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The last thing Draco wanted to do was kiss Harry bloody Potter. But it wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter, was it? A dare was a dare, and Draco had a reputation to uphold. He wasn’t about to ruin his perfect seven year record just because of one dumb little kiss, was he?
But really. Did it have to be Potter? Potter was just so… messy, Draco thought as he examined the boy in question from across the lake. His black hair was being blown all over the place so that it mirrored the tentacles of the giant squid, which were currently extending from the water beside him. Potter had kicked off his shoes to reveal mismatched socks, one pink and polka-dotted and the other with a bizarre cactus design. Honestly, they looked like something Draco’s old house elf Dobby would have set out for him to wear years ago.
Even worse was that Potter had taken off his robes and chosen to lounge on top of them as he did his homework, undoubtedly without having spared one thought to how dirty or wrinkled they would become. And because it was summer, and hot, Potter had apparently seen fit to wear nothing under his robes but a thin white T-shirt, which clung tightly to his muscled chest. It was indecent really, and Draco didn’t much fancy being seen kissing someone so uncouth that he went around in public dressed like a Muggle underwear model.
Not that Draco knew what Muggle underwear models wore.
Well, okay, so obviously he did know. But it wasn’t like he knew that completely useless information on purpose. Actually, come to think of it, the information wasn’t quite so useless at the moment, because it gave him a template with which he could compare Potter’s surprisingly muscled arms and protruding hipbones.
Did he mention how visible Potter’s hipbones were beneath the too-tight T-shirt? Potter was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, and if his shirt were to raise but another two centimeters or so, the hipbones in question would be exposed for the whole world to see. Draco was surprised to find himself feeling so embarrassed for the poor unsophisticated bastard that a blush rose to his cheeks.
But Potter’s lack of fashion sense wasn’t any of Draco’s concern at the moment. He just had to walk over to the other side of the lake, kiss the stupid git, and then go on his way having proved himself once again unafraid to take on any dare that was thrown at him.
Even if that dare involved kissing a robeless underwear model with wind-rumpled hair. Who had once saved the world. And Draco’s life.
Bloody Potter.
This was going to be absolutely and unequivocally the most horrid thing Draco had ever been forced into doing, including all that mess that had gone on in the Manor last year, but there was nothing for it.
He made his way around the lake purposefully and came to a halt several feet away from where Potter was lounging and pretending to do his homework even though it was completely obvious he had been twirling his quill and staring into space. Knowing Potter, he probably thought that made him look cool and thoughtful, and Draco was tempted to politely inform him that it actually made him look like a lazy, dimwitted… underwear model.
On second thought, Draco decided to keep his opinions to himself for once.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Potter asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Unfortunately this isn’t about what I want, Potter. This is about a dare.”
“Oh?” he said, perking up. Everyone in the school knew that Potter loved a dare. His record of successes was probably nearly as spotless as Draco’s own. “I didn’t know you took dares.”
Draco felt his cheeks pinken in anger that Potter would assume he didn’t participate in the same activities as all the other students at school.
“Shows what you know, Potter. I’ve never failed to complete a dare I was given.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Anyway, I’m going to need you to stand up.”
Potter looked amused as he rose to his feet. “Alright. What now?,” he asked, clearly willing to play along.
“Now,” Draco said, taking a step forward so that he stood less than a foot from Potter.
“Now,” he repeated, raising his hand and reaching out with one finger to touch Potter’s jaw, which was very well-defined and contributed nicely to the underwear model aesthetic he had going on.
Potter’s breath hitched and his eyes widened as Draco trailed his finger down Potter’s neck, over his clavicle, and then down some more to circle his nipple, which was hard and visible through the thin white fabric.
When Draco looked back at Potter’s face, he noticed that the other boy’s mouth had fallen open, providing a perfect opportunity for the thumb of his other hand to swipe across Potter’s bottom lip.
But when he tried to take it away, Potter grabbed on with his teeth and swirled his tongue around the tip of the thumb.
This wasn’t exactly how Draco had expected things to go, and he found himself rather unprepared for the tightening he could suddenly feel in the front of his trousers.
At least he wasn’t the only one, Draco thought when Potter wrapped both of his arms around Draco’s back and pulled their bodies together, all the while sucking on the thumb that remained in his mouth.
And now they were looking at each other, and Draco hadn’t been prepared for that either, hadn’t thought about having to look into those vivid green eyes from such a close distance while they stared back, acknowledging and even eager for what was about to happen.
But now that he was looking, Potter’s eyes held Draco’s own like a spell. Hell, it probably was a spell, because he hadn’t realized anything on Earth could hold his attention quite this forcefully.
Draco slipped his thumb out of Potter’s mouth and moved his hand to the back of Potter’s head of messy black hair, running his fingers through the thick locks as he went. It was really quite perfect for grabbing, so he did, using his fistful of hair to slowly draw the two of them together, until they were as close as they could get without breaking their utterly unbreakable gaze, noses brushing together.
And then it was their lips that were brushing together, extremely lightly at first, back and forth. And it turns out their gaze wasn’t so unbreakable at all, because Draco felt his eyes fall closed when Potter’s tongue entered his mouth.
And then they were kissing, and now both of Draco’s hands were clenching Potter’s hair, and Potter’s hands were clenching Draco’s arse, pulling their bodies so close together that the friction was becoming quite unbearable.
Unbearable.
Kissing Potter was absolutely unbearable because this was Potter, and it was just a dare, and surely he had already gone above and beyond his duty and to continue for any longer would simply be…
Unbearable.
Draco broke the kiss, inhaled a quick gasp of air, then pushed Potter away so forcefully that he landed on his stupid, wrinkled robes.
“What the fuck, Malfoy?”
“I’ve completed my dare,” was all the explanation Draco deigned to give before he turned around and walked briskly back inside the castle, completely ignoring the tittering students who had apparently witnessed the display.
He certainly wasn’t embarrassed or anything. It had been a dare. It wasn’t like he’d had any choice.
***
The next day, Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and very much enjoying his dinner. He certainly wasn’t thinking about Potter, or about how all of the other students in his year seemed to be giving him knowing smirks, or about Potter.
Which is why he was taken completely unawares when literally the last person on his mind was suddenly straddling the bench next to him.
“Potter.”
“Malfoy,” Potter smirked.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well,” Potter said with a long-suffering sigh, “I’ve been given a dare.”
Draco froze.
“I’m going to need you to face me.”
Considering Potter had been so helpful the previous day with Draco’s own dare, it was only polite to do what the git wanted, so Draco swung one leg over the side of the bench without complaint.
And then before he could protest, Potter had grabbed his head and they were kissing again and it was just how Draco remembered it, only better because it was happening right then.
And better because Potter wasn’t just kissing his mouth, he was kissing his cheeks and his forehead and his nose and his chin and his neck, which made Draco shiver despite the fact that he was feeling rather warm.
But what wasn’t better was the fact that they were in the middle of the Great Hall, and people were cheering and wolf whistling, which was simply unacceptable. So Draco did the only thing he could and stood up, grabbed Potter by the shirt, and dragged him out of the Great Hall and into an empty classroom.
“What exactly do you think you are doing?” Draco demanded, once his breathing was calm enough that he was sure he could speak without his voice shaking.
“I told you,” Harry grinned widely. “It was a dare.”
Draco ignored the hollowness that seemed to be spreading through his chest. He was probably dying of a rare magical illness. Nothing to worry about now. Not when Harry bloody Potter had snogged him in front of the entire school.
“Who dared you?”
“Same person who dared you, I reckon.”
Draco just stared. Until Potter’s wide grin made its return and Draco realized he was going to have to work harder if he wanted any answers that made any bloody sense at all.
“The same person who dared me?”
“Yep!”
“But… that’s not possible.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because!”
“...because?” Potter looked like he was enjoying himself, the bastard.
Draco, on the other hand, was not. And neither was he willing to be made to look like an idiot.
“Because, you moron,” he reluctantly spit out, “I was dared by myself!”
But instead of looking shocked, Potter’s grin simply widened some more and he replied happily, “What a coincidence! So was I!”
Draco found himself full of questions but at a loss for words.
“But… how did you know?” he finally managed to ask.
“Well, I asked every eighth year whether they’d assigned you a dare in recent history. When they all either denied it or laughed in my face because you’ve apparently refused to play such childish games since approximately first year, I figured it out.” Potter’s grin wasn’t going away, and Draco wanted to sink through the floor.
“You even asked the Slytherins?”
Potter snorted and shook his head. “Come on, Malfoy. All of us have been living together since the beginning of the year. Ron plays chess nearly every day with Blaise, Hermione and Pansy are always off scheming together, and Neville and Theo have been inseparable since that Herbology project. You honestly think I would have a problem asking them a simple question?”
Potter had a point, Draco admitted to himself, but he hadn’t expected Potter to care enough to bother asking around.
“But why not just forget about it? Why’d you have to go and—”
“Malfoy,” Potter interrupted, “You’re deluding yourself even more than I thought if you don’t know that of all the new Slytherin-Gryffindor friendships, me and you’ve become the closest.”
Draco felt his blush deepen, and the hollow feeling in his chest was changing into a sort of squeezing and his heart was surely either stopped or beating much too quickly. He was almost certainly going to die before the day was over.
“But… I thought… you still call me Malfoy,” he pouted, because who cared if Potter thought he was whiny and needy when he only had several hours left to live.
“Is that what this is about?” Potter asked incredulously. “You came up with this whole dare nonsense because I still call you Malfoy?”
Draco continued to pout.
Potter’s expression softened, and he reached out to cup Draco’s jaw. “I thought it was obvious how much I like you from the way I always sit with you, partner with you in classes, and spend hours talking to you. I was just trying to figure out the best way to go about asking you out, you know.” Potter paused, and then finally his cheeks were the ones reddening. “Draco,” he added, nearly in a whisper.
Draco had no idea that dying was such a euphoric experience, otherwise he would certainly have done it earlier. He was feeling happier than he could remember ever having been. But his rapidly deteriorating body was apparently out of his control because it quickly crossed the few steps over to Potter and threw Draco’s arms around the other boy’s neck.
“Harry.” He exhaled the name, savoring it for the first time. “You’re such an idiot,” he sighed into Potter’s neck.
“I’m the idiot? I’m not the one who made up some blatantly false story as an excuse to kiss a boy who was clearly ass-over-tit for me anyway. And then you pushed me!” Harry chuckled, squeezing Draco tighter despite his words.
“I thought you hated me!” Draco retorted.
“You did not.” Draco could somehow hear Harry rolling his eyes.
“Yes, well. Clearly it’s a good thing I did something, or you’d have never got around to confessing how much you want me,” Draco smirked, pulling away so that he could see Harry’s face again. Their eyes connected as they had yesterday, and once more Draco found himself utterly incapable of looking away. “If you must know, living without knowing how you felt was getting to be rather unbearable.”
Harry’s fingers ran through Draco’s impeccable hair, and if he weren’t so sure he was dying he might have protested. “The only thing unbearable around here is you, Draco,” Potter said. But then they were kissing again, and Draco found it quite difficult to be offended by anything Potter’s mouth did or said at the moment.
He could only feel deeply satisfied that he had managed to uphold his flawless record of never having failed to complete a dare. And he was already looking forward to the numerous possibilities that suddenly presented themselves for continuing that tradition.
As he let himself be pushed against the wall, Draco wondered what exactly he might be dared to do next.