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“The possibility of me having a crush on you is infinitesimal, Potter.”
Draco stands with his jaw clenched, looking down to the brunette in front of him. Potter -the infuriating prat- simply cocks a brow, slowly lowering his quill and parchment, which had twelve words at most, almost all of which were scratched off.
They’re in the Eighth Year Common Room, which thankfully is empty for the time being other than them two, making it perfect for Draco to make it clear that he absolutely does not have- even the teenist crush- on the so-called Savior of the Wizarding World.
The thing is, three days ago, Pansy’d been ranting about this guy that she thought was cute while Draco was revising his notes, nodding when necessary. Then, annoyed that he wasn’t giving her his 100% attention, Pansy’d nonchalantly said, “Uh-huh, and she also thinks you’ve got a massive crush on Potter. You do, don’t you?”
“Mmhm, of course.” Draco’d mumbled, before finally registering the words. But Pansy’d already jumped out of her seat, a perfectly manicured finger pointed right at him.
“I knew you had a crush on Potter!”
Draco Malfoy is a very lucky person, you see; the class was Transfiguration, the one they shared with Gryffindors, and Potter himself sat three benches to his front, Weasley on his side with Granger beside him. The entire class had turned to stare at them two.
The class’d fallen so silent, Draco could hear his heart beating in his ears, could feel his entire face heat up because what the hell did he just–
“I’m sure that is old news now, Miss Parkinson, but thank you for your input,” Headmistress/Professor McGonagall’d simply said from the front of the class, peering from above her glasses. “Now, I won’t be taking points for interrupting class but please, sit down and complete your assignment.”
Pansy’d slid to her seat, a bit farther from him, a wise choice since Draco was 0.2 seconds away from strangling the girl to death. Worse, he could feel Potter’s gaze on him and made sure to pointedly keep his head down.
But Draco’d never been one for a strong will power so he looked up, to find that, yes, Potter was still staring at him, round glasses resting crookedly on his nose and the red-gold Gryffindor tie loose around his neck.
Draco subconsciously licked his lips and then Potter, Harry freaking Potter, the one who’s been his rival since like first year, winked at him, lush lips curling in a smirk before he turned away.
The quill in Draco’s hand snapped.
And that had been three days ago, after which Draco’s had to be the subject to hushed whispers and giggles behind hands. Oooh, he likes Harry Potter. Hah. As if. Him and Potter. Ridiculous. Hilarious. Pfft.
So back to present, where the same prat is sitting on the couch, the one near to the fireplace, green eyes twinkling with amusement as they look up at him.
“Did you not hear what I said? I don’t like you, Potter,” Draco repeats, annoyance flaring up inside him. Potter chuckles lowly, leaning back against the couch.
“Okay, Draco,” he says, lips curling in an amused smile. Draco hates it, Potter’s taken to calling everyone by their first names this year, including Draco and it’s just- it’s annoying, okay. Just like his annoying hair, always a mess atop his head, light from the fire catching into it and making the tips appear golden now.
It’s a lot less messier now, and it’s just one of the changes Potter’s gone through after the War. Along with the sudden growth spurt which is the most annoying one, by the way. Potter’s like half a head taller than him now and all those stupid Muggle t-shirts he tends to wear seem to be seconds away fron tearing at the seams as they stretch over his broad shoulders and-
“-listening? Draco? Draco!”
He snaps out of his thoughts, blinking a few times at the sudden change. Potter’s not sitting anymore, the quill and parchment resting where he sat before. He’s standing up, and Draco sees his hands hovering around the blonde’s head as if contemplating whether getting hexed as a result of touching the Slytherin would be worth if or nah.
“What are you doing?” Draco squeaks demands, looking up and wow, that’s green and his breath hitches in his throat at their close proximity. Potter’s so close that Draco can practically feel the heat coming off of the brunette in waves, or maybe that’s the fireplace, but Draco’s hands are sweaty, his heart picking up it’s pace in his chest.
“So, like I was saying, Draco, tell me,” Potter starts, in a low voice Merlin knows why they’re the only ones in the bloody room. “what’s the possibility of you reciprocating if I do what I’ve wanted to do from a long time?”
For a moment Draco thinks Potter’s talking about sucker punching him or something, but then his gaze non-too-subtly drops to Draco’s slightly parted lips and Draco exhales sharply. “Yes.” He breathes out, too captivates by the green green eyes staring deep into his grey ones. “I mean- um-”
He stammers, not having expected this wild turn of events. He’d come here to tell Potter he didn’t have a crush on him and here he was, Potter basically asking him if he would get his balls hexed off if he were to kiss him.
Him. Draco Malfoy. Kissed by Harry Potter.
But now that he thinks of it … it doesn’t sound bad. Potter’s a pretty hot guy, even though he’d rather get stomped on by a hoard of hippogriffs than admit it out loud and with his Father off to Azkaban, he doesn’t have to keep up an image of the perfect Malfoy heir.
He can just .. be him now.
Draco closes his eyes, takes a breath in and his voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “A hundred per-cent.”
A moment passes in silence and Draco’s already planning his funeral because of course he’s looking too deeply into think that aren’t there fuc-
And then there’s a hand on his cheek, tilting his head just the slightest before a warm mouth presses against his. Another finds itself on his hip, pulling his close, flush against Potter’s furnace of a body and oh Merlin can Potter kiss. Draco’s hands fist the front of Potter’s shirt, returning the kiss with equal urgency, feeling his knees buckle when Potter teeth graze his bottom lip before giving a bite that has him let out a low moan.
And that’s how Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger walk in on them, Harry on the couch with his hands up Draco’s shirt as the blonde sits on his lap, practically straddling him, his slender fingers tangled in the brunette’s hair.
“Obliviate me now,” Ron begged Hermione who sighed as if to say ‘about-damn-time’ as they walked right out.