter? It sounded extremely unpleasant, not to mention painful.

Maybe that was the real evil plot Malfoy had been working toward. It certainly sounded evil enough. And slightly intriguing, if Harry was being honest with himself, but mostly evil. Yep, definitely evil, he decided, as something thick and hard poked him stiffly in the thigh.

"Malfoy, really, I don't—maybe we should take you back—OH!" His protests were cut off by a large gasp as Malfoy's hand reached down to cup him firmly through his jeans. He squeezed lightly and Harry rocked into his hand before he could stop himself.

"How about," Malfoy began, reaching out with his other hand to grab Harry's hip and still his motions, "you fuck me first? And then I'll fuck you."

Fuck him first? Malfoy wanted Harry to fuck him? That particular plan didn't sound so evil. In fact, it sounded like the opposite of evil. It sounded purely non-evil, possibly the most non-evil thing to ever come out of Malfoy's mouth. It started sounding more and more brilliant as Malfoy's hand squeezed tighter. Harry could fuck him. He would fuck him—god, he wanted to fuck him.

"Okay," he agreed in a throaty voice.

Malfoy shuddered and his hand stilled as he pulled back to look Harry in the eye for the briefest of seconds before attacking him, tearing at his clothing in a vicious frenzy until his shirt was lying several feet away and his jeans and pants were pooled around his ankles. He held tightly to Malfoy's shoulders for balance as he toed off his trainers and stepped from the clothing. His cheeks flushed as Malfoy's gaze raked over him hungrily, pausing for an embarrassingly long time on Harry's groin. He had been hard but was rapidly deflating as all the blood in his body rushed into his face under the intense scrutiny of the other boy's silver stare.

"I, er, what about you?" Harry stuttered, hoping for any sort of distraction to remove those eyes from his body. "Shouldn't you, you know, be less dressed?"

A beatific smile lit up Malfoy's face and Harry felt his breath catch. The blond really was beautiful. "Help me?" he suggested coyly, and Harry could only nod dumbly as he stepped forward to tug the shirt over the other boy's head with clumsy movements before fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers.

The clothing was quickly discarded and at the sight of a fully-nude Malfoy, Harry felt the blood begin to pool once more in his groin. The other teen's body was long and lean, thin, but with clearly defined muscles gleaming palely in the dim light. His body hair was either non-existent or invisible, except for the patch of golden curls surrounding his erect cock, jutting out toward Harry and giving him insane thoughts such as wondering what it would taste like or how it would feel in his hand.

Deciding to answer the latter query immediately, he reached down and grasped the pale appendage in a firm grip, noting that it was roughly the same size and shape as his own, albeit slightly longer and less thick. Malfoy made a soft breathy noise, snapping Harry back into focusing on the task at hand. Or the task in hand, as the case seemed to be.

"So, erm, where should we do this?" Harry asked awkwardly, regretting his question when Malfoy stepped away from him. Bending low, he picked up his fallen wand and, smirking at Harry, hopped up onto the desk, sweeping aside the textbook, notes, and leftover ingredients onto the stone floor of the office.

Crooking one pale finger, he beckoned Harry closer, a request the brunet was only too eager to comply with. He stepped toward the blond and ran his hands up the other boy's thighs teasingly before encircling his arms around Malfoy's waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

Malfoy responded with a moan, wrapping his legs around Harry's hips and bringing their erections into contact, which was most definitely not evil. In fact, it was Harry's new most favorite thing in the world.

"Fuck me, Harry," Malfoy whispered.

Okay, maybe it was Harry's second new most favorite thing.

"I, yeah, all right," Harry said loudly, cringing at his own volume. Lowering his voice, he spoke again as he stroked the smooth skin of Malfoy's back. "What do I do?"

"Have you never fucked a boy before?" Malfoy murmured, his voice taking on an almost possessive tone as he tightened the grip of his legs around Harry's waist.

"No," he answered breathlessly.

"Have you ever fucked anyone before? Or been fucked by anyone?"

"No," Harry admitted, certain that this was where the evil entered the plan. Malfoy would surely mock him mercilessly for his inexperience, thusly proving correct all of Harry's theories about the blond's malicious nature. Then Harry could say I told you so to Ron, largely editing out most of the story of course, and Ron would acknowledge Harry's superior evil-detecting instincts and Harry would feel vindicated. Right? At the moment, the thought left him with much less of a feeling of vindication and more of a hollow throb in his chest.

Sighing, he waited for the virginal taunting to begin.

"Me neither," Malfoy confessed, grabbing Harry's palm and pressing his wand to it.

For one wild moment, Harry believed he would be hexed for admitting to being a virgin, but the next second his hand was covered in a slick viscous liquid and Malfoy was speaking. He quickly explained the process to Harry, blushing and giggling several times throughout, and Harry found himself entranced by this new Malfoy—one who laughed freely and ducked his head shyly, whispered compliments and endearments into Harry's ear. With a pang, he knew that he would miss this Malfoy terribly when the potion's side effects wore off.

In growing wonderment he watched as Malfoy unlocked his legs from around Harry's waist and lay down on his back on the desk, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the wooden surface.

"I'm ready," he sang, a delicate pink staining his cheeks.

"Er, right," Harry said firmly. Now that he knew the process and the steps involved, he felt more certain, but there was a tight nervousness in his throat as one hand drifted low to press a shaky finger against the furrowed skin of Malfoy's entrance. He circled it for a moment before slipping the digit inside and was immediately amazed by the tight heat. Was Malfoy certain that this would work? But the more he moved his finger, the easier it became until he had two, then three fingers pressed inside and Malfoy was rocking his hips and squirming.

Another lubrication spell was cast on Harry's palm and he slicked his cock quickly, desperate to be inside Malfoy. Gripping the base and lining the tip up, he took a deep breath and pressed forward slowly, pausing to stroke the silk of Malfoy's thighs every few seconds, until he was buried completely inside. I'm having sex with Malfoy, he wondered in amazement. I just lost my virginity to Draco Malfoy. The thought was enough to make him pause for a long moment until Malfoy began to fidget beneath him.

"Move, Harry," he whined, snapping Harry out of his daze.

Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled out slightly before pushing back in, starting shallow and slow and building a gradual tempo, until finally his hips were snapping and Malfoy was moaning and thrashing beneath him. One pale hand reached up to wrap around his neglected cock, but Harry swatted it away and replaced it with his own, stroking him firmly in time to the thrusts.

It felt like barely any time had passed at all before it was suddenly over. Harry felt it when Malfoy came—his entire body tensed and his back arched up off the surface of the desk as he came in long gasping spurts. The sight of Malfoy, sweaty and mussed, head thrown back and moaning, triggered Harry's own release and he came with a cry.

Opening his eyes slowly, Harry blinked and stared down. Malfoy was laying perfectly still, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth as he watched Harry silently. The brunet reached out to trace one cheekbone with his fingertips before bending low to capture Malfoy's mouth in a gentle kiss.

"Draco," he murmured affectionately, nearly falling over when Malfoy sat up without warning and flung himself into Harry's arms, ignoring the wince of discomfort that flashed across his face for a moment as he lowered his legs from their bent position on the desk.

"I knew there was a reason I was so mad for you," he said excitedly, clinging to Harry and ignoring the sweat and semen coated uncomfortably between them. "I knew you would be an absolutely wonderful shag."

"Oh really?" Harry asked in amusement. Had he really been wonderful? "Think about how I shag very often, do you?"

"Oh yes," Malfoy nodded seriously. "All the time."

All the time? Was that real, or was that the potion talking? Harry was no longer sure what was a side effect and what, if anything, was the truth. Which was the real Malfoy? The cold, distant boy who had once taken so much delight in tormenting Harry? Or this new blushing, flirtatious Malfoy who whispered sweet things and called Harry pretty?

Without a doubt, Harry knew which one he preferred. But was this a temporary personality change? Or had the potion brought out a hidden side of Malfoy?

And the most important question: how did Harry hang onto this version of the blond?

Unsure of how to answer any of the questions ricocheting around his dazed skull, he did the only thing he could think of and leaned forward to capture Malfoy's mouth in a kiss. The kiss was soft, slow, achingly sweet, and left Harry with a chill and a bitter taste in his throat at the thought of never experiencing this again. Would Malfoy ever speak to him again after the potion's effects wore off? Would he even be willing to look Harry in the eye the next morning?

Tightening his grip on the other boy's narrow waist, he decided that he would experience as much as he could while it lasted. He would have as much of Malfoy as the blond was willing to offer and could only hope the offer would extend past dawn.

"Don't forget this," Harry broke off the kiss to plead haltingly. "Tomorrow, I mean. Just…don't forget this moment. Don't forget me." As his sentence trailed off he flushed and looked away. Was he actually begging Malfoy to remember him? To stay with him? And then what? Be his boyfriend? Hold his hand in the corridors? Walk to Hogsmeade together arm-in-arm and gaze at each other starry-eyed across a table at Madam Puddifoot's? What would he say to Ron and Hermione? What would they say to him?

But the next second the worry and questions were melting from his thoughts as Malfoy trailed pale fingers over his cheek lightly, murmuring, "I won't. I wouldn't. Not ever." His words sent cool tingles of relief and anticipation through Harry at the thought of this possibly lasting past morning, mixed with feelings of sadness at his certainty of its inability to last.

But Harry wanted it to last so badly. He could not remember ever wanting anything as badly as he wanted the boy in his arms.

Was Malfoy the only one this potion had affected? How long had Harry felt this way about the other boy? How long had Harry even been attracted to boys? But something about Malfoy felt right; it felt inevitable, as if this was what the animosity between them had been building toward all these years. Had mutual attraction really been the underlying cause of all the hatred and vicious anger between the two of them?

The more he thought about it, the more he could remember stolen moments where he would let his gaze slide appreciatively over Malfoy, but he had never recognized it at the time. Even as short a time as only that very afternoon he had been accusing Malfoy of being up to something. Had he really suspected him of Dark activity? Or had that been just a weak excuse to follow him around? Talk to him, maybe?

Harry's eyes narrowed as he began to rethink his entire Evil Dot Theory.

All theories were put on hold, however, as he was snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden chill. Malfoy had stepped away and was waving his wand, cleaning the coating of sticky semen and dry sweat that had cooled on their chests, gluing them together. His skin tingled where the charm passed over it and he smiled gratefully at the blond.

It wasn't until Malfoy inched closer that Harry realized they were both still naked. "Er, should we maybe, you know, get dressed or something?" he asked awkwardly.

What was the normal etiquette for this sort of schoolyard-rivals-turned-temporary-lovers type of situation? What would be the expected behavior the next day? Were they supposed to revert to the silence and safe distances they had both been keeping to? What if this truly did mean nothing?

Had that been Malfoy's evil plan all along? To seduce Harry and make him realize his already-existent-and-oh-so-deeply-repressed feelings for the blond, only to then reject him? Could Malfoy truly be that evil?

At the sight of the other boy's open smile, so beautiful and genuine, Harry doubted it was all part of some hateful scheme to humiliate him, but how could he ever trust Draco Malfoy?

Malfoy stared at Harry for several moments before he burst out laughing. The sound of his laughter startled Harry somewhat, who had never heard the blond laugh in such a way. It was earnest and sincere, no trace of scorn or the derisive scrape it once held. His eyes were sparkling brightly, gleaming silver in the dark shadows of the potions office. A smile stretched his face in a way Harry had never before witnessed—had he simply never paid close enough attention? But no, Harry was sure of the detailed attention he had paid notice to in regards to Malfoy over the years.

Harry knew with absolute certainty what color Malfoy's eyes were, when his birthday was, who his favorite Quidditch team was, what his favorite and least favored classes were—he had had Malfoy's school schedule memorized since fourth year, for Merlin's sake. He knew which hand Malfoy wrote with and could picture the neat, slanted writing perfectly. He knew which shops Malfoy frequented in Hogsmeade—Honeydukes being his favorite, of course; Harry was well familiar with the teen's sweet tooth. He even knew which sweets were his favorite—chocolate, of course, and even which chocolate specifically—expensive dark chocolates filled with a thick pink cream that Harry was pretty sure was strawberry.

But he was startled from his thoughts as he suddenly realized that Malfoy had stopped laughing and was now eyeing him shyly.

"We haven't finished our deal, Harry," he looked straight into Harry's eyes as he took another step closer and turned a delicate pink.

Deal? They had made a deal?

With another start, Harry thought back to the words Malfoy had spoken earlier, so velvety and seductive—How about you fuck me first? And then I'll fuck you. How could he forget about agreeing to let Malfoy fuck him? The first five words had burnt a searing path through his eardrums, obliterating a trail from Harry's ears straight to his cock.

Had he really agreed to be fucked by the other boy? Was that something that he actually wanted? Malfoy had definitely seemed to enjoy it, though. And the thought of Malfoy stretched above him, gasping his name as he came inside Harry…It caused a delicious shiver to pass through him and he nodded hesitantly. He would at least try it—was he a Gryffindor or not, goddamnit?

Closing the distance between them in one quick bound, Malfoy wrapped pale arms around Harry's neck as a soft mouth was pressed gratefully to his lips. Harry's arms wound around the other boy's slender waist and he could feel both Malfoy and himself responding to the contact. The feeling of holding a naked aroused Draco Malfoy in his arms left Harry's head spinning—either that or the kiss itself, which was numbing coherency and brain power into nothing but a pleasant blur of sensation. Malfoy's hands were everywhere, his tongue was sliding sensuously against Harry's own, the dungeon air was cool but Malfoy's skin was so hot and Harry felt so warm. His nerves were on fire and he knew he needed more; he needed Malfoy. He pulled back to breathe for a moment.

"You can…" Harry hesitated, but managed to force the words out through his embarrassment, "you can fuck me now…Draco."

He never heard a response. Lips were once more pressed against his and the kisses turned harder, more insistent, and any chance of either of them speaking vanished along with most of Harry's brain power.

Before he was aware of it, he had been backed against the desk and Malfoy was pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against Harry's chest. They trailed lower and lower until the blond was on his knees, lips parted around Harry, who was panting heavily and staring down at the other boy in wonder.

Where had Malfoy been all his life?

Well, he knew exactly where he had been, of course. Smirking across the Great Hall or mocking him loudly outside the Potions rooms; selling false stories about him to the Daily Prophet, insulting his best friends, once even breaking Harry's nose.

But none of that seemed to matter at the moment. Because Harry also knew where he had been—spying on him, fighting with him, getting his father thrown into Azkaban at the end of fifth year (not something Harry regretted).

And, with an aching twinge in his chest, he could see, even in the dim lighting, silvery scars slicing delicately across Malfoy's pale torso. Harry had done that; he had put those there, nearly killed him. And he had never apologized. And Malfoy had still refused to identify him at the Manor. And he had never said thank you.

He stroked Malfoy's hair tenderly, raking his scalp with his fingernails and attempting to convey everything he felt for the teen in that moment. The intense desire that had swept through him earlier returned full force and he gently tugged Malfoy away and up to his feet. Apologetic kisses were pressed softly along the scars adorning Malfoy's chest as his breath hitched above Harry.

Allowing his body to be maneuvered, he found himself in the same position Malfoy had been in earlier—back flat against the cold wood of the desk with his feet planted firmly on the surface. Malfoy had conjured lube and was preparing Harry, there was no other word for it, lovingly. As if Harry was precious and fragile and the sole focus of Draco's attention was to see him unbroken.

Draco? When had he switched from Malfoy to Draco? Probably around the time he found that spot inside Harry's body that made him gasp and see fire. His body was burning in the best way possible, and he writhed and begged the blond for more, feeling near-hysterical laughter bubble up at the expression on Draco's face as he finally pushed forward into Harry. He looked astonished, as though he couldn't believe where he was or what he was doing.

Biting down the laughter, Harry forced his body to relax, but the manic urge to giggle threatened to well up once again as he wondered if maybe there was something to his Evil Dot Theory after all, because surely Malfoy was trying to kill him.

The astonishment still etched onto Draco's face mirrored Harry's insides perfectly—was this really happening? Had he maybe fallen asleep in Gryffindor Tower at the table he and Ron had been doing their homework at and was actually having an embarrassingly public wet dream?

Harry reached out and stroked Malfoy's left hip—no, the blond seemed real enough. The touch seemed to shake the other boy of some of his astonishment and he began to rock forward slowly, a determined glint in his eyes.

And Harry began to fall apart.

Fingers wrapped around the edge of the table as he groaned loudly, glad that the rest of the castle was asleep. He had never experienced anything like this; in fact, he had no idea how to put the feeling into words. Malfoy above him, inside him, stroking him, touching him everywhere, making him feel like this—it was the most amazing, surreal experience of his life.

Long fingers suddenly wrapped around his cock and he cried out Draco's name in surprise. At the sound, the boy above him began to rock even faster as he stroked Harry at a furious tempo. Malfoy's movements sped up and faltered as he leaned down to kiss Harry, and at the contact they both came, gasping into each other's mouths.

For several moments neither of them moved, panting heavily against each other's lips as they felt their heartbeats gradually begin to slow. Harry's bones felt warm and heavy in his body; he felt relaxed and content in a way he was certain he had never felt before. Sleepy grey eyes blinked down at him and he fought back a grin.

"Come on, then, let's get you to bed," Harry said lightly, forcing his elbows to prop his body up and urging Malfoy into a standing position. Cleaning charms were quickly cast and clothes put on, despite Malfoy's numerous attempts at tugging open any fastenings Harry managed to close.

"Don't want to go, Harry," Draco whined. "Let's just stay here. The potion could still be affecting me! What if something happens?"

The words made Harry pause and bite his lip. What if something did happen? Harry still wasn't sure what the side effects were or how much longer they would be affecting the blond. The only real change that Harry could spot was that under the potion's influence, Malfoy seemed much more adorable and charming as opposed to sneering and standoffish.

Both the pause and the silence lengthened. If Harry was being honest with himself, he was worried about the upcoming morning and was not yet ready to say goodnight. How much would Malfoy remember? How much would he regret? Would he still be Draco? Or would he revert back to Malfoy? How could Harry hold onto him?

As a wide yawn stretched Malfoy's features, Harry softened. "Let's get you to bed," he repeated. "We still have class in the morning." A flash of disgust crossed Malfoy's face and Harry laughed. He straightened up the office with a careless wave of his wand, hardly paying attention as he wrapped an arm around Malfoy's shoulders and led him from the dark room. He walked him to the Slytherin Common Room entrance and paused to give him a lingering goodnight kiss.

"Don't forget this," Harry reminded him, holding Draco's face securely between two palms. "Don't regret this in the morning."

"Of course I won't, Harry" Malfoy promised with a smirk, kissing him quickly and stepping through the entrance. The dark stone slid smoothly shut on grey eyes and a smile.

oOo

Soooo at this moment I'm thinking two more chapters, but such things still have yet to be decided. I promise I shan't keep the internet waiting for long!