Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The main characters belong to JK Rowling (at least, their names do), but the setting, plot and some other characters are mine.

A/N: I confess that I wrote this update as an afterthought when I'd finished my other updates (Solitaire and A Silver Locket), but it didn't turn out as badly as I feared. I know a few people seemed to really like this fic, and I hope this lives up to what you hoped, if you're still reading.

Warning: Slashiness. The rating has been changed accordingly.

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After dinner came the customary flash of guilt, blazing brilliantly in Harry's mind before he forgot completely about Ginny as he was handed another glass of wine and Draco led the way into the high-ceilinged room which housed the fireplace.

As usual, it barely took a sip to get them talking, about the day, about the news, about anything. Conversation between them was easy, and Harry knew he could have done this for hours on end. Sadly for him, it never lasted quite that long.

At times, he still found himself at a loss as to how they had got to where they were with one another. In school they had hated each other, but after Draco had switched sides and the war had begun in earnest, they had forged a civil, if distant, working relationship. It was only when they had finished school and started preparations for what was to be the final battle that anything more had happened.

Harry had been in his room, back at the castle, which was then more like a military bastion than a school, even though it was still managing to function as both. At the time, he had been working on adapting a defensive spell he had discovered in a startlingly old book Hermione had found for him, when he had heard a knock on his door, and gone to find out who it was.

When he had opened the door, it was with slight dismay that he had found Draco standing there. Truth be told, he had recently been receiving the distinct impression that the blond was flirting with him, something which made him feel rather uncomfortable. At the age of eighteen, Harry was not exactly sure of himself or of his sexuality, and was even more confused about his growing attraction to his former enemy.

Draco had quickly put a stop to all that. Stepping calmly into the room, he had said coolly: "Don't start thinking that this means anything. Call it an experiment if that helps." And then he had delivered the kiss that had smashed through the world as they knew it. And after that there had been the act of passion – not love – that had picked up the pieces and rearranged them to change the pattern of their lives.

Since then, their trysts had happened often. Despite the guilt of cheating on Ginny, Harry couldn't stop himself seeking the blond man's embrace at every opportunity he had. It had started out as a release, and over time had become an arrangement. Now, for Harry, it was a need. While he really did love Ginny, with her there was none of the electricity he felt with Draco. He could kid himself that it was because he and Ginny had never taken a step beyond kissing, but the reality was different. There was something Draco could give him that Ginny couldn't, and it was nothing as simple as the difference in gender, or the presence of sex. Fighting the feeling all the way, as it would always be impossible to fulfil or have requited, he knew that he was slowly falling for his lover.

"So how are Granger and Weasley getting on?" Draco's voice broke into his reverie. "Married life treating them well?"

There were moments like this, when conversation was friendly and civil, that he had to battle against giving in to fantasies of a future together. He mentally kicked himself and focused on the question. "They're good. They have the odd argument, of course, but that's normal. After all, they used to fight like cat and dog."

Draco smiled. "Now that was one of the few things that really made people laugh during the war. You could always rely on them to fall out over something trivial and cheer everyone up." He took a last sip from his almost-empty wine glass, and stood up to check the bottle on the table, finding it dry. "Worth opening another, do you think?"

"I guess not."

With a nod, Draco came over to take Harry's own empty glass, leaning over him until they were in close proximity. Then suddenly the usual light kindled in his blue-grey eyes, and Harry could see what was coming. He barely found time to take a breath before Draco had put the glass aside and captured his lips in a fierce kiss. Then, before he knew it, he was flat on his back on the sofa, and Draco was on top of him, kissing him in that way of his, the way that demanded total submission.

When they both had to breathe, Draco was on his feet, grabbing Harry's hand, tugging him halfway up the stairs before connecting their lips again. And now they were relying on instinct to take them in the direction of the bedroom, still attached, now falling onto the bed, Draco's slim body pressing Harry into the soft mattress.

Quickly, sweaters and shirts were thrown aside, hands and limbs and tongues performing the dance they had been engaging in for nearly two years now. Draco was biting at his lover's collarbone, and Harry knew that there would be a vivid red patch there later. That was why the blond was always so careful never to mark above the area of what a shirt could cover; while they rarely acknowledged Harry's relationship with Ginny, they both knew it was there, and caution was wise.

Harry was fast losing his control again, as he so often did with Draco. When he felt fingertips pushing down under the tight fabric of his jeans, he was unable to hold back a moan.

In response, Draco paused for a moment, ceasing all movement and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "You want it, don't you?"

Harry's answer was hissed as he resorted to Parseltongue; that wasn't unheard of when he was in such a situation. Draco couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he still seemed to find it attractive – maybe it was the Slytherin in him.

It only took a few fluid motions before they were both free, pale skin pressing against tan, energy rising, movements quickening. There was a familiar pain, sharp movements, and sounds akin to screams as first Harry, then Draco, came.

Afterwards, there was quiet. They would have conversations beforehand, sure, but after business was finished with, there was no pillow talk. That was the deal.

A while later, listening to Draco's soft breathing as he slept, Harry found himself staring up at the dark green canopy of the bed, the colour of his eyes mirrored in the fabric. Why couldn't this be something more?

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A/N: I apologise in advance for the somewhat weak implied-lemon here, and for the shockingly long time it's taken me to update. If you're still here, thank you, and please review. I have too many stories going at once, and I hate to say it, but if this fic isn't doing reasonably well, it'll be the first to go. For that reason, it looks like it may turn out shorter than I planned. On the bright side, that makes it more likely to be finished at some point. I really will try.

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