Chapter Text
"Hello, Neville." A hush falls over the Gryffindor table, but Malfoy doesn’t take notice. His eyes are intent and soft on Neville’s awkwardly cramped position on top of Harry’s plate of food.
“M-Malfoy,” Neville returns, looking at Harry who’s just watching with an open mouth and clutching at his silverware. Malfoy stands there a moment longer before he’s offering his hand. Both Harry and Neville look down at it in matching horror. Malfoy then proceeds to horrify by adding: “Need a hand up, love?”
‘Love?’ Ron mouths to Hermoine. Harry echoes the words out loud in equal astonishment. Neville, meanwhile, has turned ruddy and red in embarrassment, and instead of sneering or saying something smart Draco Malfoy just... smiles. Harry feels his heart seize and stutter in his chest: white teeth, grey eyes - nearly washed out by dilated pupils, with crinkled corners full of unguarded affection. All directed at Neville Longbottom. Harry looks down to count his fingers, unsure if he’s somehow dreaming.
Malfoy continues his stare down with Neville a bit longer, silent, still, and more content than Harry's ever seen him, he looks too much like porcelain.
He's moving too soon and reaching out the rest of the way. Long, pale fingers wrap comfortably - familiarly - around Neville’s arm and hoist him up from his sprawled position. Harry normally would've helped, but he worried that pushing Neville up with Malfoy's pull might've accidentally brought the two closer.
“Malfoy,” Harry says, anything to get rid of the pit in his stomach, but Malfoy’s busy straightening out Neville’s tie - Gryffindor red, doesn’t he know ?!- and then running his fingers along the shoulders of Neville’s robes. Unruffling him, like a housewife. “Malfoy,” he tries again, louder.
Malfoy lifts his head from Neville to glance at Harry. And even then, his attention is nothing but mild interest before he’s looking back at Neville like he can’t bear to keep his eyes away.
“What is it?” Malfoy asks distractedly, hands still fussing with Neville’s robes, and Neville’s just letting him. Or, no, Harry supposes that’s not the case. Neville looks like he’s about to collapse under the stress of it all, breathing heavy and hard in his confusion. But Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice anything off about it because he’s still smiling all sweet like, and Godric, his hands drift up from Neville’s robes to his red face, fingertips ghosting against his cheeks in a tender caress.
“You can’t just-!” Harry starts because clearly, Malfoy needs help. He had seemed as sane as can be just a moment ago, and suddenly he’s here caressing Neville. Harry doesn’t need to know Malfoy to know that this was touched-in-the-head behavior.
“I wasn't talking to you,” Malfoy bites back, a shadow of himself present and then gone just as quickly. He says, “you look distressed, love.” Neville sways on the spot, nearly fainting back onto Harry's breakfast plate. Malfoy, encouraged by Neville’s behavior, becomes bolder and graduates from touching to full-on grabbing. Harry can see where Neville's robes bunch under Draco's grip, and he can almost feel the ghost touch himself. Harry really needs this to stop.
“Merlin’s balls, Neville! Why didn’t you tell us you were shagging Malfoy!?” Ron on the other hand, although perplexed, looks as if he thinks this is funny. And it’s not. Harry glares at his best friend for his very unhelpful input.
Deciding enough is enough, Harry stands from his seat abruptly to pull Neville away from Malfoy’s wandering hands. Fortunately, this too brings forth a very Malfoy response.
“Hands off, Potter!” he snarls, and he's looking at Harry. Glaring really, but it's familiar and exactly what the two of them had been doing across the dining hall right before Malfoy had turned away to drink and Neville had tripped over his robes.
But now, all while glaring at him, Malfoy's reaching out to lunge for Neville like he’s some toy. Tugging his friend behind him Harry steps forward, nose to nose with Malfoy. He can see the light dusting of freckles across his face, strangely caught out by how thin the grey of his eyes was. Blinking rapidly he glances down at Malfoy's mouth, the curve of his upper lip drawn back into an unfriendly sneer. It's not the same unfriendly sneer he's seen all throughout Hogwarts, and it's definitely not the sneer Malfoy gave him earlier at breakfast.
"Knock it off, Malfoy," he says, and reaches out to, not exactly shove, but to push Malfoy back. Letting his palms rest flat and heavy on Malfoy's chest before pushing, and letting his fingertips graze the Slytherin green of his tie as he pulled back.
Harry doesn’t know if he should be extremely annoyed or grateful when Pansy Parkinson comes up behind to grab at Malfoy’s wrist, stopping any kind of retaliation. For reasons he can only associate with Neville's comfort, he figures he's grateful.
“Draco, there you are!” She yanks Malfoy back, and he looks startled enough that he goes with the pull easily. That’s until he catches wind of what’s happening and starts to fight back. Ron, of all people, makes a sympathetic noise low in his throat.
“Let go of me, Pansy!”
“Blaise! Theo!” Pansy snaps, and suddenly there are more Slytherins than Harry’s strictly comfortable with bodily moving Malfoy away. And yet, he’s still struggling - red-faced with round, wet eyes. Harry looks away, and then back again - an uncomfortable memory of the last time he had spotted Malfoy crying coming to the surface. He crosses his arms, tucking his tingling hands into his armpits.
“Pansy,” Malfoy whines.
“Yes, yes, Longbottom’s hot now. Keep your head about you, Draco.” Malfoy kicks his legs out, and Zabini reaches up to clamp his palm over Malfoy’s eyes.
The effect is immediate, and Malfoy stops struggling, though his nose is tilted up as if he was trying to sniff out his target like a bloodhound. Parkinson takes Malfoy’s moment of stillness to stupefy him. His body goes rigid, falling back fully into Nott’s and Zabini’s arms. “All right then!” Clapping her hands twice, she surveys the Gryffindor table and sneers at Harry and Neville before turning on her heels and leading the Slytherins away.
The silence that follows their departure only lasts for a second, enough for everybody to come to a logical conclusion. Though Harry really wishes they wouldn't. Couldn't they tell how uncomfortable Neville was?
“Malfoy? Really Neville?”
“But I didn’t!”
“Course you didn’t, Neville,” Hermione says, eyes rounded and sparkling like she’s just learned a whole new magical theory over the course of their meal. Harry doesn’t doubt that she did, but he’s hoping it's an explanation to Malfoy's episode.
“A spell?” Harry prompts. Though he secretly suspects that maybe Malfoy was just having him on. Graduating from bullying to wannabe death eater, to… being annoying. It seems like something he would do.
“No, well... I should think not. It didn’t look intense enough to be a love enchantment."
Harry scoffs under his breath and bites his tongue on his retort. He's not sure what Hermione saw but Harry would say Malfoy's reactions were intense. Out-of-character, suspicious, what have you. He wouldn't be so quick to rule out foul play, but Hermione usually knows best with these sorts of things. But then again, Harry's always known best about Malfoy.
“Malfoy’s in love with me!?” Neville squeaks.
“No,” Harry snorts, sitting back down heavily, unable to stop the habitual glance he throws to the Slytherin table. Naturally, they’ve all gone, what with Malfoy stupefied and all. Still, Harry’s relief is almost like a healing balm over a fresh bruise. He hadn’t realized just how tense he was.
“Actually, yes,” Hermione corrects, ignoring Harry when he glares her way. “Or at least he thinks he is. I imagine it must be a potion. Did you see how dilated his pupils were? And, despite being … kindly,” her eyes cut to Neville and away again, “he was still himself.”
“Right, he sniped with Harry,” Ron says, grinning at Hermione. Harry purses his lips, managing to keep quiet about how little Malfoy actually sniped with him. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that Harry had purposely included himself, he thinks he might’ve been ignored entirely.
“But he… smiled at me. I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that.”
Harry in no way appreciates Neville’s tone of wonderment. They all know Malfoy didn’t mean anything by it, what with a probable love potion inhibiting him. Influencing him, Harry would bet. Neville’s got no reason to be reminiscing.
“He’s under the influence, Neville. He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” he says, because it's true, then, to Hermione, “right, ‘Mione? Right," Harry confirms himself, astutely ignoring Hermione's exasperation.
“Well, yes," she says, "but I don’t think he’s mindless . Just uninhibited with some persuasion towards his …” she gestures to Neville, “object of affection.”
“Why Neville, though?” Ron asks. Then, seeing Neville’s put-upon expression, he hastens to say, “Not that you’re not fit, Nev! It’s just, well, it’s Malfoy. You two don’t exactly make the pair.”
“If it’s the potion I’m thinking of, it’ll come to an end in 48 hours, or until he kisses Neville and it’s revealed that they’re not meant to be.”
Neville blinks rapidly, and implores: “And if we are meant to be?”
“You’re not,” Harry hissed, elbowing Neville a touch too hard.
“Oh well, it’s quite rare, but if Malfoy does kiss his true love it’ll cancel out just the same, just with a different kind of … flare. It’s harmless enough.”
“I don’t want to kiss Malfoy!”
“You’re not going to!” Harry says, vehemently stabbing at a breakfast sausage with his fork. Neville whines a bit, casting a fearful glance at the dining hall doors.
“48 hours, Harry! I can’t handle Malfoy being all loved-up for two days!” Neville objects, voice high and cracking. "If I kiss him then-"
“You can’t kiss him!” Harry snaps, back-peddling quickly at Neville’s bewildered look. “Y-you just can’t. It’s Malfoy. Kissing him would be … no. You can’t.”
“Harry’s got a point, mate. I’m sure his friends will hold him back. Imagine what it’ll do to their Slytherin reputation if they let their spokesman snog a Gryffindor?” Ron says, sharing a laugh with Neville. Harry gnaws at his fork tongs.
“It’s not really about being a Gryffindor though, is it?” Hermione says, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “You’re a pureblood, aren’t you Neville?”
Harry cringes at that word, pureblood. He doesn't have enough stake over Malfoy's intentions to be able to dissuade them from their theory. He knows, or strongly suspects, that Malfoy doesn't actually care about the pureblood regime anymore. He can't say for sure if that's how the other Slytherin's feel. And if Malfoy's so-called friends tried to set him up with Neville under some pureblood scheme...
“Are you saying it’s a trap?” Ron asks, more intrigued than indignant like he should be feeling on Neville's behalf.
“No, no, but there’s really nothing that would discourage someone like Malfoy from someone like Neville. Aside from the improbability of an heir, but even then with enough money and resources...”
Harry blinks rapidly, his mind splitting in two directions almost instantly. Neville and Malfoy, and a baby? Harry thinks he might faint. There’s definitely not enough blood getting to his brain. What would that even look like? A kid with a round face and a pointy nose? But then, against Harry’s better judgment, his thoughts expand from baby Malfoy-Longbottom to a Malfoy-Longbottom wedding. And then, even worse: Neville Malfoy? Draco Longbottom ? A baby-to-be of high cheekbones and delicate structure with healthy padding of fat that meant safety and contentment. Born either with Malfoy's pale blonde or Neville's sunny blonde and a pair of light eyes. Harry grabs at his water, pressing the cold glass to his temple.
“All I’m saying,” Hermione continues, “is that maybe someone set Malfoy up?”
“A prank?” Ron looks to Harry, who’s too busy staring down at his breakfast with acute nausea. “Or do you think Malfoy fancies Neville? Without the potion?”
“It’s a possibility,” Hermione says, the same time Harry says: “Fat chance.” They look to each other and Harry’s the first to look away, shame-faced.
“Well,” Neville sighs, eyes downcast at his food then cutting to the entrance of the dining hall again, “whether he fancies me or not, I reckon the quickest way is to kiss him.”
Harry bites the inside of his lip hard enough that he winces, silently begging Hermione or Ron to speak up and put a stop to it all - they don’t, and Hermione, curse her, looks almost encouraging.
“Whatever happens, Neville, we support you.” Neville’s face turns red again, uncomfortable and shy. Harry is struck with the sudden urge to hex him.
“I- I don’t fancy Malfoy,” he says, but his voice is faint enough that Harry suspects Neville doesn’t actually know if that’s true. And how could he? They’ve all been to war with not enough time to explore themselves, and Malfoy, although insufferable, is a rather decent-looking bloke. If one were into blondes, Harry amends. And, if Luna and Neville’s quick go-around is anything to go by, Neville likes blondes. The silvery, longhaired blondes with big icy eyes, non-Gryffindor colors, and questionable interests and hobbies.
“It’s okay, Nev,” Hermione insists.
“It’s just-” Neville starts, pausing long enough to pick apart his breakfast biscuit. Hermione reaches out a comforting hand, urging him on.
“Just what, Neville?”
“What if we are meant to be? None of us really know who Malfoy is, you know?”
“Mate,” Ron scoffs. Nobody acknowledges Harry’s: ‘ bloody hell you are .’
“Everybody’s got some good in them!” Neville says with a surprising amount of passion. Harry grimaces as he realizes where Neville’s trying to go with this. Harry’s head shaking goes ignored while Neville plows on, “I-I mean, what if … maybe Malfoy wants to repent, yeah? He deserves a second chance just as much as anybody. And maybe he does like me, and I could like him. I think it’s fair to give him a chance. I reckon he might've not had the chance to really go after what he's wanted before. He could be turning over a whole new leaf."
"He's not himself," Harry denies, "if this is a prank it's to embarrass Malfoy, not set him up."
“We’ll be able to talk it out, won’t we? The real Malfoy and me - if I kiss him, I mean. If we ignore the problem, he might be too embarrassed to talk afterward and get the wrong idea."
“You can’t talk to Malfoy,” Harry objects on principle, crossing his arms across his chest. “He communicates by being a knob.” Never mind that Neville's whole plan is barmy. So what if Malfoy fancies Neville a little bit? That doesn't mean he'll be a whole new person.
“Nah,” Ron says, flippant and largely disinterested in the subject now as he surveys the breakfast table, picking up a pastry from Hermione’s plate, “kissing him with no intent is kind of like leading him on, innit? Don’t want to get caught up in that mess.”
Harry exhales, relieved that Ron’s reasoning is sound enough that it even gets Hermione to pause.
“Ron’s right,” Hermione says, pain-faced for a split second but is quick to shake it off, her face smoothing into one of gentle pride. “Ron’s right,” she repeats, “you should think about your feelings for Malfoy before going in mouth first.”
Neville hums noncommittally, and Harry eyes him suspiciously.
“Can we stop talking about kissing Malfoy? I’m trying to eat here.”
“What do we do with him?” Blaise asks, gesturing to a still unconscious Draco, now safely in his dorm bed.
Theo shrugs, “let him shag Longbottom?”
“Nobody is shagging anybody!” Pansy snaps, “The potion lasts 24 hours and shouldn’t affect him unless Longbottom is in direct sight.”
“They have Herbology together, don’t they?” Theo continues as if he hadn’t heard her, leaning back on the two legs of his chair. “Are we meant to let him hump the poor lad amongst the Mandrakes?”
“No!” Pansy huffs, cheeks flushed.
“So we keep him here?” Theo’s voice drops, jumping his eyebrows, and Blaise hits him in the chest for the cheek.
“Oh, he’s going to be so upset.” Pansy wrings her hands and looks to Blaise, “what should we do?”
“I’m sorry, how is this my problem?”
“This is all our problems! You helped me! And you,” she rounds on Theo, “you bought the bloody potion in the first place!”
“Yes, but I don’t care if Draco jumps Longbottom. The more Mandrakes, the better, as I like to say.”
“You’re not funny,” Pansy says, glaring now. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take this seriously, or so help me, Salazar, I’m pinning this all on you!” This gets Theo’s attention, and his chair drops down on all fours in his haste to get to his feet.
“All I did was buy the stupid potion! You’re the one with the big plan! ‘Oh, it’ll be so funny, won’t it? No more Potter this, Potter that’! Don’t turn this around as if you ever cared how he’ll come out of it.”
Pansy’s face is drawn in an intense frown, her eyebrows furrowed in a pinch, and her jaw tense.
“Pansy,” he says, already fed up, “the potion is completely PG. The Weasley’s have this disclaimer about consent,” Theo flaps his hand about, “Draco - or Longbottom, for that matter - aren’t going to get anywhere past a chaste kiss-" or a little tongue, Theo doesn't have the exact science down, "-before the magic lifts. His virtue is safe,” he says with an eye roll, leaving out his two cents on how little importance he weighs Draco’s virtue. If anything, he rather thinks Draco would benefit from a good shag. And, hey, with the way Longbottom turned out, he could do a lot worse. Imagine if it were a Weasley. Theo shudders to think.
“It’s a potion,” Blaise scoffs. “Once consumed and all that, how would it prevent anything under the robes?”
“I don’t know, read the label, why don’t you! Something about increased blood pressure and certain hormones eating away the effects faster. No hanky panky is practically guaranteed.”
“Then what was with all that ‘humping’ business!” she shrieks, stomping her foot.
“I was taking the piss, obviously!” Theo snaps back.
“We all have Herbology together,” Harry says and watches Neville closely for any signs of … eagerness. While he didn’t think Neville was harboring any romantic feelings for Malfoy, he still didn’t trust Neville to keep his hands to himself. Harry can’t imagine how he would go about his day if Malfoy were magicked into fancying him. Maybe he’d come to the same conclusion Neville had and would just try to rip the bandaid off. Or maybe he’d be nicer about it. If Malfoy had walked up to him and called him love, maybe he would’ve grabbed Malfoy by the elbow and dragged him off to Pomfrey’s first thing. All Neville had done was stand there like a post and let Malfoy feel him up. Hardly productive, if you asked him.
“You think he’ll be there?”
“Are you going to try to kiss him?”
“No, I- not in front of the entire class.”
“But privately? You’ll take him somewhere-”
“Merlin, Harry! Don’t make it sound creepy!”
“You’re going to take him somewhere and kiss him, then?”
"Well, I'll ask his permission," Neville says and glances anxiously when a few spots of green enter in the distance.
"Permission ?" Harry scoffs. "How could you hold any kind of weight to what he says under a love potion?"
"You think I'm taking advantage," he surmises, and bloody hell, he's smiling at Harry and radiating approval.
"Wha- yes, all right?"
"I know it's a dodgy business, and though I don't know Malfoy very well, I know enough that he'd rather a motherly peck than moon over me in front of everyone and their nan for 48 hours. And if I can do that where only he and I will be privy, it's just as well."
Harry licks his lips, dry-mouthed and nervous. "Maybe I should be there. Incase-"
“Hello, love.” Malfoy’s just there, cuddling up between him and Neville, one of his bony elbows striking Harry between the ribs. Harry falls back far enough to stay out of range but hovers because … just because.
“Hello Draco,” Neville says, and Harry might’ve fainted if it weren’t for the sudden choking gasp he hears behind him. He turns, and all of Malfoy’s friends are just standing there.
“Did you have a good breakfast?” Malfoy is asking Neville, his blasted fingers reaching out and fiddling with Neville’s tie again.
Harry makes eye contact with Parkinson and gestures sharply towards the pair. Parkinson shrugs unhelpfully and Harry looks away from them before he can make sense of Nott’s finger gesture.
“Yes, thank you,” Neville says while his hands, touching Malfoy’s, are entangling together and being brought down to their sides. Harry hears another choking gasp behind him that he now realizes is laughter. Merlin, they’re holding hands.
Draco Longbottom, Harry’s traitorous mind supplies.
And Malfoy's friends are doing nothing to stop or discourage it. The lack of effort on their part really cements their involvement in all this.
Guilty, Harry decides, narrowing his eyes their way once again. He's not entirely sure if this is a plot against Neville, Malfoy, or himself. He feels victimized by this, is the thing. Troubled and unable to focus on anything else. Harry reluctantly looks back at Neville and Malfoy, half afraid to find Malfoy's hands down Neville's pants, but no, they're just…cuddling. It's almost worse than some scandalous display.
"Quaint, isn't it? Real 2½ kids with an iron fence." Harry side-eyes Pansy Parkinson, noting that both Zabini and Nott were no longer paying attention.
"I know what you did," Harry says. Pansy looks down at her nails, putting on the pretense of being bored. But Harry knows better, already experienced in how dramatic Slytherin's can be.
"You can't prove anything," she says back.
"What do you want with Neville?"
"Longbottom? Well, it isn't his family fortune, if that's what you're worried about. Although," Pansy looks at Harry, appearing to be tickled by something. "You're filthy rich, aren't you, Potter?"
"Er…"
"Whatever. Draco has his family fortune, both from the Malfoys and the Blacks. Going after yours would've been gluttonous."
"I'm not following."
"Ah. Draco has always said you were dense. I thought he was exaggerating."
"Parkinson," Harry huffs, finding her version of insulting him far more taxing than Malfoy's. "We know what you're up to and we've figured out how to stop it. So you've had your fun but nice try."
Parkinson laughs, flapping her hand at Harry.
"Not to worry. We hadn’t planned for the full 24 hours. Honestly, it’s gone on longer than we thought when Longbottom here got in the way.”
“Pardon?”
"Oh, don't you know? You said you figured it out,” she says, far too gleeful to pass as ignorant. Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowed and almost missing Neville whispering something to Malfoy quietly, both of their hands still clasped together at their sides. A sinking feeling in his gut-twisting and dropping repeatedly - when both of them break off from the group and sneak to the back of the greenhouse. He’s so distracted by the what-if of Malfoy and Neville going off alone that he almost misses Parkinson saying: “Yeah, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter would’ve stirred the cauldron more than any- and where do you think you’re going?”
Harry’s already on the move, long strides after both Neville and Malfoy and barely making an effort to be discreet. He reckons being Harry Potter probably gives him the allowance. Not that that matters much when he turns the corner and sees that both Neville and Malfoy are sitting across from one another, legs similarly crossed, and hands held between. Neville’s talking in a hushed tone and Malfoy looks … besotted. Harry charges forward, using his own knees to create a space between the two of them as he sits practically on top of them.
“What are you two up to?”
“Go away, Potter,” Malfoy sneers, dropping Neville’s hands in order to push at Harry. Harry grins and sways with the push but otherwise holds steady.
“Neville,” Harry says, “I just learned something from Pansy Parkinson.”
“Potter, I said go away.” Harry shushes him gently, reaches out, and pats his knee as condescendingly as he can.
“Turns out this wasn’t some kind of plot between you and Malfoy. It was me that Malfoy was supposed to hook onto, but something went pear-shaped.”
Neville’s watching Harry, mouth curved in a curious smile but he otherwise doesn’t react as strongly as Harry was expecting. Surely this changes things? Neville and Malfoy aren’t meant to have a heart-to-heart and kissing him would be extra wrong, wouldn’t it? There was no love confession to be had or any reason for a private moment. To be quite honest, Harry was looking out for Neville. Who knows how Malfoy would react if he came to with just Neville there to take out his frustrations?
“That certainly says something,” Neville obliges when Harry continues to watch expectantly.
“Right. So… you shouldn’t kiss him.”
“No?"
“Potter !”
Harry sighs heavily, turning to Malfoy. “What is it, Malfoy?”
“Piss off. This doesn’t concern you.”
Harry guffaws, relaxing back on the palms of his hands. “I beg to differ! Besides, Neville’s okay with this, aren’t you, Nev?”
“Um, well, Harry- mate, if Draco isn’t comfortable with you here…” Neville shrugs helplessly, giving one of his patented sorry eyes. And, well, Harry can’t believe what he’s hearing. Malfoy, the real Malfoy, wouldn’t be comfortable with the situation regardless. Frankly, Harry being present should be maybe not so much as a comfort, but familiar to Malfoy. Besides his Slytherin friends, Harry would think that he and Malfoy have the closest relationship out of anybody at Hogwarts. Granted, not as close as he, Hermione, and Ron are, but they’ve been through things together.
Harry grits his teeth, annoyed further when Malfoy pushes at him again, but this time smugly, as if Neville had the final say.
“You should both get back to class,” he says, “they’ll be looking for us by now.”
“They wouldn’t if you had just kept out of this,” Malfoy says, pushing again. Harry reaches out and grabs his wrists, holding Malfoy’s hand hostage.
“You don’t want to kiss Neville, Malfoy,” Harry soothes, giving Neville the stink-eye. Neville blinks but ultimately lets out a defeated sigh and stands up.
“Harry, I think I know what’s...happening here,” he says, slow and careful, “and I don’t have any ulterior motives. We can bring Draco to the infirmary if you think that’s best.”
But…
“Wait, what do you mean what’s ‘happening here’? I was only saying that...that, uh, you shouldn’t kiss Malfoy.”
“I know, Harry. And I agree, we’ll all go to Madam Pomfrey’s. I don’t want to upset you, or Draco,” Neville says, smiling at Dra- Malfoy reassuringly as if Harry was-
Malfoy tugs at his hands in Harry’s hold, and he reluctantly lets go of them, his fingers tingling with phantom contact.
“I’m being reasonable,” Harry says confidently, slouching a bit when Malfoy scoffs meanly.
“You’re a cockblock, Potter.”
“You- you don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Harry shouts, clumsily getting to his feet and stepping towards Malfoy. A cockblock! What a prick.
“I’m quite capable of making my own decisions,” Malfoy says, “even if the great Harry Potter doesn’t approve.” Malfoy goes and jabs him hard in the chest with a pointy finger. “You don’t get to decide anything .”
“It’s supposed to be me !”
“Er...Harry?” Harry whips around, flustered and breathing hard, and sees Ron and Pansy Parkinson standing there.
Parkinson is the first to move, and it’s only to slow clap at Harry’s mounting humiliation.
“Smooth moves, prince charming. How about you seal it with a kiss?” And she juts her chin in Dra- Malfoy’s direction.
“I don’t want to kiss him!”
“As if I’d kiss you!” Malfoy mouths off, and because Harry happened to be looking, saw when Malfoy’s gaze cut straight to Neville, a soppy, love-struck expression shadowing across his face. A stranger taking over. Harry steps in front of Neville, blocking Malfoy’s view.
“As if I’d let you,” he pushes, inching his face close to Malfoy’s. A surge of pure satisfaction bubbling up when Malfoy glares at him, head tilted and pointy nose just millimeters from grazing his own.
“As if you’d even know what to do with me,” he says back, snobbish and self-important. Harry grins.
“As if you wouldn’t be begging .” Alright, okay. Perhaps that was too far? Harry couldn’t tell. Plus, he only had eyes for Malfoy’s reactions anyway, and all Malfoy does is scoff, his cheeks pink while his mouth moves soundlessly for a beat.
“ As if !” he screeches back, stomping his foot. And, well, Harry’s already gone this far into humiliating himself so why not just...?
He grabs Malfoy by his face to keep it steady and leans in with childishly pursed lips. Maybe so he can downplay his seriousness if it doesn't go the way he wants, but also because he wants Malfoy to know what's coming.
The Malfoy who's love-potioned to want to kiss Neville.
"Pot -" he gets out in protest before Harry smacks a chaste, quick kiss to his lips.
The sensation of warm water starts from the base of Harry's skull and trickles down to the all-too-familiar tingling in his fingers, goose pimples appearing everywhere while his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. Malfoy, looking to be experiencing something similar, rocks forward, his lower lip catching Harry's again before he rocks back again in alarm.
"Wait till your father hears about this," Parkinson says somewhere off to the side, disrupting but not dissolving whatever has taken over them. He spares Parkinson a glance, but ultimately is drawn back to Draco because he's… glaring at Neville?
"What The hell did you do to me, Longbottom?"
"Me ?"
"No. I suppose you wouldn't," he says easily, then is brought back to Harry who feels… he feels. Hermione had said something about a bond, for one true love's kiss, hadn't she?
"Draco?" Harry ventures and Draco startles.
"Merlin, Potter! Watch your language!"
"Do you feel anything? You don't want to snog Neville anymore, obviously," he rushes to say, "but do you feel…the, uh-" tingling he wants to say but thinks better of it, "-the connection?"
"Blimey, mate, you don't seriously think?"
"What is he on about?"
"Hermione said if someone's true love breaks the potion’s effects that-!"
"True love !?" Draco splutters, and Parkinson fumbles with the pockets of her robes, pulling out a vial and studying it.
"These Weasley toys are a lot more complex than I gave them credit for," she mutters, twisting it around and Ron reaches out to nab it. Harry, on the other hand, feels energized and carefree. But also light-headed, and a little sweaty - which is all up to par, but he also feels certainty and a wild giddiness. Like flying on a broom, but specifically when he's racing Draco to the snitch. Excited.
“You’re in love with me? Potter that is...embarrassing.”
“Er… well- Well! You’re the one who made me -!”
Draco reels back, blinking wide. “Potter !” he says, clasping a palm over Harry’s mouth and glancing at their audience of three. Draco shakes his head, glaring towards Parkinson, Ron, and… Harry's teeth grind, anxiously trying to catch a look at Draco's pupils from his profile. Surely he…?
"Longbottom," Draco addresses seriously, and Neville smiles politely in return. Nothing suggestive and nothing…hostile. Harry looks at Draco's expression again, pleased as punch to notice Draco grimacing. "I trust we needn't make a situation out of this?"
"Sure thing, Draco." Draco pinches his face further and Neville grins and says, "Malfoy. Sorry."
"Yes, well, you can all scatter then. I need a word alone with Potter," he says, "Unless, of course, the lot of you slipped him something too?"
Ron shakes his head and Parkinson just grins, snatching the love potion back and hightailing it out of there. Both Ron and Neville are slower to go, glancing back at Harry. Harry gestures them away, only a bit embarrassed at his enthusiasm.
"Well?" Draco sasses, a familiar sneer on his pointy, smug face.
Harry grins back with all his teeth. He feels giddy and doped up with adrenaline - so much so that he doesn't even try to curb the desire to pinch Draco's cheeks. He doesn't get as much skin as he wanted, what with how little weight Draco carries in his face nowadays, but the shell-shocked and big doe eyes more than makes up for it.
"Wha- Potter! Has that harpy really gone and drugged you too? If the ministry hears about this-!"
"I think we should kiss again."
"Is that what you think you did? I'd reckon a house-elf would have better technique."
"You can teach me then," Harry says, absolutely enchanted by the redness sprouting from Draco's cheeks. He reaches out for another self-indulgent pinch, learns that he gets a better grip higher up the cheekbone.
“Sod off!” Draco slaps at Harry’s hand, “Don’t think I went and forgot about you saying those...things.” Draco’s face twists into an ugly expression that creates unnatural wrinkles and is a clear sign that he’s trying too hard to seem put off.
Harry’s not sure when exactly he became so confident in reading Draco, but it’s surprisingly easy now that he’s letting himself openly look his fill instead of stealing glances.
“You didn’t feel that just then - when we kissed?”
Draco opens his mouth and then pauses, and Harry feels more than he sees the intensity of the gaze. It’s calculating and considering. Harry isn’t sure what to do with the silence now that it’s full of sincerity and honest communication.
“You heard Pansy, Potter. It was a Weasley potion. I doubt they would waste expensive potion resources on Hogwarts students for a gag. There’s no profit to be had there.”
“Ah. I suppose.”
“So take it back.”
“Take what back? The kiss? Sorry Malfoy, I don’t have a time-turner on me.”
“Not the- what you said before when you thought we were soulmates. You can take it back. And I’ll even wait a week before I tell the Prophet.”
“Oh,” Harry says, vaguely remembering himself confessing feelings. Feelings towards Malfoy. “No thanks.”
“Pardon?”
“I think we should date. You rubbing yourself on Neville really bugged me, you know?”
“I was not rubbing -!”
“Hand-holding, whatever. I just think you should do that with me is all. And if kissing you feels like that all the time then we’ll probably get married too.”
“Kissing won’t always feel like that,” Draco warns, taking a cautious step closer, “a lot of the time it’ll be underwhelming. Or gross. Especially in the winter when you have those awful chapped lips.”
“Bet you have morning breath.”
“Or when you smell because you think you can skip showering after a Quidditch match.”
“Ugh, or when you eat those jellied eels with pumpkin juice.”
“You’re a nail-biter .” Harry pinches Draco's cheeks again, smiling fondly and dragging his finger tips over the curve of his upper lip.
“Remember that sore you had on your mouth in September?”
“Paid attention to my mouth, have you, Potter?”
“Yeah,” he confesses, soft and relieved.