When The Stars Fall

On the Tenth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me...

The dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. Running through the halls, he cackled in laughter as he rounded the corner, barely escaping anyone's view as he threw on his invisibility cloak to hide.

"Potter!" Dumbledore's voice boomed through the halls, a mixture of frustration and amusement evident in his tone, searching frantically around the halls, his hair falling from his head due to an unfortunate dung bomb that was placed in his hat.

Students around the halls whispered to one another, giggling at the scene before them.

Cloaked in invisibility, he stifled a laugh as they watched Dumbledore's futile attempts to catch them.

Peeling the invisibility cloak from his shoulders, he revelled in the rush of adrenaline that still coursed through his veins. His dark eyes glittered with amusement as he surveyed the empty corridor, the echoes of Dumbledore's voice gradually fading into the distance.

Just as he began to relax into his triumph, a voice cut through the air, sharp and disdainful. Whirling around, he found himself face to face with a fellow student, a black-haired Slytherin with a scowl etched upon his features.

"Honestly, Potter, could you be any more pathetic?" The disdain in the other student's voice was palpable, dripping with contempt.

"Pathetic?" The Gryffindor echoed, his voice laced with a hint of challenge. "I'd say I'm rather adept at avoiding trouble. What's the matter? Jealous much?"

"Jealous?" He howled with laughter, "Of you? Please, Potter. And why exactly would I be jealous of you?"

He shrugged, leaning over him, his arm pressed against the wall as the Slytherin backed up into it, "My good looks, my fun personality, my charming attitude?" He offered.

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes, unimpressed by the Gryffindor's bravado. "Charm, Potter? Please, spare me the delusions."

Undeterred, the Gryffindor leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ah, but you can't deny the thrill of a good chase, can you? Admit it, you wish you had half the nerve to pull off a stunt like that. All in all, you can't deny..." He trailed off, whispering into his ear, "I know how to have a good time."

He let out a breath, "And what exactly is a good time for you, Potter?"

He smirked, his knee pressing up between the Slytherin's legs, his lips ghosting his jaw, "Come on, I think you know the answer to that."

The Slytherin's breath hitched, a shiver going down his spine. He fought to maintain his composure, his gaze locking with Potter's with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty.

"You're insufferable, Monty," he managed to retort, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the faint tremor in his voice.

"And you are the absolute berries when you're flustered, Alphard. Seems to me like things are just getting started."

"And what if I don't want them to get started?" He challenged, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

"Then tell me to stop, and I will," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he hesitated, then, before he knew it his lips were on Fleamont's and they were backing into an empty classroom, Fleamonts hands moving all over his body.

In the dimly lit classroom, shadows danced across the walls, painting a tableau of secrecy and passion. Their hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour, each touch sending shivers down their spines.

With a gasp, Monty pressed Alphard against the nearest desk, the wood cool against their heated skin. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, a silent plea for more, for everything they both desired but were too afraid to admit.