Work Text:
Harry didn’t know how he'd been pulled into this madness, but before he knew what was happening, Zabini had dared him to go on a date with Malfoy, Hermione had accepted on his behalf, and Ron and the rest of his House had taken up the challenge with unprecedented enthusiasm.
‘You’re representing Gryffindor now, mate,’ Ron said, while the girls of their year rifled through Harry’s trunk, trying to find the right outfit. ‘Gotta prove you’re better than him at dating.’
Harry tried not to wince as he watched the girls handling his underwear. ‘I don’t see why I need to bother with my clothes and — ouch, Parvati, I told you a comb doesn’t help, it always looks like this.’
‘Maybe a spell?’ she offered, but he stopped her with a hand. She shrugged. ‘Let’s hope he likes it that way.’
‘There’s nothing to like!’ Harry protested. ‘This is a dare. I don’t expect him to like anything about it!’
‘Really?’ Hermione was perched on the end of Ron’s bed, flicking through the dating advice section of a Cosmopolitan. ‘Because if he hates it, it means Gryffindor is bad at dating.’
‘D’you want Gryffindor to look bad, Harry? Do you?’ Seamus said.
Every eye in the room (and there were many) turned to stare at Harry.
‘No, of course not,’ he mumbled. ‘Maybe try your spell?’ he asked Parvati, who grinned and took out her wand.
In the end, two and a half hours after this new kind of torture, Harry waited at the school entrance, his hair marginally tamer but a lot softer. He was wearing jeans and a plum-coloured jumper that Fleur and Bill had gifted him at Christmas. He hadn’t worn it before. Too nice for school, he’d always thought. Lavender had insisted though, and she’d even untucked his shirt tails and let them peek underneath the jumper. ‘This slightly messy look is sexy. Will make your date want to touch you.’
Harry had spluttered, ‘I don’t want Malfoy to touch me!’ The thought there’d be touching made his insides squirm in a peculiar way.
Several stern looks had shot at him again. ‘Do you think Malfoy hasn’t thought of everything? He’ll make you want to touch him and then Gryffindor will fail,’ Ron had said, and that was that. Harry had nodded in a resigned and determined way. Gryffindor had to win.
When Malfoy arrived, he looked — Harry didn’t want to think of it that way, but it was the first word that came to him: he looked glorious. He’d worn a crisp white shirt and a dark grey suit, and he looked so put together and neat that Harry had to suppress a sudden urge to ruffle his hair up or wrinkle his shirt.
How deviant. Surely this was a Slytherin tactic, like the ones Lavender knew. Harry clenched his fists and wordlessly led the way out of the castle to Hogsmeade.
The walk along the country road was wreathed in a painful silence. Harry wondered whether the Slytherins had had a hand in creating Malfoy’s look. Whether he’d also been advised what to do and whether he saw it as a House challenge, like Harry did. But Malfoy stared ahead, almost unconcerned that Harry was by his side, which annoyed Harry no end.
So he reached out and held Malfoy’s hand.
‘What—?’ Malfoy said, shocked, but smoothed his expression when he saw Harry’s satisfied smile.
‘Is there a problem?’ Harry asked.
‘Of course not,’ Malfoy sneered.
They’d walked for a few more silent minutes when it was Harry’s turn to gasp. Malfoy had started caressing his palm with his thumb. Malfoy’s smug smile at Harry’s reaction pissed Harry off.
He’d show him. He started stroking Malfoy’s palm, too, and was rewarded with a blush spreading on Malfoy’s face. Ha!
‘Where—’ Malfoy had to clear his voice and start again. ‘Where do you want to go?’
They’d reached Hogsmeade. Harry’d been thinking about the pub: cozy, lots of booze, perfect place to keep this as non-romantic as possible, but he’d changed his mind. ‘Madam Puddifoot’s all right?’
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. ‘Sure.’
The tea shop was as frilly as Harry remembered but much less pink now that it wasn’t Valentine's Day. Thank god for small mercies, Harry thought as he squeezed at a round table at the back next to Malfoy. The limited space meant Malfoy sat so close that Harry caught a whiff of his perfume. Which smelled nice. Enticing.
Harry winced internally at his thoughts. How could he find Malfoy’s smell attractive in any way? He might not be a bigoted bully anymore, but he was still a Class A git.
After they’d ordered coffees (Irish; a shot of alcohol being absolutely essential to deal with this situation), Malfoy held his hand again. Harry’s stomach performed a flip at his touch, which was quite disconcerting. Harry silently berated his internal organs for their traitorous behaviour and turned to Malfoy, trying to come up with some conversation. What do you say to the man who was your enemy for many years? Hermione had advised Harry to be himself; what bollocks. Harry had to demonstrate dating prowess, but judging by his last few dates (Susan Bones, Ernie McMillan, not to mention Cho some years ago) he was crap at it.
Malfoy, apparently, found words, proving Slytherins had trained him much better than Harry’s housemates had. ‘Your hair looks different. Did you do something with it?’
Harry wanted to snap back a biting reply, but instead he said, ‘Parvati knew a spell that makes it softer.’
‘Oh.’ Malfoy blushed. It was hot in that tea shop. ‘Softer.’ His voice came raspy and low and brought shivers to Harry’s spine. Merlin, Slytherins had thought of everything!
‘There’s not a lot I can do with my hair,’ Harry said to fill the silence. ‘It won’t listen to anyone or anything.’
‘Just like its owner,’ Malfoy smiled.
Harry was taken aback by the lack of mockery in his tone. It almost sounded as if Malfoy was flirting. ‘I guess,’ he smiled back, reluctantly. ‘It got me into a lot of trouble when I was young. My aunt and uncle hated the sight of it. Once, my aunt sheared it off so much that you could see my skull. But the following morning it’d all grown back. Back then I’d no clue what had happened. I mean, it’s hard to tame, but I like it.’ Harry shut his mouth. Why on earth was he babbling about hair? He gave himself a mental kick in the bum.
‘Accidental magic.’ Luckily, Malfoy didn’t seem bored. He thanked the lady that brought their coffees and stirred, his left hand still wrapped around Harry’s right. Harry would have to spend the rest of the date one-handed and using his left, because he’d be blasted if he pulled his hand away first. Though, he had to acknowledge that it wasn’t that much of a hardship. Malfoy’s hand felt rather nice, warm and just large enough (Susan’s hands were too small, Ernie’s too large). He decided he could like Malfoy’s appendages even if he still disliked the person.
Malfoy took a sip of his coffee. ‘Once, I made my father’s hair turn blue for a week. Don’t laugh.’ He smiled, seemingly pleased with Harry chuckling. ‘No spell could change it back until he bought me what I’d been asking for: a toy broomstick. He was proud, though; he didn’t even Glamour it when he left the house, but praised me for doing such magic at the age of five.’
Malfoy trailed off and stared at his half-full cup. A shadow passed his face. The startling desire to chase the clouds away rose in Harry. He put it down to his need to impress his date, that was all. It was all part of the dare.
‘What Quidditch team do you support?’ The change of subject was rather abrupt, but Harry felt a little flutter when Malfoy gave him a grateful smile.
‘Bristol Buzzards. You? Don’t tell me, I know: Chudley Cannons. The underdog, right?’
Once the conversation got going, Harry could almost forget he was talking with Malfoy and holding his hand. Malfoy shifted, pressing his thigh against Harry’s, and heat spread through Harry’s body. He was surprised to realise he’d been enjoying himself and had therefore lost track of his goal to beat Malfoy in the dating game. He couldn’t help but be impressed; Malfoy was good at dating. Harry had to step up his game, and the opportunity came when Madam Puddifoot brought over a huge chocolate soufflé ‘on the house’, while sneaking a glance at Harry’s forehead. Before Malfoy could say anything about that (as if Harry could help who offered him free desserts!), Harry picked up the spoon, cut through the soufflé and offered to feed Malfoy. ‘Want a taste?’
Malfoy’s eyebrows reached his forehead, and Harry stifled a triumphant grin.
Malfoy swallowed as he stared at the proffered spoon. His expression flickered, going from surprised to hesitant, but he leaned in and wrapped his lips around the bite. Harry had never really noticed Malfoy’s lips before, but now that he did, he didn’t think he’d ever look at anything else. Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry as he ran his tongue over his lower lip to catch any stray chocolate and Harry sweated, feeling very hot and uncomfortable (the tea shop was boiling, how could people stand it?). He picked a drop of the oozing chocolate and kept his eyes on Malfoy as his tongue licked the spoon. Malfoy clenched his hand tighter, almost painfully, and Harry licked the spoon again, pleased with that reaction and wanting to see more of it. He slowly fed Malfoy small bites of the soufflé (as small as possible; he wanted this to last) and he realised halfway through the feeding and licking of spoons that the reason he felt uncomfortable was because he had a magnificent erection.
Fuck. Malfoy would win this challenge. Time for drastic measures. Harry let Malfoy’s hand go and touched his thigh.
Malfoy gazed at him with smouldering eyes. ‘You have some chocolate on your lip, Harry.’
Harry? Shit, that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He had to pull himself together and make Malfoy lose his cool, the way Harry was losing his. Keeping his voice low, he asked, ‘Where, Draco?’ and stroked Malfoy’s thigh determinedly.
Malfoy seemed to have trouble breathing. Face flushed as if he ran a fever, he rasped, ‘Here,’ pointing somewhere towards Harry’s mouth, and then his eyes flashed. ‘Let me.’
And then, fucking hell, Malfoy leaned in and licked Harry’s lips.
Harry felt as if someone had electrocuted him. It was crystal clear that Malfoy was amazing at dating, a dating god really, but Harry couldn’t give up now. Before Malfoy pulled away, Harry moved his lips over Malfoy’s. He paused, startled, and Harry pressed in and kissed him. It felt brilliant. Nothing like kissing Susan or Ernie. Possibly even better than kissing Ginny.
Then Malfoy slid his tongue in Harry’s mouth and Harry’s brain short circuited with the realisation: Better than Ginny. Better than Ginny! Oh god, better than anything.
He’d no idea why his arms and body moved like that, but one hand wrapped around Malfoy’s neck, the other slid from his thigh to his waist, fisting through the material of Malfoy’s shirt (giving Harry a thrill at messing up Malfoy’s neat appearance like he’d wanted to) and his chest pressed against Malfoy’s. Malfoy ran his hand through Harry’s hair, tugging it and making Harry’s erection strain against his jeans. This was bliss and torture at the same time. Harry tilted his head and deepened the kiss, wanting it never to stop and also afraid he’d come in his pants, right inside Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop, when Malfoy slid his hand under his untucked shirt, stroking his bare skin. Panting, Harry had to pull away and rasp in his ear, ‘Wanna go somewhere more private?’ to which Malfoy answered with a feverish look and a nod, and they paid and ran out of the room as if someone was after them, to find a secluded alley and kiss some more.
‘It’s been three and a half hours. Do you think it worked?’ Hermione asked, sitting by the lake.
‘Of course it worked,’ Zabini said, lazily throwing pebbles in the water. ‘I know what I’m doing. They’re probably snogging each other senseless right now.’
Ron laid his head on Hermione’s lap and stared at the sky. ‘Finally. Someone had to open their bloody eyes.’