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The wind cut a chill straight through Harry, making him shiver all over again. He rubbed at his arms and, without thinking (the sudden cold overriding his common sense), huddled closer to the body of heat beside him.
A moment of warmth brought clarity back to his brain, and Harry jerked away as quickly as he’d leaned in, almost tumbling over the edge of the small outcrop he and his companion were currently stranded on.
Draco Malfoy grabbed his arm, pulling him back from the edge of the platform—if it could be called a platform—before he fell and broke his neck.
Harry swallowed and tried not to let the blush that wanted to swarm up his neck show. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said dryly. ‘Knowing my luck, you’d plummet to your death and I’d be blamed.’
Harry peered out at the rest of the quidditch pitch. ‘Neville will go and get help,’ he said confidently.
Malfoy was unconvinced. ‘Did he even see where we fell?’
‘Well, maybe. But Pansy saw.’
Malfoy snorted. ‘If you think Pansy is going to tell someone where we are…’ he trailed off and shook his head looking away from Harry.
Harry frowned. ‘She won’t just… leave us up here?’
Malfoy’s expression turned pained. ‘She’d probably say I deserved it.’
Harry’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’
Malfoy sighed theatrically. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Right,’ said Harry.
He looked over the edge of the tower they were perched on. He could make out his broom far below on the pitch. Malfoy’s had landed in the stands somewhere, along with his wand—which Harry had accidentally knocked out of his hand as they fell.
‘You sure you can’t summon your wand back?’ Harry asked, trying to see it.
Malfoy scowled. ‘No.’
Harry winced. ‘Right,’ he said again.
‘I can’t believe you don’t fly with yours,’ Malfoy griped.
Harry sighed. ‘Yeah. Hermione is going to kill me. And Ron, for that matter. He did tell me to wait for him.’ He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair.
As he did, another gust of wind buffeted the tower, and he shuddered so hard he almost slipped off the edge of the platform. Again.
‘Oh, for Merlin’s sake, come here.’
Malfoy reached out an arm and yanked him closer. They’d both grown during the time off between seventh and eighth year. Draco was even more lanky than ever, all limbs and sharp angles, where Harry had gotten both taller and broader. As it was they barely fit on the little outcrop of a platform. Still, Malfoy was surprisingly strong, wrapping a warm arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him into his side.
Harry tensed, not so much because it was Malfoy as much as it was because he’d already been trying hard not to pretend they were somewhere else and now…well, pressed up against Malfoy’s stupidly warm side, with is stupidly soft hair (just long enough to tuck behind his ear) smelling like citrus and honey.
Harry’s insides squirmed and he had to fight the urge to wriggle away. And anyway, Malfoy was warm. He sighed and tried to relax—which just resulted in another shiver as his body (finally presented with some warmth) revealed just how cold he really was.
‘Salazar, Potter, who taught you how to dress?’ Malfoy said, picking at the short sleeve of Harry’s summer t-shirt. ‘You do realise it’s winter, don’t you? You’re not even wearing a sweater.’
Harry crossed his arms. He wanted to pull away and tell Malfoy to fuck off. Instead, his traitorously cold body burrowed closer into Malfoy’s warm side. He’d obviously dressed for winter. What with his gloves and scarf and stupidly warm looking jacket that was so nice to press into.
‘Fuck off,’ Harry mumbled, and ducked his head into his arms to conserve his heat. ‘I don’t like being cooped up in too many layers.’
‘Apparently,’ said Malfoy. ‘Merlin, you’re freezing.’
He began to shift, pulling his arm away from Harry’s shoulders and Harry was horrified by the little noise of protest he made as that lovely warmth was taken away. Malfoy, by some miracle, didn’t comment. Instead he was focused on pulling off his coat without sending them both plummeting to their deaths.
‘Here,’ he said, his voice gruff as he all but threw the jacket at Harry.
‘But, what about…’ he trailed off.
Underneath his coat, Malfoy had a tight fitted, knit sweater. Harry swallowed, dropping his gaze to the long coat now in his hands. It was soft and warm and smelled even more strongly of citrus and honey.
Harry coughed to try and clear away the awkward feeling (it didn’t work). ‘Thanks,’ he said and began pulling it around him. He hesitated, glancing sideways back at Malfoy, who was staring resolutely out at the pitch, his nose already turning pink.
‘We,’ Harry hesitated and licked his lips. ‘We could share it,’ he said.
He held out part of the coat and, after only a moment’s hesitation, Malfoy pressed back into Harry’s side, accepting the small corner of his coat. It was too small to fit around them both, but they were at least able to pull it around their shoulders.
Harry sighed, the shivering finally easing as warmth spread over his back and shoulders and neck. They were both sitting curled up, their knees to their chests, the coat wrapped as tightly around them as they could to shield them from the wind.
‘How long do you think we’ll be stuck up here?’ Harry asked, laying his head down on his knees to keep his face out of the wind.
This put Malfoy’s profile directly in his line of sight.
During the trial Malfoy had been as well dressed and pristine as ever, and yet, Harry had thought he’d looked far too thin. Now he seemed to have gained some weight back. He was still sharp, all pointy features and arching expressions—yet, as Harry stared, he detected a hint of softness. His cheeks were fuller. His lips soft and supple.
Harry blinked. His cheeks burned hot and he turned his face away abruptly. His lips? Merlin, where had that come from?
‘I doubt it will be much longer,’ said Malfoy, who thankfully hadn’t seemed to notice Harry’s staring (or his mortification). ’Someone is bound to notice their precious saviour is missing.’
Harry snorted. ‘Right.’
He supposed that Malfoy had always been sort of pretty, with his soft blond hair and silvery moon-like eyes. Harry was just starting to come to terms with the fact that he fancied boys as much as he fancied girls. Still…this was Malfoy after all.
‘I suppose I should consider myself lucky you’re stuck up here with me,’ Malfoy said dryly, drawing Harry’s attention back. ‘No one would notice if I went missing.’
‘I would.’
Malfoy jerked. Those silver eyes wide and fixed on Harry for the first time since they’d landed on the stupid bloody platform.
Harry swallowed, mouth dry again, but he didn’t look away.
Malfoy dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably next to Harry. ‘Yes. Well. You’d probably suspect me of some nefarious deed.’
Harry laughed, laying his head back on his arms. ‘Maybe, once. In sixth year definitely. But I think we’ve grown since then, haven’t we?’
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Harry without turning to look at him. ‘Have we?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘You certainly wouldn’t have cared if I was freezing twelve months ago.’
Malfoy frowned out at the pitch. In the distance, the castle lights were beginning to come on. The sun was starting to set. Twilight filtered down over the pitch, making Malfoy’s profile seem shadowy and mysterious.
‘I’d have cared.’
The words were soft. Barely spoken. A secret in the fading light.
Harry blinked. It was almost pleasant, up there on the platform. The wind was fading with the evening light and he was getting warmer, almost sleepy in the quiet of the world. There was no one asking him to do anything. No one to stare or expect amazing things of him.
Up there, he was just Harry. And Malfoy…well, maybe he felt the same? Maybe he was happy to be just Draco for a moment. Harry and Draco. Two boys who used to hate each other.
Draco looked at him, silver eyes all soft and warm. ‘I cared,’ he said. ‘I just…’ he shrugged helplessly, and the coat slipped from his shoulder.
Harry straightened, reaching out an arm to pull it back up around Draco’s shoulder. He left his arm there.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Me too.’
Draco looked at him. Behind him the sun dipped down to the horizon, throwing colours across the sky—reds and purples and soft pinks as pretty as the blush spreading across Draco’s face.
Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as they stared at each other.
‘I didn’t think you’d say yes,’ Harry said, voice low and soft, just barely above a whisper. ‘When I asked about the seeker’s game.’
Draco blinked, eyelashes dipping down to pale cheeks and Harry was mesmerised.
‘I didn’t I would either,’ said Draco.
‘Why did you?’
‘Pansy. She insisted it would be good for me. To mend old fences or some such nonsense…why…why did you ask?’
Harry shook his head and finally looked away, back toward the castle. His heart was beating so loud in his chest he wondered that Draco couldn’t hear it. ‘I don’t know. Ron and Hermione have been… well, I guess I was feeling restless. Neville noticed and…he mentioned he’d heard the Slytherins talking about setting up a casual game of quidditch and, well, you’re the only decent seeker here and…’
He trailed off, glancing back at Draco to find him still staring at him with that inscrutable expression.
‘Mistletoe,’ he said.
Harry blinked. ‘What?’
Draco pointed, and Harry looked up to see that, yes, there was mistletoe at the top of the tower, hanging off the flagpole.
‘I…why-?’
‘I think we were set up,’ said Draco.
Harry blinked and some of the sleepy, twilight magic seeped away as he dropped his gaze back to Draco. ‘Set up?’ Harry frowned. ‘They can’t have known we’d fall off—‘
Draco shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, his expression going wry again. ‘I think Pansy put it there. After we fell, I mean. But I was the one who wanted to play quidditch. Which I only told to Pansy. She must have told Longbottom and…’
‘But…why?’
Draco raised an eyebrow. Those liquid silver eyes dropped—just for a second—to Harry’s lips, before darting back up to meet his gaze again. ‘Because I care.’
‘Because…’ Harry trailed off.
His brain short circuited. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the warmth. Maybe it was the smell of citrus and honey. Whatever it was, Harry thought that maybe, maybe, Draco Malfoy caring about him was not so unbelievable.
And, even more surprising, maybe Draco Malfoy wasn’t the only one who cared?
Of course, it was right then, right as Harry was staring at those pale, supple looking lips and wondering—exactly—what they might taste like, when they both heard a shout from below.
Harry startled so badly he almost fell off the platform for the third time. Malfoy grabbed at him, swearing profusely as he gripped Harry’s arm like a vice.
Flitwick got them down within moments, and there was Ron and Hermione making a fuss, and McGonagall berating them for not properly holstering their wands, and Pomfrey ensuring that neither of them were hurt.
They were all fluttering around and Harry’s head was sort of spinning. It had been so nice and quiet up there in the wind and the cold, pressed into Draco’s side for warmth.
Yet now, back down on the ground, everything was a frenzy again. He cast around for Malfoy, caught sight of him storming away from Pansy, back toward the castle, and couldn’t help the faint twinge of disappointment that curled through him.
He sat with it all through dinner, trying to decide what it was, exactly, he was feeling and whether or not he’d gone stark raving mad.
He hardly noticed Ron and Hermione fussing over him. Barely registered Neville telling them to give him a chance to breathe. Didn’t even see the knowing look Ginny was giving him.
He was too wrapped up in the confusion of his own thoughts.
Did he really want to kiss Draco Malfoy?
Dessert arrived and Harry was still frowning down at his plate, not even registering that his barely eaten food had been vanished.
‘Here, Harry,’ said Neville, sliding a tart onto Harry’s plate with a small smile. ‘Your favourite.’
It was a lemon curd tartlet. The scent of citrus tickled at Harry’s nose and suddenly Harry knew. He glanced up at Neville, green eyes bright and intense, and Neville’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Alright Harry?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Thanks Nev.’
He clapped his friend on the shoulder and stood up.
‘Harry, mate?’ Ron said.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Hermione.
‘Be back in a minute,’ he called, not looking back.
He crossed the hall. He ignored the way people watched him. Pretended not to notice how conversations died down as he walked past.
For once, it didn’t bother him.
Because Draco Malfoy cared.
Draco Malfoy who stared up at him in pink-cheeked astonishment when Harry stopped in front of him. He was tense, his expression wary and yet, Harry thought he detected a hint of something else. A bit of embarrassment, sure, in that pretty pink colouring across his cheeks. But something more. Was that hope, lurking in those moonlit eyes?
‘I don’t need to be set up with mistletoe,’ said Harry and Draco’s expression stuttered. ‘Because I care, too.’
Then, Harry leaned down—one hand on the table, the other sliding into Draco’s soft hair— and found out exactly what Draco Malfoy’s lips tasted like.