Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all plots and characters portrayed therein are not mine. Good thing too. The honor goes to JK Rowling.
Warning: SEX! But limited sex, they're still just beginners. There may be a few spoilers. More Ron/Hermione suggestion in this part than in any other thus far. Watch for it.
Feedback: Public, any and all, please.
Notes: Many thanks go to Gen and Tayla for their marvelous help. Less typos mean better reading for everyone.

Sadie: Did you know that Target has started selling Harry Potter bed sheets?
Hunter: Meaning that obsessed fans can now literally sleep with Harry Potter.
Sadie: *shivers* Okay, that sounds very wrong.
Hunter: Hey, wait until they make bath towels.
Sadie: Heh…

Usually around late afternoon when the last class ended there was maybe two or three hours of strong light left and the tree near the lake was the best place to enjoy them. Despite contrary belief, Hermione did not spend all of her study time indoors. Truthfully, any place with adequate light was suitable and warm fall days, like this one, were better enjoyed outside. It might have surprised her classmates further to discover she wasn't even really studying.

Hermione smiled faintly at her thoughts. She flipped through the book in her lap, a collection of Grimm's Fairy Tales. Her parents, unlike the parents of many precocious children, had not kept her activities and reading material limited to education pursuits. They were bigger on play and fun time than even she had been, and had made sure she was exposed to all the usual childhood fairy tales and storybooks. She'd come to love the fantasy world of magic at an early age, but she'd always wanted to know *more*.

It wasn't enough to know that dragons ate princesses, she wanted to *why* they did it. What was so different about a princess, anyway? Why did things always happen to them? And those witches; how did their magic work? Why did it work? Why were the witches always evil? And mermaids, and werewolves, and unicorns, how did they live? Where would they live if they *were* real? Where, how, and always why, until her father took her aside one day asked if she knew that the fairy tales weren't real.

'Magic is just fantasy, it doesn't exist in real life.'

'I know, daddy, I just like to pretend.'

[Except we were both wrong,] Hermione thought, clearly remembering the day she'd received her letter from Hogwarts. The feeling of knowing that not only was magic real, but that she had the ability to use it, had been incredible. Then had come the books, nearly half a dozen books filled with everything she'd ever wanted to know about magic. After that was the library at Hogwarts and the classes themselves, all open to her hungry mind. Now she knew about the werewolves, and unicorns, and all of them, and there was even more she didn't know just waiting to be learned.

But the fairy tales were still fantasy.

That had been the strangest to come to terms with. Everything she'd read in her storybooks was real…just not the way they were written. Often, the only similarity between the Muggle version and the real-life article were their names. She'd learned as much the one time she had shown Ron one of her old fantasy books.

He'd had a right good laugh at the Muggles' mixed up views of the world he'd grown up in. Her pointed comment about the ridiculous nature of his own Muggle based books had quieted him down a bit. Wizards didn't even have the excuse Muggles did; they knew far more about the mundane world then the Muggles did about magic. But she'd always had a strong sense of reality and learned to accept this new one with her usual speed.

Hermione paused over the story of 'Hansel and Gretel' before setting the book aside. Sometimes she thought about the witch in the woods---bet she was a Slytherin, said the teasing voice in the back of her head that sounded like Ron---spending her time luring helpless children into her hearth. Some bizarre, unusual corner of her organized mind wondered if she, as a fellow witch, shouldn't gain a sort of understanding for the deranged creature. It was pointless speculation, and completely unfounded. Magic offered no knowledge or understanding on its own; such things have to be worked for.

A wind picked up, cascading across the surface of the lake, and creating a quiet music in the branches of the tree. Several dry leaves scattered down from the disturbed limbs, speaking of the upcoming winter and getting tangled in Hermione's hair. The light was fading and before long she'd have to go back inside. Picking up and opening her Arithmancy book, Hermione purposefully settled down to study.

Quickly becoming engrossed in the inaccuracies of the subject, Hermione lost track of the outside world. The light hadn't quite gotten dim enough that she was squinting when a tap on the shoulder shocked her back into awareness. "Oh! Don't do that, Ron!" She jumped, instantly recognizing the brilliant flair of his hair.

"Sorry," he stepped back before squatting down across from her. She tucked the book closer to her chest, self-consciously running a hand through her hair and pulling out bits of leaves. "Herm I…"

"Wait," she held out her hand and he stopped, confusion flitting over his expressive face. "About earlier today, in the library, I'm sorry I…interrupted you like that, but I just decided that we should let Harry and Draco figure things out on their own." She brought her hand down, curling it into the grass.

Ron looked away, bouncing slightly on his toes. "I sort of figured that." There was an unusual expression marring his features. Hermione studied him briefly. She'd thought long and hard about his reaction to being so disconnected from Harry.

"It's terrible, isn't it? We've had him all to ourselves all these years and now we have to share him," she said gently teasing, an undercurrent of sadness to her tone. Ron was startled, she could tell.

He rocked back, landing softly on his rear and folding his legs together. For a moment, she half-expected him to ask 'him, who?' but he sighed and said, "We didn't really have him 'all to ourselves', did we now? The rest of the school---world---kept on getting involved."

"They don't know him like we do," Hermione insisted with quiet force, "They can't and wouldn't. He's *our* best friend. And every minute we have with him is ten times better than whatever hours he shares with the rest of the world. They can all go sod themselves."

Ron snorted with amusement, eyes lighting up with good humor. "Maybe we should it pin to his robes. 'I'm Ron Weasley And Hermione Granger's Best Friend, Hands Off.' That'd be a sight." He paused and made an unhappy sound, "Though we may have to add 'Draco Malfoy's Boyfriend' in there at some point."

Several responses rushed through her mind. Reasons, theories, explanations, *excuses*, everything she'd dwelt on when studies weren't enough to still her busy mind. She was quite confident she could lecture Ron on their relationship with Harry and his with Draco, but she was equally confident such a lecture wouldn't do a bit of good.

Instead, all she said was; "Either way, he's still our friend, and Draco won't change that."

Ron watched her closely, as if trying to read something from her eyes. After a moment, he nodded, letting out a breath. "You're right."

"Hmm, I'll remember you said that."

A comfortable pause settled between the two friends, filled with the distant sounds of their classmates heading inside or talking in the still warm dusk. Ron interrupted it with a cough, bowing his head and scratching uneasily at the back of his neck.

"Um, you know, that wasn't the main reason I came to talk you."

"Oh?" Hermione cocked her head.

"Actually, yeah. Um." Was he blushing? "I was really, kinda, wondering about that um, freckle thing…"

"Wait, wait…"

"Oh, not this *again*…"

"Shut up. It's not that. I've just never really…" Harry stopped and made a vague gesture with his hand, the movement rather impaired by Draco's weight on top of him. [How did I get into this position again? Oh right, we were kissing…]

"Yes?" Draco demanded, frustrated.

"You know, never really done…done *this* before." He choked slightly on the words, his face making an honest effort to blush harder. Draco let out an annoyed growl, pulling at the collar of Harry's robes.

"And I'm the slut of Slytherin dungeons." He got his right hand under the dark cloth and spread his fingers over Harry's skin.

Harry eyes went wide as he registered Draco's statement. "So you're a virgin?"

"I didn't say *that*…" Draco protested, frowning.

"And here I *thought* you were getting down with Pansy---" He was forced to break off when Draco covered his mouth with one hand.

"You realize you're killing the mood here?" Draco removed Harry's glasses with his free hand, setting them somewhere towards the foot of the bed since the nightstand was further away than he wanted to reach. Harry mumbled something undecipherable before tonguing Draco's palm.

The blond teen made a face at that, the pressure of his hand loosening, until Harry got to the base of his ring finger and started to suck on that. Harry watched with interest as the look on Draco's face changed from faint disgust to surprised pleasure. He decided that he liked the idea of Draco enjoying his touch. In fact, Harry found the whole concept of having Draco Malfoy writhing beneath him in helpless passion really quite thrilling.

He'd been in some sate of arousal, mild or otherwise, since Draco had first pinned him. The knowledge that he could now do something about it was making him breathless and daring and afraid. The problem was that he had no real idea how to go on about it. Expect for a few stolen kisses in the hallways and the occasional sticky dream, (where he'd first become uncomfortably aware that he preferred the male form to the female) Harry simply didn't have any experience in sexual matters. Oh, he'd heard plenty; from that first embarrassing talk with Mr. Weasley to the purely clinical sexual education Madam Pomfrey held last year to all manner of dirty tidbits his schoolmates were fond of sharing.

Surely though, that would be enough to get *somewhere*, even if the main focus had been female, and with that thought firmly in mind, he gave Draco's finger one last hard suck, than deftly tumbled the other teen under him. Certainly once he was on the top, so to speak, he'd be better able to handle the situation. Or at least, that's what he tried to do.

Draco wasn't the sort to give over control easily, if ever, and loudly protested this attempted overthrow. He wasn't too keen on having his finger bath ended, either. Harry had a *nice* mouth. He wanted it somewhere else, though he was a little nebulous on what Harry was supposed to do with it after that, expect that it meant lots of licking. So of course Draco responded to Harry's efforts by reversing force in the other direction. And Harry, being Harry, fought back.

What started out as a little posted-argument nookie quickly descended into a wholly indecent wrestling match.

"Stop it--" Draco snapped with some force, using his thin yet strong frame to manhandle Harry back under him, hands slipping and pulling on the sturdy school robes. There was too much clothing in the way and now the comforter was getting yanked into the mess too, and all of it was too hot and constricting.

"Oh, would you just let me--" Harry managed to get Draco under him, only to draw in a sharp breath when Draco's thigh went between his legs and pressed against his crotch. He thrust his hips down against the pressure eagerly and panted hard in reaction. This was exactly what he wanted, this feeling.

He could feel Draco become still beneath him and he allowed himself to settle into the tempting heat of the other's body even though his own body burned with a steady fire. He sucked on his tongue, hips rocking in a motion both familiar and strange. The feeling of Draco's chest heaving against him was wonderful in its own way; the scent of sweat and desire that clung to the blond made his blood race. His body trembled with want and the fear of an act that left him vulnerable and defenseless. It wasn't in Harry's nature to let his guard down, even with those he trusted completely and regardless of spells that prevented the causing of harm.

The knowledge that a trusted friend could truly be a hated enemy was painfully acquired and never forgotten.

Some sense returned through the haze and reminded Harry that there was a lot of Draco right there and he really should put his mouth to good use. Now that he thought of it, he realized he badly wanted to taste the pale teen. He bent his head, not having very far to go, and opened his mouth against Draco's hot skin, not entirely sure what body part he was drooling on except it somewhere in the neck region.

It was quite shocking when Draco suddenly threw himself forward and shoved Harry to the side and onto his back before collapsing on top of him. Harry let out a squawk of angry surprise and disappointment as that wonderful friction was taken away. He kicked out reflectively; heels catching on the mangled bedding, and distantly heard something hit the floor.

"Right," Draco was saying between harsh breaths, "Much as I enjoy you getting off on my leg, we aren't dogs here. Settle back and let me-"

"Like you know any better than I do--" Harry returned, managing to catch a second wind. It wasn't as much fun when Draco was insulted him. Granted, he was still wound up tight and desperate and aching, and wanted nothing better than to pull Draco taunt against him and move until he reached some sort of satisfaction. It just bogged everything down when Draco *wouldn't* cooperate…

"I never said---not being a slut doesn't---oh hell," and giving up the conversation for lost, Draco went for direct communion with Harry's mouth, which was better anyways.

Harry titled his head up to help, and their tongues slid together wetly, slick and hot and rather sloppy. Their teeth clicked and Draco made a hungry noise, roughly exploring the depths of Harry's mouth until he went too far and the black-haired boy gagged in surprise. Draco was settled with his groin against Harry's hip, that intimate contact terribly exciting, and his right leg overlapped Harry's left. He gotten hold of Harry's wrists again and pushed down on them to hold his torso up.

Finally, they heeded the desperate pleas of their lungs and jerked away from the kiss, pulling in great gasps of air. Harry arched his head back to breath properly. Draco took the chance to attack the unprotected skin, sucking in mouthfuls that were certain to leave marks. Harry thrashed, fingers curling back into the loose bedding, and whimpered pleadingly. The pulling kisses made him feel limp and weak and drawn up tight all at once. Powerful jolts headed southward through his shuddering frame and suddenly not being in control didn't seem so bad.

He became aware of cool air brushing through the heat and he focused harder to realize that Draco had released his wrists and was attempting to pull his robes off. Oh nudity, that was a good idea. He'd have to help. Marshalling his arms into action he tugged and yanked until buttons snapped free and dark cloth peeled away from flushed skin. This was just perfect; now Draco had to be naked too.

Before he had the chance to implement that thought into an action, Draco pulled away onto his knees. The absence of touch was almost painful, not to mention extremely frustrating, and Harry called out before he could stop himself.

"Wait." Draco shushed him, voice gone husky, and with shaking hands tore at his own binding clothing. Pale flesh that Harry had glimpsed countless times that past week but always turned away from was now bared to him, open for his gaze. And wanting it? Or did he imagine Draco's posing? Some unimportant corner of Harry's mind noted that he needed to get Draco out in the sun more as he pushed himself up into a partial sitting position.

Harry leaned forward, brushing his lips against soft skin before tickling the arch of Draco's collarbone with teasing swipes of his tongue. Draco gave a low moan, the sound traveling up from his chest in a way Harry found exhilarating. Eager to encourage more sounds, he continued feathering hot, wet kisses across his partner's chest. Draco's robe was held in place only by his arms, which left their underwear as the only other barrier between them.

Shifting forward to move his weight off his arms, Harry pressed his teeth carefully into Draco's flesh, feeling his entire pale body jerk and heard him give a wanton cry. The force of his heart was painful in his chest as Harry lifted his hands to curl his fingers under the waistband of Draco's boxers. Touching such a forbidden area made him shake with wanting and impatient for more.

Hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing in wide circular motions with the light brushing of fingertips, as Harry placed one last kiss in the space between Draco's pectorals and then ducked his head to look down. Draco's underwear was black---of course---and stretched out over his erection. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he carefully tugged the boxers down until Draco was completely exposed.

He pushed the boxers as far down as Draco's position would allow and ran the back of his knuckles up Draco's pale thighs. Muscles twitched and trembled under his touch. Swallowing hard, Harry spread his fingers over the sharp curves of Draco's hipbones, feeling more than hearing the other boy's quickened breathing, before pulling his hands in and downward. Draco jolted as if shocked, moaning deeply when Harry's palm rubbed up and over his hardness. It was a curious touch, careful and uncertain and not entirely satisfying, but Harry found the contact to be indescribable, his groin tightening with need.

Draco's fingers dug into Harry's skin at the continued teasing, until it became too much---or not enough---and he laced his hands together at the back of Harry's neck and tugged his face upward. Catching Harry's swollen mouth in a hard kiss, he tumbled them back onto the bed, trying to kick his legs free of his boxers. Draco's tongue curled demandingly around Harry's own while his hands worked busily on Harry's chest and stomach. Those same hands quickly deviated to his underpants and yanked them down to his knees with unnecessary force.

Harry's pained squawk at this treatment changed into a desperate cry when Draco pressed his hips into Harry. Curling his arms around Draco's thin chest, Harry began rocking his body up against the contact. Draco whimpered into his mouth and ground their hips together. Harry shuddered.

Things moved quickly after that, both of them pressing and jerking and twisting together. Pleading whimpers and chest deep moans and harsh pants filled the heated air around them. It was stifling hot with Draco's robe draped over them and their not-entirely-removed underwear impairing their movements, but the feeling of sweat-slick flesh sliding together and brushing mouths catching brief kisses between heavy breaths made up for those inconveniences.

Harry could feel it gathering in the pit of his stomach, and tightened his hands on Draco's back, trying to push up harder, faster, needing more, just a little more. There was a stinging in his shoulders where Draco's nails bit into his skin and even that felt good. He could hardly breathe and everything was winding up so tight and he screwed his eyes shut. Finally, the mounting pressure broke, arching his back up into a bend and drawing a choked cry from his mouth, thick wetness spurting between them.

Draco sobbed something into his ear, then bore down hard against him, and Harry could actually feel the other's release over his skin. After a long, breathless moment, all the tension drained from them suddenly, leaving the two teens limp and somnolent. Harry loosened his clutch, running tired hands over Draco's back, trying to get his breathing back to normal. He felt very…nice. Not to mention sweaty, sticky, crushed beneath Draco, worn out, but otherwise altogether happy with the situation.

There was faint mumble from where Draco's head was tucked into his shoulder. Harry blinked into the fuzzy dimness of the bed canopy. "What?" he questioned softly, drawing vague circular patterns with his fingertips.

"Nothing." Draco panted out. He lifted his head and looked into Harry's eyes, expression calm as he searched for something in his new lover's face. Harry furrowed his brow at the strange look, when Draco lifted his hand, licked his thumb, and wiped something off Harry's temple. "You've still got food on you. No wonder you tasted like gravy."

Harry stared at him. "Your sense of romance kills me. And you're getting heavy now; get off."

"What, no cuddle?" Draco teased, rolling over to the side, the action revealing the smeared mess on their torsos. "Oh, that's lovely," the blond snorted, taking a moment to finally get his underwear completely off his legs. He tossed it across the room in a fit of vindictiveness. His robe came off next and was kicked toward the foot of the bed.

"Hmmm…" Harry returned, losing any and all urge to converse. Draco settled heavily against his side, trailing his fingers back and forth over Harry's collarbone. Harry turned his head and kissed Draco on his forehead, and then the bridge of his nose, then the corner of his eye. "Hmmm…"

"So was it good for you?" Draco muttered, unable to stop the classic line. Harry sighed in defeat and mourned not having the energy to pinch him.

Professor McGonagall stepped carefully into the Headmaster's office, though her caution seemed based more on reluctance to be there than on courtesy. Dumbledore himself was standing by the window and didn't seem to notice her. She frowned faintly and drew herself up before striding purposefully into the room.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said before she had the chance to announce herself, "Did you ever remove that book with the infertility spell from the library?" He smiled at something out on the school grounds.

McGonagall shook her head, not really surprised by the out-of-the-air comment. "No, I haven't yet. Why?" He waved his hand dismissively.

"I just have the strong urge to limit the number of Weasleys I'll have to teach in the future. Didn't Arthur mention Bill was dating the last time we talked? Ah well," he closed the shutters with a sharp click and smiled disarmingly at her, "What news do you bring?"

Realigning her thoughts back to their original goal, McGonagall schooled her feature to represent both warning and disapproval. "The day after tomorrow, Lucius Malfoy is coming to Hogwarts."