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“Whoever planned this whole Valentine thing clearly had nothing else to do.”
“Stop complaining, Ronald. Besides, according to Professor Slughorn, this is a brilliant way to reconcile with the other houses and get to know each other better.”
“Yeah, but why Valentine’s Day? Why couldn’t he suggest we do it at Christmas?” Ron insisted, earning an eye roll from Hermione. “You’re just being childish. And in case you forgot, you actually already have someone to write a Valentine card, don’t you?” she said pointedly.
Ron flushed, even his ears turning pink from embarrassment. “Yeah, that’s not what I meant, ‘Mione. ‘F course I haven’t forgot,” he mumbled.
Hermione looked pleased. “Good. Now, it’s Harry we have to worry about.”
“What about me?” Harry looked up from his Quidditch magazine, half-amused at the whole situation.
“Who’re you gonna write to?” Hermione insisted.
Harry simply shrugged. “I don’t think I will.”
“I think it’s mandatory, mate,” said Ron sympathetically.
“Ron’s right. Slughorn demanded that we all participate in the Valentines celebrations this year. You haven’t thought about it at all?” Hermione looked positively scandalised.
“I don’t fancy anyone, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want the whole school to know,” Harry replied, impatiently tapping his fingers on the armrest of the upholstered chair.
“But Harry, everybody else is sending cards tomorrow…”
“I really don’t care. I’m sure Slughorn will excuse me, what with being the Chosen One and all…” Harry snickered, and Hermione shot him a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t use that as an excuse for skipping an assignment.”
Ron burst out laughing. “Relax, ‘Mione. It’s not really an assignment, is it? Just leave him alone. It’s not like he has many options among the eight years.”
“Well, there’s other people too in the school,” Hermione gave Harry a feeble smile. “You could always try again with Ginny.”
Harry stiffened at the mention of Ginny. Things hadn’t worked out between them, and Harry wasn’t exactly ready to admit why to his best friends. Ginny was the only one who knew. Truth was, things hadn’t worked out because Harry had recently discovered he wasn’t exactly attracted to girls. He only liked the idea of being attracted to girls, which was a completely different matter. With Ginny he hadn’t really felt anything. Wasn’t love supposed to turn you upside down and sweep you off your feet?
Harry surely knew nothing about love. He knew he could never love a girl though. He didn’t feel butterflies in his stomach when a girl talked to him, nor did his breath hitch when they came close, but with boys… he found himself blushing if a cute boy stood too close to him, and that was alarming in itself, not to mention this happened even with people he could never like, not in a million years. People like Dean, Ernie MacMillan, Malfoy… which was completely ridiculous. Surely Harry could never like, let alone fall in love with, any of them. Why was he so nervous to admit it out loud, then?
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice brought him back to the common room.
“Sorry. I zoomed out. Anyways, writing a Valentine card to Ginny is an awful idea. It could never work between us. We’ve already tried.”
“I’m sorry; I really shouldn’t have suggested that.” Hermione’s tone was apologetic. “Are you really going to just ignore the whole thing?”
Harry sighed. “I’ll think about it, but I really don’t like this whole thing.” With that, Harry picked up his magazine and stormed out of the common room, leaving an uncomfortable Ron and a bewildered Hermione behind.
“D’you think he’s alright?” Ron asked.
Hermione sighed. “I don’t know. I hope he will be. He’s been so lonely since he and Ginny broke up. I really hoped she was the right person for him…”
“He’ll find someone, eventually. We’re only eighteen, Hermione, it’s not like we have to find our soulmate tomorrow.”
She smiled. “I suppose you’re right. But we did find our soulmate before turning eighteen. I guess I’m just worried. I really want to see him happy.”
“Well, we can do nothing about that. When the time comes, he’ll find the right person, no doubt.”
Hermione smacked her forehead with her hand. “Ron, you’re a genius! We can do something!” she squealed.
“Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Oh, shut up, Ronald. I have the perfect plan. We only have to convince Harry to write a card, and then we enchant it so that it will be delivered to the right person!”
Ron’s eyes widened. “The right person? But we don’t know who the right person is, ‘Mione!”
“That’s the whole point of my plan,” she continued. “Hear me out. This spell is supposed to deliver the card to whoever is most suitable to be Harry’s soulmate! I’m not sure if it’s going to work, but it could!”
“Don’t you think Harry’s gonna shout at us if we suggest something like that?” Ron looked at Hermione pointedly, eyebrows raised, and her shoulders slumped.
“Perhaps you’re right. But it wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe, just maybe, I can convince him.”
“If you’re so sure about it…” Ron mumbled, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. “Anyways, ‘m going to bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Ron,” she replied, gaze lost into the fireplace.
***
“What? Are you completely mental? Absolutely not!” Harry shouted, not caring that half the Great Hall was listening to him now.
“Told you he would yell at us,” said Ron.
“You were in on it?” Harry asked angrily.
“Ye-no! I mean, it was Hermione’s idea…”
“Thanks, Ronald,” she replied, tone icy and expression stern. “I appreciate your help, as always.”
Harry took a deep breath. “Look, guys, I know you’re only trying to help, but there is no need, really. I’m pretty sure I can survive without looking for my soulmate, or whatever that enchanted card of yours is supposed to do.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. That was silly of me. Of course you can manage just fine on your own.” Hermione smiled feebly, hoping to be forgiven, and Harry’s eyes softened.
“I just hope I don’t receive any card, for the matter.”
Ron snorted. “Mate, you defeated You-Know-Who, you’re the most famous wizard in Britain; every witch would gladly throw herself at you, and you hope you won’t receive any cards? You’re in for a pretty nightmarish day, then.”
Harry sighed. “Fair point. Then maybe I can just disappear so no one can find me.”
***
This proved to be easier said than done, for wherever Harry went that morning, dozens of envelopes and paper planes flew by his head, only stopping their fluttering around when he finally gave in and opened them. They were all from girls he barely even knew – some of them fourth and fifth-years – which was ridiculous. Of course they were all from girls, what boy would ever be interested in him? And what if Harry was the only one at Hogwarts who didn’t fancy girls?
The day had barely started and Harry was already sick of it. There were giggling people in every corner, most of them followed by at least three or four cards. The chaos didn’t subside even as classes started; nothing could stop the cards from sneaking under doors and flying through open windows. Harry received a bunch of pink-enveloped letters during Transfiguration, something of which McGonagall wasn’t pleased at all. Harry shot her an apologetic glance. He really could do nothing about that.
“Someone caught your interest, at least?” Hermione asked tentatively in-between lessons, and Harry shook his head. “I just wish I could stop being chased by these stupid letters, is all.”
It was a sunny day, though chilly, and Harry decided to spend the free term after lunch in the courtyard. Sitting by an arched opening, he relished in the relative quiet of the yard. There were no giggling crowds there, only a few students reading or chatting cheerfully. Harry’d told Ron and Hermione he needed some quiet time, and thankfully they hadn’t insisted in accompanying him. He leaned back on a pillar and closed his eyes, only focusing on the gentle breeze caressing his face.
He must’ve dozed off at some point, and was abruptly woken up by something poking him in the nose. “Wha-ouch! What the hell?”
Harry opened his eyes, trying to shield his face from the mysterious attacker, but it was to no avail. Fully awake now, Harry saw that what was causing him so much distress was, in fact, an origami. An origami bird, to be precise. The paper bird kept attacking his face, poking his cheeks and fluttering around to get Harry’s attention. “Alright, alright, calm down!” Harry cried, exasperated, finally catching the origami in his hands. He noticed some people eyeing him curiously, and felt a twinge of annoyance.
A few arches away, sitting alone, Malfoy was sniggering at Harry’s attempt to escape the bird’s attack. Harry glared at him and stuck out his tongue for good measure, but Malfoy didn’t stop sniggering. “Stupid git,” Harry mumbled under his breath, “you try being chased by silly letters all day long, then we see who’s laughing.”
Annoyed and irritated, Harry unfolded the origami bird. At least it wasn’t pink and covered in hearts like the rest of the letters he’d received. The paper was pale green, the inside covered in an elegant, tiny scrawl. Despite himself, Harry was intrigued. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he started to read:
Dear Harry,
I was debating whether or not to send you this letter, but I figured it would be stupid not to tell you how I feel. This is our last year at Hogwarts, and even though I know I could never have a chance with you, I want you to know how much I love you. And I don’t love you because you’re famous or because you’re the Chosen One – I don’t care about all that crap.
No, I love you for how stupidly brave you are, for how brightly your eyes shine, I even love your hopelessly messy hair. I love everything about you, and I can’t tell you in person. I’m not brave enough to do that. You’d just laugh at me, push me away. I’m used to that, but I don’t want you to push me away, so I won’t tell you who I am. You’ll have to figure it out yourself, though I’d rather you didn’t.
Just a hint: I’m the last person you’d expect to receive a letter from, and I’m not a girl. Definitely not a girl.
Yours, truly
Harry was positively frozen in place, breath caught in his throat, mouth open in disbelief. This wasn’t just a silly Valentine’s Day letter. No, this was a proper love letter from someone who, if Harry wasn’t dreaming, claimed to love him. Who could it be? And, most importantly, how did they know he was gay? He hadn’t told anyone apart from Ginny. She would never break his trust, of that Harry was sure.
Who was the last person who could send him a love letter? A bunch of names came to Harry’s mind: Seamus, Dean, Neville, Ron… he shook his head. Of course it wasn’t Ron, he loved Hermione. Then who the hell was it? Harry needed to know. If only there was a way of knowing who the author of the letter was…
It struck him like a bludger to the forehead. Of course! Hermione’s charmed letter, the one which was supposed to find his soulmate! If this boy was the right person for Harry, the charm would find him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?
Grinning like a fool, Harry slid off the stone bench and collected his things, pocketing the origami bird in his robes, then he hurried off from the courtyard. As he passed Malfoy, Harry heard the familiar cold, drawling voice shout something along the lines of “you know, Scarhead, your hair is so messed up even the letters from your admirers couldn’t manage to make it worse.” But Harry wasn’t listening to him. He was on a mission to find his soulmate and certainly didn’t have time for Malfoy’s stupid remarks.
With a spring in his step, Harry reached the Entrance Hall, then started up the stairs towards the library, hoping to find his best friends there. His heart leaped in excitement when he spotted them. “Hermione, I need your help, now,” he blurted out, not even bothering to catch his breath.
“What? Harry, why don’t you sit down? You look like you’re about to pass out.” She seemed concerned.
“What’s up with you, mate?” Ron asked with a frown.
Harry didn’t reply; he just thrust the origami bird towards his friends, then slumped on a chair, finally daring to breathe normally again. Two pair of eyes scanned the letter, Hermione gasped a couple of times and Ron exclaimed “Bloody hell!” when he reached the bottom of the paper. Fuck. In his haste to ask for Hermione’s help, Harry had totally forgotten his friends knew nothing about him being gay. Now it was too late to go back.
“Who’s that pervert? Got any ideas?” exclaimed Ron indignantly.
“I find it rather romantic, really,” Hermione cut him off. “Harry, are you alright?” she then asked, noticing Harry’s apparent state of distress.
“I-I want you to help me find him. Who wrote the letter. You-you told me you could enchant a note to help me find the right person…”
“But mate, this is a boy. Didn’t you read?” Ron looked positively white.
“Yeah, Ron, that’s the point,” Harry said defiantly. “There’s something I need to tell you, actually. I-I don’t fancy girls, not anymore.”
Ron’s jaw fell open, while Hermione just smiled and reached for Harry’s hand across the table. “Oh, Harry, thank you for telling us. Of course I’ll help you.” Harry’s heart felt lighter at her words.
“But… what about Ginny? Is that the reason you two broke up?” Ron still looked shocked.
“Yeah, that’s why things didn’t work out between us. She’s the only one who knows, or at least she was until now.”
“Blimey, Harry. I was not expecting that. But I’m happy you told us, really am,” Ron mumbled.
“Well, we have more pressing matters now. We need to find out who wrote this letter. Harry, write a reply and fold it, then hand it to me. I’ll take care of the spell.” Hermione proceeded to set all her books aside but one, small, leather-bound book, which she promptly snapped open and started scanning, presumably looking for the right spell.
“You two go on,” she said, “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
***
So Harry found himself sitting in Flitwick’s class with his mind nowhere near Charms, attempting to pen a decent reply to his secret admirer.
Dear unknown person, he wrote
I must admit you took me by surprise; I have absolutely no idea who you are. I don’t even know how you figured out I fancy boys instead of girls, but I’ll tell you this: yours is the only letter I received today that was actually worth reading. I appreciate your honesty, but I don’t understand. Why can’t you tell me all of this in person? I won’t freak out, I promise. You seem like a nice guy, and it feels strange that I don’t know who you are, considering we technically already know each other.
If you really meant what you wrote in your letter, meet me near the Lake right after dinner. I really want to meet you.
Yours, Harry
Harry sat through dinner like he had a bag full of stones instead of a stomach. He couldn’t possibly eat, not with the notion he was about, in all probability, to meet his soulmate. He’d folded his letter in the exact same shape of the one he’d received, though his origami bird looked admittedly less neat in comparison. Hermione had assured him the person it was directed to wouldn’t find peace until he opened the letter, and Harry hoped his secret admirer would decide to show up, despite telling Harry he preferred to keep his identity a secret. If this boy truly was his soulmate, that meant Harry wouldn’t have to look any longer to find the right person. It meant it was right there.
Unable to sit still, Harry got up and, bidding goodbye to Ron and Hermione, left the Great Hall, then the Castle, pacing down the lawns toward the Lake, heart playing a furious rhythm in his ribcage.
But after almost an hour, Harry’s hopes were nearly reduced to ashes. Nobody had shown up. Did that mean the boy who’d sent the letter wasn’t really his soulmate? Or was he simply too scared to reveal his identity? Harry felt a pang of disappointment. He’d really believed he’d found the right person. He always claimed he didn’t care about soulmates and finding love, but he was only lying to himself. He did care. He’d do anything just to know who the author of the letter was…
Harry stared and stared at the shiny surface of the lake, watching the setting sun tinge the water with red, purple and gold. Everything was still and silent, so he couldn’t help but jump when he heard a noise of crunched leaves behind him. Someone was there. Now Harry wasn’t alone anymore, now he was about to find out his secret admirer’s identity, he was terrified.
Slowly, as if held back by invisible ropes, Harry turned around, waiting for a bright smile and friendly face, slowly taking in the appearance of the person before him-
“M-Malfoy?” he stammered, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Malfoy actually looked hurt. “I’m meeting someone,” he said quietly.
“Of course, of all the places in the bloody castle, you had to choose the same one as me – wait, did you just say you’re meeting someone?” Harry nervously pulled at his own hair, more and more confused by the second.
“I am,” Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. “Or maybe not.”
“What d’you mean maybe not-”
“Bye, Potter,” Malfoy cut him off and, before Harry could reply, bolted toward the castle, letting something slip off his pocket in his haste to get away.
Frowning deeply, Harry bent down to retrieve the fallen object, immediately recognising the parchment. Fuck. It was the letter he’d written hours earlier in Charms, the very same letter Hermione had enchanted to find…
“Malfoy, wait!” Harry shouted, running to catch up with the other boy. “Stop, please!” he panted.
Surprisingly, Malfoy stopped. “What?”
“How-how did you find this?”
Harry held up the origami bird. Malfoy’s face went from red to white to almost green, his wide, silvery eyes darting from Harry to the letter clutched in his hand. “You know, Malfoy,” Harry started “after receiving a very interesting letter this afternoon, I decided to take the matter in my own hands. Which means, I asked Hermione to help me trace the person who’d anonymously sent it to me. Hermione’s spell was supposed to deliver my letter to my soulmate, and my soulmate alone. So, tell me, did you find this by chance?”
Malfoy looked like he was about to faint right now. “I-I…”
“Or,” Harry asked wearily, voice wavering, “did it fly straight to you?”
This couldn’t be happening. Perhaps Hermione had done something wrong…
“Yes,” Malfoy finally whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“It flew straight to me. And didn’t stop attacking me until I gave up and decided to open it and read it.” Malfoy’s voice cracked, as if it was made of glass and could break any moment. Harry almost let the origami fall to the ground. Instead, with trembling fingers, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the other origami bird, the one made out of pale green paper.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Harry couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or to cry. He had his answer, but that definitely wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. How on earth could Malfoy be his soulmate? How could he be the one for Harry?
“Say something,” Malfoy breathed, voice thin and unsure.
“I-I don’t really know what to say,” Harry replied sincerely.
“I told you you’d be better off not knowing who I was, but you obviously didn’t listen.” There was a note of impatience in Malfoy’s voice now.
“But why?”
“You hate me, you clearly do. And I can’t even blame you for that.” Malfoy turned his back on him, as if unable to look Harry in the eye.
“No, I mean… why do you love me?”
Malfoy turned around, eyes burning with something between a plea and a scorn. “You really don’t know anything, do you? You don’t understand; how could you?” he spat, poking Harry hard in the chest and making him stagger backwards. “You don’t know how it feels, to be on the verge of falling down, of falling apart, and be saved by someone who shouldn’t even care about you. You don’t know how it feels, to hide attraction and love under spiteful comments and mean words. You just don’t know.” He was nearly shouting now.
Harry remained still. His world had just turned upside-down. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Draco Malfoy, the very last person Harry had ever thought could love him, had just confessed his feelings for him.
“You can keep that,” Malfoy said coldly, nodding to the letter. Then he turned around again, chin held high in fake indifference, once again trying to get away, as far away from Harry as possible. But Harry had no intention of letting him go. He quickly caught up with Malfoy and desperately grabbed his sleeve, trying to stop him.
“Let me go, Potter,” Malfoy cried indignantly. Harry squeezed his arm even tighter in reply. “No.”
“Let go of me, you stupid-”
But Harry wasn’t listening. He pulled Malfoy towards him, until they were flush against each other, heartbeats mingling in a dizzying, terrifying way. Harry squeezed Malfoy’s hips, making him squeak.
“So…” Harry started.
Malfoy, who hadn’t even realised he’d stopped breathing, exhaled slowly, eyes boring into Harry’s. “So what?” his voice, intended to sound threatening and cold, came out more weak than intimidating.
Harry smirked. “So… according to Hermione’s spell, the letter I wrote was supposed to find my soulmate, and it found you.”
Malfoy started struggling against Harry, but only managed to press himself harder against the other boy. “Well, it’s obvious – fuck, let me go! – it’s obvious Granger’s spell didn’t work, did it?”
“You think so, Malfoy?” Harry replied, amused. “You don’t deny writing that letter to me.”
Hurt flashed in Malfoy’s eyes. “I don’t. But you clearly don’t feel the same way, so let me go and save both of us the embarrassment of being face to face.” Harry frowned. “Look. If Hermione’s spell delivered that letter to you, then perhaps I was wrong the entire time. About this. About you. I… the things you wrote… nobody’s ever said those things to me. It’s like you really know who I am, despite me never telling you.”
Malfoy scoffed. “Of course I know who you are, Potter. It’s not like I’ve not been watching you for seven years-” He stopped, eyes widening at the realisation of what he’d just said. Then his gaze turned pleading. “Just let me go, will you?” Harry shook his head. “Not a chance. Not until we clear this out.”
“Can you at least stop squeezing me so damn hard? You’re hurting me.”
“Oh.” Harry instinctively let go of Malfoy, who rubbed his hips, wincing in pain.
“So sorry” Harry mumbled, “didn’t realise.”
“That wouldn’t be the first time. Last time you ‘didn’t realise’ you were hurting me, you cut me open and almost killed me on the spot.”
Harry’s face whitened. “I’m sorry, y’know. About that. I never wanted to hurt you, not seriously.”
“Mph. I don’t believe you.”
“Yet, you still love me,” Harry said quietly.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Can you stop repeating that every five seconds? It’s already mortifying as it is.”
“Well, you decided to send me that letter, didn’t you? What did you expect?”
“I expected you to never find out who’d written that stupid, foolish letter!” Malfoy spat.
“Then why send it?” Harry really couldn’t understand. Malfoy closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Harry waited for him to say something, anything, but the words never came. “I really don’t understand you, Malfoy. You spent years pretending to hate me, and now you have the chance to make this right, you don’t say anything?”
“I did it because some stupid, crazy part of me hoped you’d feel the same!” he shouted back at Harry. “Even if I knew that would never be possible.” His voice almost dropped to a whisper, but Harry could hear his words loud and clear all the same.
“Yet, my letter was delivered to you. So it wasn’t for nothing,” he replied.
Malfoy shook his head. “I told you, there must have been a mistake. I can’t be the one you’re looking for. Surely you were expecting someone else to show up.”
“Well, I have to admit I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”
“I know.”
Harry bit his lip. “Oh. But still, my letter was delivered toy you.”
“Well, this still doesn’t mean you like me.” Malfoy gave Harry a pointed look.
Harry fidgeted with the hem of his right sleeve. “I… I really don’t know. I’m so confused right now. I didn’t see this coming, I have to admit”.
“Good,” Malfoy spoke, “now that we’ve established that, I’m going back inside. If you speak about this to anybody, I’ll hex you, got it?”
“Wait!” Harry cried desperately. He couldn’t understand why he was so terrified of Malfoy leaving. “Why don’t you sit with me, just for a while?” He tried a tentative smile, which Malfoy didn’t return. “No, thanks. I’m freezing; it’s bloody winter, Potter, in case you forgot.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” Harry breathed out, as if the words had come out on their own.
“And almost squeeze me to death? That’s your idea of keeping me warm?” Malfoy looked sceptical.
“N-no, ‘f course not. I’ll be gentle this time, I promise. Just don’t run away yet, please.”
Surprisingly, Malfoy’s eyes softened. Something in Harry’s words must’ve convinced him to stay, ‘cause he walked toward the lake and dropped to the ground, his back resting against a tree trunk. Harry followed suit, scooting closer to Malfoy until their sides were touching. Then he slid a tentative arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling him closer but keeping his touch soft, marvelling at the way Malfoy hummed softly, his head dropping on Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed, as if this was too much to look at.
“I don’t know what to say,” Harry said stupidly.
“Then don’t say anything,” came the quiet reply.
Harry watched Malfoy’s face in the almost-darkness, his features somewhat softer now his eyes were closed. There was no trace of the usual scowl on the delicate cheekbones, no hint of coldness behind those feather-framed eyelids, as if Malfoy was lost in a dream and didn’t want to wake up. As if he was scared to open his eyes once again and discover Harry wasn’t even real. Harry swallowed, fascinated and terrified at the same time. That sight stirred something in him, something foreign yet familiar that could only be described as affection.
Was it possible he felt something for Malfoy? Sure, he was attractive, but this… how could that be possible? Yet Harry couldn’t explain the sudden urge to look at Malfoy, to hold him close, to keep him safe. Was this what he was destined for? Were he and Malfoy really destined to be together? Of all the things that had happened to him, Harry couldn’t think of a stranger, more unexpected one. Never in a million years would he have thought Draco Malfoy could be his soulmate. But then, why else Hermione’s spell had delivered Harry’s letter to Malfoy, if he wasn’t the one?
Harry’s mind was racing, reeling to find an explanation. He surely wasn’t in love with Malfoy, was he? Although, looking at the peaceful expression carved on the boy’s face, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. Without even thinking, Harry raised a hand, threading his fingers in Malfoy’s blond hair. It was impossibly soft. Malfoy stayed still, a hitch in his breath the only sign he was still awake and aware of what Harry was doing.
Harry scooted closer, revelling in the warmth coming from Malfoy’s body, suddenly overcome with the urge to protect him, hold him tight. Heart thumping in his chest, Harry lightly traced Malfoy’s temple with his fingers.
“Is this real?” came Malfoy’s soft voice.
“I don’t know,” Harry breathed out.
And it was the truth. He wasn’t so sure himself that what was happening between them was real. It sure looked more like a dream, a vision which Harry didn’t know how to interpret. Of one thing, though, he was sure. There, far from everybody else, with dusk falling over the lake and casting long shadows over them, there, with Malfoy’s head on his shoulder, Harry felt happier than he’d ever felt before.
“Is it true?” he whispered quietly against Malfoy’s temple, “what you wrote in that letter?”
Malfoy opened his eyes, looking up at Harry with a gaze so intense to root him to the spot. “Why wouldn’t it be true?” he sighed, “I meant every word I wrote, Potter. Every single one.”
“So you…” Harry swallowed. “So you really love me.”
“Yes.” Just a whisper. A whisper that almost made Harry’s heart stop.
“You know, you really are the last person I would’ve expected to fall in love with me,” he said with a nervous laugh.
“I know that, Potter,” Malfoy replied with a smirk, “I have a knack for lost causes, apparently.”
“Hey!” Harry shoved him playfully. “Are we talking about me or yourself?”
Malfoy shrugged. “Maybe both.”
“Do you think this – us – is a lost cause?”
“Depends on you. On how you feel about me.”
Harry sighed. “I feel something, though I don’t exactly know what it is.”
Malfoy’s lips curved upward in a tentative smile. “It always starts like this. Took me years to figure out what it was.”
Harry smiled at him. “Y’know, if you hadn’t been such a dick all these years, I might’ve liked you sooner.”
“I was under the impression I was a dick to you precisely because you didn’t like me.”
Harry snorted. “We could go on like this forever…”
“Forever?” A flash of surprised crossed Malfoy’s face.
“I-I mean,” Harry stumbled to find the right words, “what I mean is we’ll never agree on that.”
“Maybe not. But what’s the fun if we always agree with each other?”
“Malfoy, we never agree on anything,” Harry pointed out.
Another smirk. “Well, we can certainly agree that I look beautiful.”
“I suppose we can,” Harry conceded, his fingers once again itching to smooth Malfoy’s hair out of his forehead. “We – we could start again, if you want to, see where this goes.”
Malfoy’s lopsided smile was back. “I’d like that.”
“Even though I don’t know where to start?” Harry’s voice weakened.
“Oh,” Malfoy whispered, “but I think you do.”
And maybe Harry did know where to start, for his hands slid down to cup Malfoy’s chin, then his cheeks, and Harry’s lips were scooting lower, lower, until they met Malfoy’s soft, velvety ones. Despite the cold, Harry’d never felt this warm before. His heart leaped like he was flying over the clouds at full speed, the golden snitch tightly secured in his hand, the wind blowing merrily on his face. He felt like he was on top of the world, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why on Earth they had not done that earlier.
Their mouths, their bodies fit perfectly together, and Harry didn’t care how strange, how shocking it was to be kissing the boy he thought had always hated him… he only cared about feeling Malfoy’s pulse under his fingers, the softness of his hair, the way his breath hitched when Harry deepened the kiss.
“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” he whispered on Malfoy’s lips.
“Hurry up then. You have seven years to make up for.”