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Harry could not help himself as he glared over at the Slytherin table, his teeth gritted way too hard because of bloody Malfoy. Bloody Malfoy and his stupidly styled hair and his perfect pale skin and his pink lips. Bloody Malfoy and his striking grey eyes that made Harry just want to stare into them forever while tracing circles along Malfoy’s palm.
Out of spite, obviously.
“He’s up to something,” Harry whispered to Ron during breakfast. “Seriously, I think he styled his hair differently or something but there’s something about him that just looks different today.”
Ron looked at Harry with a wary expression, mouth stuffed with toast and bacon. He swallowed hard and chugged down some orange juice before responding. “Mate, don’t tell me you’re obsessed with the ferret again. It’s nearly Christmas. Don’t worry so much.” Still, Ron glanced over at the Slytherin table. “You give Malfoy too much credit. I doubt he has the brain to come up with some evil master plan.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He lowered his gaze down to his plate but got the prickly sense that someone was watching him. He picked up his head and nearly immediately locked eyes with Malfoy, who flashed him a sneer. Harry sneered back.
That prat.
“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. You should be more focused on the upcoming NEWTs next year. Don’t you want to become an Auror after you graduate?”
Harry forced his attention away from Malfoy. “That’s if I can manage to stay alive until then.” He tried to voice it as a joke but his mind was preoccupied with the urge to bring up his suspicions of Malfoy being a Death Eater as his brain reminded him how Ron and Hermione just laughed and said how Malfoy was only sixteen the last time he had brought it up. Harry was only eleven when he faced off Voldemort.
And he had won.
Ron groaned. “Of course you of all people would be focused on NEWTs a year before we actually have to take them, Hermione—You always have to be prepared, Ronald.” Ron mimicked Hermione’s voice before she could respond, which earned him a glare.
Harry watched his two best friends bicker, his thoughts momentarily free of all things Draco Malfoy. All too soon breakfast ended and the students were cleared out in a large line, talking and laughing and gossiping. Harry hung back though, not wanting to get swept up in the crowd. He was dreading Potions class, more so than usual because all he really wanted for the day was to be left alone with his thoughts, but Professor Slughorn had taken a liking to Harry, which would have been just fine, Harry preferred Slughorn over Snape, but Slughorn loved to talk and Harry was not exactly feeling up for it.
“You coming, mate?” Ron’s voice prompted Harry to snap back into reality.
“Huh—er, yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.” He ignored Hermione’s worried glances and followed Ron out into the hall, towards Potions. His eyes caught on the back of a platinum blond boy heading into the bathroom and Harry made the split decision to follow him in there. “I’ll meet you guys there, gotta use the loo.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Harry, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Ron gave him a distrustful look. “Look, mate, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I think this whole obsession with the ferret is kind of getting toxic.” He put his hands up in mock innocence when Harry turned to narrow his eyes at him. “Don’t get me wrong—I hate Malfoy and would gladly take a bludger to his head, but the whole stalking him with the map thing is kind of—”
“—creepy.” Hermione finished for him. “It’s not healthy, Harry.”
Harry glowered at them. “We can talk about this later—or never, I’m fine with never—but I really need to use the loo. Tell Professor Slughorn that I might be a little late.” He turned and stormed towards the boys’ restroom.
Malfoy was evil. Harry wasn’t obsessed with Malfoy, he was obsessed with bringing Death Eaters to justice—even possible Death Eaters. Why were Ron and Hermione lecturing him because he was worried about their safety? It’s not healthy, Harry. Harry shoved Hermione’s cautious tone out of his head. He was the chosen one, therefore he held the responsibility to catch and capture Voldemort and his pathetic Death Eaters whose sole purpose was trying to kill Harry.
As Harry entered the bathroom he became aware that someone was crying. No—sobbing. The realization hit him hard when he realized the person sobbing was Malfoy, not Moaning Myrtle. Harry peered around the corner, suddenly worried about getting caught.
Malfoy was gripping the sides of one of the sinks, gasping for breath. Harry assumed that he was choking on his sobs, and a wave of something washed over him but he pushed it down. There was no way he felt bad for Draco Malfoy.
The other boy had his eyes squeezed shut, his pale skin even paler than it normally was. His Slytherin robe was lying discarded on the floor, leaving Malfoy in a pair of fitted black pants and a white dress shirt, the Slytherin tie hanging out. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and as Harry’s eyes trailed to said forearms, a mixture of emotions hit him at once.
Fear. Sympathy. Smugness. Anger.
There, on Malfoy’s left forearm, was the Dark Mark, and Malfoy looked as though he would do anything just to make it disappear. Tears fell from his cheeks and hit the sink with a faint plink sound. “Fuck!” Malfoy shouted, leaning his forehead against the mirror.
Harry had never seen him like this before: hair messed up, grey eyes bloodshot, the pain and terror so evident on his face that all Harry really wanted to do was comfort him. Which was crazy because he was thinking about Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. The prat who had bullied Harry since he was eleven years old.
Harry was about to turn around, because as badly as he wanted to question Malfoy, he wondered that since Malfoy now had the Dark Mark he could call for backup somehow and the rest of Hogwarts would become endangered. All because Harry had gotten caught being nosy—but, in his defense, him being nosy was for a good reason.
Before he could sneak out, Malfoy somehow sensed him and spun around, wand in his hand. “Potter.” He spat out Harry’s last name as he hastily tugged down the sleeves of his shirt and wiped his face. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
On reflex, Harry drew his wand. “I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy. I see you’ve been recruited.” Harry wrinkled his nose in disdain. “I’m sure you will make a wonderful second-hand pet to Voldemort.”
Malfoy flinched at that and scratched the spot where the Dark Mark was. “Go away, Potter.”
“Or what? Are you going to call your aunt to come and help you out? Will she kill me like she killed Sirius Black?” Harry felt a pang of remorse at his godfather’s name leaving his mouth. It had been a while since he had said that name.
“I will curse you.” Malfoy’s gaze was full of hatred. “I would use the killing curse on you right now, Potter, if the Dark Lord did not want you for himself.”
Harry felt the spell on the tip of his tongue. Expelliarmus. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the word, solely focused on Malfoy’s expression. “I will tell Dumbledore, Malfoy. You’ll be locked up in Azkaban unless you tell him what the Dark Lord is planning.”
“Just go, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand was shaking.
“No.”
“Bloody Merlin, Potter.” Malfoy exploded, reaching Harry in three long strides, shoving him up against the wall, wand pressed against his throat. “I told you to leave. Just leave me the bloody fuck alone.”
Harry fought back, pushing Malfoy off of him and pressing his wand at Malfoy’s throat at the same time. They were standing awfully close now, panting and seething with rage. This close, Harry could smell a faint cologne, the scent close to crisp apples. He would be lying if he said it did not smell good.
The thought took him aback. There was no way he just thought that Malfoy smelled good. What has been wrong with him lately? Harry mentally shook his head and tried to keep his attention on the fact that there was a wand pressed against his throat.
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something when a horrified voice cut him off.
“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, what is going on here?” Professor Flitwick squeaked, wand raised. “Step away from each other and lower your wands. Now.”
Harry was surprised at the authority in his Charms professor’s voice and slowly lowered his wand, taking a large step away from Malfoy. “Professor, we were just—”
“No excuses, Mr. Potter.” He shook his small head as though he were greatly disappointed. “I expected better from you. Both of you.” Professor Flitwick then looked up at Draco. “So much potential, Mr. Malfoy. Do not waste it on meaningless duels with Mr. Potter when you could be in class learning new things that could help you get a job at the Ministry when you get older.”
Malfoy did not even blink, he just stared back at Flitwick like this was the most futile conversation he had ever been involved in. “May I head to Potions then, Professor?” His tone was a bored drawl, and if Harry had not caught him crying five minutes ago then he would have thought that Malfoy was just simply using the loo instead of having a possible panic attack.
Professor Flitwick shook his head. “No, Mr. Malfoy. What you can do, however, is go to Dumbledore’s office. I will take the liberty of walking you there.”
Confusion briefly made an appearance on Malfoy’s face, and Harry got a small thrill from it. Of course Malfoy would not know the muggle word liberty. He was probably thinking about it at that very moment.
Without waiting for either one of them to argue, Professor Flitwick led them up to the third floor and stopped in front of a stone gargoyle, where he said the word Lemon Drop. The gargoyle moved aside, revealing the familiar staircase that would lead up to Dumbledore’s office. A sinking feeling filled Harry.
He did not feel like getting scolded so early in the morning.
The three of them took the stairs, and Malfoy sneered, “If you had just left me alone we wouldn’t be here, Potter.”
“If you had not drawn your wand and threatened me with it then we definitely wouldn’t be here,” Harry countered. He was slightly not-so-angry, though, because meeting with Dumbledore was better than getting his ear talked off by Slughorn.
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, signaling for him and Malfoy to be quiet. He knocked on Dumbledore’s door and the old wizard opened it with a small smile. “Filius, how do you do today? It’s always a pleasure.” His wise eyes landed on Harry, then on Malfoy. “What may I help you gentlemen with?”
“I am doing just splendid, Dumbledore—or, I was until I caught Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy in a rather…difficult position.” His voice squeaked at the end.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and Harry got the slightest impression that he wasn’t thinking of wand dueling. Harry’s cheeks heated and he glanced over at Malfoy, who was looking as cool and composed as ever. “Could you please elaborate, Filius?”
“Oh! Yes, yes, of course!” Flitwick nodded quickly. “I was walking by the boys’ restrooms when I heard voices. It sounded like a heated argument so I decided to check it out, and that was when I saw Harry and Draco barely an arm’s length away from one another, their wands pressed against the other's neck.”
Dumbledore did not even look surprised at that statement. “Very well. Thank you for bringing them here, Filius. I will handle it.”
Professor Flitwick nodded once again and took his leave, his small body disappearing out of sight.
“Harry.” Dumbledore leveled a stern gaze at Harry, glasses sliding down his nose when he was sure Flitwick was gone. He looked away and stared at Malfoy. “Draco.” Dumbledore turned his back and walked over to his desk. “Do either of you want any tea?”
Harry gaped at him. “Sir, I—”
“Nonsense, Harry. I don’t need to hear excuses.” Dumbledore busied himself with pouring tea into three cups. “Tell me, Draco, how is your father doing lately?”
Malfoy curled his lip in obvious disdain. “Father is doing well. Much better since The Dark Lord came back. He says that soon all mudbloods will soon be gone from the Wizarding world.” He paused, as though considering if he should add something. “You should probably increase the security here at Hogwarts.”
At first Harry thought Malfoy meant it in a threatening way by the way he said it in such an off-hand tone of voice, like it was the blandest thing he had ever been bothered to say. But then Harry got the prickling sense that he was missing something and realized that Malfoy probably meant it as a warning, just disguised in a way that made other people think nothing of it. “Why?” Harry demanded. “Is there—is there going to be an attack?”
Malfoy met his wide stare, not looking away. “What do you think, Potter? Try to use what little brain cells you have.”
Harry felt sick. Of course Voldemort was ought to strike soon, but Harry never thought it would be this soon. He had hoped, deep down, that Voldemort would have waited until the Hogwarts year was over. Obviously he had been stupid.
“You boys look like you are in great need of some sherbert lemons.” Dumbledore offered up some of his sweets and Harry took one, needing something to fidget with.
“Professor, will we all be okay?” Harry could not stop from blurting out the question. He just wanted reassurances, even if he knew they would be completely false.
Dumbledore wore a sad smile. “I’m afraid you know the answer to that, Harry.”
Harry swallowed. He was supposed to have more time. More time with Sirius, with Cedric. Anger and hurt washed over him like six foot waves, wanting to drag him down down down into the depths of a random ocean far far far away. Away from everyone he had ever loved and cared for.
The three of them sat in silence, sipping the tea Dumbledore handed them mindlessly. “Well,” Dumbledore announced after a good four minutes, “we are still at Hogwarts and the two of you are still students.” He pushed his glasses to the tip of his nose. “So I was thinking about detention for a week in the Potions classroom?”
Harry just stared at him. “Professor—what—are you serious?” There was no way the old wizard was thinking about Harry and Malfoy’s punishment when there could very well be an attack looming nearer by the minute.
“Deadly serious, Harry.” Dumbledore set his tea down. “An hour a day during lunch. Your wands will be confiscated and while you are there Professor Slughorn will assign you both tasks to do. Together.”
Malfoy choked, his grey eyes widening. “Sir, you cannot make me spend an hour a day alone with Potter. He’ll kill me with his stupid speeches and falsely sincere responsibility. He is absolutely infuriating.”
“Yeah,” Harry said half-heartedly. “Malfoy tried to kill me earlier. He’s a—he’s a…” But Harry could not bring himself to say the words. He’s a Death Eater.
Dumbledore crinkled his sky blue eyes at them. “All the more reason to spend more time together. I am not asking for the two of you to become best friends, but at least try to see eye-to-eye. You might be surprised at how much you have in common.”
Harry opened his mouth again, eyes desperate. There was no way he could have something in common with Malfoy. They were both sixth years and attended the same school but that was about it. They hated each other. Before he could get any words out, Malfoy beat him to it.
“If I agree to spend quality time with Potter and attempt to bond with him, will you promise to increase the security here?” Malfoy’s tone was back to being mild and polite. His pink lips were stretched in a thin line, like what he had just said cost him all of his pride. It probably did, but Harry did not comment on it.
Dumbledore’s sad smile transformed to something of hope. “Sure, Draco. I will owl the Ministry of Magic later and request a meeting with their head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” With that he placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, and Harry saw Malfoy tense slightly at the contact. Dumbledore pressed his lips to Malfoy’s ear and whispered something that made Malfoy visibly pale.
“Alright, sir.” Malfoy stepped back and nodded politely. “I—I think I might understand it.” He avoided Harry’s gaze.
Harry looked at him with suspicion and concern, but he tried to ignore the whole concern part.
“Your detention starts today during lunch. I’ll let Horace know about the details.” Dumbledore flashed Harry and Malfoy a not-so-secretive smile. “But not too many details.”
“Thank you,” Harry mumbled at the same time Malfoy said, “Okay.” They both started towards the door when Dumbledore called back to them.
“And try to keep from almost killing one another. The two of you are essential to ending Voldemort’s reign. Tell your father I send my best wishes, Draco. And tell him to maybe invest in some muggle business somewhere far in London.”
Malfoy did not even snap back at that, he just nodded with a look of pure boredom on his face. He walked out, and that’s when Harry realized that Malfoy had left his robes in the restroom. He looked different without his robes, less regal than when he did wear them.
“Detention?” Ron’s voice echoed through the corridors. “Dumbledore gave you detention?” His blue eyes were wide in shock.
“Not to mention with Malfoy.” Hermione’s tone was shocked. “What is he playing at?” She pulled her bushy brown hair into a messy ponytail with a simple black muggle hair tie. “Wait—how did you even get detention, Harry?”
Harry walked in the middle of his two best friends, sulking. He had been sulking all morning. “I already told you, Hermione. I bumped into Malfoy in the bathroom and he just…attacked me.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being entirely honest, but it was true for the most part. He didn’t know why, exactly, that he had not told them about the Dark Mark yet. It just felt private; Malfoy’s business and Malfoy’s business alone.
Plus, he had warned Dumbledore of an upcoming attack. Harry felt like he owed him at least a bit of secrecy.
“Well, yes, obviously. But why?” Hermione looked at him with suspicion. “Malfoy just pressed a wand to your throat unprovoked? It seems a bit out of character, don’t you think?”
Harry shrugged, looking away. “I dunno, Herminone. I have to get to Potions now for my detention.”
“Harry.” Hermione’s voice was still suspicious, but now it sounded as though she were interrogating him. “Are you keeping something from us?”
“No.” Harry shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine. Look, I really need to stop by the common room and grab the Marauders Map in case I need to visit Hagrid later for a short conversation. We can talk about this later.”
Ron stopped him. “What about lunch, Harry? Aren’t you at least going to grab a plate?” His eyes were wide with disbelief. “Lunch is one of the most important meals of the day, Harry. Along with breakfast and dinner.”
Harry shrugged. “Not hungry. I’ll see you guys later.” Without waiting for them to protest, Harry made a run for it. Up the moving staircases to the portrait of the Fat Lady, up to his room and quickly snatching the map, stuffing it in the pocket of his robes before jogging down to the Potions classroom.
He was surprised to find only Malfoy there, organizing empty glass vials. Malfoy glanced up, saw Harry standing there, and went back to work. “Just going to stand there, Potter?”
Harry took off his robes, revealing his muggle jeans and worn red sweatshirt. “I guess not.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Professor Slughorn?”
“I don’t know. Help me with this, Scarhead.”
“Don’t call me that.” Harry crossed his arms.
“Or what?” Malfoy sneered. “Are you going to point your wand at me and yell Avada Kedavra?” Malfoy glanced down at the floor, thinking deeply about something. “You could do it, you know. I wouldn’t try to stop you.”
Harry, so unfamiliar with this side of Malfoy, took a step closer. “What did Dumbledore tell you? Right before we left his office?”
Malfoy looked up then, but he didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. He seemed to focus on a certain spot on Harry’s nose, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. Stop feeling things like that, he scolded himself. “He told me: There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our family.”
Harry briefly remembered hearing something very similar to that, and he wondered where Dumbledore learned that saying. He probably came up with it. “So…do you think he knows about the whole mark thing?”
Malfoy laughed at that, the sound broken and hollow. In some way it hurt Harry. At that very moment he realized what he would give just to take some of the pain away from Malfoy. The realization shocked him, but also he felt neutral about the thought. It was as though he had felt this way for a long time now.
“Oh, Potter, I know he knows about the mark thing.” He mimicked Harry’s voice and it was weirdly comforting.
After that they worked in silence for a few minutes, sorting the vials from largest to smallest. Sometimes Harry caught himself humming a muggle tune and he would see Malfoy’s curious gaze from the corner of his eye. But Malfoy never asked, and Harry never told him. Ten minutes later, Harry cleared his throat.
“So…how did you get the mark?”
Malfoy stiffened. “That’s none of your business, Potter.” His tone was clipped.
“Well, I know how you got it. Sorry, that’s not what I wanted to ask. What I meant was: why? Why did you get the mark if you clearly don’t want it?”
“Still none of your business.”
“Oh, come on, Malfoy. I covered for you. I didn’t tell anyone about the Dark Mark or what you said to Dumbledore or anything besides how you threatened me with your wand and landed me in detention.”
Malfoy whirled around, grey eyes flashing with fury. “Just drop it, Potter.”
“No.” Harry glared at him. “I want to know why you got it and why you were basically having a panic attack in the bathroom.”
“Too bad.” Malfoy spat. “Just shut up, Scarhead.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Or what?” Malfoy smirked, the expression so familiar that the rush of frustration that followed was welcoming. “Are you going to whine to Dumbledore and your entire fan club? Black mail me and threaten to tell the entire school that I’m a Death Eater if I don’t tell you what you want to know?”
Harry curled his hands into fists. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Right,” Malfoy scoffed. “Because you’re Harry fucking Potter—the definition of a saint. You’re bloody perfect and everyone always wants to be around you and talk to you and kiss your feet and—”
“Shut up.” Harry took a step closer, glowering. “Just shut up, Malfoy.”
“That’s what I’ve been asking you for the past thirty seconds, Potter.” Malfoy also took a single step closer, pale cheeks flushed with anger. “Let’s just get back to work and continue being silent.”
Harry, who was two whole inches shorter than Malfoy, tilted his chin to continue holding his gaze. “You are not the boss of me.”
Malfoy sneered. “What are you? Five?” Another step closer, the toes of their shoes touching. Harry was pressed against the counter, the backs of his knees touching the cool table that seeped into his jeans.
“No.” The single word was coated heavily with stubbornness. For a second, Harry felt like he was five again, refusing to give Dudley the last piece of bacon until his uncle Vernon slapped him across the face. Harry remembered that he never refused after that.
Malfoy pressed their bodies closer and Harry felt his breathing hitch. “Are you going to be quiet now?”
A stubborn shake of his head because he could not trust his voice not to falter and then embarrass himself by saying something stupid like: Your eyes are really pretty.
“That’s too bad,” Malfoy whispered, leaning closer. His warm breath ghosted Harry’s cheek, soft lips briefly brushing against the shell of Harry’s ear. Harry wondered if Malfoy’s tongue was as soft and pink as his lips and he had the sudden urge to find out.
Harry gently touched Malfoy’s white-blond hair, almost a platinum blond color, and was surprised by the silky feeling. Subconsciously, he buried his hands in it, playing around with the short yet neat strands. Malfoy shivered, the sensation passing over to Harry’s body.
“I hate you, Potter.” Malfoy murmured before pressing his lips to Harry’s. The kiss was nothing like kissing Cho. It was wet, but a hot sort of wet, causing Harry’s heart rate to speed. Unlike Cho, Draco wasn’t crying, and his kisses were long, desperate, drawing each kiss out longer than the last.
Harry’s stomach curled and he opened his mouth, giving Malfoy permission to explore it with his tongue. Malfoy did without hesitation, and a breathy gasp left Harry’s mouth as Malfoy’s tongue roamed before pulling out and licking Harry’s lips. He flashed him a shy smile, and the smile looked dangerously good on Malfoy. “You’re blushing, Potter.”
“Can you blame me?” Harry moved his hands from Malfoy’s hair—which earned him a dissatisfied groan—and gripped Malfoy’s robes, trying to take them off. His movements were quick, desperate, and it felt as though he had just drunk six pints of butterbeer in one go. He never wanted the feeling to go away.
Malfoy chuckled against Harry’s mouth, sending vibrations coursing through Harry. His long and pale fingers slid off his Slytherin robes, revealing the same white dress shirt from before. Harry wanted the shirt off as well. He fumbled with the buttons, letting out a growl of frustration. “You need different shirts.”
“It’s not my fault you suck at unbuttoning things.” Malfoy took his time unbuttoning the top button, then the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, and then finally the sixth. Smooth, milky white skin showed and Harry whimpered. The sound caused him to flush a deep red. “Impatient much, Potter?”
“You wish, Malfoy.” All Harry wanted was for the other boy to shrug off the shirt and let it drop to the floor so Harry could explore every inch of the skin with his hands.
Malfoy smirked, pressing another heated kiss to Harry’s lips. “You’re right, Potter: I do wish.” Then the shirt was on the tiled floor, discarded and forgotten as Harry got wrapped in a heady snogging session.
Malfoy’s cold fingers slid under Harry’s sweatshirt, tugging it up and over Harry’s head. Harry placed his hands on Malfoy’s slender waist, smiling faintly at the lean abs he felt ripple underneath his fingertips.
“Harry—” Malfoy broke away from the long kiss, his wonderfully pink lips looking slightly bruised. At the sound of his name—his first name—coming from Malfoy’s lips, Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy’s waist.
“Draco,” he whispered. The name sounded funny to Harry’s ears, but as he kept repeating it, he liked the way it sounded. The way it rolled off of his tongue.
Draco closed his eyes for a few moments, and Harry assumed he was thinking of the way Harry said his name. “Lift your arms up,” he whispered. Harry lifted his arms. His plain white tee lifted a couple centimeters and he did not miss the way Draco swallowed heavily when his cool eyes noticed the sliver of skin. In a flash, the shirt was up and over Harry’s head, leaving him in nothing but jeans and muggle sneakers.
Draco wasted no time sucking Harry’s collarbone and Harry moaned. His brain couldn’t quite explain the sensation, all thoughts hazy and clouded. Harry let his eyelids flutter shut as his neck arched.
He didn’t know Draco could do that with his tongue. The blond’s tongue swiped Harry’s heated bronze skin in a small circle. Then another. His teeth nipped at the skin and the pain only lasted for a split second before Harry was savoring it all.
Every kiss. Every touch. Every love bite. Every tantalizing swipe of the tongue. Blood rushed to Harry’s groin, the feeling uncomfortable and Harry felt the crucial need to suddenly taste Malfoy. Not just his lips or his tongue but his cool skin.
There was a small scar along Draco’s shoulder and Harry gripped both of the shoulders as Draco’s fingers lowered to the waist band of Harry’s jeans, trying to figure out how to pull them down. Harry let out a breathless moan.
“I love it when you do that,” Draco hummed. “Don’t stop.”
Harry didn’t. He stood there, legs trembling as Draco’s fingers found the zipper and pulled it down, his fingers exploring the waist of his boxers but never going further down than that. “Draco,” he pleaded. “Why aren’t you—”
Draco’s grey eyes, usually so cool and indifferent, were filled with a certain kind of longing that left Harry speechless. “I won’t,” Draco kissed Harry, but it was with far more fire than before, tongue battling Harry’s. “I won’t do anything other than touch you and kiss you until we’re someplace other than Slughorn’s Potions classroom.”
Harry nodded absentmindedly, leaning into the kiss and letting the sensation of Draco’s lips take him into oblivion. He didn’t know how much time had passed before footsteps neared and Draco hastily pulled away. His cheeks were flushed, his lips were parted open, his hair was a mess—Harry did not even want to think about how his normally messy hair looked at the moment—and Draco’s eyes were wide.
“Potter,” he hissed, “hurry and dress.”
Harry did just that, breaking out of his little spell. He zipped up the jeans, quickly pulled his discarded white tee over his head and then his sweatshirt, which he immediately regretted since he was practically burning.
Draco’s fingers were working quickly with his buttons, but he couldn’t quite button the top one. Harry watched him with amusement for a good two seconds before hurrying to help him. Draco’s breathing became uneven and Harry relished the moment. Or, at least, he was until a startled voice broke him out of it.
“What in the bloody Merlin is going on here?” Professor Slughorn stared openly at the two boys, but Draco appeared unfazed.
“Looks like detention is over.” He casually grabbed his Slytherin robes from the floor and walked out, an air of smugness and pleasure emanating from him, and all Harry wanted to do was grab his hand and kiss him again.
Dinner was full of questions from Harry’s Gryffindor peers, all revolving around the attack that had happened in the bathroom. It felt like it had happened an eternity ago, Harry thought as he shrugged off every question.
Hermione kept giving him suspicious looks but overall she kept quiet. He was grateful for that, especially since his brain could not quite comprehend what had happened in detention. He had made out with Draco Malfoy. He had liked making out with Draco Malfoy. Merlin, did that make him gay?
He had liked Cho, that was no secret, but kissing her had felt…meh. Not terrible, but not good either. Kissing Draco had made him feel like anything and everything was possible.
He’s a Death Eater.
The thought should have scared him more than it did, but all Harry felt was pity. Draco must have been forced into it, he was only sixteen after all. He made a mistake. Harry could help him. Harry wanted to help him.
After dinner everyone left in large groups, yawning. Harry hung back again, and Hermione and Ron shot him skeptical glances. He ignored them, though, and waited until Draco neared, in deep conversation with Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott.
“I hate you, Malfoy,” Harry shouted, remembering the first thing Draco had said to him when they kissed.
Draco looked up from his conversation, pink lips lacking their usual sneer when those grey eyes found Harry's green ones. “I hate you, too, Potter.”
But he couldn’t keep the smile from his face, and neither could Harry.