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As neither Potter nor Malfoy were willing to relinquish the Snitch that they had snatched from the air at the exact same moment, the game was declared a joint victory and the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams tied for the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Which meant that both houses had qualified for the European Under 17s Quidditch Tournament, and team Slytherdor was born.

A Hogwarts team had never won the tournament, mainly because whenever a Gryffindor or Slytherin team qualified (which was 100% of the time), the other team would dedicate themselves to sabotage. With the Gryffindors that meant an endless series of exploding Quaffles, carnivorous Bludgers, dissolvable uniforms and amorous brooms. The Slytherins, meanwhile, favoured the kind of psychological warfare that usually led to broken hearts and angry owls.

Trying to mould the two teams into one cohesive unit was an intimidating prospect, even for a woman who had once scaled Kilimanjaro while fighting off a yeast infection. If she did manage it, Minerva McGonagall would finally get the chance to see a Hogwarts team lift the European Quidditch Cup. Immediately after which Igor Karkaroff would be cordially invited to shove it up his own arse.

Thankfully, Minerva had an ardent supporter in both these ambitions: Rolanda Hooch.

Rolanda with her gravelly voice and her twinkling eyes. Rolanda who called Minerva “Minnie,” who always left the broomshed unlocked on the anniversary of Minerva’s husband’s death, and who remembered to bring Glenfiddich Whisky Shortbread back from Aberdeen. Rolanda who still resisted Minerva’s many offers to help coach the younger students in their Quaffle underarm passing technique.

Which is where yet another of Minerva’s problems lay: Rolanda of the thoughtful gifts and twinkles and gruff “hullo”s had no interest in letting Minerva anywhere near her Quidditch pitch. At least, not as anything other than a spectator.

“Have you tried charm?” Poppy suggested when Minerva broached the subject. The school nurse was still flushed from the excitement of the match and the lack of blood was clearly affecting her cognitive abilities because-

“Charrrm? What on Earth would charrrm do in a situation such as this?” For some reason, the idea of attempting to “charm” Rolanda was so irritating that Minerva found herself compelled to pace. “This is serious, my dear. If Rolanda continues to be resistant to...” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the fire. What exactly was it that Rolanda was resistant to? She always seemed cheerful enough to see Minerva on the pitch, swooping down with that perfect posture, still holding onto her classic Keeper’s form after all these years...

“Well?” Poppy’s question reigned in Minerva’s wandering thoughts.

“Forgive me.” She returned to her armchair, the urge to pace abandoned. “I was distracted; what were you saying?”

“Only that Rolanda seems rather fond of you and a bit of extra attention from you might, ah, work some magic, as the Muggles say.”

“Fond?”

“Yes dear.”

“Fond of me?”

“Of you.”

“And you think that if I...” Minerva trailed off, her eyes drawn back to the cheerfully crackling fire.

“Flirted,” Poppy laughed as Minerva shuddered in horror. “Just a little.”

“You... you think that would convince her to let me coach the European Cup Team?”

“Well, no...even the most wiley seductress would struggle to get that team away from Rolanda,” said Poppy, laughing again at whatever Minerva’s face was doing now. It felt as if it was going bright red, but that could’ve been from the fire. “Why don’t you just try smiling at her a bit more? Maybe accept one of her invitations to the pub.”

“I’m not sure about this,” said Minerva, snatching up a crumpet and starting to pull it apart. “It seems a little... sordid, does it not? Offering myself up as a-”

“Oh goodness, Minnie. Do try to stop being such a Gryffindor. Some harmless flirting is hardly the equivalent of auctioning off your virtue to the highest bidder, you never know, but...” Poppy shook as she suppressed another laugh. “You might find that you enjoy it.”

“Spoken like a true Hufflepuff,” Minerva smiled. “I’ll have you know that this all-or-nothing temperament is no easier to shake off than your own yen to see us all get along.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. But you know, there are very few problems in this life that cannot be solved with the application of a little kindness. Either directed towards others or yourself.”

Smiling fondly at her old friend, Minerva nudged the plate of crumpets across the table. They had been having variations of this conversation ever since they became Second Year Potions Partners and it was time to move on. Or at least, to turn their minds to speculating on how long Malfoy and Potter would have insisted on holding hands if the match had not been declared a joint win.

***

Minerva dressed with more care than usual the next morning. A new ribbon around the crown of her hat, a sprig of heather pinned to her lapel—tiny things that would hopefully still attract Rolanda’s attention. Not that she cared about that, she reminded herself as she picked her way across the dew-damp Hogwarts lawns and down to the Quidditch pitch. Her concern was for the success of the newly-formed Slytherdor team and their chances of bringing the cup into a close, warm association with Igor’s non-existent bottom.

“It is a bit flat,” a voice from above agreed, causing the Hogwarts Headmistress to glance up so quickly that her hat slipped. Before the newly-trimmed hat could hit the ground, Rolanda had darted down, snatching it up and landing in front of Minerva with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Thinking about bottoms is serious business. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“I was not...” Minerva trailed off, wondering how much of her conversation with herself Rolanda had heard. “That is to say, I was reminiscing about Igor’s insufferable speech the last time Durmstrang won the European Cup.”

“Ah,” Rolanda nodded, raising an eyebrow. “He was a bit of an arse.”

“Indeed.” Dimly, Minerva realised that they were already talking about bottoms, and that it was probably the ideal scenario for some flirting, but her mind seemed to be moving rather slowly. She watched as Rolanda fiddled with the end of the broom. “Do you... have you given much thought as to how you’ll create camaraderie within the new team?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Rolanda glanced over her shoulder to where the Slytherins and Gryffindors were running drills. “Not sure, to be honest. I’ve got some ideas, but...” she shrugged, turning back to smile at Minerva. The smile was the tight, slightly unhappy thing that Rolanda always wore whenever Minerva tried to talk about Quidditch tactics.

“Well maybe you could, ah, look off the pitch?” Minerva asked, mentally batting away the pressing need to see Rolanda’s broad grin reassert itself.

“Hmm, I was thinking of doing one of those team bonding weekends that the Muggles do; get the whole team away from Hogwarts. You know?”

Minerva did not “know” but Rolanda was smiling properly again.

“That sounds very interrresting,” she said, feeling a bit breathless. “Remove them from their house rivalries-”

“Exactly!” Rolanda interrupted. Behind her, the Weasley twins started cheering as Potter and Malfoy crashed mid-air. Minerva decided not to mention it, just yet. “So they’d do the trust-building exercises in the morning and then train in the afternoon.” Rolanda was still talking, her enthusiasm making her eyes shine. “My sister runs a Travelodge down in Sheffield... not as swank as the Muggles footie teams go for, but she says she can get us a discount and use of the conference rooms.”

“How wonderful,” Minerva murmured, wondering if she should go and stop Flint from shoving grass-cuttings down Woods’ back. “If I can be of any assistance, please do think of me.”

“That would be brilliant.” Rolanda beamed some more. “Chrissy says they’ll need two chaperones minimum so maybe you could come along too? If you can get the time for it?”

“I...” Minerva was once again distracted by Rolanda nice smile. “Yes,” she heard herself say, “I would like that.”

“Great!” Rolanda climbed back onto her broom, “I’ll get Chris to send over the details. Wood! Get that Quaffle out of Flint’s mouth before I demote you from co-Cap to Ball Boy!” She zoomed off towards the pitch in a flurry of robes.

“Goodbye,” Minerva called.

She made her way back up to the castle. Something uncomfortable was nagging at the back of her mind.

The thought of spending a few nights in whatever a ‘Travelodge’ was didn’t exactly sound appealing, she mused as the Third year Hufflepuffs attempted to transform their quills into backscratchers. While the Slytherdor team was bound to be a handful, keeping an eye on fourteen teenagers was nothing for a woman used to patrolling the Hogwarts corridors.

No, what was really bothering her, Minera realised as she untangled a pair of amorous Slytherins en route to dinner, was that she hadn’t done any flirting.

***

As Harry was one of the youngest members of the new Slytherdor team and the only one to be raised by Muggles, it was unanimously decided that he was responsible for how shitty Sheffield was.

“Mafalda’s Muggle-born,” he protested. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“Squib and Muggle-born, thank you very much,” the Slytherin Beater corrected from her perch on top of the sanitary towel bin. If it was anyone else, Harry would assume that they just didn’t know what the bin was for, but considering that Mafalda was the student who had successfully campaigned for the theme of the last Yule Ball to be ‘Sexy Squibs and Mad-For-It-Muggles,’ it was probably some kind of Slytherin power move.

Madam Hooch had disappeared as soon as the Portkey delivered them to the Travelodge toilets, and now half the team was watching Fred and George Weasley try to steal the tampon machine (“Dad’ll love it!”) while the other half asked Harry annoying questions about toilet brushes.

“You have to admit that it’s a bit shit,” Draco said to Harry, cocking his head as if he was being a reasonable person.

“You’ve only seen the inside of a toilet,” Harry protested. “There’s more to Sheffield than empty cans of air-freshener and-” He was interrupted by Madam Hooch opening the door and ushering them all out into the foyer. The foyer was dimly lit, all the furniture covered in white dust-sheets, and the only occupant was a small woman with a high ponytail and big chandelier earrings who was standing behind the Welcome Desk.

“This is my sister, Chrissy,” said Madam Hooch as the Slytherdor team examined their surroundings. “She’s the one who organised everything for us.”

“Alright lads?” said Chrissy. “And lasses, of course. Welcome to the Sheffield Travelodge. Piss about and you’re out on your arses, play nice and I’ll tell you which vending machine gives out pound coins every time you buy a Twix.” She smiled at the groups of nonplussed teens, all of whom looked at Harry.

“Er, thanks,” he said, accepting his role as the groups’ official Muggle translator. “Thanks for... you know... er... having us.”

“Pleasure!” Chrissy all but bellowed, rubbing her hands together. “Now, let’s get started. Ro—we’ve put the girls on the sixth floor, you’ll take them. Boys are on the seventh, so come with me lads and-” She was interrupted by a loud crack as Professor McGonagall Apparated into the hotel foyer.

“So sorry I’m late,” she said, striding forward and briskly shaking hands with Chrissy. “Classes overrrrrran this morning and-”

“Excuse me, Professor,” Draco interrupted, raising his hand like a complete berk. “Inquiring minds wish to know why we have been forced to come to this Muggle laundry,” he gestured to the white dust sheets covering all the furniture.

“No one forced you to come,” said Harry.

“Yeah, we’ve already got a Seeker,” George grinned.

“The sheets are because we’re having work done,” said Chrissy, coming out from behind the desk and moving to stand in front of Malfoy. “Which is the only reason that you lot are able to come and stay at this truly delightful Muggle laundry. Now either say “thank you,” or say nothing.”

Malfoy glared at her, keeping his mouth shut.

“Good.” Chrissy switched her attention to the rest of the group. “Right then, who fancies a shower after all that time lurking in the bogs?”

Every hand went up.

***

Despite their many promises to go straight to bed following a dinner composed entirely of soporific breakfast foods (“Only thing I know how to make,” Chrissy shrugged as she deftly flipped seventeen slices of fried bread) everyone was too buzzed to sleep. Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch and Chrissy had retired to the empty hotel bar for “a wee dram,” so the Slytherdor team all crowded into the Gryffindor boys’ room.

George, Fred, Angelina, Katie and Alicia took over the twins’ double bed, using the rucked up duvet to pool all their vending machine snacks. Everyone was very excited to try the Lion Bar, even the Slytherins. Harry had quickly given up trying to explain that Muggle sweets were very, very, very boring, and had silently unwrapped a Chocolate Frog while he waited for everyone to pick a spot.

After some awkward hovering, most of the Slytherin team had ended up on the rock hard sofa. Having spent an ill-advised 30 seconds sitting on that sofa, Harry knew that the shiny purple and grey beast might as well have been carved out of granite. Although, he supposed he could see why the Slytherins felt a bit uneasy about sitting on the hotel room’s other double bed. That was the bed Harry was supposed to be sharing with Oliver, despite the Weasley twins’ protestations.

As Harry watched the group on the twins’ bed rip into the chocolate while the Slytherins shifted uneasily on the sofa, he came to two realisations. The first was that this team bonding thing seemed to be working. Everyone was still awkward as fuck save for Oliver and Marcus who were snogging, and—to be honest—could do with being a bit more awkward.

Still, Harry was fairly sure that after the weekend was over he would be able to walk into a room full of Slytherins without getting hexed. Or stunned. Or having his wanking hand transformed into a cheese grater. The teams weren’t exactly friends, but having a common goal with months of training still ahead of them created a certain respect that-

Harry’s meditation on the bonds forged in the flames of athletic endeavour was interrupted by the second realisation: Draco Malfoy was sitting on his bed.

Not even sitting. He was reclining on Harry’s bed. For fucks sake, the man was practically lounging. And since when had Harry started calling Draco a 'man'? He was only two months older than Harry, who was fourteen. And three months. And twenty-one days. So Draco was not a man. He was a fourteen year-old prat. Pale and gangly, with an Adam’s apple that looked like he’d swallowed a toblerone, and a spattering of angry spots across his chin, and-

“Oi, Harry!” A Wotsit bounced off Harry’s forehead.

“Sit down!” several voices, both Gryffindor and Slytherin, chanted. Rubbing his forehead, Harry tore his eyes away from Draco and realised that everyone was staring at him expectantly. The Slytherins had dragged the sofa around so it faced the two beds. The clothes that had been strewn across the floor were gone and in their place was...

“No,” said Harry, already moving to sit next to Draco. “I’m not playing Spin the Bottle.”

“Then you’re off the team,” George grinned, reaching down to give the bottle a spin. It caught on the bobbles of the scratchy hotel carpet and barely turned 90 degrees before stopping at Astoria Greengrass. “Alright Tori,” George cheered, laughing when Astoria turned pink.

Red mist started streaming from the neck of the bottle, making her flush even more vivid and clashing horribly with the purple and grey carpet. No one seemed especially startled by the mist.

After a bit more jeering and cheering, everyone calmed down enough for Fred to insist that George had to kiss the lightbulb in the bedside lamp and “leave the lovely Tori unmolested.” Astoria made a most unlovely gesture in return and reached forward to take her spin.

“Do you mind retracting your gigantic head?” Draco’s voice was mild and much closer than Harry had expected. He was peering around Harry’s shoulder, trying to see where the bottle had landed. The cuff of his right sleeve kept brushing against Harry’s wrist.

“Sorry.” Harry shuffled back, resting his head against the wall. The wallpaper was textured and he rolled his head from side-to-side, feeling the ridges rub against the back of his skull.

“This isn’t quite as horrendous as I thought it would be,” Draco’s eyes were still fixed on the bottle, which was now hissing a green mist. Harry hadn’t seen who Astoria was supposed to kiss so he let his head flop to the left and peered up at Draco.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” Harry’s fringe was in his eyes, knocking his glasses crooked. He thought about pushing it out of the way but then the corner of Draco’s mouth twitched.

“I still don’t understand the need for a combined team,” said Draco. “Why not just select the best players?”

“Yeah, you said.”

Draco huffed at Harry’s words.“Well really,” he started, building up to a good rant, “having a good team for the Cup is important-”

“Would be nice for Hogwarts not to be a complete shitshow,” Harry agreed.

“-but insisting on the creation of a completely new team is nonsense,” Draco continued. It was nothing that Harry hadn’t thought himself; still, a small thrill went through him as he watched Draco’s gestures get looser and his face more flushed.

Shouts from the other bed alerted them to the fact that Alicia’s spin had landed on Draco. The mist was back to red again and Angelina and Fred were arguing over whether Alicia should have to kiss Fred’s trainer or Angelina’s pumice stone.

When no one volunteered to retrieve the stone they settled on Fred’s trainer and, with much grimacing, Alicia bestowed a small kiss on the tip of one of the laces. A shower of Scouring charms followed, with much grimacing on Alicia’s part and faux-outrage from Fred.

Harry didn’t really understand this game. Millicent and Mafalda had been snogging in a corner of the sofa ever since the first spin, but no one seemed surprised by the mist and the kissing of random objects. Maybe these were Magical rules? Harry should probably ask but-

“And another thing,” Draco said, picking up his complaint from before, “as Seekers, you and I will be flying far more than any of the other players. Getting used to a new team requires a great deal more training than flying with tried-and-tested teammates. We’ll be worn out before the tournament even starts.”

“That’s not true.” Harry turned back to Draco. The bed dipped between them. “About Seekers flying more. What about the Chasers?”

“What about them?” Draco’s tone was scornful, his eyes sparkling. “Those three players tasked with keeping track of one ball?”

“Better not let Katie hear you say that,” Harry murmured.

“As if I would. I’m an overworked Seeker. Not a fool.”

“Overworked? Thinking of putting in for overtime, are you?”

“I should! With all the possible combinations, you and I flew for nine hours today. That's eighteen hours between us. How long did the Chasers fly? Five hours, if we’re being generous.”

“It certainly doesn’t sound like we’re being generous,” said Harry.

“Well,” Draco grinned, “how else would you describe three players doing the work of one?”

“An inaccurate representation of the Chaser position?” Harry grinned back. “Seriously, they spend most of the match flying while we’re floating up top.”

“Flying without purpose,” Draco insisted, shifting closer to Harry and casting a nervous glance towards the Gryffindor Chasers. “They can bounce that Quaffle back and forth as much as they want, but theatrical showboating will not save the day against one well-caught Snitch.”

“So you think the Chasers are in it for the glory?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” Harry leaned even closer, feeling Draco’s hair brush against his lips as he whispered. “You think they’re in it for the glory?”

“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat. “I do.”

“But the two of us as the only players on the pitch, chasing after the Snitch for hours wouldn’t be vainglorious at all?”

“Well I-”

“Harry!” Katie yelled. “It’s your go!” The Gryffindor Chasers always got a bit rowdy when they’d had too much sugar, and Harry had learned the hard way that immediate obedience was the only option.

Sighing heavily, he almost folded himself in half to reach over the side of the bed and give the bottle a quick spin. Once. Twice. Three times the bottle spun before landing on...

“Malfoy,” Harry shook his head, because of course it was Draco. Green smoke erupted from the neck of the bottle; as he straightened up, Harry was dimly aware that everyone else had started whistling and whooping. Turning to Draco, he shifted across the duvet until they were facing each other.

“Come here then,” he muttered. Harry had just enough time to notice that Draco’s eyes had grown to nearly double their normal size and then he was kissing Draco. On the mouth. With... tongue? Apparently tongues were in the mix as Draco gave a muffled squeak and parted his lips.

Figuring he might as well give their teammates a show, Harry pressed forward, sliding his hand around the nape of Draco’s neck. Soft, ungelled hair brushed against the pads of Harry’s fingers. The others were still screaming and one of the Slytherins had even started singing, but Draco’s lips really were rather soft, his tongue becoming more insistent as Harry twisted himself into a better position.

The kiss was surprisingly nice. Should kisses with old rivals and new teammates be nice? Harry’s train of thought was interrupted as Draco pulled away, his cheeks flushed as his eyes darted across Harry’s face. Unable to shake the feeling that he’d missed something important, Harry settled back against the wall, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. Most of the yelling had died down and everyone stared back at Harry. Including Draco.

“What?” he asked. It came out a bit more defensively than he’d expected. “It was just a kiss.”

“Course it was,” Fred grinned as Angelina waggled her eyebrows and Millicent rolled her eyes.

“Your turn Draco,” said Mafalda, making rather a performance of spelling away the last of the green smoke as she winked at Harry.

Draco leaned forward to spin the bottle, a slightly dazed look still on his face, and Harry turned to see Cassius staring at the pair of them. After a few moments Harry made the 'piss off, you wanker' gesture, to which Cassius only smiled in his superior way. It was all a bit disconcerting—so much so that Harry missed who Draco’s spin landed on.

The mist from the bottle turned red this time, and the Weasley twins immediately insisted that Draco should kiss the Gryffindor badge on Oliver’s Quidditch jersey. Marcus protested in the strongest of terms, both as a Slytherin and as Oliver’s boyfriend, and by the time Draco had bestowed a sneering kiss on George’s pot of hair gel they had run out of sweets.

***

Harry waited until George and Katie had collected everyone's orders and headed off to the vending machines.

“Is that red and green fog part of the game?” he asked Draco. He was half expecting Draco to answer with some sneering put down, since Harry’s unfamiliarity with Magical stuff was one of Draco’s favourite jump-off points for a monologue.

“It’s the consent charm,” said Draco, smiling softly at Harry. There wasn’t even the hint of a sneer, and Harry was a bit distracted by how... non-prattish Draco looked.

“What’s a consent charm?”

Draco froze. Everyone froze. Looking around the room, Harry saw that Fred and Angelina had frozen mid-arm wrestle, Oliver and Marcus were mid-grope, Cassius was mid-preen, Millicent and Mafalda appeared to be mid-yoga routine. Everyone was still and then...

“Harry, mate,” said Fred, darting off the bed. “How about we go for a walk? Hmm? Quick chat outside?”

“What? No.” Harry shook his head. “Just tell me what it’s for.”

“Right,” said Fred, back to being frozen in the narrow space between the two beds.

“Why are you all being so weird?” Harry demanded, starting to feel the panic tickle at the base of his throat.

“It’s to stop anyone kissing someone they don’t want to.” Millicent spoke up, twisting around on the horrible sofa to face Harry. “I thought Muggles had this game too?”

“They do,” said Harry, choosing to ignore the fact that he had never played the Muggle version either. He was fairly sure that red and green smoke was not part of it. “But can’t people just say if they don’t want to kiss someone?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not always easy to say that. Which is why we have the charm.”

“I don’t understand, I-”

“You must know what peer pressure is, Potter,” Mafalda joined in. “The feeling that everyone else is doing something so you should too.”

Harry was rather doubtful that Mafalda - a woman wearing a top that said ‘gone fisting’ across the chest - had ever been particularly susceptible to peer pressure. Still, he nodded his head.

“Well this removes the pressure. The mist knows your true heart.” Mafalda paused to simper at Millicent in a manner that was, frankly, uncalled for. “Even if you say it’s fine, everyone else will know you don’t want to kiss the other person, and so you just kiss something else instead.”

“Like my arse,” Greg interrupted, speaking for the first time since the team had Portkey’d into the Travelodge toilets.

“Fuck off, Greg,” Millicent snapped. “Mal is doing a great job explaining how not to rape someone, and-”

“Um, no,” said Harry. “She’s not ‘doing a great job’ because it still makes no sense and it’s not rape.”

“Oh?” Millicent shifted her focus back to Harry. “What would you call forcing yourself on someone against their will? Foreplay?”

“Pack it in,” said Angelina, coming over to sit next to Harry. “Look, Haz. It’s alright, yeah? The mist was green so you didn’t do anything to Draco that he wasn’t happy for you to do.”

“He kissed me back,” said Harry, lowering his voice and ignoring Draco’s coughing fit. It was suddenly very important to avoid all eye-contact.

“Yeah I saw, lucky thing.” Angelina smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sorry, we should have explained the game before we started playing. You’re so good at all this flying shit, it’s easy to forget you were raised Muggle.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Muggle,” said Harry.

“Course not; where would we be if you haven’t taught us to use the vending machines?” She grinned and gave him a nudge. “The consent charm was invented because some witches and wizards were feeling pressured to get off with people they didn’t like, that’s all. A few ofthem told Helga Hufflepuff and she developed the spell so that we could all watch out for each other. Make sure that no one was being pressured to do something they don’t want.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t really know what else to say. It was a bit embarrassing to have all this explained to him in front of everyone. “Does everyone know the charm?”

“I think so.” Angelina looked over to Fred. “It gets taught in primary school with all the periods and sex stuff, right?”

“Yes, ah,” Fred stepped over to where Harry and Angelina were sitting on the bed. “Ah, just, er, budge up Draco, you beast.” He grinned at Draco, squeezing in between him and Harry. “Look, it’s, ah, it’s a good charm for making sure that people like me and this arsehole—” he nodded to George who was back from the vending machines, “—it makes sure that arseholes like us don’t get carried away and insist that everyone snogs everyone else. You know, because it’s kind of hilarious.” He grinned at Harry, who felt himself grinning back. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he wasn’t a rapist. Maybe Draco had wanted to kiss him back and-

“So I didn’t have to kiss Draco?” he asked.

“No,” said Angelina, shooting Fred a meaningful glance.

“Excuse me.” Draco spoke for the first time since Harry had asked about the consent charm. “What do you mean?”

“What?” Harry peered around Fred.

“What do you mean ‘have to?’” Draco spoke with an exaggerated slowness.

“Um, that’s how Muggles play. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well I haven’t exactly played a lot of this before,” said Harry, ignoring Fred’s barked laugh.

“And yet you’ve styled yourself as some kind of expert.”

“So Muggles have to kiss whoever the bottle lands on, regardless of who it is?” Cassius interrupted Draco. Which was just as well, because Draco was being, in Harry’s opinion, a complete cock.

“Yeah, but I think you can just say if you don’t want to.” Harry turned to the older boy. Cassius was the only Seventh Year on the team, and Harry had always rather hoped that if the two of them were to fall into conversation, it would be about literally anything else.

“Interesting; maybe we should consider playing by these Muggle rules,” said Cassius. “You know,” he said, turning to Mafalda, “in the name of Magical-Muggle Cooperation and all that.”

“I know you’re taking the piss.” Mafalda grinned back at him. “But in about three seconds, one of these idiots is going to think that’s a good idea and then-”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” piped up Katie, tipping her head back and emptying a fourth (fifth?) packet of electric blue Nerds into her mouth. “We could make it so that if you don’t want to kiss someone, you’ll have to duel them instead and-”

“Why not just snog them?” said Marcus. “That’s the Muggle way. You have to snog whoever you get.”

“And you’re an idiot.” Mafalda turned to Cassius who was quietly groaning into his hands.

“Oliver, control your boyfriend,” said Angelina as she wrapped an arm around Astoria’s shoulders. The Third Year was looking horrified by the turn of events.

“No can do, Ang,” said Oliver, grinning at Marcus in a most uncaptainly, uninspiring way. “You lot can sort this out yourselves. Although...” He straightened up and glared at the rest of them. “Marcus and I are out if there’s any forced kissing.”

“You are such an idiot,” said Angelina. “I’ve half a mind to mount a coup.”

“What? How is that fair?” Oliver protested, glancing fearfully at Katie and Alicia who had darted over to stand next to Angelina, arms folded. “Cassius is the one who suggested we do the Muggle version.”

“I didn’t mean this version,” Cassius said, holding up both hands.

“Doesn’t matter; you can’t just be the Captain on the pitch,” said Angelina, keeping a protective arm around Astoria. There were now so many people standing between the bed that all Harry could see was a line of arses. In the name of not being a pervert, he turned to look at Draco, who appeared to be completely uninterested in the entire conversation and was using a charm to touch-up his nail varnish.

“No one is being forced to kiss anyone,” Angelina was saying. “We’re playing with the charm or not at all, and-” She was interrupted by a snort from Marcus. “Swear down I will come for you as well.” The Slytherin Captain’s snort turned into a gurgle as Angelina continued, stepping back to address the whole room. “If we play by Muggle rules, then Oliver, Marcus, Mafalda, Millicent, me, Fred, Astoria, Harry, Greg, Draco and Alicia can’t play. So what... we’re going to sit around and watch Katie, George and Cassius snog each other?”

“Well I wouldn’t personally have any objection to that,” said Fred.

“I would,” Cassius shot back. “Kissing people who don’t want to kiss me back isn’t really my thing.”

“Wait, why are those three the only ones who can play?” Harry regretted the question as soon as he asked. Sooner. It was like he knew he was making a mistake before he’d even opened his mouth.

“Oh, Potter.” Draco’s voice was dripping with venom; Harry hadn’t even realised that could happen outside of Ron’s vampire romance novels. “Do try to keep up. Mafalda and Millicent are in a relationship. You know what one of those is? It’s-”

“Yeah, I got it. Same goes for Oliver and Marcus then, but what about-?”

“Actually Mafalda and I are non-monogamous,” said Millicent. “We just don’t want to snog any of you. No offense.” Half the room failed not to look offended while the other half nodded in a knowing way.

“Fred and I are exclusive,” said Angelina, being careful not to look at Fred while she said it.

“Are you?” asked George, turning to his twin. “Since when?”

“Since forever, dickhead. Don’t listen to him.” Fred turned to Angelina, who looked like she was trying to melt the grey swirls off the carpet. “He’s just being a prick. I’m 100% committed, yeah?”

“Yeah, committed to the Janus Thickey Ward,” Angelina muttered, trying to keep the smile off her face as Fred pulled her down next to him on the twins bed.

“Alright, but what about the others?” Harry asked Draco, trying to ignore the way Fred was kissing Angelina’s knuckles while George and Alicia pretended to vomit on each others’ shoulders.

“Astoria, you, Greg and I are underage,” said Draco. “As for the third Gryffindor-”

“I know you know my name, Dwaco,” Alicia sang, twirling around to face Harry and a bright pink Draco. “I’m asexual.” She shrugged and turned back to the twins’ bed where the rest of the Gryffindor team, minus Oliver and Harry, had reassembled. “So are we playing again with the consent charm or not?”

***

The game resumed. Cassius’ spin landed on Millicent, which resulted in a red mist. Millicent decided that Cassius would have to kiss the fossilised chip that Astoria had found down the back of the sofa. Then Millicent’s spin landed on Cassius, who took soggy revenge by demanding that she kiss the chip too, but only after he had left it to soak in the bathroom sink for a few minutes.

While Millicent was gagging and chugging Dr Pepper, Cassius’ second spin landed on Katie. The mist turned green, and Harry and Draco added their voices to the catcalling as Cassius sat down next to Katie and gave her a gentle kiss on her bright blue mouth. She grinned - showing off her blue teeth - and offered him one of the Nerds she’d been refusing to share all night. Cassius declined but he stayed on the twin’s bed next to Katie, which resulted in Angelina and Fred switching over to Harry and Draco’s bed.

Not that it was Harry and Draco’s bed. It was Harry’s bed, or—if pushed—Harry and Oliver’s bed. Although he was fairly sure that Oliver was planning to sneak into the Slytherin boys’ room later on, which meant that Draco would probably be evicted from the bed he was sharing with Marcus and then Draco would probably need to share with Harry and-

“Oi, Hazza! S’on you, mate!” Harry looked up to see that George was right and the bottle was pointing at him.

“Whose go was it?” he asked, watching the red mist streaming out of the bottle. How could the charm know who Harry did - or in this case, did not - want to kiss before he did?

“Me.” Alicia held up a hand.

“But I wouldn’t mind kissing you,” said Harry.

“Yeah but I don’t want to kiss you, you giant pervert,” she smiled.

“Oh. So it works both ways? The charm?”

“Yes, you absolutely imbecile,” Draco hissed while everyone else argued about what Alicia should have to kiss instead. Draco’s face was twisted with rage. “Honestly Potter, everyone is already aware that your gormless exterior is doing little to disguise your equally gormless interior, but if you could attempt to locate the two or three brain cells-”

“Fuck off, you fucking dick hole.” It was not Harry’s best effort.

“A ‘dick hole’ is by definition ‘air,’ you idiot,” Draco continued, his fingers digging into his own thighs. “As air is vital to keeping us all alive, I accept your compliment and wish to return to the topic of those few brain cells that you may need to start vigorously rubbing together in order to-”

“Oi oi! What’s all this about ‘vigorously rubbing?’” Fred had noticed their conversation, possibly because they had both leapt to their feet and were speaking at the highest possible volume.

“S’nothing,” Harry grunted as he and Draco slumped back onto the bed, still glaring at each other. “Is it my go to decide what Alicia needs to kiss?”

“Too late, already did it for you,” said Katie. “It’s your go now; spin, spin, spin, spin, spin.”

“Fine,” Harry huffed. He spun the bottle a little too vigorously and it shot away at an angle, smashing off the wardrobe. Silence filled the room as team Slytherdor gawped at Harry. “Er... sorry about that. I’ll be more careful.”

“Oh-kay...” said George, summoning the bottle of water Greg was still drinking and Vanishing the contents. “Many apols my man Gregory,” he said, winking at the spluttering Slytherin. “Tori, you mind giving me a hand with this?” Nodding happily, Astoria pulled out her wand and began to cast what Harry assumed was the consent charm.

It took a few minutes for the charm to settle, leaving Harry ample time for some brooding. Cassius and Katie were deep in conversation, their hands not quite touching on the purple duvet. George and Alicia were laughing as they sent enchanted Quavers zooming around the overhead light. All the couples were wrapped up in each other, Greg was in the loo, Astoria was reading the room service menu, and Harry was…

Harry was in hell.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way Draco had sighed when Harry kissed him. A small, bitten off whimper that Harry had hardly noticed at the time, but was now running through his head on a loop. The slick feel of Draco’s tongue against his, the way his long nose had gently pressed against Harry’s cheek. With a shudder, Harry realised that he was at half mast.

Reaching down to adjust himself, Harry glanced at Draco. Did he like Draco? Or was it just a while since he’d had a snog? Draco was sitting very still, his back straight and both hands folded in his lap as his eyes tracked the flying Quavers. He looked miserable.

After their shouting match they’d sat back on the edge of the bed, both sets of feet firmly on the floor. It was a lot less comfortable than sitting against the wall, and Harry wanted to suggest that they move back. But what if Draco didn’t want to? Harry couldn’t move on his own, that would just be weird.

A shout from George alerted Harry to the fact that the game was ready to resume. This time he made sure to spin the bottle gently, his stomach clenching as he watched it twirl across the carpet. The plastic bottle spun for a lot longer than the glass bottle had, and Harry swallowed against the unease that was starting to bubble up inside him.

Knowing that everyone knew he’d wanted to kiss Draco made Harry seriously consider flying his broom into the nearest wall. His shoulders were tense and it felt like his face was on fire as he imagined them all looking at him, knowing that he was hoping it would land on Draco again.

Because that was what he wanted, Harry realised as the bottle started to slow down. He wanted to kiss Draco again. He wanted to twist his hands into the front of Draco’s jumper. He wanted to suck Draco’s tongue and then slip his own tongue into Draco’s mouth. A gentle fizzing sensation whispered across Harry’s palms and he watched, wide-eyed, as the bottle stopped in front of Draco.

Shit.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to Draco. A deep flush was spreading across Draco’s face, making the spots on his chin even more prominent and highlighting the dampness at his temples. His eyes were lowered, dark lashes stark against the soft pink of his skin. Draco’s hands were still curled into fists on his lap and he flinched when Harry shifted closer, his red tongue darting out to wet his thin lips. Thin lips that Harry would soon be kissing, if he could just get his own hands to stop trembling.

“Oh no.” Cassius’ voice cut through Harry’s jumbled thoughts. “Red is red, young Harold.” A firm hand landed on Harry’s shoulder and yanked him back, away from Draco.

“Wha—?” Harry protested, glancing up at Cassius. It must have been really hot in the room, because Cassius was blushing as well. A red haze settled over his handsome face as he glared at Harry. And that just didn’t make any sense, because Cassius’ cheeks went dark brown when he blushed - not that Harry had spent a lot of time cataloguing this - and his collar seemed to be blushing a bright pink, too.

Mist. Red mist. Billowing up from the bottle and swirling around Cassius, Draco and Harry.

“That... no. This doesn’t make sense,” Harry croaked.

“Doesn’t have to make sense.” Millicent was also glaring at him. All the Slytherins were glaring except Greg, who was still gazing mournfully at his stolen water bottle, and Draco, who was back to staring miserably at the floating Quavers. “You don’t kiss someone when the mist is red. Mal already explained that to you.”

“But Draco... he wanted to kiss me before,” said Harry, eyes darting around the room. The other Gryffindors flashed uneasy smiles his way, a few of them shaking their heads.

“People can change their minds, though,” said Alicia. “Not much fun if they can’t, is it?”

“No, I know, but...” Harry didn’t really know what else to say. The mist was starting to disappear. His chest felt all tight and pressure was building behind his eyes. It wasn’t fair, he thought. Everyone else just knew this stuff; they knew who they did and did not want to kiss. They knew the rules to this stupid game. Or even if they didn’t - his eyes darted to Mafalda as he realised that at some point, someone must have explained it to her - at least they didn’t have to find it out in front of loads of people.

“Hey, hey Harry; hey, it’s ok.” Alicia was crouched in front of him. She must have moved while he was looking at Draco and Mafalda. “It’s alright; don’t be upset.”

“I’m not.” Harry took a deep breath, hating how whiny he sounded. “I’m sorry. Sorry Draco.”

“Oh,” Draco blinked, finally looking at Harry. “That’s... it’s fine, Potter. I don’t mind.”

“I didn’t ignore the mist,” Harry insisted. “I just didn’t notice it.”

“I assumed.” Draco’s shy smile loosened something in Harry and he smiled back.

“Right then, Harry, I believe that you owe us a kiss.” George bounced off the bed and came to stand beside Alicia. “And I for one-”

“Just a moment.” Draco raised both a hand and an eyebrow. “I believe that it is my turn to choose what Harry kisses.”

“Alright Draco!” George rubbed his hands together. “What’ll it be? The Slytherin badge? The moldy shower curtain?”

“Better not let Chrissy hear you call it that,” said Katie.

“Chrissy doesn’t scare me,” said George, dramatically dropping the volume of his voice and winking at Harry. “C’mon Draco, what have you got for us?”

“Harry,” Draco paused. “Must kiss. Marcus’.” Oliver sat up straight. “Teddy bear.” The room erupted into cheers and dramatic gasps.

“Ooooooooooooooh.”

“What? Marcus!”

“Yessssss, nice one Draco!”

“Where’s this teddy, then?” Millicent called, scrambling across Mafalda to prod Marcus in the chest. “Come on, whip it out.”

“Fuck off,” Marcus muttered, burying his face in Oliver’s neck.

“Shh, it’s alright love,” Oliver whispered, his face contorting as he tried to smother a grin. “No one cares that you’ve got a-”

“I care!” Katie’s hand went straight up in the air, her blue teeth flashing.

“What’s it called?” asked Harry, still smiling at Draco. “Thank you,” he mouthed, smiling even wider when Draco shrugged and then smiled back.

“An excellent point!” Fred yelled as he and Angelina took turns jumping between the two beds. “A name, we must have a name!” Before Marcus could respond, the door swung open with a bang and a flash of bright white light filled the room.

“What on Earth is going on?” Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch were standing in the doorway, wands drawn.

The shouts and whistles died away as team Slytherdor scrambled to get into less incriminating positions. Fred and Angelina dropped into a sitting position on the twins’ bed, knocking their heads together as they did. The couples who had been intertwined untwined themselves and someone kicked the bottle under the sofa. Unfortunately, it shot out the other side and came to rest against Professor McGonagall’s boot.

“Sorry Professor,” Angelina piped up, rubbing her forehead. “We were...” She stared helplessly around at the rest of the team.

“Bonding,” said Greg.

“Bonding,” said Madam Hooch, reaching over Professor McGonagall’s shoulder to Summon the bottle.

“It is one o’clock in the morning.” Professor McGonagall marched into the room, restoring the sofa to its original position against the wall with a flick of her wand. Various squeaks erupted from the sofa’s inhabitants. “We are here as guests of the Sheffield Central Travelodge, representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Everyone looked suitably cowed. “Never, in all my days, have I seen such a flagrant disregard-” She interrupted herself with a loud, jaw-cracking yawn. “Oh, I...”

“It is a bit late.” Madam Hooch stepped forward. “This bollocking will continue tomorrow before breakfast,” she said, glaring at Oliver who looked like he was about to protest.

“Yes, very well.” Professor McGonagall drew herself up to her full height, looking incredibly composed for a woman who had just shown everyone her tonsils. “Back to your rooms; I do not want to hear so much as a peep from any of you for the rest of the night.”

***

Harry gave up on sleep around 4am. The sugar from the vending machine snacks was still fizzing through his bloodstream, the events of the game pinballing around his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the way Draco had pressed forward to kiss him. Every time he opened them, he remembered that the kiss had happened on this very bed.

Across the room, the twins were snoring as one in that creepy, twinish way that they were bound to deny when awake. Oliver was grumbling in his sleep; Harry caught some mention of “Marky,” which was enough to propel him out of bed. Groping around on the floor, he found a pair of tracky bottoms and one of his own hoodies. His trainers took a bit longer to find, and he acquired numerous snubbed toes before finally making it out of the room.

The corridor was boring and the lobby was creepy with all those dust sheets, so he wandered outside, shivering as the night air nipped at his throat and fingers. Crossing the strip of pebbles and a few empty flower beds that separated the hotel from the carpark, Harry made his way over to what Chrissy had insisted on calling “The Grotto.” It was only a bench with a bit of straggly vine hanging over it, but it was tucked out of sight of the hotel, just in case the professors were awake.

It took a while for Harry’s eyes to adjust to the dark, to notice that someone was sitting on the bench.

“Malfoy! Er... I can go?”

Draco’s white hair absorbed every scrap of moonlight, creating a faintly glowing halo. He was wearing black skinny jeans and the undershirt of his Quidditch uniform.

“Potter.” Draco pulled the shirt down, lifting his feet onto the bench and tucking the hem over his knees. It made him look a bit like he had a very pointy pair of breasts—a thought Harry quickly decided not to share as Draco gestured to the spot beside him. “Sit if you want.”

“I can go,” Harry repeated, shifting from foot-to-foot.

“If you want,” Draco shrugged. It was a bit weird with the shirt stretched over his knees like that.

“Well.” Harry walked forward, slowly. “Only if you want me to.”

“Honestly,” Draco sniffed. “I really could not care either way. If you want to stay, then I want you to stay. However, that is hardly the same thing as wanting you to stay, and-” His mouth shut with a snap as Harry plopped down on the bench.

“What are you hiding?” Harry asked, gesturing to where Draco’s shirt was stretched over his knees. Draco blinked back at him.

“Secrets,” he finally said.

“Skinny secrets?”

“What?”

“I know you’re wearing skinny jeans under there.”

“Pah,” Draco snorted, uncurling his legs and smoothing the undershirt.

“Are those...”

“I believe the Muggles call them ‘leggings.’” Draco avoided Harry’s eyes.

“Oh.” Harry didn’t really know what else to say; he was fairly sure that Draco would not appreciate being told that his leggings looked ‘nice.’ They sat and watched the empty hanging baskets sway in the breeze.

“You, Potter, are... you’re... you are a complete, utter... I...” Harry waited as Draco lapsed into silence again. After a while, he gave Draco a gentle nudge, smiling when Draco turned to look at him. “You’re... I hate you.”

“Right.” Harry tried to stop smiling. “I hate you too.”

“No, you don’t. Do you?”

“No. Why do you hate me, then?”

“I don’t.” Draco was smiling back at him now, a small soft thing, almost hidden by the shadows. “You just...” He sucked in a deep breath, making his voice high and squeaky as he said, “Oh, look at me, I’m Harry Potter, here to martyr my tongue and dignity on the altar of social niceties.”

“What? What was that?” Harry laughed. “Was that supposed to be me?”

“Of course it was you,” Draco tried to sneer. “I mentioned you by name.”

“Well,” Harry hiccuped. “At least you don’t think I was trying to attack you. Just me being polite,” he laughed again.

“Indeed.” The smile slipped off Draco’s face and he turned his attention back to the hanging baskets.

“Hey, Draco.” Harry leaned forward to wave his hand in front of Draco’s face, grinning at the horrified double-take this earned him. “Can I show you something?”

“I suppose.” Draco didn’t exactly look enthusiastic.

“Right; watch this.” Harry turned to examine the path in front of them. “See that flower pot? The one that looks like a cock?”

“How can a flower pot look like a... oh.” Draco tipped his head to the side, squinting at the pot Harry was pointing to. “Yes, I see it.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on the prick pot. He remembered the thrill he’d felt when the bottle landed on Draco for the second time. He remembered the feeling of Draco’s fingers tangling with his as they both reached for the Snitch. He thought about pale grey eyes and white hair and a quick wit and soft touches.

A gasp from Draco prompted Harry to open eyes he hadn’t even realised he’d closed. The pot was moving, sliding smoothly along the wall as the two of them watched. The sound of the pot falling off the wall and smashing against the paving stones seemed to energise Draco, and he swung around to face Harry, delight spreading across his face.

“You,” he breathed, shifting so that they were sitting very close together, their knees touching. “You moved the bottle.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted to to kiss me.”

“Still do.”

“But...” They were almost nose-to-nose, Draco’s eyes were a lovely grey blur, and Harry really just wanted to get to the snogging.

“Look,” he sighed, grabbing Draco’s hand. He fumbled with it a bit at first, taking a moment to make sure that all their fingers and thumbs were arranged in the most comfortable way. “I know you think that I’m an idiot-”

“Not all the time,” Draco interrupted, his breath coming fast as Harry inched closer.

“Flatterer. Just, give me some credit, yeah? I’m not that much of an-” The rest of Harry’s sentence flew out of his head as Draco leaned forward and pressed their lips together.