Work Text:
January 4, 1999
On the first day of the spring term of their eighth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter became boyfriends.
Harry was sitting in the common room when it happened. They’d just returned from their winter break, and almost everyone had gone to bed, but Harry hadn’t felt particularly tired, so he’d grabbed a Quidditch magazine to peruse in front of the fire for a while. As he absently pondered an ad for a new line of gloves, wondering if it was worth upgrading, a tall, thin body dropped heavily into the empty space next to him on the plush sofa. Harry ignored him. He tried not to grin as his new companion let out an annoyed huff at the lack of acknowledgement.
After flipping a few more pages, he finally gave in, smirking but still not looking up. “Hello, Malfoy.”
Against all odds, in the four months since Malfoy had unceremoniously announced to Harry that they were now friends, Harry had become rather fond of the audacious bastard. He was still an arrogant prat, of course, but he was also slyly funny, entertainingly dramatic, and—most surprisingly—quite a good friend, when it came down to it. He taunted Harry mercilessly about his atrocious hair and abominable Potions skills, sure, but he also listened quietly when Harry spoke in shaky whispers of the nightmares he tried to hide from Ron and Hermione and snarled protectively at the fame-seeming hangers-on that had only multiplied in the aftermath of the war. (He also taught Harry how to make his hair more manageable and coached him through their increasingly difficult potions homework—albeit with a great deal of eye rolling and put-upon sighing—between the bouts of taunting.)
Additionally, Malfoy wasn’t bad to look at these days—a fact that Malfoy was exceedingly aware of, if his perpetual preening and saucy winks in Harry’s direction when he caught him looking were anything to go by. Which happened, frankly, rather more often than Harry was keen to admit. The looking, that was. Not that Malfoy seemed to mind Harry’s constant (if involuntary and slightly humiliating) staring. In fact, in the weeks leading up to their break, Malfoy had moved beyond winking to frequent, unsubtle physical teasing: a purposeful brush against Harry’s body as he moved past him; a mouth too close to his ear as he whispered something snarky during class, breath hot against Harry’s skin; a warm hand on Harry’s arm, back, or thigh for any even slightly plausible reason. It was unbearable.
Harry had found himself quite missing the arsehole over the holidays.
“Hello, Potter.”
Harry couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice at the petulance of the other boy’s tone. “Good hols?”
Malfoy made a noncommittal noise. “Passable.”
Harry flipped a few more pages until, unable to ignore the feeling of the blond’s intense gaze on the side of his face, he closed his magazine, looking over and raising his eyebrows. “Need something?”
Malfoy watched him for another moment, tilting his head consideringly, before announcing, “I’ve decided we’re going to date now.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot higher up his face as his eyes widened in genuine shock. He let out a surprised cough. “Is that so?”
“Mm,” Malfoy gave an affirmative little hum, one hand sliding forward along the back of the sofa to trail along Harry’s shoulder and down his arm, making him shiver. His expression was confident, but there was a slight pink tinge to his cheeks.
“Why’s that, then?” Harry’s voice came out slightly breathy, despite his best attempts at projecting amusement.
“Because.” Malfoy’s nails reversed their path, trailing up Harry’s arm and to the back of his neck, his fingers toying with the hair there in a deliberately casual manner. “You clearly want to.” He tugged at the hairs lightly, and Harry let out an involuntary gasp, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “And so do I.”
His hand released Harry’s hair, moving to brush against his cheek, and Harry let his lips graze the thin skin of the pale inner wrist, letting out a shaky breath, but unable to hold back a smile. Something warm was rising inside him, a bubbling lightness. He bit Malfoy’s palm gently, right below his thumb.
“What, no carefully thought out line of logic, this time?”
Malfoy had inhaled sharply at the nip of teeth against skin, his eyes darkening. Pushing his fingers into Harry’s hair, he leaned in, his nose brushing Harry’s before he pressed their lips together, hot and firm and determined. Harry groaned quietly, grasping the back of the other boy’s neck, pulling him closer. Malfoy slid his tongue into Harry’s mouth, confident and claiming, and Harry melted into it, letting himself be claimed. They kissed for several long, blissful minutes before Malfoy finally pulled back with a final bite to Harry’s lower lip, panting slightly, and smirked.
“Logic is overrated.”
And as he pressed their lips back together, smiling, Harry couldn’t help but agree.