The door slammed shut behind them, a second thump joining the first as Draco slammed Potter's body up against the wall. This probably wasn't the most delicate way of going about continuing the… whatever they'd started at the bus-stop. With Potter's too-small uniform, his green eyes that always seemed on the verge of tears, and the innocence -- oh, Lord, the innocence -- that made Draco forget he and Potter were exactly the same age, he knew he should proceed carefully with this one. But it was difficult to control himself.

Perhaps if the other boy wasn't so eager. Or so warm. How was he always so warm?

"You don't mind me ruining your lunch like this, do you, Potter?"

Potter lightly kicked the paper bag that had fallen from his hand the second the door closed behind them. It seemed like things were always slipping away, useless, from Potter's hands. "Not much in there, anyway," he confessed, squirming against Draco's body, crushing their lips together again. Potter always did everything with such enthusiasm that Draco wondered if it was even possible for him to take the time for a languid exploration of bodies. But with Potter frotting desperately against his leg, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Pansy and his other friends had been so wrong about him. How could anyone think this boy had nothing to offer?

"What about the broom closet?" asked Draco, biting and releasing Potter's lower lip.

"Bigger than what I have at home," Potter said, mouth curling into a rueful smile. Draco was horrified. They were crammed against each other in here, barely an inch between them, and even if they'd wanted to separate their bodies, it wouldn't have worked; he certainly couldn't imagine living under that set of circumstances. He pushed that thought away, though. It wasn't news that Potter's home situation wasn't quite ideal, especially with his fat cousin bragging about it at every given opportunity. Besides, it wouldn't do for Potter to think he was feeling sorry for him. The other boy might even want to stop what was happening here, a prospect that scared Draco more than he wanted to admit.

He settled for running his tongue along Potter's neck, and separating Potter's thighs with his knee, pressing, rubbing against the other boy. As Potter threw his head back and moaned, Draco nearly grinned in triumph. Why did this always feel like a war? The smile melted off his face when Potter reached up, wrapping his hand around the back of Draco's head and let each kittenish noise reverberate all around their mouths. Any semblance of control -- of dominance -- slipped away at those sounds and Draco came hard, humping Potter's leg almost violently.

Squeezing a hand between an elastic waistband and the hot skin of Potter's stomach, Draco wrapped his hand around the hard length, the strange, tight angle causing the thatch of coarse hair to rub against his skin. He swallowed each of Potter's noises with a kiss, imagining kids passing by the door, hearing strange thumps, and high, keening cries. The thought only made Draco more determined, his arm movements becoming frenzied as he released Potter's mouth to let all of those sounds escape. Almost immediately, Potter spilled all over Draco's hands, inside his own pants, shaking and shouting Draco's name. Someone had probably heard that, Draco thought, feeling a pang of anxiety and regret deep in his stomach.

Fuck of a time to worry about his reputation, Draco realised. Dobby would cluck disappointedly if he'd have heard that last thought of Draco's, and with Potter's whimpers being swallowed by his shoulder, he had an easy time pushing the troubling idea away.

With a final exhalation of contentment, Potter weakly managed to raise his head, thumping it against the door as he slid to the ground. His hair hung in a sweaty mess plastered against his smooth forehead, eyes protuberant and wide, as he patted the spot beside him, indicating Draco should join him. Gingerly, Draco sat, trying to look as dignified as one could with a wet spot rapidly spreading across the front of his trousers. As if reading his mind, Potter dug into his lunch bag and pulled out a handkerchief, throwing it over.

"Thanks," Draco said gratefully, daubing at the stain.

"You're welcome. I'll just slip it back into Dudley's things later." Potter grinned, but upon seeing the horror-struck expression on Draco's face, he hastily added, "Kidding, kidding."

"Ha ha." Draco fought the urge to stick his tongue out at the other boy. Wouldn't want to be undignified -- Father would be furious if he ever found out, though the odds that he would find out about this particular event were slim. He knew he could take Potter's vow to keep things quiet seriously.

The two just sat for a moment, Draco fussing with his clothing, Potter looking almost maddeningly relaxed despite his own wet spot. "Malfoy, do you ever have strange dreams?"

Draco, surprised the quiet had been disrupted, blurted out, "What, you mean like the ones where you're in Maths in nothing but your skivvies?"

Potter giggled -- giggled! God, he seemed so young. "Not quite. Like, ones where you're magical, or dreams with giants or flying broomsticks or motorbikes."

"Motorbikes?" Draco said thoughtfully. "Can't say that I have. But…"

"Yes?"

"The broomsticks... I used to have this dream where I was flying low, near these trees, feeling as though I was hiding from something, and then there was this zipping sound and then a tiny--"

"-- fluttering gold ball with wings! Yes, I've had that dream, too!" Potter sounded excited and confused. "I can almost feel how it tick--"

"-- tickles the inside of your palm and you have to grip--"

"-- it and make sure you don't let it go. Like it's--"

"-- the most important thing in the world."

The two stared at one another for a moment, deathly quiet.

Potter broke the silence. "Ever feel like you don't belong here?"

Draco thought about his vapid friends, the pressure Father put on him to be rich and smart and successful, about how everything seemed to move like molasses, like he lived within a dream, and considered agreeing. But a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, the tiny light bulb in the closet flickered, and he could feel the mess in his pants drying, making him uncomfortable. Resting his head on Potter's shoulder, he could feel the heat radiating off the boy beside him. He simply burned. "I belong here."

"Mmm," said Potter noncommittally. "But it'd be nice if magic were real."

"I already figured it was," Draco said, entwining his fingers with Potter's.