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Fucking Potter.
Thought Draco Malfoy, as he entered the 7th-year party. The parties were run by a group of giggling Hufflepuffs, who, in their passion for unity, had assembled everyone together to celebrate the end of term.
They had returned to Hogwarts earlier that year, memories of the war fading fast and unlike previous years, most of the students mingled with interest and ease.
Draco sighed heavily. He understood that even in this brave new world, more accepting than the one he remembers so well, he would still remain a bit of a loner. That was fine. He liked his own company. But, as Draco quietly watched the Slytherins slip out of the common room, chatting animatedly, Draco couldn't help but feel as if he was missing something. Even loners liked parties, right?
Draco rolled his eyes at no one and rummaged through his trunk for something clean. Holding up his sorry array of sartorial options, he realised his only options were a slightly too-tight green jumper or his pyjamas. Muttering to himself furiously for not cleaning anything else, he slammed the Slytherin door behind him, ignoring the shouts of protest from the portrait. Tugging at the jumper, he wandered aimlessly around the castle until the room of requirement and its large brown doors showed themselves to him.
Draco opened the door with a firm push and ran slap bang into Harry Potter who, with a startled expression, raised his eyebrows in way of greeting.
"Malfoy," Harry paused, looking him up and down, "Nice jumper," Harry offered, nodding at Draco's chest.
“Potter.” Draco acknowledged, glaring at the ridiculous excuse for a haircut that left his mop of dark hair impervious to gravity.
Draco brushed past him and joined the rest of the festivities, keeping one eye on Potter the entire time. Before long, a few of the Ravenclaws began to make their way back up their rooms, citing a need to study as they poured out en masse. Some things would never change. The room, lit by candlelight, was a large space, bare except for a wooden bar that stood alone in the corner of the room. Bored of small talk, Draco poured himself another drink, reaching out for the spoon at the same time as Weasley.
“Weasel,” Draco said bluntly.
“Annoying git.” Weasley deadpanned back at him. Before scooping himself another two glasses and lumbering back over to Granger, face breaking out into a wide grin.
“OK, OK, everyone – it’s time for spin the bottle!” Shouted Hannah Abbot.
Oh, for go-what fresh hell was this?
Draco had already endured an evening of thinly veiled small talk and the idea of spin the bottle was just as unappealing. He glanced around, sadly, it seemed, he was in the minority.
“Come on Malfoy,” shouted Blaise, eyes meeting his, eyebrow quirked.
Blaize was beckoning him over with both fingers in a 'come here motion' as he dropped gracefully to his knees next to Granger. Draco cast his eyes around the room and it was only Potter who had remained standing.
Harry had pulled his hand up to his neck, shifting his weight awkwardly, looking as if this was the last place he wanted to be. Well, well, well, if Potter couldn’t handle it, Draco certainly could. He flashed his trademark smirk and sidled down next to Goyle – refusing the tight feeling in his stomach to show on his face.
Potter's friends were now standing, and through a combination of dragging and cajoling - they seated him next to Weasley. Merlin, how undignified.
Plenty of shouting later and Draco had endured watching over thirteen uncomfortable kisses. It wasn’t that the idea of kissing was unpleasant, it just always seemed so - awkward. He was jerked back into the room as someone shouted his name over the hooting and laughing.
“And Draco is kissing….. PANSY!” Shouted Daphne.
Pansy reddened but crawled into the centre of the circle, where more hooting followed. Draco tried to drum up some enthusiasm, or at least look like he wasn't inwardly cringing. But instead he locked eyes with Potter, who was laughing at something inane that Weasley had just said. An odd look briefly crossed Potters's face, it wasn't quite sympathy, but it was an unfamiliar expression. Draco ignored him and once again, pasted a smirk on his face.
He dragged himself over to where Pansy crouched and leaned in, pressing his mouth against hers. She smelt nice. Like coffee and mango, but her face was too soft and her mouth too small. He felt her dart her tongue onto his and noted how out of place it felt. Then she drew back. More shouts followed and Pansy winked across the circle, before flashing an odd little glance at Draco.
Draco hadn't actually kissed anyone else before, not that he hadn't had offers.
He just hadn't met anyone that he really wanted to kiss.
Draco was jolted out of his reverie, the bottle had landed on Crabbe and then Goyle. An awkward pause fell across the circle before someone shouted,
“They should do seven minutes in the cupboard!”
In an attempt to build on his education, Draco read the odd bit of American, muggle literature and was familiar with this concept. An odd thought occurred to him that he would rather the cupboard with Goyle, than Pansy. Yes, she was pretty. Something at the back of his mind told him that pretty wasn’t enough for Draco. He certainly respected women - some even interested him on an intellectual level, but nothing more.
The game continued whilst his two friends remained trapped in the cupboard. Before a countdown ensued, signifying their exit. Goyle shifted his way out of the small space, red-faced, though Draco knew that to be down to embarrassment rather than any lust for his large friend.
Then he heard his name again, this time with an awkward pause after it. Oh, bloody hell, who did he have to kiss now? Draco whipped his head back into the circle.
“They have to go in the cupboard too!” Shouted a blonde Hufflepuff girl.
Harry’s eyes rose to Malfoy's, silently acknowledging the same feelings of desperation as Draco.
“Oh fuck, Potter?” Draco managed, stammering the words out, as Blaize wedged his arm under Draco's shoulder and shoved him forward. Harry rose clumsily from the circle and ambled his way to the cupboard, a step behind Draco, whilst Daphne waving her wand at the small door that flew open on his approach. Weasley looked at Harry with a pitying look, but then was drawn back into the game as Granger was chosen.
Draco stepped neatly into the small space and after Potter entered, the door closed and they heard the firm click of a lock, as magic sealed it shut.
“Right Potter. We should just pretend that we're alone in here and this will be over in seven bloody minutes.” Draco snarled. Sounds of laughter from their peers dampened by the heavy door.
Harry looked at Draco and his haughty expression, and laughed. It was a very small space for Harry's lanky frame, a frame that was currently creasing into fits of infectious laughter. And before Draco could understand why, he too was laughing.
Once they had finished laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation, chests heaving, Harry cast a tempus, they still had six remaining minutes.
“So, Malfoy, how was kissing Pansy Parkinson,” Harry teased, voice playful.
Draco attempted to look engaged and failed. “It was, OK, I guess,” He mumbled in reply. Draco was unsure why that sentence had simply fallen out of his mouth. Draco could usually cover his discomfort with ease.
Harry looked at him curiously.
He paused and (unusually for Potter who has to fill every single minute with noise) allowed a few precious seconds of silence.
“Malfoy, do you even like girls?” Harry said evenly. There was no judgment in his voice, but Draco cringed inwardly at the question.
Draco felt his throat turn dry. Well, what the fuck could he say to that?
Draco had consciously avoided ever asking himself the same question. No, was the honest answer, he supposed. But Harry Poter should never be able to 'one-up' Draco, with the secret he had carried for so long.
“Because I don’t,” Harry said evenly, with a shrug. “Not like that anyway.”
Draco wasn't necessarily surprised by the answer, more with the candour and after an evening of superficial conversations, the honesty made Draco feel unexpectedly reflective. But there was another feeling present, one that Draco hadn't felt for a long time. Amongst the heart-hammering adrenalin was an odd tingle of anticipation.
Outwardly, he stared straight through Potter, avoiding his inquisitive green eyes.
“Fine.” Replied Harry to the silence, drumming his fingers mindlessly against his jeans.
“Why did you just tell me that Potter?” Draco replied, voice slightly strained.
“Dunno. I guess I thought you were the same as me?” Harry replied easily. Before something clicked in Harry, understanding the veiled meaning of the question.
“Draco, I’m not ashamed. In fact, most of the school is well aware.” Harry snorted, a note of pride in his voice.
Eyes meeting Draco’s. He flicked his wand, four minutes.
“What’s it like?” The words tumble out of Draco before he has a chance to truly hide the sheer curiosity of his question.
Harry correctly understood Draco and snorted. “Like kissing a girl, but different. Harder. I dunno,” Harry explained vaguely, taking a small step forward.
Potter was encroaching Draco’s personal space. He smelled like toothpaste, lemons and tea. Draco felt his hand move instinctively towards Potters's waist, where it hung nervously, just above Harry's hip. They stood there, nose to nose, Harry standing still and silent for the first time in his life, Draco’s hand grazing his hip bone.
Potter stared at him, eyes challenging Draco to something. He splayed his hand on Draco’s jaw and leaned forward, hot mouth covering Draco’s. The sounds of laughter outside continued but all Draco could hear was his heartbeat and Harry's breathing. Mouth on mouth, messy and urgent. Harry's hands are in Draco's hair, nails digging into his scalp, clever fingers sliding at the back of his neck.
Draco felt an instinctive need to pull him closer and, for once in Draco’s life - he trusted his own instincts, allowing himself a messy sigh. This was what it was meant to feel like. Harry had backed Draco against the small cupboard walls, pressing against him.
Before a loud bang of a spell on the door made them jump apart. Draco's nervous hands straightening clothes and hair. Harry remained still, eyebrows cocked at Draco's need for order.
“30 seconds!” A loud, high-pitched voice called out. As the room began to countdown.
“You ok?” Harry prodded Draco with his foot.
Dazed, Draco simply nodded, trying to regain his balance on unsteady feet.
They stumbled out, eyes adjusting to the brightly lit room. Weasley slapped Harry on the back and pulled him away from Draco, Weasley ruffling Harry's hair, like you would with a large, clumsy dog. Leaving Draco to stagger back over to the circle, alone. Draco dropped back to the floor next to Blaize and waited for his erratic heartbeat to relax.
As the game wrapped itself up, Draco spent the remainder of the party staring at Harry, who seemed engaged entirely in mocking Weasley and Granger. But, as the rest of the room grabbed their belongings, singing and chanting as they left, Draco purposely took his time.
“I’ll catch you up,” Harry shouted to his ridiculous friends, Weasley slung his arm over Granger and they rounded the corner, leaving Draco alone with Harry. Harry swung around to face Draco, back pressed against the wall, one foot flattened on the stone.
“Yes?” Harry asked, a slow smile creeping across his face.
Draco momentarily panicked, meeting Harry’s eye, heart racing, “No. I don’t like them.” Draco said evenly, “Girls, I mean,” He clarified, taking in a lungful of air.
“Ah.” Harry replied, voice even, "I had actually guessed that part, Draco."
Oh God, he was a wanker. Even the way the git said his bloody name. Draco turned on his heel and walked away, leaving a bemused Harry standing in the large, dark hallway.
Merlin, why do I like you? Draco reflected privately to himself as he stomped towards his common room. He couldn't stop himself, Draco glanced back and Harry was still standing there, watching him. A knowing smile spreading across his stupid face.
“What are you waiting for Potter?” Draco spat, with more venom than he intended.
“You.” Harry shrugged and made strong, purposeful steps towards him.
Draco looked at the gangly teenager that strode towards him, with his ridiculous hair, lovely mouth and the easy confidence of someone who knew that they were right. Something in his eyes told him that, whatever happened, there would be more kisses.
Despite his desperate attempt to scowl, Draco smiled.
Fucking Potter.