Disclaimer: All characters, creatures, and spells mentioned belong to the talented J.K. Rowling.

Full Summary: Five times throughout the years that Draco tried and failed to kiss Harry Potter. And the one time he succeeded.

Warning: Very slight swearing. Slash - as usual, turn back now if you don't approve of homosexual pairings.

The first time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter it was raining outside

and the swollen black clouds above highlighted the captivating hollows above Harry's frowning lips and in his pale cheeks. Impassive green eyes, hooded and mildly displeased with something, swept across the Great Hall with the air of someone just rejected something important. He was seated at the Gryffindor table, his lithe build framed by the two unusally empty spaces beside him where the Mudblood and the Weasel should have been.

Draco took the oppurtunity to glide soundlessly forward and drop down onto the bench at Harry's right side.

The thirteen-year-old Gryffindor slowly lifted his head, confusion etched into the pale skin between his brows and beside his enthralling emerald eyes. His frown deepened considerably when he finally met Draco's silvery-grey gaze, holding an uncharacteristic, curious innocence.

He remained silent; the suspicion swarming into his uniquely green eyes was question enough for Draco.

"I just felt like visiting," he lied smoothly, flashing his most charming smile over at the frowning boy. Harry didn't return the grin, but merely shook his head and turned back to face his uneaten dinner.

"You're such a liar," Harry murmured into his soup; his voice was noticeably more soft than usual.

Even as Draco's silvery-blond eyebrows arced gracefully up to his hairline, and his mouth quirked up in a curious smile, Harry refused to lift his head and meet the tauntingly skeptic gaze trying to catch his own.

Draco sighed to himself; there was obviously no hope in trying to charm the boy into joining in a conversation. So he tried for a more verbal approach.

"You look thin," he tried, and as he said it, he realized that it really was no lie; Harry's abdomen looked sunken beneath his casual green sweater. His bony ribs created unmistakable ridges in the hand-knitted fabric hanging off his sides. His cheeks were sunken, not merely delicate hollows pressed enticingly beneath his feminine cheekbones, like usual, but unaturally skull-like dips that pulled his perfectly pink, already-thin mouth taut.

Draco grimaced; Harry merely scowled at his untouched soup, although his arms came up selfconsciously over his abdomen. "Shut up," the raven-haired wizard hissed quietly; he sounded hoarse, "You don't even care. Why try to point out more flaws? I thought I was already disgusting enough to you, Draco." He spat the blond's name with enough venom to make Draco flinch slightly, as though Harry had blatantly insulted him.

As the dark-haired boy turned his head away to try and become interested in what Lee Jordan was saying to his left, Draco felt something unfamiliar hook directly behind his navel and jerk. It was not unlike the uncomfortable pull created when using a Portkey. But this pull seemed to hook into his gut and reel him unconsciously toward Harry, until Draco found himself pressed almost against the dark-haired wizard's backside.

Harry turned slowly at the feeling of another presence behind him.

Draco stared shamelessly into enthralling, emerald-green eyes, and they gazed steadily back into his questioning silver ones. There was a moment of constricting silence as they simply met each other's stare, and then Draco found himself suddenly alone on the bench.

Harry had stood and disappeared out the door of the Great Hall, leaving Draco with his legs straddling the wooden bench and his heart thrumming, terrified, inside his chest.

The second time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter they were alone in Snape's classroom

as all the other Potions students had already exited thanks to passing their written essay that day. Harry had coincidentally been locked inside the hospital ward all of the Potions class due to a minor Quidditch injury he had sustained that afternoon. Draco had simply failed to study and received a horrible grade on the assignment, much to Professor Snape's unmasked disappointment.

The two fourteen-year-olds were now seated on seperate sides of the damp, cool dungeon, quills in hands, the ink-drenched tips poised above their parchment as they both read the assignment written upon the blackboard:

Describe the differences between an Inferi and a ghost.
Describe their similarities.
Write out the ingredients for a potion that destroys Inferi.
Write out the ingredients for a potion that will banish a ghost to the afterlife in which no one can see or hear it.
Two-foot-long scroll.
NO CHEATING.

"Two feet long," Draco scoffed, more to catch Harry's attention than anything. "That's a waste of good parchment."

Despite his mild annoyance at the interruption, Harry had to supress a small smile. He merely offered a grunt and a nod before he brought his eyes back to his own blank scroll of yellowish parchment.

Draco grinned shamelessly; he had caught the tiny, barely-masked quirk of Harry's lip at his announcement. That meant he was getting somewhere. Draco's smile softened, before melting away completely as he brought his own eyes back down to his paper. It was progress.

For the next twenty minutes, the only sound in the dark dungeon was the poignant scratching of two quills against the rough parchment, the occasional murmur of "damn" as Harry messed up on his assignment and was forced to cross something out and rewrite a sentence, and Draco's slight, triumphant heightening in breathing whenever he stole a glance at Harry and found the short, dark-haired wizard staring back at him, only to turn his head quickly back to his parchment to continue writing.

Draco allowed himself a small chuckle when he looked up for the fifth time and Harry was forced to swivel his head back to his own assignment with a spot of warm color high on each cheek.

He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his averted eye, blushing madly. "What are you laughing for?" he asked vehemently. "It's not like I haven't caught you staring at me all the time."

Draco's laughter died in his throat. Splotches of red appeared now on his own high, delicately-carved cheekbones, identical to the patches still glowing on Harry's slightly gaunt face. They glared soundlessly at each other for a few tense moments, and then Draco swept from his desk with a practiced swish of his robes, and stalked across the damp stone floor to Harry's desk.

He stepped around to the front of it, placed his hands on either side, and leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with the flushed boy. "Now listen here, Potter," he hissed, but the insults and threats that were threatening to break free of his throat died before he could properly open his mouth again.

Draco suddenly found himself increasingly close to Harry; the rounded tip of his straight nose nearly touched Harry's slightly larger one. Both their mouths were open, and hot breath mingled deliciously between them. Draco could smell the faint whiff of peppermint on every exhale that issued from Harry's parted lips, could count every one of the boy's long, dark lashes, could practically taste the mint and vanilla that would no doubt be laying in wait right there on those tempting pink lips....

But, before Draco could move another muscle, the doors to the dungeon creaked open and a dark figure swooped in like an over-sized bat. Draco barely had time to spin around and scoot a few inches to the side of Harry's desk before Professor Snape turned his infamous cold sneer upon the pair. His fathomless black eyes held the usual cold, calculating leer that Harry had grown to know and despise.

"Malfoy, I suggest you stop taunting Potter (as amusing as it is) and return to your desk before I am forced to give you a detention." Draco nodded and obediently swept back to his desk across the room. "As for you, Potter," Snape murmured silkily, turning his endless black stare on Harry, "Stop antagonizing Malfoy and get back to work."

Harry scowled but nodded.

Across the room, Draco's heart was pounding ten-fold in his chest. But he was grinning. For this had been progress in the right direction.

The third time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter it was the day of the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin

and Harry's blood was pulsing in his temples. His heart was placing steady, violent kisses against his Adam's apple between quick, shallow breaths. His palms were sweating as he picked up his broomstick off one of the benches and turned to face Angelina, who was demanding attention at the front of the changing rooms.

Her dark hair was swept behind her head in a long, braided ponytail, and she was gesticulating boisterously with every sentence.

Harry watched her in mild amusement; Angelina never failed to calm one's nerves with her childish humor. But then her expression was gravely serious; her hands were on the hips of her red-and-gold Quidditch robes, mouth set into a thin line, dark eyes narrowed dangerously beneath her perspiring forehead. The look on her face just dared anyone to interrupt her impending game-plan-slash-pep-talk.

Harry and the rest of the team were trotting out onto the field in no time; Harry's heartbeat was dangerously fast, thrumming inside him like a frenzied harpist was playing an incomprehensible tune on his heart strings.

Madam Hooch placed the whistle near her mouth once the Slytherins and Gryffindors had mounted their brooms with practiced ease. She opened her mouth wide and, in a bellowing voice, called across the pitch, "1...2...3...GO!"

Harry kicked off hard from the ground almost before the word had left Madam Hooch's mouth.

The wind swept pleasantly across his unprotected face and the patches of skin where his Quidditch robe sleeves rode up on his arms. A forget-me-not sky shone above him, cottony white clouds throwing the sun in and out of focus as they swept swiftly across the deep sapphire backdrop. It was perfect weather for a Quidditch match, and Harry was feeling confident by the time he took his place high above the rest of team, all of whom were battling with the bludgers, the quaffle, and each other over a patch of dewy green grass.

Across the pitch, Draco was scanning the air for some hint of the golden Snitch, but he kept finding his gaze sliding back to the oblivious Harry floating just thirty feet away above his fellow Gryffindors. He also found himself unconsciously analyzing the boy.

His hair was dark and windswept, more so than usual, and it framed the line of an angular jaw and high, rosy cheekbones. His eyes, the gorgeous color and wide, almond shape burned into Draco's mind, were narrowed against the winds behind his round spectacles. It was a beautiful sight to see, the infamous Harry Potter perched leisurely on his broom a mere thirty feet away, his captivating face contorted into an expression of the utmost pleasure. But he suddenly stiffened and lowered himself when his gaze swept over to Draco, draping his upper body across his broom handle, expression hardened stonily, eyes focused somewhere out past Draco's shocked face.

It took a moment to register what exactly Harry's odd behavior might mean, and when it finally snapped into place, Harry was already speeding past Draco in a flurry of red-and-gold robes, towards the winged, glittering, gold ball floating twenty yards behind Draco, near the top of the left Slytherin goal post.

Draco swerved his broom unsteadily around and was instantly on Harry's tail, his silvery-grey eyes narrowed against the wind mercilessly assaulting them, gloved fists clenched tightly around the polished wooden handle of his broom. Harry somersaulted violently through the air ahead of Draco to avoid a bludger that suddenly shot toward him from the side, his glasses going askew on his nose as he did so. He adjusted the spectacles impatiently before accelerating his speed and rocketing off toward the ground, where the tiny golden ball now glittered tauntingly in the patches of hazy sunlight breaking through the clouds.

The fluttering ball shot off quickly behind the stands, and Harry and Draco were forced to swerve above and over the jeering, cheering Slytherins, draped in green and silver, and behind the tall wooden stands, out of sight of the bellowing fans.

It was far quieter out here than it had been in the pitch, and Draco found his eyes once more on Harry's lithe frame bent over the broom as the dark-haired wizard shot off for the Snitch once again. He made it about twenty feet around the stadium, and then Draco was suddenly in front of him, expression hard and cold. Harry was forced to pull back on the handle of his Firebolt to stop from slamming into the fair-haired wizard sitting with his arms defiantly crossed over his chest.

"What, Malfoy?" Harry spat impatiently, his eyes going to the side, where the Snitch was floating leisurely among the branches of a small tree just outside the walls of the stands, his breathing hard and shallow as it wheezed from his lungs.

Draco merely raised a silvery eyebrow, his arms loosening over his chest as he turned to see what Harry was gaping so intently at, then sighed when he found the tiny, glimmering ball hidden inside the emerald-green leaves of an old oak tree. He shifted his weight slightly, guiding the broom ever-so-closer to Harry, who was still focused solely on the immobile Snitch in the tree.

Draco took his chance and pulled up just beside Harry, putting his face level with the fifteen-year-old's with an expression of incredulous calm.

Harry froze and slowly brought his gaze up to meet Draco's cool grey one. There was definitely impatience swimming inside his dark green irises, but another emotion resided there that Draco couldn't quite put a name to....

"Just listen," Draco told him after a seconds pause. He shook his hair away from his face and leaned down, putting his mouth level with Harry's for the third time in three endless years. "Just... I just wanna try something," he clarified against the younger's slack lips.

And, closing his eyes, Draco wasted no time in shifting forward on his broom and bringing his face close to Harry's own. He once again caught the enticing scent of fresh peppermint and warm, rich vanilla on Harry's parted pink lips.

It was coming, Draco was actually reaching his goal, his mouth was inching swiftly towards Harry's, there were just mere centimeters between his mouth and Harry's soft, open lips....

And then a sudden chill washed over Draco as his hair was swept messily around his face and his robes whipped around his legs. His eyes shot open. Harry had gone, gliding smoothly back up toward the top of the stands, the tiny Snitch clutched in his fist, a steady grin on his face as he held it up for the whooping Gryffindors and jeering Slytherins inside the pitch to see.

Draco's fingers trembled on his broom handle as he watched Harry rise further and further away from him. His hands shook violently on the broom. He closed his eyes again, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the anger and failure pulsing within him in tune to his erratic heart, before shifting upward and drawing his broom level with Harry's once again, this time placing a sullen expression over his features to mask the defeat and a slight triumph at nearing his goal that was beating within.

The fourth time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter it was a bitter winter night

and Harry was curled in an overstuffed armchair in the common room, a worn old book in his hand. His round spectacles were perched low on his nose as he read through sentence after sentence on some pair named Anastasia and Broderick. It was a harlequin romance, some old Muggle book Hermione had brought from home, but Harry found its enchanting characters to be very interesting. "No, Broderick, don't leave!" he found himself murmuring out loud, his soft voice terrified as he analyzed Anastasia's stuttered pleads for her sweetheart to stay in England with her, not travel over seas to Africa on some trip he said was strict business, and that he needed to settle down there with a wife (an African princess) that the African co-workers had picked for him to marry. The King readily agreed of course, and was counting on Broderick to live with his beautiful daughter in a tiny African village for the rest of his life.

All the other Gryffindors had exited from the common room several hours before. It was now nearly midnight, and Harry's eyes were beginning to ache behind his smudged spectacles. He lovingly turned down the corner of his page before he deposited the book in the seat of his armchair when he finally stood, stretching out the cramps that had developed in his muscles over the past three hours.

A jaw-cracking yawn cut off his murmurings about stupid Muggle books and the enchantment charms that must have been placed on them to keep him captivated for so long. But he still found his eyes straying back to the worn cover, occupied by a tanned, black-haired woman in a tight black corset with thick strings laced up her abdomen to hold it closed over her chest and a buff, shirtless male with pale skin and long, sleek blond hair that fell down his back, his ripped arms holding her tenderly around the waist.

Harry tore his gaze away and forced himself to step away from the overstuffed armchair, toward the portrait of the Fat Lady snoozing idly in her great, golden frame.

"Gillyweed," Harry murmured sleepily, breaking the Fat Lady abruptly from a light sleep.

She turned a wary glare on him, but then she saw who it was and her expression melted into one of concerned sympathy. "Still can't sleep, dear?" she asked in a pitying tone, swinging forward to allow Harry inside the Great Hall.

Harry nodded and offered up a small smile, which she answered with a sympathetic sigh as Harry stepped inside the portrait and into the dark, empty Great Hall.

Harry slipped straight past the four long, wooden tables that stretched across the Hall, past the smaller staff table, and out the unlocked doors and into the misty, spring night air. The content sound of cooing, buzzing bugs and small animals enveloped Harry in a blanket of warmth as soon as he shut the heavy wooden doors behind him. The air was warm and foggy, holding a kind of heavy heat that filled Harry with a sense of peace and lulled him into an on-his-feet doze.

He was snapped out of his trance-like state by the sound of smooth, swift footsteps across the stone paths just yards ahead. He opened his eyes slowly, terribly, expecting to come face-to-face with Snape, or Filch, or someone else from the growing list of enemies held above Harry's head. But he instead found himself staring into the familiar, illuminated face of Draco Malfoy. He was, as usual, staring at Harry with a sneer on his lips but a curious glint in his penetrating, smokey grey eyes. He was dressed in a pair of thin, black lounge pants and a hugging grey T-shirt beneath his silk, emerald-green sleeping robes. His white-blond hair was the frosty color of ice in the pale moonlight shining down through the gnarled old branches of the Womping Willow. It lit the premature lines around his silver eyes and the purple shadows residing beneath said eyes. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his silk robe, and his leer had melted into a kind of cold, yet curious smile.

"Ah, dear Potter," Draco sighed in a voice not that far from sympathy. He offered Harry a cold smirk. "Can't sleep?"

Harry refused to turn away from Draco, despite the pounding of his relieved heart in his ears and the cold sweat that broken out over his forehead when smokey-silver eyes met his own. He instead allowed himself a stiff nod and an affirmitive grunt.

Draco's pale eyebrows lifted in amusement; one of his hands resurfaced from the cool silk depths of his robe pockets to brush his white-blond hair away from his forehead. Harry felt something unfamiliar clench inside his chest, and found himself thinking that only Malfoy could be able to look so perfect and icily cruel when obviously sleep-deprived.

Draco caught his apprehensive emerald stare and his smirk widened. It brought the ever-present heat flooding back into Harry's pale face at the prospect of being caught staring once again.

When Harry suddenly turned on his heel and made to move away, Draco was prepared. He glided swiftly forward and caught Harry's upper arm with the iron grip of his long fingers. He spun the younger wizard around to fully face him, forcing that captivating pair of emerald eyes to once more meet his own. Draco found himself loosening the grip on Harry's arm just long enough to slide his hand up and allow his fingers to curl more tightly around one of the sixteen-year-old's slight, bony shoulders.

Harry's eyes were narrowed with the anger he was trying to veil his apprehension with. Draco could see the nervousness in the boy's gaze and let up on his iron grip a bit.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry sighed in a voice just above a hoarse whisper. He definitely sounded nervous.

Draco just smiled and leaned in a bit, bringing his mouth close enough to Harry's ear to just be heard as he murmured, "Broderick and Anastasia not helping with your insomnia, little Potter?"

Harry gasped softly. "Ho-how do you know about that?" he stuttered anxiously. There was now a kind of terrified embarrassment glowing in his face and eyes. His hands instictively came up to cross over his chest as selfconsciousness flooded through him.

Draco merely grinned; he raised his free hand and dipped his fingers inside his silk robes. There was a moment of confused silence as Harry stared uncertainly at him. And then Draco's hand resurfaced from the inside pocket of his robes as a triumphant grin spread across his pale, silvery features.

It was now Harry's turn to gasp.

For in Draco's long, pale fingers, he clutched the exact same book Harry had been reading mere minutes before. This one was obviously newer than Hermione's, the cover still sleek and shiny, the spine straight and gleaming. But the pages inside as Draco flipped it idly open were still worn and obviously cared for.

"One of my favorite books," Draco murmured absently; his hand fell away from Harry's shoulder as he idly eyed the lengthy paragraphs. Harry's eyebrows rose uncertainly.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

Harry paused; Draco hid his smirk of triumph behind the worn pages of the harlequin romance. Once again, they were making sweet, sweet progress toward Draco's one-and-only goal in life.

"Why do you seem so astounded by this?" Draco asked curiously; he didn't turn his eyes away from the pages of Anastasia's grief over her lover leaving so abruptly, but he was acutely alert to any response the younger wizard might make.

Harry's shoulders bobbed half-heartedly. "I just... didn't take you for a romance-reading kind of guy," he admitted softly.

Draco closed his eyes in mild pleasure at the uncertain, nearly husky sound of Harry's voice in his ears. He sounded bloody adorable when he was unsure of something, and Draco wanted nothing more in that moment than to scoop Harry over his shoulder and whisk him away to one of the many hidden passages scattered around the Hogwarts grounds. But he kept his cool as he opened his eyes and finally met the uncertain green ones gazing up at him.

"Huh," he murmured in quiet amusement. "And I, myself, never took the infamous Harry Potter to be a harlequin romance reader either."

Harry's face lit with bright red heat, and Draco found his hand unconsciously going back to Harry's shoulder as he watched the boy's gaze travel farther across the dark grounds in embarrassment. The blond wizard was once again entranced by the moonlit hollows above Harry's frowning lips and in his pale throat; his other hand dropped the book uncaringly back into his robe pocket before traveling up to grab Harry's other shoulder.

They had somehow manuevered closer together in this short time frame, Draco's silk-clad chest barely brushing the blue cotton of Harry's sleeping robes. The dark-haired wizard was gazing right back at him, green eyes wide with something like shock.

Draco smiled lightly and pressed in even closer, touching their chests soldily together through their layers of clothing; his fingers lifted just slightly from Harry's shoulders to tug playfully at the dark strands of messy black hair falling just below his ears. It was a captivating sight to behold, the slowly hooded eyes, the pink, chapped, parted lips just begging to be devoured by Draco's own, the hands that had fallen limply to Harry's sides clenched into forceful fists. He was breathing in swift, shallow pants. Harry bloody Potter was practically begging to be kissed by Draco.

So Draco obeyed his wishes. Or tried to, anyway.

Just as he leaned down and inhaled the enthralling, warm scent of vanilla that permeated the air around Harry, the doors that led back into the school flew open and hit the walls with two, simultaneous crashes. A tall, thin figure swept out from the shadows with an air of anger and power.

Draco shoved himself backward and left Harry blinking slowly, his mouth still lax and beautiful, confusion and shock etched into every premature line around his eyes and forehead.

"Malfoy!" came a familiar, oh-so-annoying voice from the doorway. "What the bloody hell are you doing to him?"

Ron Weasley gestured angrily at Harry, who had turned his back on Draco and appeared to be shaking his head at the ground in confusion. Ron opened his mouth to throw out more insults and threats, but Harry swooped over and grabbed the Weasel's shoulders, his mouth moving quickly, obviously assuring Ron that it was fine. The Weasel's face remained as angry red as his hair, but he nodded and grabbed Harry's arm just as Draco had done earlier, but instead of pulling him back, he led Harry back into Hogwarts, slamming the thick wooden doors shut behind him.

Draco was left standing, alone, in the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts. His face was flushed with pale color, eyes wide with disbelief, anger at the intervening Weasel pulsing in his every vein. He had been close, so close, to finally reaching his goal and claiming Harry's mouth. And then the moment had been ruined, Harry dragged away, more-than-likely hitting himself for allowing Draco to get that close.

Draco's heart was thrumming like one of the Weird Sister's guitars in his chest, pounding in his ears and pumping hot, angry blood through him with every shallow breath. His chance had been stolen once again from directly under his nose, but Draco would have his way one day. He had to. Simply had to.

The fifth time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter they were supposed to find a partner for Charms class

and Draco swept across the Charms classroom with the air of someone powerful. His white-blond hair was exceptionally perfect today, not a single strand out of place on his head. His silver eyes, lazily hooded yet alert, swept around the large classroom quickly, finally settling on a table in the very corner of the classroom, occupied by a single, slim figure bathed in shadows. A victorious grin swept across Draco's face as he began moving toward the back of the room.

When he settled himself in the seat next to Harry Potter, the boy looked up with a casual smirk, obviously expecting Weaselbee to be there; the expectant smile instantly fell away when Harry caught sight of Draco's hooded grey eyes staring back at him, amusement glowing in their silvery depths. He groaned quietly and turned his head back down to the open textbook in front of him.

Draco just allowed his smile to grow even wider; he lifted his hand and slapped it over the text in Harry's book, Charms for Grade Seven.

Harry went rigid in his seat, his averted eyes focused on the place where the instructions for a Levitating charm would be, if not for Draco's intruding hand. His cheeks flushed with angry red heat as he slowly clenched the lithe fingers resting on the table into tight fists.

"What, Malfoy?" Harry hissed quietly; he wouldn't want to alert tiny Professor Flitwick, who was demonstrating the proper wand movement at the head of the class, to his pesky problems.

Another smile rolled leisurely across Draco's pale, pristine features; his light silver eyes were dancing with curious amusement, and his hands were folded politely in the lap of his black robes. Everything about him seemed uncharacteristically innocent in that moment, but Harry could see straight through the charming facade.

Still, he remained quiet as Draco replied casually, "I just needed a partner and it seemed that you were the best choice, dear Potter." His eyes gleamed. "And you just looked so alone sitting over here all by yourself in the corner. I decided you needed a bit of good company." His grin widened when he caught the confused apprehension that flickered quickly through Harry's green eyes and back out of sight. It was a good sign to know that he was, in fact, absorbing the message hidden beneath Draco's facade.

When Harry remained silent, his eyes averted unseeingly to where Professor Flitwick was helping Neville at the head of the class, Draco continued. "And we all know that Harry bloody Potter can't go for very long without someone complimenting him." Draco's grey eyes flickered with unconcealed amusment. He was grinning lazily, his relaxed features belying the fact that he had not a care in the world of anything but how hilariously his supposed Charms partner might respond.

Draco seemed to have struck a nerve; Harry's hand lifted through the air so fast it was a pale blur, and the back of his clenched fist slammed into Draco's unprotected temple.

Tense silence followed. Harry's curled knuckles fell back to the tabletop with a dull thunk; his lip was curled with malicious triumph, emerald-green eyes narrowed in silent victory. There was something dark and quietly dangerous about the molten green of said eyes as they glared unseeingly back at Draco.

The utter silence seemed to stretch on forever; the other seventh years surrounding them had all turned in their seats and were staring in open-mouthed shock at the table in the corner; tiny Professor Flitwick, frozen in mid-demonstration, was also gazing back at the rectangular table seating the two boys with his jaw lax and his eyes wide behind his square spectacles; even the birds, who had been chirping merrily in the branches of an old maple outside the open window, seemed to have fallen into a still trance of surprise.

Then something inside Draco seemed to snap, and no one had enough time to react before Draco's hands were flying for Harry's throat.

The dark-haired wizard had just enough time to flinch backward, slimly avoiding a snapped neck, but Draco's viciously curled fingers were still able to sink into Harry's slight shoulders; his well-manicured nails left red cresent-moons blooming along the skin there through Harry's robes and undershirt.

Draco shook the boy violently, his mouth open in a growl of unadulterated rage, molten-mercury irises blazing with narrow-eyed contempt.

Harry was forced to gasp shakily with every vicious backward-forward snap of his neck, until he eventually became dizzy with pain as Draco's merciless talons sank into his shoulders and pulled, shoved, pulled, shoved, nails sharp and painfully blunt digging into Harry's shoulder-blades without a care in the world of the agony it sent spiraling up Harry's neck and down his spine.

"Malfoy!" Harry managed to gasp as the fair-haired wizard's violent shaking increased in tempo and force, making bolts of pain curl miserably in Harry's gut. "You- bloody- git! Ger- off- of- me!"

Harry's gasping pleads seemed to make reality crash back down on the rest of the class; Professor Flitwick abruptly switched the position of his wand from mid-demonstration to directed pointedly at the fighting pair growling and shouting loudly in the back of the near-silent classroom.

"Boys!" he called shrilly over the noise of their angry shouts; they continued their violent struggling. "Boys!" he called more loudly; Draco and Harry continued to fight noisily in the back of the room, their figures flickering ominously between the shadows there, just unidentifiable flashes of white, gold, and black. "BOYS!" Tiny Professor Flitwick's scandalized scream instantly stilled everything within the sunny classroom; Draco glanced wildly up from aiming a punch at Harry's contorted face, grooves of anger and confusion etched between his aristocratic eyebrows; said dark-haired wizard was frozen in the act of ferociously tugging at Draco's slick, white-blond hair, his gaze lifting slowly, terribly from the blond's face to the outraged expression of his professor.

Professor Flitwick, planted intimidatingly at the head of the room, was nearly trembling with rage - rage that had lit his bespectacled face to a cherry-red hue. His hands were balled into small fists at his sides, one clutching his wand with enough force to make the maple wood groan hollowly in protest. There were beads of sweat forming along his temples in perfect synchronization to the cold perspiration forming along the backs of both Harry and Draco's necks.

"Headmaster's* office," he deadpanned hollowly. "Now."

Harry disentangled himself silently from the iron clutch of Draco's fingers before the taller wizard had time to react. Harry swept from the room without a backward glance, his robes billowing out behind him in a dark swish of finality.

Draco rose, too, from his stool once the boy had disappeared around the doorframe, gliding out of the classroom behind him with the muted whispering of the students behind him going deliberately unnoticed.

Draco found Harry nearing the staircase at the end of the hall before the tail of his own cloak was fully out of the room. The shorter wizard was stalking along the deserted corridor with a long, brisk, purposeful stride. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides, swinging in synchronization to his angry strides down the silent hallway.

"Potter!" Draco called loudly after him; when Harry paid him no attention, narrowed silver eyes rolled back in irritation. Draco picked up his pace, stalking along after the shorter wizard with a silent thanks to the gift of long legs. "Potter," he said again, this time just loud enough to know Harry could hear him. He was pressing in close to the dark-haired boy as they began to descend the staircase, close enough to be able to reach out and grab his arm, encircle his hand, brush his cheek...

Draco swept the thoughts away with a haughty brush of his fingers back through his mussed hair. He grunted in agitation when Harry continued to ignore him, green eyes trained solely ahead as they stepped off the stairs and into another deserted, torchlit corridor.

"Pot-ter." Draco took care to enunciate the syllables in Harry's surname, keeping his voice mockingly loud and slow. But the darker wizard continued to ignore him completely.

With a loud, rough sigh, Draco willed his glaring grey eyes to burn a hole through the back of Harry's robes. The world seemed to be against him today, though, for nothing happened except for a mild pang of annoyance that curled in Draco's abdomen.

"Dammit, Harry, will you just listen to me?"

Whether it was the sudden desperation Draco's voice had taken on, or the unexpected use of the boy's first name that made Harry slowly still his movements, Draco did not know. But he did know that Harry turned slowly around to face him, his enthralling green eyes boring into Draco with a sudden, impatient ferocity.

"What, Malfoy?" he sighed quietly. Despite the unwavering intensity of his gaze, Harry's voice was soft and simply exhausted instead of the expected harsh rage Draco had anticipated. Said blond wizard blinked slowly as Harry continued to gaze steadily up at him, sleepiness and soft impatience welling within the depths of his unusal, molten-green irises. And, with nothing but a soft smile and a playful lower of his eyelids, Draco swept soundlessly forward and put his hands on Harry's shoulders.

There was a moment or two of short, oxygen-stealing silence, occupied only by Harry's sharp intake of breath at the sudden touch and the pulsing of Draco's own blood in his ears.

He forgot about the bruise blooming horribly along his temple, and Harry forgot about the scratches burning along his throat from Draco's unsuccessful attempts to strangle him into oblivion. As liquid mercury met molten emerald, everything in the corridor seemed to disappear along with the pain, and then the entirety of the castle-like school, and then the entire world around it, all its stupid Muggle occupants oblivious to the understanding moment of silence shared between two lax-jawed, honey-eyed boys standing alone in a corridor inside a castle atop a great, majestic hill rolling upward toward the sky, their eyes glued steadily, their mouths open and breath mingling familiarly between them, sending a shiver rolling down both of their spines.

Even as Draco felt the same invisible tug he had experienced in his third year in the Great Hall pull him once more toward the innocent, dark-haired boy planted unwaveringly in front of him, something tugged uncomfortably at the back of Draco's mind. He realized with a jolt that it was a kind of internal warning, gnawing at the back of his brain, his years of practicing flawless tracking skills setting off an alarm inside his head. There was no time to take action on said warning, though, because Harry's lids had lowered tantalizingly over his eyes, dark lashes brushing delicately across the boy's high, flushed cheekbones. He had tilted his head back and seemed to be coaxing Draco toward his mouth with the utterly debauched expression that had taken up residence on his flushed features.

And Draco couldn't help but to obey the boy's wishes.

It was as Draco's bottom lip touched to the seam between Harry's that the gargoyle directly behind the shorter wizard slid aside and revealed a tall, shadowy figure standing in the entranceway.

Draco barely had enough time to throw himself backward and bend toward the floor, his hand sweeping along the dusty stone as though searching for something, although his face was burning. He hoped the act was enough to distract the Headmaster from the scene that had been previously taking place, but he knew by the unabashedly amused, knowing look that passed over the Headmaster's face that he did not fall for Draco's act.

Harry turned slowly around, his eyes innocently wide, thin mouth turned up a smile. He twisted to face the Headmaster with an expression of the utmost innocence; it was so different from the hungry look that he had been turning on Draco mere moments before that the fair-haired wizard couldn't help but to snort quietly at the floor.

A pair of knowing blue eyes turned his way, and Draco quickly straightened up, his face still flaming with embarrassment and anger at the interruption. "Sorry," he muttered, without looking at the Headmaster. "I lost my quill."

The Headmaster smiled. "It's quite all right, Draco. Just be more careful of where you store your quills next time."

Draco nodded stiffly. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

And then Dumbledore turned back to Harry with an even wider smile. "Professor Flitwick has informed me that you had a quarrel in his class?"

Harry nodded and gave an affirmative answer, but Draco had already turned away from the professor and his student, and was seemingly studying the pattern of dusty stones that made up the floor beneath his dragon-skin boots. His mind wandered back to the expression of Harry's face mere moments before as he stared, and he felt his heartbeat accelerate even more in his chest. It was beating a painful, yet triumphant tattoo inside his chest, burning with the memory of hooded green eyes and vanilla-flavored lips...

The sixth time Draco Malfoy tried to kiss Harry Potter... he succeeded.

It was a warm, sunny Saturday morning, and the soft glow of hazy sunshine filtered through the branches of a gnarled old oak tree and into the face of the reading occupant beneath it. The figure's head was craned over a thick volume in his hand, undoubtedly one of his precious harlequin romances bewitched to look like a school book. Inky black hair fell over the figure's forehead and shadowed the concentration scrawled over his features, the way his lips moved slightly around syllables as he read, the captivating glow of wide green eyes as they analyzed the tiny scrawl within the novel.

Draco watched this all from his perch in the branches of a sturdy old maple mere feet away. He found himself staring shamelessly whenever the figure raised his hand to brush his dark hair out of emerald-green eyes, or whenever he shifted position against the mottled trunk of the oak tree and the angular lines of his face were cast into the shafts of sunlight falling through the branches above him.

It was an enthralling sight, Harry Potter sprawled lazily under the branches of a tall, gnarled oak tree, book in hand and not a care in the world but for the words inside said book.

Draco couldn't hide his grin whenever Harry felt someone watching him and lifted his head, wide green eyes scanning the bustling Hogwarts grounds for some sign of his supposed stalker. But his gaze never did stray just a tad bit further upward, to where Draco was perched comfortably in the cocoon of intertwined branches just ten feet away. And Draco couldn't say he wasn't grateful for this.

As morning faded into afternoon and the sun lifted to burn like a giant orange globe against the bright blue sky, Draco finally pushed himself out of the hard seat he had created within the branches of the maple and jumped, landing gracefully on his feet mere inches from where Harry sat under the oak tree.

Harry jumped at the sudden sight of feet hitting the ground in front of him, and his eyes lifted from the page in his book to where Draco was grinning knowingly down at him.

Green eyes rolled back into Harry's skull at the sight of the fair-haired wizard, and a frown pulled at his tempting mouth. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the page in his novel when Draco made no sign that he wanted to talk, although he did have the decency to ask, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco feigned hurt. "And I thought we were on a first-name basis now?" he asked teasingly.

Harry hid his smile behind the worn, dusty pages of the harlequin romance. "In your dreams, Malfoy." Draco tried to find a retort to that, but none came to mind, for Harry's insult was startlingly true.

So he instead turned a charming smirk to Harry's averted head, and moved to drop unceremoniously next to him on the kempt grass beneath the mottled oak tree. The gnarled trunk of the old tree scraped his back as he slid down it next to Harry, but he felt the curse rising in his throat die instantly when a pair of familiar, yet ever-enchanting, liquid emerald eyes met his own beneath a fringe of oil-black hair. Said eyes were crinkled slightly at the corners from the knowing smile that pulled at the corners of a tantalizing pink mouth.

Draco smiled feebly back, feeling his insides clench as he remembered his many past experiences at nearly claiming that beautiful mouth.

When Harry turned back just long enough to tenderly fold down the page in his novel, Draco caught sight of something silvery-white shimmering against his pale throat. His eyebrows lifted as he unconsciously reached out and brushed his fingertips against it, feeling (with a pang of unexpected concern) that it was the slightly raised skin of an old wound.

He didn't notice Harry stiffen beneath his fingers as he leaned in closer, his eyes following the trail of the white scar down to where it disappeared into the collar of the shorter wizard's casual white T-shirt.

"What's this?" Draco questioned quietly, pulling away from the boy and finally allowing him to relax back against the trunk of the oak. Emerald eyes turned away from him as Harry answered.

"The fight last year," he answered softly. "In Flitwick's classroom."

Draco internally winced. He had been trying unsuccessfully so far to keep the events of their seventh year from his mind. Because after they had retreated from the Headmaster's office an hour after the struggle, Draco's face had been arranged into what felt like a permanent expression of guilt, and he knew that it was not a good thing for the lines around his mouth. At least, that was the reason he gave himself for trying to push the thoughts away.

"I'm sorry."

The words were out of Draco's mouth before he could clench his teeth around them. Round green eyes turned slowly on him, the surprise glowing in their molten depths accompanied by the 'o' Harry's ever-tempting mouth had created.

He couldn't hide the amusement that swiftly doused his shock. "Excuse me?" he chuckled.

Draco scowled and crossed his arms over the chest of his green T-shirt. "Oh, shut up, Potter," he hissed quietly, turning his eyes away from Harry's smirking face. "You heard me."

Harry snickered softly. Even though Draco had turned his back on the boy, he could practically feel the amusement burning in his liquid gaze as he stared down Draco from behind. He could also feel the sudden, unexpected shift of the grass on his backside as Harry scooted forward to sit beside him.

Draco allowed himself to turn his head slightly so he could watch as Harry pulled himself up and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his denim-clad calves. He perched his chin atop the steeple his bent knees had created, keeping his lazily hooded, bespectacled green eyes turned on the tarnished orange sliver of sun barely revealed behind the Astronomy tower. He looked perfectly content.

And Draco was captivated.

He felt himself scooting unconsciously across the short green grass beneath him, moving sideways until his elbow knocked against Harry's. The shorter boy glanced at him from the corner of his visible eye, but made no attempt to move away as Draco mirrored his own position, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms loosely around them.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound their even breathing and the distant melody of birds fluttering about the Forbidden Forest. And then Draco opened his mouth as though to speak, but did nothing except exhale a deep, steadying breath. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, keeping his hands knotted loosely between his denim-clad calves. His elbows tightened around his knees as he continued to breathe deeply; inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth, inhale, exhale, until Harry eventually slid out of his comfortable position and turned onto his side, studying the fair-haired wizard with an expression of incredulous curiosity.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?"

Draco didn't say anything for a few seconds, just continued to breathe deeply between his knees. Then he lifted his head and turned a wide, dazzling grin on Harry. "Savoring the moment," he replied simply.

Harry couldn't hold back a laugh. "What the hell?" he snickered. "Why would you be 'savoring the moment?'"

Draco gave a half-hearted shrug. Turning his gaze back to the sliver of burning orange just visible behind the tower, he lowered his lashes so that they brushed across his intricately carved cheekbones, casting long shadows over his face. A wistful smile tugged at his lips; when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with unexpected emotion. "I know it sounds horribly cheezy, but I think that every moment spent with you is something to be savored." He paused just long enough to shoot a smile at Harry. "And this is my last chance to mark you as mine."

Harry started. His face was instantly red with embarrassment and shock as he stared at the averted face of the blond wizard next to him.

"Wha-what?" he stuttered softly.

Draco allowed himself a small smile before he finally opened his eyes and turned them back to Harry's burning face. Their silver depths were glowing with the imprint of the sun and some burning emotion that made Harry's face go even redder. "You heard me," he said with a smirk, repeating his earlier statement (but there was no heat or impatience in it this time, just a soft whisper of sweet emotions).

And then he reached forward and brought his hands down on Harry's waist, pulling the smaller boy toward him, not bothering to check the grounds for anyone who might be watching. He pulled himself onto his knees, bringing Harry up with him, mantaining the careful grip of the dark-haired wizard's slight hips as he did so.

Draco gave another grin, this time teeming with excitement and sweet, sweet victory, and, without another word, leaned down and brushed his lips against Harry's.

The shorter boy gave a little shudder of his own anxious excitement at the silky feel of Draco's mouth on his. The touch was feather-light, simply testing the waters, before Draco pulled back to guage Harry's reaction. Seeing nothing but anxious permisson and the desire for another kiss glowing in Harry's beautiful eyes, Draco shivered with desire and plunged back in, this time meeting Harry's mouth just enough to touch, cling, and mold passionately together.

Harry's hands made their way instinctively into Draco's hair, mussing the perfect blond strands out of their perfect slickness, but Draco couldn't have cared less about the state of his hair in that moment.

Fire burned where their lips met, sending heat searing throughout Draco's entire body, and the burning sensation only intensified when Harry gave a sweet moan against his mouth as Draco began tracing light patterns over the boy's hips with his long fingers. The lithe hands tightened in his hair, sending pleasure coursing down Draco's spine. He gave a quiet groan of his own, which Harry greedily sucked down his throat.

Draco smiled at the shorter boy's eagerness. But then Harry began tugging repeatedly at Draco's hair, already having found a weak spot, and the smile abruptly vanished, only to be replaced by an open-mouthed, silent groan of pleasure. Harry took advantage of this and hesitantly ran the tip of his tongue over Draco's reddened bottom lip.

Draco's silver eyes flew open, a gasp falling from his mouth and into Harry's as Harry repeated the tentative action, swiping his tongue over Draco's lower lip while his open eyes hesitantly scanned the older boy's face for any sign that told him to stop.

When Draco opened his mouth wider and silently, happily allowed permission, he could practically feel the triumph and excitement radiating off the boy in front of him as his tongue plunged unabashedly into Draco's awaiting mouth. It twined with Draco's easily, and they fought for dominance between them, Draco going red in the face as he realized just how erotic this whole ordeal seemed. Especially for a simple kiss.

Harry was forced to disentangle himself from Draco a few seconds later, fingers unconsciously going up to touch his swollen bottom lip. Draco smirked at him through his ragged breathing.

As Harry fell back to the ground again, this time resting on his back beside the mottled trunk of the oak tree, Draco could only muster one thought as he joined the panting boy on the ground, falling beside him and easily twining their fingers together at their hips.

I win.

* - In case you readers can't tell, I'm not exactly following the time period J.K. set in the books. In this story, Dumbledore is still alive and healthy, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts (I'm still pissed at Rowling for killing him off. Along with Sirius. Good thing she's an amazing author. Haha.), Draco never ran away, and there are many other oddities that do not follow the line of the book at all.

Hope you all enjoyed.

~AS123