er to the tell tale bulge in Harry’s jeans. “What a perfect way to spend our anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what, exactly?” Harry tried to keep his tone light, teasing rather than clueless. Despite what Hermione had said about him figuring stuff out on his own, Harry needed to know some details if he had any chance of not cocking up.

“otten already?” Malfoy murmured, teasing the edge of Harry’s fly with his teeth. Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

“I guess you’ll just have to remind me.”

“I suppose I shall.” The film played to itself in the background, ottenpletely as Malfoy slid into a sitting position before swinging over one leg to straddle Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hands flew to Malfoy’s waist on instinct, pulling him in closer and bringing their jeans covered groins into contact. They both hissed at the sudden pressure. “Let’s see,” Malfoy whispered, leaning over to suck bruising kisses into the skin of Harry’s neck. “Five years and one week ago, you were a ginormous prat and stepped over a spell trigger in an old Death Eater house and fell into the basement.”

Harry wanted to concentrate on the five years ago part of that explanation, but he was having trouble; Malfoy was now moving his hips in maddeningly light circles, sending sparks of white hot pleasure up and down Harry’s spine and back to his dick.

“Then,” Malfoy continued, moving to the other side of Harry’s neck, “Five years ago yesterday, you woke up from your magicala and kissed me.”

“I imagine that was somewhat of a surprise,” Harry managed to say. His fingers were clenching and unclenching round Malfoy’s waist, and he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Nor could he stop himself from arching into the feel of Malofy’s lips against his skin.

Malfoy chuckled. “It was, but considering I had been fantasising about you doing just that for years already, I wasn’t too put out by it.”

He ground his hips down onto Harry’s erection, and Harry gasped out, “Malfoy!”

Malfoy stopped moving, raising his head and looking down at Harry, a strange look on his face. “Did you just call me Malfoy?”

Oh shit. Hermione had warned him about that. “Sorry,” Harry mumbled quickly. “I was just…er, remembering.”

Malfoy smiled and leaned back in. “I’ve never otten,” he whispered, and then captured Harry’s mouth in a searing kiss.

It was all so, so wrong, and mainly because it felt so damn perfect. Harry didn’t think he’d ever been kissed the way Malfoy was kissing him now; it was so breathtakingly wonderful that Harry’s heart broke a little at the thought that it wasn’t really meant for him. This Malfoy, this Draco, belonged to a different Harry, one that was used to being kissed like he was the other person’s entire world. Draco kissed Harry like he was starved for him; his hand shaking slightly where it was cupped around Harry’s cheek, his tongue tentative but desperate at the same time. Harry felt as though he was drowning in it, and it was only the thought that this wasn’t his that stopped hi

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