"Hello there, Sleeping Beauty. Had a rough night, did we?"

"The usual. You know, bones growing rapidly, hair sprouting up in odd places --"

"Aren't you a little old for puberty?"

"...And, of course, an inexplicable urge to howl at the moon." Remus shot Sirius a weary grin just as Harry parted the curtain surrounding the bed.

"Don't worry," Sirius assured him. "It's all a normal part of becoming a man."

Harry let out a snort, and elbowed his godfather aside, placing a portable basin on the bedside table. "Sorry for the interruption, Mr Boardman, but I have a job to perform and need my patient's complete attention."

"Oh, anytime, Mr Potter," Sirius replied, flinging himself into the nearest chair. "I'd never get between a man and his life's calling."

Harry dipped a flannel in sterilization potion and began daubing at Remus's face. "Speaking of life's calling, how are the Hobgoblins treating you?"

"Ah, like any other bar band -- with matching surly expressions and drunken debauchery."

"That's his favourite kind of debauchery," Remus told Harry, tilting his chin up to let the cloth nearer to a nasty gash right below his throat.

Sirius grinned and reached forward to pat Remus's shin. "Not quite, Moony. Unless the drunken debauchery leads to the naked werewolf kind of debauchery."

"Too much in-for-ma-tion," Harry sing-songed, wrapping a bandage around Remus's wrist. "Just because the Headmistress lets you two use the Shrieking Shack on full moon nights and allows Remus to recuperate here the next morning doesn't mean you get to subject your godson-- er, your biggest fan to traumatising mental images."

"Oh, come now, Harry -- I'm a rock-and-roll sensation. Don't you know that title is synonymous with alcohol, sex, and drugs?"

"Drugs?" asked Remus. He raised his eyebrow, then immediately winced. "Something I should know about?"

"Obviously I'm only referring to the drugs in this fine hospital wing used to treat the ill and otherwise infirm, not anything illicit."

"Obviously," Remus and Harry replied in unison.

Harry finished dressing the visible wounds and pressed down on Remus's stomach, checking for internal injuries, but Remus seemed fine. "Are you really doing all right?" he asked.

"I think so, though the transformations feel like they're getting worse," Remus replied.

Nodding, Harry gathered up the basin and a few other scattered items. "Nothing seems to be out of sorts as far as I can tell, especially since the Wolfsbane Potion and getting to run about with a big, fluffy dog prevent injuries you'd have done to yourself otherwise while you were transformed. It's just age; the transformations, like lots of physical things, get more difficult as you get older."

"And you're certainly an old man, Moony."

"If I am, you are, too, Stubby."

Sirius grinned and stood up again, gently nudging Harry out of the way so he could steal a kiss. Harry rolled his eyes and parted the curtain so he could put his supplies away. Even though he knew the full moon was rough for Remus, he really did love the day after. He saw Sirius and Remus regularly enough, but when they were in the hospital wing, they got to see him in his element. Plus, he really couldn't get enough time with Sirius, even if it had been more than ten years since the war ended and Harry learnt the way Sirius's death had all been part of an elaborate ruse arranged by his godfather and Dumbledore. Yes, he'd been angry for a very long time when the details of the deception came out, but mostly he was glad to have his godfather again -- his godfather who was no longer a wanted fugitive (that title died with the name Sirius Black), but the lead singer of a faded rock band. It was a little too much to be believed at first, but Harry now knew to believe something when The Quibbler said it. Otherwise, Luna would gladly kick his arse.

Sirius had claimed his life back, just as they all tried to once the war was over. Which was why Harry often found himself walking in on his rock star godfather making out with his former professor.

He told himself that he was just traumatized by all the lovey-doveyness by his would-be parental figure, but that stab in the gut was old-fashioned jealousy, no matter how he tried to rationalise it. Not that he wanted Sirius or Remus, of course; Harry just wanted something that felt right and seeing them was a bit like rubbing salt into a wound.

"Okay, you two, knock that off," Harry finally interrupted, once Sirius broke away to press his forehead to Remus's. "The patient needs his rest, and the rock star needs to get the hell out of here." He jerked his head to the right. "There's an empty cot there if you want a nap, too, since things are a little empty in here for once."

Remus settled under the blankets and yawned, sleep already reclaiming him. "Night, Sirius. Night, Harry."

"Night," Harry called, leading Sirius away from the bed and through the curtains again.

"It's two in the afternoon," Sirius said, grinning.

Harry grinned back. "That'll be our little secret. He'll be zonked out for awhile, but just in case I'm busy when he wakes up, you can take him right home. He knows what to do -- if he needs his bandages changed, change them, wait on him hand and foot, et cetera."

"Sometimes I swear that if they found a cure for lycanthropy, he wouldn't take it just for the day after pampering."

"Well, you're so good at serving...can't exactly blame him," Harry retorted. "I'll pop my head into the fire tomorrow. Did you want the cot?"

"Not to nap, but I'll stretch out for a bit. Have time for a heart-to-heart with your ancient godfather-slash-rock idol?"

"Always." Harry watched as Sirius stretched out on the spare cot, settling into the bedside chair. "What's up?"

Sirius shot him a knowing grin. "So, my other biggest fan and I were discussing you yesterday--"

Harry groaned. "Molly needs to be quiet. I'm pretty sure her late-in-life introduction to the wonders of what she calls 'bebop' doesn't make her an expert on my love life. That goes for you too, I might add."

"She just thinks you're lonely and need some companionship. And I happen to agree with her!" Sirius spread out his hands in a gesture of innocence. "It's nothing sordid, I assure you."

"You both want to set me up with Ginny," Harry reminded him.

Sirius shrugged. "So? You're both single, good-looking, searching for that special someone--"

"Who we both decided long ago wasn't the other," Harry said matter-of-factly. "She's my best mate's little sister, and I wish everyone would stop talking about us like we're the next coming of my parents! Besides, her mother doesn't know she's been seeing a Muggle with a motorbike for about two months now."

Sirius blinked in surprise. "Oh. Well, I can't deride a man with a taste for motorcycles."

"I thought you'd say that."

"But I do want you to be happy."

"I am happy," Harry said. "I love working at Hogwarts, it's always felt like my home, and I'm good at running the hospital wing. The students are great, Minerva is wonderful, most of the staff is wonderful, too."

Sirius made a disapproving noise. "Most of," he said knowingly.

"Almost all. Plus, I have friends and hobbies, too! Just because I'm not seeing anyone regularly right now--"

"Never have," Sirius said.

"So? I'm thirty-two, it's not quite time to put me out to pasture. I won't lie and say I wouldn't like to have something like you have with Remus, but I'm all right."

Sirius was silent for a moment. "Hmmph," he said finally, and Harry knew he'd won this round.

The door to the infirmary slammed shut, and Harry leapt up, asking Sirius to excuse him for a moment as he parted the curtains again. He inwardly groaned when he saw Malfoy leading a boil-covered Morrigain Baddock into the room.

"What happened?" Harry asked, barely looking at Malfoy as he made an arc with his wand, initiating a diagnostic scan on the student. "Never mind-- Furnunculus?"

Malfoy nodded. "Got it in one, Madam Potter. The student who cast it -- a Gryffindor, mind, so much for bravery -- ran off at the sight of me, so I couldn't get him to end the spell. It was simpler to take her here."

Harry nodded. "I'll have you fixed up in a moment, Morrigain," he said, reaching into his pocket for a Citric Acidpop ('None of the tongue damage, all of the taste!') to give to her. "Go on and wait for me over there." He pointed to the open curtain across the row from Sirius's closed one.

"I expect you'll return my student in one piece?" Malfoy asked haughtily.

"Because of all of the times I've returned them in shoeboxes? Honestly, Mal-- Professor, it's a simple spell-reversal. I see this kind of thing every day." Harry bustled over to one of the cabinets for some pain-relief ointment, then summoned Morragain's chart with a wave of his wand. "She's had this happen before," he noticed. "What student cast this one?"

"One of the Weasley brats -- I can't keep them all straight." Malfoy fussily picked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve, and Harry barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes. The man was such a ponce.

"Henry's in her year," Harry said, summoning the chart belonging to Bill and Fleur's son, too. "Maybe she has a crush on him; he's an eighth Veela after all."

"A Baddock with a crush on a Weasley? Or, worse yet, a Slytherin with a crush on a Gryffindor?" Malfoy asked in mock-horror. Or real horror, quite possibly. With Malfoy it was impossible to tell.

Harry almost laughed, but quickly stifled it. Smiling at Malfoy? The two had nearly come to blows at the last staff meeting, and, even if that hadn't been the case, with their history Harry wasn't about to show he'd been amused by something Malfoy said. "Maybe he has a crush on her," he conceded. "Could be a classic case of pigtail pulling."

"Pigtail what?"

"It's a Muggle saying -- when a boy likes a girl, he'll dog her and dog her until she pays attention to him. You know, anything to annoy her, like pulling her pig-- wait, why am I telling you this?" Harry shook his head. "You just might want to talk to Henry because the last time Morrigain was in the hospital wing for spell-reversal, so was he." Harry sent the Weasley chart zooming back to its proper place.

Malfoy nodded and turned on his heel, striding toward the exit. "Never a pleasure, Madam Potter."

"Stop calling me that!" Harry called after him. Once Malfoy was out of sight, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. With Snape and Malfoy both on staff, he sometimes wondered if the plusses really outweighed the minuses, since both of them -- Malfoy, especially -- seemed obsessed with making his happy life a living hell.

Sirius poked his head out of the curtains. "He's such a pleasant young man, isn't he?"

"Shut up, Stubby," Harry shot back, heading toward Morrigain's bed.

Harry was running late, which wasn't too strange, considering he usually ended up having to stay in the hospital wing until the very last moment. He'd never really appreciated everything Madam Pomfrey had done before she retired and he took on the position, but he supposed that was an expected part of the medical profession. Practically breaking into a run as he approached The Three Broomsticks, Harry recalled the three cases of Augurey pox, the recurring trip jinx, Bogey Hex, and something that made Katherine Dorny's nose travel all around her face, all of which he treated today. The infirmary was actually quiet when he left, something that was nothing short of a small miracle.

He was just happy to have the night off.

Ron and Hermione were already seated when he walked in, so he breathlessly ordered a bathtub gin and tonic from Rosmerta before joining them.

"You look tired," Hermione observed.

Harry shrugged as he slid into the booth. "What else is new? How are you two doing?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, stealing a sideways look at Ron. "He, however, is not."

"Why, what's wrong?" Harry asked. Now that he'd had time to adjust to the light, he could see that Ron did look extraordinarily pale, freckles standing out in stark relief to the rest of his skin. "Did something happen at the Ministry?" Harry found himself yet again thankful that he'd decided not to pursue Auror training; while the infirmary was probably more steadily busy, at least things rarely got to the point where Harry didn't get a night's sleep.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Not everything is about work, Harry."

"I didn't say it was! You look like death warmed over, is all."

Hermione giggled. "Ron has news. Big news. Big news involving formalwear."

"Shut up, Hermione," Ron mumbled. "It's my news, isn't it? I should get the chance to tell Harry, shouldn't I?"

"I wasn't going to tell him, which you would have known if--"

"Will someone just tell me?" Harry interrupted suddenly.

Ron stared at Harry and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he looked at the table, at Hermione, back at the table, and finally settled on Harry again. "I'm-- I'm going to propose to Luna."

Harry's face broke into a wide, astonished grin as he launched out of his seat again, pulling Ron into a (quite manly) hug. "Why on earth would you have trouble telling me that? Congratulations! When are you going to do it? Why are you telling us before you tell her?"

"You're certainly full of questions, aren't you?" Ron asked, looking a bit overwhelmed. "I'm waiting for the perfect moment, which, if all goes as planned, will be tomorrow night. I have a whole big thing plotted out -- dinner, music, imaginary animal hunt on the beach--" Harry and Hermione both laughed "-- then I'll pop the big question."

"Sounds very Luna-ish," Harry said, settling back into his seat.

"I didn't want to tell you right away because...well, I know you're not seeing anybody, and I reckoned you might be a bit tetchy about me officially settling down."

Harry knit his eyebrows together. "Hermione's single, too...and she's your ex-girlfriend! It should be harder for me than her."

"Yeah, but you're practically one of those...what do you call them? Monks. Hermione has all of those blokes she strings along, right?"

Hermione looked up from her drink. "I'm a real heartbreaker," she said sarcastically. "Really, I'm fine, Harry, and thank you for being concerned. Gringotts keeps me plenty busy, what with those blasted goblins sending me to negotiate in another country practically every week, and Ron and I work better as friends. I couldn't be happier for him." She smiled widely. "Though my dating life is very healthy, I assure you."

"But are you seeing anyone now?" Ron asked knowingly.

"Not at the moment," she admitted.

"I'm glad you're both all right with this," Ron said, relief suffusing his voice.

"'Course we are," Harry said gruffly. "Regular sex would be nice, but that's not all there is to life, right?"

"Sure," Ron replied, though he sounded doubtful. He picked up his bottle, and took a long draught, staring across the table at Harry and looking completely satisfied with himself. "I love that I'm the only one of us who's getting laid regularly," he said finally.

Harry and Hermione exchanged dark looks. "Suppose we know who's paying for us all tonight, don't we?" said Harry.

"We sure do," Hermione agreed.

Ron groaned, but didn't protest. Harry knew then that Ron must have been extra happy because that was the first time he could ever recall his friend not grumbling about forking over money for dinner.

"Sirius and Remus say hello to you both," Harry said, waving Rosmerta over.

Hermione made a pleased noise. "And how are they?"

"Fine, although Sirius has been plotting with your mother again," Harry told Ron pointedly.

Ron laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that anymore, mate. She's finally found out about the Muggle with the motorcycle."

"Ooh," Hermione said, sounding worried though she was smiling. "Lucky you're getting engaged, Ron, or else Ginny might have had to explain about the piercings."

"So what about his ear?" Ron asked, confused. "I mean, she doesn't like the fang Bill's got in his, but she's got used to it--"

Hermione's grin widened. "Not just his ear." Ron's jaw dropped open.

Harry laughed and quickly forgot about the two students laid up with a matched set of broccoli ears as Rosmerta licked her quill and prepared to take their orders. Yes, he'd definitely needed this night out.

Dinner had been fun, if uneventful, even with Hermione and Harry's insistence that they each get the most expensive entrees on the Broomsticks' menu, follow up with decadent desserts, and wash everything down with copious amounts of alcohol. Ron eventually balked at their third bottle of champagne, but hurt faces and whines of 'But we're celebrating!' eventually shut him up.

It was too bad Harry had to work the next morning, or he wouldn't have bothered with the sobering charm. Getting rid of metabolising alcohol was never his idea of a good time, since it hurt like hell, but he had to Apparate back to the Hogwarts gates and then walk the rest of the way, anyway.

The second he stepped on the school's property, though, Harry was ambushed by Snape, who might have been lying in wait in a nearby flutterby bush for all Harry knew.

"Severus, for God's sake, I'm not some out-of-bounds student!" Harry panted, wand still out as his free hand clutched at his chest. "Why are you skulking around at the gates?"

Snape merely glared and ground out, "Where have you been, Potter? We need you in the infirmary now."

Harry blinked. "Is someone sick? St. Mungo's is on call! I alerted Neville before I left, and he said he'd easily be able to dispatch if any extra help was needed." Neville wasn't a Healer like Harry, but an administrator. They'd trained together and worked together very briefly before Harry accepted the post from Minerva. He was always good for backup when Harry needed a night off.

"As though I'd trust Longbottom with a member of the faculty," Snape said disdainfully. He was dragging Harry by the wrist, though Harry was too overwhelmed to fully appreciate the oddity of the scene. "We expected you back thirty minutes ago."

"Faculty?" Harry wrenched his arm away and threw open the great double doors to the castle. "Is it the Headmistress?" he asked fearfully. Minerva was over ninety, after all, and wizarding ancestry or not, she still needed to take care of herself.

McGonagall joined them then, though, catching Harry's query. "Not me, Potter," she said in her usual, brusque tone. "It's Professor Malfoy. He collapsed about twenty minutes ago on his way from the staff room to his chambers; we were expecting you soon, so we didn't contact St. Mungo's, though I was just on my way to do so now. I don't know if he's contagious, though I believe he cast a quarantine bubble around himself before he passed out."

"Fever? Bones breaking? Is he conscious now?"

"He's unconscious, but other than that, I couldn't tell," Minerva replied, sounding slightly winded as she tried keeping up with Harry and Snape. "I can't break through his protective spell."

"Probably trying to protect the students," Harry muttered as they all entered the infirmary. Two students with partly bandaged ears were hovering over Malfoy's bed, one tentatively poking his shoe.

"Back to your beds!" all three faculty members barked in unison, causing the poking child to jump half a foot in the air. They both ran off.

Harry whipped out his wand, but found he couldn't run a diagnostic with Malfoy's quarantine still in place. "Step back," he warned McGonagall and Snape and attempted to end the spell. Malfoy's magic was fighting him, making him glow a pale green, but Harry knew enough about curse breaking and hex reversal that he was able to finally break through the shield. "Malfoy, can you hear me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy's eyelids fluttered, and he mumbled something that sounded like, "Sexy levers," then promptly fell unconscious again.

"Well, that's a good sign," Harry said, divining Malfoy's temperature. "Damn, he's burning up." He turned to McGonagall again. "I don't think it's a good idea for you both to be in here; he might be contagious and I can't very well have the whole staff occupying student beds. I'd check the students, see if anyone is displaying delirium or fever, and if so, send them directly here."

Snape nodded. "I'll see to Slytherin in Draco's absence, Headmistress."

"Good," Minerva replied, still staring at the mottled, crimson flush staining Malfoy's cheeks and forehead. "Let me know as soon as you find something, Potter."

"Of course. Now get out," Harry said, not unkindly. "Stebbins! Hemming!" The shoe-toucher and his friend looked at Harry, eyes wide and fearful. "I was going to keep you both overnight for observation, but I'm not sure what's affecting Professor Malfoy yet, so you should both head back to Ravenclaw, all right? If your ears start sprouting again, come right back here." Both students' shoulders sagged, as though a great weight had been lifted from them, and they both nodded and went to collect their things.

As soon as the infirmary had cleared, Harry continued his examination, testing Malfoy's reflexes and coaxing his jaw open, finding it red and raw. There was a rash travelling Malfoy's neck and disappearing into his robes, though Harry was hoping he wouldn't have to take those off with Malfoy still unconscious. The most telltale thing about the affliction was a bluish tint to the edges of the rash, and a tendency for Malfoy's muscles to spasm mildly every few minutes. Harry tried charming the fever, but found that useless, finally resorting to a cool cloth against Malfoy's brow and forcing a relaxant potion down his throat.

Malfoy started hacking violently the moment he swallowed the potion and sat bolt upright, looking in turns disoriented, embarrassed, and finally angry. "What...?" he croaked, then stopped when he heard his own voice.

"Don't talk too much," Harry advised. "You fainted in the corridors near Slytherin, and the Headmistress and Professor Snape brought you to the infirmary. How do you feel?"

"Achy. Hot. Dizzy."

"Okay. I just wanted to check on something in one of my texts; I'm pretty sure you have some flu variant. Er, shall I have someone go to your rooms to gather some things? It's likely you'll be here for awhile."

Malfoy pulled a face. "Under your care? I'd sooner die," he said as indignantly as possible with a voice that sounded like he'd been noshing on ground glass. He tried lifting his head, then groaned, falling back onto the pillow.

"You don't have a choice, Professor," Harry said, thumbing through a text he'd pulled from his bookshelf. "You're probably contagious, and I can't allow you to infect the students. The last thing this school needs is a influenza epidemic." He ran his finger down one page and paused. "Ah, here it is. Kappa flu, native to Japan, marked by fainting at onset, loss of muscle control, and blue-tinted rashes. It's usually transmitted person to person, though it's airborne, and there are documented cases of owls or packages carrying the disease. Any recent owl post from overseas?"

With effort, Malfoy nodded. "I was assisting Professor Snape with his deliveries day before yesterday. I believe some foreign ingredients were in the stores."

"All right, then; I believe we have a winner. Your prize is two weeks in the beautiful Hogwarts infirmary in your own private, quarantined bed, a stay filled with Pepper-up Potions, cold compresses, medicinal potions, and lots of sleep."

"I hate you, Potter," Malfoy mumbled, though he already looked grateful for the rest.

"That's Madam Potter," Harry said, managing to sound more cheerful than he actually felt about waiting hand and foot on Malfoy for two weeks. "So, about your things?"

"Snape can get past the protections on my rooms," he slurred. "They're keyed to allow him passage...password is Caspar..." Malfoy's eyelids drooped heavily.

Caspar? Harry made a note to ask him about that later -- for purely scientific reasons, of course -- as he went off to scribble a note to Snape.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked, feeling frustrated. "That's the third breakfast you've sent back. The house-elves have better things to do than improve on your tea and dry toast, you know!"

Malfoy didn't answer, wordlessly handing the offending plate out to a hand-wringing elf who took it and disappeared with a sharp crack.

"I know I don't eat in the Great Hall as often as the rest of the staff," Harry continued, handing over a paper cup filled with Pepper-up, "but you're not usually that demanding there, are you?"

"I'm sick," Malfoy said, voice still rough as sandpaper. "And I want tea that tastes like tea, not dragon piss."

"Drink a lot of dragon piss, do you?" Harry wrapped his hands around Malfoy's throat, massaging it and checking his glands. They were swollen, but he'd expected that, and Malfoy's expression looked like he thought Harry was about to choke the life out of him, which Harry found perversely funny. "Your fever's down half a degree this morning, though your throat still looks the same. Make sure to drink all of the tea, and I'll leave you a relief spray when I go, too. Lift up your pyjama top," Harry said, trying to sound as detached and business-like as he could with his childhood enemy laid up in bed and under his care.

"Leave?" Malfoy said nervously, lifting up the hem of his shirt just enough that only his stomach was exposed.

"Yes, leave," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Malfoy's modesty. "Higher, I have to check your rash." After a short pause, Malfoy complied, not moving a muscle as Harry snapped on protective gloves and applied an itch-relief salve to the affected area. Harry furrowed his brow, noticing that even under gloves and a rash that there wasn't a blemish, scar, or bump anywhere on Malfoy's pale skin. Hell, there wasn't even a stray freckle. Harry shook his head, clearing it as he realised he'd applied salve to the same spot three times. "Looks good," he said, his voice cracking slightly. Harry cleared his throat.

"Why are you leaving?" Malfoy asked. He stayed still for a moment or two more, and when he did move, immediately tried pulling his shirt back down. Harry lightly slapped his hand.

"Not until that soaks in. And I'm the only staff member free enough to cover your first class today. The Headmistress would have done, but she's in a meeting now."

Malfoy groaned. "Of all classes for you to-- they're just the way I want them now, and I won't have you mucking them up, Potter..."

Harry shook his head in disbelief and poked Malfoy's side with his wand a bit more roughly than necessary. "They're students, Professor, not knick-knacks. I promise to leave them approximately how I find them."

"I don't own knick-knacks," Malfoy sneered, though he didn't protest any further.

"If you need anything, ring the bell," Harry said, pointing at the side table. "A house-elf will appear to get you what you need, unless you need me, in which case, the elf will come directly to me."

Malfoy snorted. "As though I would ever need you, Potter."

"Yes, well, I'll remember that when I chuck you out and you end up fainting in the halls again," Harry said sarcastically. The elf from the kitchens reappeared yet again, carrying a new tray and looking absolutely terrified. "Eat your toast," he ordered.

The students were muttering restlessly when Harry walked into Malfoy's classroom. Mixed Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth-year Transfiguration, so he was doubly dreading this, but Harry walked to the front of the room, put down his bag, and offered them an encouraging smile.

"Hello," he said politely. "I'll be teach--"

Immediately, the classroom erupted in a flurry of speech.

"Will Professor Malfoy be all right?" asked a Slytherin whose name Harry couldn't recall.

"He's--"

"Mr Potter, what's wrong with him?" A Gryffindor that time.

"I heard a Yeti attacked him!" shouted a nervous-looking boy.

"I heard he has a rare disease that can only be cured by true love's kiss," sighed a girl Harry knew was Lavender Brown's niece. Harry rolled his eyes, while several of the girls swooned.

"If he's going to be out for more than a few classes, I'll never pass my O.W.L.s!" There were a few murmurs of agreement at that.

Harry rapped his knuckles against the desk. "Quiet down, everyone," he admonished. "Professor Malfoy will be fine in a week or so. He only has the flu, though a rather exotic strain of it, so he's being kept away from the student body as much as possible. He wasn't attacked by a Yeti, and he most certainly doesn't need to be cured by true love's kiss -- there is no such disease and you should know better than that, Lila. I'm sure your test scores won't suffer, especially as I have his lesson plan, so we'll be picking up exactly where you left off in your last class."

The students let out a collective sigh of relief -- Gryffindors and Slytherins both, he was surprised to see. Malfoy was Head of Slytherin, ever since Professor Snape said he no longer wanted the extra responsibility, if he also had to be Deputy Headmaster and teach Potions, but unlike the way Harry remembered reacting to Snape as a student, these students seemed to genuinely like Malfoy.

It was unfathomable, nearly.

For most of the lesson, the students worked on Vanishing Spells and started in on the theory for personalised touches to their transfigurations, asking Harry a question here and there as he circled the room. The work was excellent, far above par for a normal fifth year class, and not one student hadn't done the work; if he hadn't known any better, he would have sworn he'd been substituting for a class of Ravenclaws. Furthermore, even though he'd patched up many fights between groups of Gryffindors and Slytherins in this particular year, none of them bothered the other, and some of the girls actually worked in mixed-house pairs.

Malfoy hadn't been kidding; he had got them exactly the way he liked them. Harry felt something akin to admiration for Malfoy's methods, and finally got some sense of why a spoilt, rich kid might go into the thankless task of teaching. He was obviously good at it.

Harry dismissed the class, feeling a bit confused over everything he'd seen and hurried back to the infirmary.

"Mother! I think I'm old enough to handle one illness without your interference at my workplace." Harry stopped short just outside of the infirmary as Malfoy's voice carried into the hall.

"You are never too old for your mother to fuss over you," a lilting female voice answered.

Biting his lip, Harry successfully stifled a laugh; he wanted to hear this, but didn't want to make his presence known. So, Malfoy's mummy had come to take care of her ickle boy? Harry couldn't wait to share this news with Ron.

"Are they taking good care of you?" Narcissa asked. "I brought you some things from home: your favourite blanket, a picture of your sainted mother, and Caspar."

Caspar? There it was again. Harry was too intrigued to even bother doubling over at the idea of Malfoy's blankie.

"I do not need my stuffed dragon, Mum," Malfoy whined.

It took all of Harry's willpower to keep his mouth shut at that. So, not only did a Hogwarts professor have a fretting mother and a security blanket, but he protected his chambers with the name of his stuffed dragon. Harry was amused, but -- to his horror -- also found it sort of...charming. Uck.

Narcissa clucked. "You need whatever your mother says you need, darling. Now, you never answered my question."

Malfoy groaned. "I have the flu. Potter is taking adequate care of me, yes, and I expect I'll be back on my feet in a few days."

"Harry Potter?" Narcissa sounded aghast to Harry's ears, probably because she didn't want his filthy half-blood hands on her son. He felt himself grow angry, but the bubble was quickly popped by confusion when she said, "Is there anything in your life that doesn't revolve around Harry Potter?"

"I--"

"You're just like your father," she sighed, and Harry stiffened. He hadn't thought of Malfoy as evil in years, and had stopped thinking so even before Lucius Malfoy was tried and Kissed, but Harry had been fooled before. Perhaps Draco had spent years biding his time, and his mother knew all about it. "Though of course," Narcissa went on, "your obsession with the Potter boy has always been a bit different than your father's was, hasn't it?"

Malfoy coughed and groaned. "I am not obsessed with Potter. And if I ever was--" He suddenly lowered his voice. "And if I ever was, I'm certainly not now. We simply work together, and it happens to be his job to take care of the illnesses of the student body and staff. Anything he's doing to cure me is a consequence of our respective positions."

"I'm not protesting that. In fact, I've always thought he'd make an excellent healer -- he looks like he'd be very good with his hands, doesn't he?"

"Be quiet, mother," Malfoy replied after a long pause.

Narcissa sighed. "I just don't want my baby boy to be lonely. It's been an awfully long time since you had a boyfriend, and even when you were a child, it was Potter this, Potter that; I've always thought that half of your father's hatred for him stemmed from your inability to be discreet about your wants. But, then again, you're quite used to getting what you want, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," Malfoy replied, though it sounded like his teeth were clenched tight. "Stop worrying about my love life or lack of."

Harry listened to this with wide eyes. Malfoy was-- he was attracted to...? And his mother thought he was obsessed with Harry? He resisted the urge to slide to the floor.

"All right, poppet," Narcissa said after a pause. "I'll focus all of my motherly worries on your getting well -- for now."

With a pang of guilt at having overheard this conversation, Harry made a lot of noise turning the door handle and clomping into the infirmary. "Good day, Mrs Malfoy," he said, proud that his voice didn't shake.

"Mr Potter," Narcissa said, straightening in her chair and giving him a cool nod. "I see my son is in capable hands, so I'll leave him to your care. Now that you're here, that is." She raised one elegant eyebrow.

"I was covering one of your son's classes," Harry told her, feeling annoyed at the jibe. "This is still a school."

Narcissa rose and offered a tight-lipped smile. "It is, indeed." She bent down and placed a kiss to Draco's head. "Feel better, my sweet, and owl your mother as soon as you're out of the infirmary."

Malfoy nodded. "All right."

"I love you, darling."

"I love you, too," Malfoy muttered, blush evident even through the fever and rash. "Good-bye, Mother."

Narcissa waved. "Ta-ta," she said merrily and glided out, the scent of expensive perfume following in her wake.

Harry wondered how she was going to get around the muddy grounds of Hogwarts wearing those shoes, but quickly shook off the thought. "Your class went well. They're good kids," he told Malfoy. "Did you need anything?"

"I think I could do with a bath," Malfoy said, trying to stretch. Harry took his temperature and found it had gone down another half-degree from that morning. "The salve for the rash is starting to itch more than the rash did."

"Luckily, you'll only need that applied twice a day." Very luckily, as Harry didn't think he could handle having to rub Malfoy down more than that. "Do you think you could make your way to the bath, or do you need assistance?"

Malfoy considered this. "I think I'll be fine once I get there; the elves have been helping me walk, though."

Harry nodded, trying to fight off images of a bathing Malfoy, especially with his newfound knowledge about Malfoy's probable sexuality. He helped Malfoy into an upright position, then swung his legs over the edge. Malfoy put his arms around Harry's neck and Harry hoisted him up, covering up his sharp inhalation of breath when that brought his body into very close contact with a feverish one. "All right there?" he asked shakily.

"I believe so," Malfoy said, adjusting so only one arm was around Harry's shoulders. Harry noted that Malfoy was actually about two inches taller than him, which made this position rather ideal.

Positions. Harry shook his head again and started the slow journey to the bathroom. Once there, Malfoy grabbed onto the sink and let go of Harry. "If you need me, I'll be right outside," Harry said, rushing out of the lavatory far more quickly than he should have. He was supposed to be the medical professional, and he was acting like a hormonal teenager.

Harry gratefully collapsed in a chair, trying not to think on Malfoy bathing -- Malfoy naked -- one door away.

What the hell was wrong with him? Harry knew other homosexuals, but he'd never reacted like this to that knowledge. He was attracted to women.

Wasn't he?

The truth was, Harry was attracted to whomever his body decided he should be attracted to, and he'd had feelings for men, as well as women, in the past. He'd just never pursued them because it wasn't done -- the Boy-Who-Lived didn't up and decide to shag blokes one day, even if he was no longer a boy and had long since shied from his public persona. Once Voldemort died, Harry made it quite clear that though he was interested in saving lives, he would be no one's saviour.

Harry swallowed and combed his fingers through his hair, further mussing it. He decided he needed to tamp down these feelings and act like the bloody professional he was.

Of course, as soon as he'd decided that, he heard a definite moan from the bathroom. Thinking Malfoy might be in trouble, Harry leapt up and was about to burst through the door when another, longer, more distinctive moan followed.

Harry froze, hand on the doorknob, arousal rushing through him like he'd been hit with a bolt of lightning when he saw it. The door was ajar, and Harry saw everything. Saw Malfoy who couldn't see him, saw Malfoy with his hand on his cock, eyes closed, lip bitten, and obviously trying not to moan again.

He knew he should make noise, back away, do something, but he couldn't stop staring at all of that skin, at the way Malfoy alternated slow, long strokes with faster, brutal ones. He couldn't ignore hard little nipples that Malfoy would occasionally brush with his free hand before reaching low to clutch his balls.

Oh God, Harry thought, nearly moaning himself as his own prick made it quite clear that it wanted to play, too. The insane urge to climb into the tub with Malfoy, to climb on top of Malfoy and make water splash over the sides, and kiss and lick and touch all of that exposed, burning skin washed over him. Harry wanted to suck on Malfoy's cock, wanted to pull back his foreskin and tease the slit with the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing? Stop it, right now, Harry thought harshly.

Just then, Malfoy's mouth dropped open and his strokes sped up and sped up, until his fist was a blur on his cock. He whined quietly, then exhaled, a soft noise that sounded like, "Hah-- hah--" and came, spurting come onto his stomach and chest.

Harry swallowed, not daring to press his palm to the throb in his pants, knowing that wouldn't help a bit. Malfoy splashed water over his sticky skin, clearing away the mess as his eyelids started to flutter open. Harry scrambled back, falling over his chair and landing squarely on his arse.

Serves you right, Harry told himself, climbing to his feet just as Malfoy's voice -- sounding prim and proper as always -- called out, "Potter? I need you."

Harry closed his eyes. He was going to be a sodding professional if it killed him.

"Ahoy there, Harry!" Sirius shouted happily, sinking to his knees in front of the fireplace.

Harry managed a wan grin, feeling the flames licking the sides of his face. His knees were already starting to hurt from where he knelt on the stone floor of McGonagall's office, but then he'd never been any great shakes at Floo calls. "Hey Sirius," he replied, sounding more glum than he'd intended.

Sirius looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You look like someone's killed your puppy. And since I'm right here, back from the dead, I'm guessing it's something else," Sirius said.

Harry nodded, the flames heating his chin, thinking about how to phrase what he wanted to say. "How did you know you were gay?" he blurted finally.

"Ah. I...just kind of knew. I met a bloke, I was attracted to the bloke, it took me about thirty years to get him, but I did. There were a lot of other men I was less attracted to that littered the way, but I always knew."

"Oh." Harry didn't always know, so maybe he wasn't gay. Maybe his attraction to Malfoy meant he was coming down with something -- maybe he'd caught the kappa flu.

"Why are you asking that?"

Harry shook his head. "Curiosity, I suppose. Have you ever been attracted to someone that was so horribly wrong for you that you were kind of sickened with yourself for being attracted to that person?"

Sirius blinked. "Can't say that I have. But Remus might be able to help with that one. Remus!" he called.

Remus came into the room, wiping his hands with a dish towel. "Harry!" he said happily. "How are you?"

"Fine. Okay. I guess. Maybe."

Sirius chuckled. "You have to stop asking him those complicated questions, Moony."

"Sorry," Remus apologised.

"Tell Harry about the unrequited crush from hell you had."

If Remus was surprised by the request, he didn't show it. "I had an enormous crush on your father."

Harry's eyes widened. "You did? But my dad wasn't-- I mean, he-- my mum-- he didn't like--"

"No, he didn't," Remus said, stopping Harry from further mortification and stammering. "James was always in love with your mother and very, very straight, both facts I was very aware of, but it didn't stop me from confessing my giant secret."

"He didn't-- Er, I mean, he wasn't angry with you about that, was he?"

Remus laughed. "Oh, God no. Sirius was, but your dad wasn't, and neither was your mum. But it started a lot of fights between Sirius and me-- I think it was part of the reason for our rift when...well, you know what happened."

Harry nodded, shifting his knees again. "What if you're attracted to the wrong person, and that wrong person is possibly attracted to you, too?"

"Subtle non-use of pronouns there, Harry," Sirius teased. "Are you attracted to a bloke?"

With a sigh, he started to shake his head, then nodded. "I think. Maybe. I guess. It's stupid, isn't it? I like women, I'm sure of it!"

"You're not the first person in the world who's been attracted to both sexes," Remus said. "Or the only person attracted to a man that usually goes for women. And unless he's sadistic and cruel, how do you know he's so wrong for you?"

"I just know," Harry said darkly.

Sirius laughed, startling him. "You're always so pessimistic. Why don't you just fuck him and get him out of your system?"

"That's horrible advice!" Remus said, hitting the kneeling Sirius upside the head. "Do whatever you feel is best for you, Harry."

Ash rose up from the fire and tickled his nose. Harry wrinkled it. "Thanks, both of you, but I'd better get back to my patients now."

"Anytime, Harry," Sirius said. He and Remus both waved as Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace. Once his body was in one place again, he slumped against the brick, still feeling horribly confused, but maybe not so alone.

"You're definitely on the mend, Professor," Harry said, rolling down Malfoy's shirt sleeve again. "The rash is gone, the fever's down, and you're not twitching and coughing at all. Perhaps a day or two more before you'll be able to return to your classes and your own rooms." And you stop messing up my life.

Malfoy smiled contentedly, though that might have been the pain-relieving potions winding their way through his system. Harry took a moment to notice that Malfoy seemed almost...nice...like that. Approachable, even.

"Why did you go into medicine?"

Harry blinked. It took him a moment to realise the relaxed baritone was Malfoy's, and he cleared his throat. "Why do you want to know?" he asked after a moment.

"Because we're colleagues and, other than things I've known about you for years and years, I barely know you." If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn Malfoy looked sad about that.

"Oh." He wasn't sure what to say, so he settled for putting his supplies on Malfoy's bedside table and sat in a nearby chair. "I know everyone expected me to go into Quidditch or be an Auror or fight evildoers professionally, but Hermione once told me that I had a 'saving people thing,' and I suppose I finally accepted that she was right. Besides, after all the damage Voldemort did, I sort of felt like I needed to give something back -- reverse everything he did by healing."

"That wasn't the answer I expected."

"What was, then?"

"I thought you liked the bustle on the nurse's uniform." Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

Harry laughed. "Well, I only wear that for special occasions."

"I'd like to see that."

Drugs talking, Harry reminded himself. That didn't stop him from replying, "Maybe if you're good."

Malfoy let out a surprised laugh then, and that was even better than his smile, and, oh, Harry was in such trouble.

"Why did you decide to take over for Minerva?" Harry asked impulsively.

"Purpose," Malfoy said. "I was sick of being a spoilt, trust fund baby of a Death Eater criminal father. It keeps me busy, I'm good at it, the children are only snot-nosed about three-quarters of the time, and it keeps me out of the public eye. Not that you would know anything about that."

Harry smiled, looking down at his lap. "I might." When he glanced up again, Malfoy was still watching him, and Harry's fingertips tingled and went numb as his stomach dropped. It was the oddest experience he could recall in his life. "I'm surprised your mother hasn't been by again," he said suddenly, changing the subject.

"She would have been if I hadn't sent her an owl telling her to stay away. I suppose no matter how old I get, she's my mother, and there's no getting rid of her." Malfoy smiled again, looking dopey and high.

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a twinge of something that was nearly jealousy, but not quite. Guilt mixed in, maybe, since Malfoy had lost a parent, too. Everyone he knew had lost someone. "Is she all right without your father?"

"She gets by," Malfoy replied, though he didn't add anymore. Harry felt awkward again, and started to get up. "Don't go. Just wait till I drop off-- won't be long, I promise."

"Okay," Harry said, sitting again. A grin started to spread across his face, and he nodded at the bed. "Glad to see you and Caspar are getting on all right."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "You were listening! I thought so, you bastard Gryffindor. Never could resist eavesdropping on a good conversation."

"Hey, that's what you get for having private conversations in my hospital wing," Harry said, trying not to feel guilty.

"So you know that I'm--" Malfoy was blushing enough that Harry could see it even with the low light.

Harry shook his head. "I don't care about that. I have selective memory loss as far as that conversation goes."

"Mmm, so you say," Malfoy said, rolling onto his side and pulling up his bedcovers. He mumbled under his breath right before he dozed off, and Harry swore it sounded like, "Maybe I wanted you to know."

Harry sighed deeply and chose to believe he'd simply misheard. He watched Malfoy sleep for far longer than was necessary because he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Getting back to the tiny chambers adjacent to the hospital wing had been a relief. He'd been covering another class for Malfoy -- a sixth-year N.E.W.T-level course with all houses -- and it wasn't that they had been awful or because the class ran until just before dinnertime. No, they'd been wonderful and insightful and eager, and the time had flown. Someone from every house was buzzing over Malfoy's imminent return, and even Harry found it contagious. It was as though everyone had ganged up to tell him how wonderful Professor Draco Malfoy was, and he should just give into whatever strange, new feelings he was experiencing.

Never mind that they'd hated each other for over half of their lives.

Never mind that they'd still fought almost every time they saw each other up until a week ago.

Never mind that they worked together.

Harry shook his head and dropped his robes, desperate for a shower, thinking that might help take his mind off of things. Unfortunately, that wasn't how things were going to work; just like every other time he'd bathed in the last week, his mind shot to pale fingers wrapped around a hard cock, head thrown back, and lips bitten raw. His own cock instantly responded.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath, rubbing shampoo into his hair and trying to ignore the heavy erection pulled away from his body. He stuck his head under the spray, letting soap run in rivulets over his stomach, chest, back, and legs, trying desperately to let the hot water suck the tension from his aching muscles, but the more he tried to fight it, the more tense he became.

Hating himself, he grasped his cock hard, and his knees almost buckled with the wave of intense pleasure and relief that washed over him. One shaky hand rested against the tile as the other pulled in long, slow strokes, the water creating enough friction that the sensation was just this side of painful.

Harry rested his forehead against the hand pressed to the wall, squeezing his eyes tight as he pictured Malfoy next to him doing the same. He thought about yanking Malfoy's hair and exposing his throat to bite and mark him as his own, something that had never occurred to him to do to anyone before last week. In his fantasy, Malfoy was on his knees, hands clutching Harry's thighs as he lapped at Harry's prick, licking over and over until Harry was begging for more. Then, Malfoy would slide his red, red mouth over Harry's erection and suck him hard, suck him until his vision started to blur and spark, until his mouth dropped open, until he was gripping himself so hard that he couldn't stop if a whole audience was watching.

"Fuck," he whispered again. Harry let out a long, ragged moan as every single muscle felt like it was pulled to its breaking point. "God, Malfoy. Shit, yes. Draco!" He unravelled.

Harry swallowed and opened his eyes. He exhaled slowly and watched the evidence of his intense feelings swirl down the drain. With a sigh, he quickly soaped up, rinsed off, and turned off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping into his bedchambers.

"You called?"

Harry jumped. "I--" Fuck. "I can explain--"

Malfoy was lounging on the bed, dressed only in pyjama bottoms, and looking like he'd been there his entire life. "What's to explain? You were wanking over me. It's not like you didn't see me doing the same."

"You knew?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Potter. You fell over a chair about two seconds after I came. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Harry shook his head. "You're not an idiot."

"Too right I'm not. Now, I know you've just taken care of your problem and all, but we're relatively young, so I see no reason why you won't bounce back immediately. I mean, look how well I did." Malfoy smiled, and it was true; he looked completely recovered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Potter. Harry," Malfoy said, standing, and Harry could see that he was already hard. Apparently, it didn't matter that he'd come five minutes earlier because his prick twitched interestedly. "I'm here because I want you, and you want me -- if you shouting loud enough to be heard from my bed is any indication."

Harry winced. At least there were no students in the hospital wing now. "Y-- you're ill," he stammered. "You shouldn't be here. It's not right."

Malfoy cocked his head to one side. "I disagree," he said, and hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pyjamas, sliding them to the floor. He stepped out of them and slid between the sheets, staring at Harry the entire time. "This is exactly where I belong. Now, drop that towel and join me, before we both do something we'll really regret."

"Shit," muttered Harry, his voice shaking. He had Malfoy in his bed, waiting for him, bringing all of his skin along. It wasn't like he was some sort of superhero, able to resist all temptation. He swore again, shut his eyes, and dropped the towel.

Malfoy hummed in approval, and Harry dared a glance at him. "Halfway there, Harry."

Harry's stomach felt like it was filled with lead, but he stumbled to the bed and crawled under the sheets. Then, he moaned. Loudly. Because Malfoy had just rolled on top of him.

"You feel nice," Malfoy told him. "Quite the little body you've been hiding under that bustle, Madam Potter."

Harry laughed nervously, his arms going around Malfoy's waist. "Shut up and kiss me."

Malfoy did, a languorous exploration of his mouth, so thorough that Harry felt gutted, even though all they'd done was kiss. They moaned into each other's mouths, wet tongue meeting wet tongue, as Malfoy's thigh insinuated itself between Harry's legs. Malfoy's erection was pressed against his hip, and if Harry just...shifted -- yes -- their cocks pressed together, sending an electric jolt travelling down Harry's spine.

"Do you have any lubricant?" Malfoy asked suddenly, bending down to bite his ear. Harry gasped and jerked up, and nodded. He fumbled with the drawer before coming up with a stoppered vial of the potion he used to wank with most nights.

He stopped, suddenly, and thought about what this probably meant. "Malfoy--"

"Draco."

"Okay." He smiled, for reasons he couldn't quite explain. "Draco, I've never done this with a-- a bloke, so...take it slow."

Draco smiled back at him and plucked the vial from his hand. "Don't worry, I want to do something I won't need to be slow with."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And what would that-- oh!"

With practised ease, Draco rolled to his side, pulling Harry with him. He'd somehow got the stopper out of the glass and was pouring lube into his hand before closing it again to toss it aside. Then, with a wide grin, Draco reached down and grabbed both of their cocks with one hand, making Harry's eyes roll into the back of his head.

Oh, God, it was slick and hot and felt so much better than wanking alone because there was another cock -- another body -- pressed tight against his own. It didn't matter that he'd just pulled himself off -- he wanted harder, faster, more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hard. Following instinct, Harry reached down between their bodies and covered Draco's hand with his own, and they stroked together.

"God, you don't know how long I've wanted this," Draco panted, thrusting his hips.

"How-- how long?"

"Long-- oh God -- enough."

Harry attacked Draco's lips, sucking and biting and pushing his tongue inside. The hand that was trapped under him had slid between Draco's hip and the sheet and was just holding on for dear life. "So good, Dr-- Draco," Harry said. "So hot."

"Not just the fever, I hope?" Draco joked.

"No," gasped Harry. "You." He moaned loudly, and Draco answered with his own moan.

"Har-- Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry closed his eyes and bent his neck, sucking hard on Draco's pulse point.

"When we recover? I want you to fuck me through this bed."

"Yes," moaned Harry, nearly dying at just the thought of how hot and tight Malfoy's body had to be. "God, yes."

"Oh. Oh," Malfoy said, almost reverently. "I'm-- I'm going to."

Harry's eyes flew open, and he stared at Draco so intensely that the other man looked surprised -- and very, very aroused. "Come for me," he said, tightening his grip on Draco's hand, and reaching to swipe his thumb over the head of Draco's cock.

"Harry!" Draco arched once more, and his entire body shivered and shook, as white fluid shot over their stomachs. Harry let Draco roll him halfway onto his back as his own hand fell away, and he let himself feel how soft Draco's skin was, how he knew exactly how Harry needed to be touched, how absorbed he was in bringing Harry off.

A ragged moan escaped from Harry's lips, and he scarcely recognised his own voice. Then, his hips were lifting off the bed, and he was coming again, brought off by Draco Malfoy's hand.

"Oh God," Harry said, once he recovered enough to speak. Draco smiled and pressed his forehead to Harry's.

Harry woke up alone the next morning and groaned, the activities of the evening before slamming into his brain like a load of bricks. Reservations aside, he didn't regret a bit of it; they'd kissed and licked, fucked and learnt every inch of the other's body, and, God, he'd do anything for another night with that body.

With Draco.

He wasn't surprised Draco hadn't stayed, though, because anything Harry had ever really wanted went away in the end.

Then, the toilet in his small bathroom flushed, and he heard the sound of running water. A minute later, Draco stumbled out, wearing nothing but a smile.

"Hello there, Sleeping Beauty," Draco said, his voice rough with sleep and sounding like sin personified. "Had a rough night, did you?"

"Hardly." A grin involuntarily stretched across Harry's features. "What have we done?"

Draco smirked and launched himself onto the bed, draping one arm across Harry's chest. "Had a night of spectacular sex, a night that I expect repeated over and over if you know what's good for you."

Harry groaned. "We can't do this."

"And why not?"

"Because we work together! The staff will talk."

"We'll keep it quiet then, idiot," Draco said, fondly. "Since when have we ever done what's expected of us?"

"Point," Harry conceded.

"I'm full of them. Now shut up and kiss me."

Oh, God, Ron was going to kill him. Sirius was going to kill him. Molly was going to kill him; this was far worse than any motorcycle man. Harry grinned and wrapped his hand around the back of Draco's neck, tugging him close. Their lips met, though Draco pulled away instantly. "Potter, get away from me and brush your teeth."

"Fine, your majesty," he replied, rolling off the bed. "You'd think you'd had enough of me waiting on you hand and foot by now."

"Never!" Draco called after him. "I have so much work left to do."

Harry stuck his head into the bedroom again, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. "I suppose I'll have to do things over and over until I get them right, then." Harry ducked back into the bathroom and spat a mouthful of foam into the sink. "Next time, don't bother making yourself sick, just to get my attention! Though I'm flattered, Malfoy, really."

The bedsprings creaked noticeably, and Harry grinned to himself knowing he was about to have his arms full of indignant blond. That was all right; he could probably do with another shower.

END