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Harry was very determined to remain behind the punch bowl all night.
It was a good gig, wasn’t it? Refilling the bowl for Ron and Hermione, making sure that everyone had enough liquid libations for the evening? It didn’t look desperate, right? It didn’t make him look like he was trying to avoid seeing an ex who’d arrived on the arm of a different ex, right?
“Do you know what works better for making people believe you’ve moved on than hiding behind the punch bowl?” a voice that slipped right through every crack in his defenses drawled. “Literally anything,” Malfoy answered without waiting for Harry to reply, because of course the only person who could make this situation worse had to have appeared.
“Sorry?” he asked, aiming for polite and unaffected, and undoubtedly missing by a mile.
“Potter,” the blond said with a smile that looked like a seduction. And honestly, the worst thing in the world would be for him to allow himself to be seduced, especially because both of those aforementioned break ups had blamed the blond in question for at least part of the split. And especially because he’d done nothing but deny those accusations (even though he wasn’t always sure they were wrong).
But mostly because Malfoy was his auror partner and seductions were very much against the rules.
“I’m not trying to avoid anyone,” he replied, then added, “And I have moved on.” At least the second part was true.
Malfoy raised one irritatingly perfect eyebrow.
“I have!” he protested. “It’s just weird, isn’t it?”
The corner of the other man’s mouth tipped up in a smirk, “I wonder if they’ve compared notes on you.”
“Rumor has it,” Harry replied, leaning closer like he was telling a secret, even though he wasn’t, “that comparing notes is how they got together in the first place.”
Malfoy’s eyes flickered over to them, “Still, Potter, you don’t want them to think you’re still pining for one of them, do you?”
“But I’m not pining for them,” he protested. Because it was true.
“I know that, and you know that,” Malfoy replied, “but you’re the one who came to the party alone.” He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Harry’s ear as he said, “I promise to be more entertaining than a punch bowl.”
And what was Harry supposed to do? Was it even possible to refuse Malfoy?
More importantly, did he even want to refuse him if it was?
Then, in the way that only Harry Potter can, he threw all caution to the wind and just said, “Fuck it. Why not?”
Malfoy grinned at him, sharp and pleased, and when had Harry stopped hating that look of vindictive glee? “Come on, then,” he said, picking up a glass of punch and offering his arm to Harry.
With a deep breath, Harry hooked his arm through the other man’s.
The corner of Malfoy’s lips tipped up and Harry knew he was in so much trouble.
———–
Harry genuinely could not remember the last time he’d had this much fun at a party. Malfoy was funny and always included him in the conversations he was having, and he never made Harry feel stupid or left out. Half of the time it was just the two of them talking to each other, laughing and bickering.
It was enough to make Harry wish that the night wasn’t drawing to a close.
“They’re still watching you,” Draco murmured into his ear, his chin hooked over Harry’s shoulder.
“Let them,” he replied. Neither Anthony nor Grace had been very good partners in the long run. “Better yet,” he said, smirking a bit, “How would you feel about giving them something to talk about?”
Draco smiled, “I thought you’d never ask.”
And while Harry had been thinking about asking the other man to dance, Draco had been apparently waiting for the green light to kiss him because he cupped Harry’s jaw and brought their mouths together.
Harry groaned and his arms wrapped around Draco’s waist pulling him instinctively closer as his mouth moved sinuously against the other man’s.
Draco backed him up, taking three steps until Harry’s back hit the wall and he was held between the bricks and the glorious planes of the other man’s body.
He nipped at Draco’s bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue and Draco groaned, the sound reverberating in Harry’s body.
“Oy!” Ron shouted from somewhere rather near to them. “Get a room, you two! We’re all happy for you but none of us want to see that.”
Draco pressed one more kiss to his lips. “Told you I’d be more entertaining than a punch bowl,” he said, leaning his forehead against Harry’s and he kept his eyes closed, enjoying the warm press of the other man’s body against his.
He let his hands slip under the hem of the other man’s shirt, “Would you like to go out with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he repeated and Harry could hear the smile in his voice. “Would you like to get out of here?”
He nodded, “Where?”
“Well anywhere would probably do but I was rather thinking that I have a lovely bottle of malt-whiskey at home that you might like to enjoy with me.” He turned his head and brushed his mouth over Harry’s ear, “And I have a very comfortable sofa.”
And Harry knew that, strictly speaking, this was all a very bad idea but as he followed Draco out of the party he couldn’t be arsed to care.
Somehow, he just knew that this was going to be one of the best decisions he’d ever made.