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“For the last time, Pansy, my answer is no.”

“Come on, Draco." He could hear the pleading, almost whining, tone of her voice that she only pulled out when she was dead set on convincing him of something. But no, not this time. He absolutely refused to cave in. "Darling, I promise it won’t go as bad as you’re thinking.”

Draco increased the pace of his steps, using his long legs to get ahead of her and silently cursing how long it took to get to the Charms classroom from the dungeons. However, Pansy only sped up her walking in a noble attempt to match his, and, considering how much shorter her legs were comparatively, he was almost impressed.

They walked swiftly down the length of the corridor, their shoes clicking rapidly against the stone floors. Pansy lagged just behind Draco while he continued his fruitless attempts of trying to outpace her without resorting to sprinting down the hallway like an uncoordinated heathen.

“Trust me, Pansy dearest,” Draco sneered over his shoulder, “For however much Granger and the rest of them praise 'interhouse cooperation' and ‘friendship’ at these so-called parties, they very much do not want to see me there.” Pansy rolled her eyes at his tone, and he sped up a bit more when he turned the corner wishing she would just drop it.

“And I’m telling you that they very much would like to see you at one of these ‘so-called parties’,” Pansy shot back with a put-on sigh, her voice sounding exasperated at Draco’s perfectly reasonable, logical resistance to the idea. 

After a beat of silence where Draco didn’t bother to reply, Pansy spoke up again in a suspiciously casual tone of voice that immediately put Draco on edge, “…Even Potter came up to me at the last one to ask whether you would show up eventually. I totally think he’s just—oof! Sweet Circe, Draco!" Pansy stumbled backwards from where she almost crashed into his back after he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the Charms corridor. She grumbled and pulled out a pocket mirror from her robes. "I just put on a fresh coat of lipstick, you better not have made me smear it.” 

He snapped his head around to squint at her suspiciously. She looked up at him with wide eyes appearing innocently confused, but Draco could see a smug lift to the corner of her lips and the self-satisfied sparkle in her gaze that said she knew she had gotten Draco’s attention.

“What is ever the matter, Draco dear?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. Draco didn’t like this one bit, but damn him, he was curious.

“Potter? Potter asked about me?” and Draco was vaguely aware that he had probably fallen into some sort of trap Pansy had no doubt concocted for him, but his brain was too busy working overtime trying to process this new information to stop and think about the specifics of what he had got himself into.

“Of course. That’s what I just said, did I not?”

Students were shooting annoyed glances in their direction as people had to weave around the small traffic jam the two of them were causing in the middle of the packed hallway, disrupting the flowing body of students rushing to their classes. Draco didn’t pay them any mind, however, because surely he wasn’t understanding something correctly here.

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow at Pansy, his voice thick with disbelief, “Potter? The dearly beloved war hero, Dark Lord defeater, Boy Who Lived Twice, Saviour of the Wizarding World Harry Potter, personally told you that he wanted me,” Draco gestured at Pansy then himself to emphasize his words, “to join them at these parties. Me—a person regarded as everything he, Granger, Weasley and all their little friends fought a war against—to join them in holding hands and singing Kumbaya or whatever it is you do during them?” Pansy just rolled her eyes at his dramatics and sighed loudly as she impatiently folded her arms across her chest.

“Yes, Draco. Harry Potter approached me to inquire about you,” Pansy said pointing a finger at herself and then Draco in a mocking gesture, “to see whether I could get you to come to the next get-together this Friday. This time it’s just going to be the other eighth years, so there shouldn’t be that many people there,” and although her voice held an undertint of exasperation, he knew she understood why he was reluctant to go. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop her from going out of her way to bother him each week to see if he would attend one with her. Even though Draco wanted to be miffed at the fact that she was all ‘buddy-buddy’ with the other houses, he had to admit that she had put in great effort to get this far. 

At the beginning of the year, there was a very clear divide between the green-robed students and the rest of the student body, even more so than there had been before the war. The tension was even worse in the upper years who had actually fought in the final battle. The most apparent split was in their year—the eighth years as they had taken to call themselves—that was made up of people who had decided to come back to Hogwarts to finish their NEWTS.

Though a large chunk of the Slytherins in the upper years who had been on the wrong side hadn’t bothered to return, it only made the collective avoidance of the few who did come back that much more noticeable. 

After a couple weeks of this suffocating atmosphere in the eighth year common room and in classes, Pansy said she was sick of it. “It’s like we’re still fighting in the war,” she whispered to Draco one day whilst they were sitting together on one of the common room sofas.

The next day, she approached Granger in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class with her head held high and her stance stiff. Even though it was supremely awkward, she managed to stumble through something resembling a conversation. Draco thought that Pansy’s high class society training did wonders in making meaningless small talk and carrying the interaction, as Granger’s skepticism toward this new development in Pansy’s demeanor didn’t exactly help the matter.

Draco thought her attempts would be ultimately futile, but she continued approaching Granger during their DADA classes to make stilted conversation, and after a week, even started waving to her in the hallways between classes. 

“What are you hoping to get out of this thing with Granger?” Draco asked one evening while they were working on a History of Magic essay at one of the small tables tucked in the corner of the common room. It had been almost a month of this consistent attempt at trying to casually make conversation with Granger, with still little progress on the matter, but Pansy didn’t seem like she was planning on giving up any time soon.

Pansy looked up from where she was crossing out a spelling mistake, an annoyed crease between her eyebrows, and a slight frown on her face as she stared at him. Her eyes searched his for a moment, and when she saw that he was being sincere for once, her expression smoothed out into a small, mischievous smirk. 

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Pansy responded, pointing the feathered end of her quill at Draco, “The whole school hates us because they still think we’re the same anti-Muggleborn, blood purity cultists who would willingly follow a genocidal maniac into killing everyone they know and love." Draco had to smile at her candidness; leave it to Pansy to be completely blunt over the matter. “So!” she continued triumphantly, “If we show an effort in making reparations, prove to them that we’re not all Death Eaters, and that we don’t want to keep fighting them, then they won’t hate us anymore.” She looked at him conspiratorially, seemingly proud of her grand plan to stop bullying the people she wanted to befriend—not that Draco was one to talk on the matter—but the cautious hope in her eyes betrayed her real desire to get in good with Granger and the rest of them.

Though Draco knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Well, not for him at least.

“That’s wonderful, Pansy,” Draco started, his throat dry as his knuckles turned white from where he was gripping his quill too tightly. He tried his best to keep his face impassive and voice level as he continued, “I really do hope you manage to succeed in your delightful plan to befriend Granger. However, some of us are and always will be Death Eaters that don’t deserve, and probably will never have, your precious Gryffindor’s oh, so magnanimous forgiveness.”

Pansy’s eyes widened as her expression filled with a sudden sadness. Her gaze, seemingly unwillingly, flicked to Draco’s left forearm, where his white long-sleeve uniform shirt was currently covering the mark they both knew was branded on his skin underneath. Her face twisted into an embarrassed apologetic look as her eyes flicked away from his arm, and she ducked her head to continue working on her essay without another word on the matter. Though, Draco thought back then, if Granger, Potter, and the rest of them are willing to forgive Pansy and the others…maybe, just maybe, there might be hope for me too.

Then again, probably not.

Eventually, Pansy wore Granger down and what started as a cautious new acquaintanceship was now a blossoming friendship, the two of them regularly partnering in Defense nowadays, much to the annoyance of Granger’s surly redheaded boyfriend. Although Weasley’s expression never failed to amuse Draco, Pansy leaving him for Granger meant that Draco was stuck with that prick Zacharias Smith. Smith did his level best to not even look in Draco’s direction, let alone talk to him, so Draco couldn’t complain too much on the matter.

Pansy could also occasionally be found in the library with Granger, both of them looking over the latter's plans for future government reforms with the former giving input on how the structure and traditions of pureblood society had historically aided and abetted the systemic corruption within the Ministry. Granger’s unnerving determination and fierce sense of justice combined with Pansy’s shrewd, cunning mind and penchant for high class society made them a horrifyingly competent team.

This seemed to be the cause of Draco’s downfall. Although their newfound friendship made a start in breaking the ice that had frozen over between the houses, it was still uncomfortable to say the least. The dangerous duo decided that the best way to combat this lack of interhouse communication was throwing weekly parties, much to Draco’s distaste. He had yet to attend one, for obvious reasons, but he had to admit that their plan did seem to be working. The atmosphere around Hogwarts had livened up considerably since the inception of the “Interhouse Reconciliation Get-Togethers” as they officially called them, and Headmistress McGonagall appeared to be very satisfied with the results.

However, even with all her success in easing the tension within the school, this did not seem to satisfy Pansy. No, of course not.

She was dead set on convincing Draco to attend at least one of these parties. Told him so herself, even, when he had refused her first few invitations, and Draco saw firsthand how persistent Pansy could be when she was focused on achieving something. Even though he knew it was probably only a matter of time until he caved—he’d always had a weak will when it came to Pansy—he still put up a good fight regardless.

“Pansy…” Draco hesitated to reply, he knew he should just refuse this invitation like he had all her others, but a traitorous voice in the back of his mind told him that maybe if he went to the party, just once, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

If Potter said he wanted Draco there—even if it was most likely said under duress from Granger—then he couldn't exactly blame Draco for actually showing up to one. Maybe he should go to the party. If only to see the look on Potter’s face when Pansy walks in with Draco in tow. His lips twitched upward, reluctantly amused by the thought of it. 

"Come on, Draco. It'll be fun, and it won't kill you to come with me to talk to people for a bit. Just an hour, I promise! It…It would mean a lot to me if you went. I really think you'll be pleasantly surprised if you go."

Draco sighed as he looked at her surprisingly earnest expression, and took a moment to actually think over her offer, despite his brain telling him how idiotic he was for even considering it.

His plan going into his final year at Hogwarts was to keep his head down and avoid everyone who wasn’t Pansy when he could help it. That plan quickly went to utter shite when she decided to befriend Gryffindors left and right and their whole entourage of good Samaritans (Draco learned that term in Muggle Studies last week, and he was fairly certain there’s an edition of the textbook out there with Potter’s face plastered right next to the word as a prime example). Seeing as she was his only friend who returned to Hogwarts with him, all this left Draco with was Pansy and her merry band of war heroes for company. 

He had to admit that she seemed much happier nowadays. The Greengrass family had left Britain after the war much like the Zabini’s had, and he knew she missed hanging out with Daphne. That’s why he couldn’t begrudge her for wanting more than just Draco’s prickly self for company. What he could begrudge her for, however, was when she would barge into Draco’s room and drag him along to her and Granger’s ‘study sessions’ that were clearly an excuse to slowly torture Draco with Weasley's stupidity and tense, stilted interactions with the rest of the group until he’d gone clinically insane as repentance for not being locked up in Azkaban. 

The only possible, miniscule, very thin, silver lining to these torture sessions was that Draco’s interactions with Potter had become less…antagonistic. The only way Draco could describe their relationship nowadays was that it was different than it used to be. Not friendly per se, but it certainly wasn’t the same hostile rivalry it was before.

Draco thought it had something to do with the fact that he narrowly escaped imprisonment thanks to Potter’s testimony, which was very hard not to think about when he was forced to be around Potter all the time. Like, “Hey, remember that time you vouched for me—your archrival that made your life a living hell for years—so that I didn’t get sent to Azkaban or get my soul sucked out? Thanks for that, by the way!” The whole situation sat like an awkward chasm between them that Draco felt even more keenly when he was forced to sit next to Potter for hours at a time.

Maybe it was the thought of Potter approaching Pansy to ask about him, or Draco’s own tentative curiosity about the parties, but he decided that, perhaps, he could entertain the little voice in the back of his mind that dared him to take a risk. The Charms corridor was almost empty now, and Draco just wanted to finish this conversation.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and exhaled roughly as he replied quietly to Pansy, “…Maybe. We’ll see,” and promptly turned around to walk toward the classroom. After a shocked beat, he heard Pansy skip down the hall after him with what he imagined was a smug little smile on her face, and Draco wondered what in Merlin’s name he had just signed himself up for.

***

Draco had been questioning all his life decisions that led him to this point. Which, mind you, he had a lot of questionable life decisions. 

This was the strangest party Draco had ever been invited to. Which he supposes isn’t saying much given that the only real parties he’d ever been to before were the uptight pureblood ones from his youth. Still, this party had to be at some level of bizarre beyond what could possibly be considered normal.

It started when Draco walked in behind Pansy and was immediately bombarded with loud music and a suffocating warmth that only came from too many hot bodies in a too small room. Because, first of all, this was certainly not just the 20 or so eighth years that Pansy had promised it would be. There were at least 50 people milling about the small space that the Room of Requirement had conjured up, transforming itself into what resembled a muggle club. 

The fact that the party was being held in the room that frequently made itself known in his blazing and cabinet-fueled night terrors was its own separate issue but he pushed that aside.

He turned to glare at Pansy who was standing beside him with a sheepish look on her face. Her hands rising in front of her in a placating gesture.

“I swear, Draco, it was only supposed to be the eighth years,” she vouched vehemently. He didn’t know whether to believe her or not as his eyes narrowed further in suspicion. Pansy, at Draco’s silent skepticism, continued, “You know what? I think I’ll just go find Hermione real quick. Just stay right here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Pansy then turned and disappeared into the crowd of people, leaving Draco alone near the door before he had a chance to demand her not to desert him in this waking nightmare. 

Draco sighed in defeat and crossed his arms as he started tapping his foot anxiously. His eyes kept flicking to the people around him and his hands fidgeted as he noticed people glancing in his direction. While their expressions seemed to be more curious and surprised instead of the disgust he was expecting to be met with, it still made him uncomfortable. 

He really doesn’t know what he was imagining when he agreed to come, but one thing for certain is that he definitely wasn’t expecting the room to look like this.

There was a dance floor smack dab in the center of the room surrounded by ample comfortable seating pushed against the walls. The whole area was lit with the sporadic gleams of a disco ball and changing multicolor light strips that lined the edges of the room. Colorful beams of light came from the floor and ceiling that would twirl randomly to shine around the space. Draco flinched when one of the beams shone directly into his eyes, one of his hands coming up to block the offending light as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

As he made his way further into the room, the heat pressed in around him as the crowd of bodies danced in time to the booming bass vibrating throughout the space. The pounding music seemed to be playing by itself from huge magical speakers towering near the back of the room next to an unattended black table that was littered with metal knobs and dials. It had records embedded within it, the disks spinning in time with the music, occasionally moving backward with a scratching sound that got on his nerves. He watched curiously as the different knobs on the table spun and slid up and down seemingly of their own accord. 

As a particularly loud rumble of bass vibrated across the room, he felt his ears ring and reached up to rub at them, grimacing at the pressure building in his head. He took out his wand and cast a quick altered Muffliato charm around him to dampen the music, but made its range wide enough so he could still hear anyone next to him. He was certain no matter how unsavory this party got, Pansy was going to convince him to stay for the evening despite her promises otherwise and he was not about to damage his hearing for her. 

A loud muffled cry from his left had him turning his head toward the sudden noise. A cluster of bodies were surrounding a table as people cheered and patted each other on the back in celebration. Others who were groaning in disappointment and wearing looks of annoyance were feeling around their clothes before pulling what looked like sickles and knuts out of their pockets and passing the coins over hesitantly to the group of people who had cheered.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he walked over to the huddled corner of people, and as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd his eyebrows rose at what he saw. In the center of the group stood a long rectangular table with what looked like a conjured sand track spread across it. And there, he noted with immense confusion, were six different magisnails glowing in various pastel colors that were racing—if you could call it racing—across the sand to the other end of the track. The snails each had a glowing number on the back of their shells and Draco grimaced at the layer of glittery slime left behind on the table as the slow creatures edged their way to the finish line. The sides of the table were stacked with sickles as people cheered for the snails. However, the names of the poor creatures were clearly chosen by a completely pissed group of people.

"Why would you put 15 sickles on Slimebolt 3000 when Phoenix-In-Menopause clearly has a better win rate?"

"I don't know…instinct, I guess?"

The first person—who Draco was certain was a sixth year Hufflepuff—pinched the bridge of their nose before replying with a sigh, "Merlin, I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Oi! Those were my knuts for Sir Bickle the Third you better not knock them over!" yelled a Gryffindor at her friend beside her whose flailing arms almost knocked over the stack of coins in front of them.

"I didn't even touch them, man…Oh shit—No! How the hell is Purple Rain in the lead!"

"Oh, really? I love that movie."

"What the fuck is Purple Rain?" asked the Slytherin beside the two and Draco felt a little smug at understanding the muggle reference.

He stayed for the rest of the round watching the slow, glowing snail race and being engulfed in the tense excited atmosphere that only buzzed in the air when there was money on the line. Draco found himself reluctantly amused at the crowd and actually managed a laugh when “Gilderoy Lockhart’s Hair Routine” ended up winning the race, much to the delight of a group of Ravenclaw's who were high fiving each other as one of them went around to collect the betting money.

Terry Boot stood up on a chair positioned at the head of the table, holding his wand to his throat as his magically amplified voice carried over the noise of the party. 

"Everyone place your bets for Round Five!" Two people next to Boot's chair—seventh year Ravenclaws if he was remembering correctly—jotted down people's bets on a sheet of parchment as Boot engaged with the every-growing crowd of people who approached the table to satisfy their curiosity or join in on the blossoming gambling ring that the Ravenclaws seem to be perpetuating.

Draco took Boot announcing the start of the next round—"Starting line crew members! Position your magisnail at the starting gate! Don't worry if you miss the beginning, folks! If you blink you'll miss nothing!"—as his sign to fuck off before someone realized that, though the Malfoys paid some hefty war reparations, his vaults were very much not empty. He didn’t fancy losing his galleons any time soon to a betting game that the Ravenclaws definitely rigged.

When he finally tore himself away from the crowd feeling frazzled and accosted despite not having interacted with anyone, he found himself once again questioning what he was doing here.

Right. Pansy. That meddling cow.

With a heavy sigh he took in the rest of the room and started making his way over to the drink and food table where he noted with wry amusement the wide range of alcohol and mixers on display. Preferring not to get drunk around strangers, he opted for what he hoped was a non-alcoholic beverage, and grabbed one of the filled red Solo cups from the line of drinks on the table. It reminded him of the parties in those American muggle movies Pansy liked to watch.

The assortment of cups contained a selection of colored smoking fizzy drinks. The one Draco picked up was pink and upon taking a hesitant sip, he was pleasantly surprised at the bright popping taste of raspberries that danced on his tongue. It didn't seem to be alcoholic at the very least, but you could never know at one of these functions.

Cradling the drink in his hand, he turned around to lean against the table as he surveyed the dance floor in front of him. His eyes roamed across the crowd of bodies, each moving to the pulsing waves of music that he could still feel even with the muffliato dampening the sound.

He observed with some confusion the collection of birthday balloons and streamers that seemed to litter the room until he spotted Hannah Abbot dancing with her friends wearing a tiara and a purple sash across her body. When she spun around, he could see it had the words Birthday Girl written across it in glittering gold letters. The people in the group around her were wearing feather boas, glowing bracelets and shiny fake necklaces, and were dancing without a care in the wor—wait a minute.

"Draco!"

He scowled as Pansy—the traitor—rushed over to him sporting her own white-and-purple feather boa, its feathers ruffling as she skipped to a stop in front of him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and grinned widely, a pink flush to her cheeks and a sheen to her skin from dancing in the crowded heat of the packed dance floor.

He raised an eyebrow at her, crossing an arm over his chest. "Pansy," he drawled, "how lovely to see you after you abandoned me in this hellhole."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic Draco," she said, rolling her eyes and smacking his shoulder lightly. "I did go to find Hermione, but when I went back to the front to get you, you were already gone. Excuse me for thinking you might've removed the stick up your arse and went to have a bit of fun for once. Although…" Pansy smirked mischievously as Draco frowned, "I guess having a stick up your arse would be considered a bit of fun for you, wouldn't it?" she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Pansy!" Draco gasped, scandalized. He pushed her away from him while she cackled, but a small amused smile broke out on his lips anyway. Pansy smiled, satisfied at his reaction, as she grabbed both of his wrists and pulled on them to shimmy his shoulders back and forth.

“Come on, Draco! Liven up a bit, you’re so stiff,” Pansy encouraged. She was definitely tipsy already if the slight slur to her words and loose limbs were any indication.

“There is no way I am going to willingly lose my mental faculties around these dimwits,” he replied as he wrinkled his nose in distaste watching Finch-Fletchy make himself a concoction of what looked like almost all of the different liquors and mixers available on display at the table and chug the abomination out of one of the cheap Solo cups. Draco didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. 

“Well, at the very least you will dance with me won’t you?” she asked while giving him the most atrocious puppy-eyed look he’d ever seen. After thinking for a moment, he sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that night and nodded his head, coming to the conclusion that if he’s already forced to be at this party he might as well try to enjoy it.

Pansy grinned sharply, all teeth, as she all but dragged him out onto the dance floor, making his drink slip out of his hand when he tried to set it down first. She pulled him bodily into the crowd of people and soon enough, he wasn't thinking about anything else besides the press of bodies around him and the vibrating hum of the music as it pulsed through his body. 

He looked to Pansy as she moved and danced with a dangerous grace that made Draco smile as she set her sights on him and urged his body to move along to the music. Draco—not one to back down from a challenge—slowly started to dance along to the beat. Though stiff at first, his limbs felt looser after a song or two, and dare he say it, he was having fun. Draco always liked dancing, and he was good at it, but he had to admit that he didn't get a lot of chances to dance as informally as this besides when he and Pansy would jam out to music in one of their dorms away from prying eyes.

Draco was smiling and laughing as Pansy threw her feather boa over his head, settling it around his shoulders and the small feathers tickling his face. Together they twirled and jumped in place and tried out dance moves they'd only ever seen in muggle movies, and Draco couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this much.

Nevertheless, all good things must come to an end, and after an unknown number of songs, they stumbled off the dance floor panting and sweaty, but with breathless grins stretched across their faces. Pansy turned to Draco, taking back her boa from where it had sunk to the crevices of his elbows and Draco lamented the way the tiny fluff of feathers had gotten stuck to his clothes.

"See? I knew you had some teenage fun left in you."

Draco rolled his eyes at her as she smiled up at him and stood up on her tippy-toes to pick out some of the feathers from his hair. After they both were deemed feather free, Pansy left to go grab them some drinks—"Non-alcoholic for mine, Pansy." "Ugh, I spoke too soon about you being fun."—but she went without too much of a fuss.

Right as Draco was wondering what to do with himself while waiting for Pansy's return, he heard someone call his name from behind him.

“Draco! There you are! Pansy told me you were around here somewhere.”

He turned around and found Granger, weaving around a group of people to make her way to where Draco was standing off to the side of the dance floor.

He actually didn't dislike Granger. Though she was a stuck up know-it-all, it was a bit endearing once you got used to her particular brand of intensity. It was also nice to be able to have academic discussions with someone who actually knew what they were talking about. At least until Pansy inserted herself into their conversation saying that all the complicated theorizing was hurting her brain. At which point, Draco would remind her that she was the one who dragged him to the study group in the first place—to you know, study—and Pansy would just roll her eyes at him, but he knew she was happy to see him getting along with at least some of her Gryffindor friends.

"I was pleasantly surprised when Pansy said you were coming tonight," Granger said with a smile, "I'm glad you were able to make it." 

"Yes, against my better judgment, here I am," Draco announced, spreading his arms wide with a dramatic bow.

Granger huffed amusedly at his theatrics, "Finally wore you down, did she?" She raised an eyebrow at Draco with a knowing smile on her face.

Draco sighed, the corner of his lips tilting up, begrudgingly fond, "Yes, she can be very determined when she wants to be."

Granger just laughed at that, having been on the receiving end of Pansy's tenacity herself. "Yes, she definitely can be."

He questioned Granger about the party and discovered that it originally had been just for the eighth years until people learned it was Abbot's birthday. Then her friends invited their friends which gave people the excuse to invite their friends until it turned into this clusterfuck. 

Upon not-so-subtly asking after the whereabouts of Potter and Weasley, Granger told him, while holding back giggles, that things had spiraled out of control after a fiasco during Transfiguration that morning. Thomas had conjured a chick during class that didn't vanish even after attempting to end the spell, so he had taken to carrying the poor thing around in his pocket all day. Naturally, this extended to bringing it to the party as well. 

"Even though McGonagall had said that it would disappear by tomorrow, Seamus kept going on about how lonely it looked and how it clearly wanted some friends. But when he went to conjure a flock of chicks, he conjured a flock of geese instead!" Granger exclaimed somewhat breathlessly, no longer containing her laughter as she narrated the sad story of their idiot classmates.

“Should I inquire as to what happened to the poor birds?” he asked, reluctantly curious now.

“Well, instead of casting Evanesco to vanish them, he ended up saying Exardesco. So, now we’ve got a flock of fire-breathing geese on our hands.”

Draco couldn't help joining in with her laughter after that. They both giggled as Granger pointed out to him the waterfall in the opposite corner of the room where the surroundings started to catch fire.

This party was so utterly bizarre.

Granger was telling him about how Weasley and Potter had gone over to help wrangle in the geese when Pansy came back with their drinks. They chatted for a bit as Granger recounted the same tale to Pansy before they were suddenly interrupted by someone calling Granger's name. Draco's breath caught when he turned around, catching sight of Potter approaching their little group. He was saying something to Granger, but Draco had stopped paying attention to anything happening around him. His gaze was firmly stuck on Potter's appearance.

He looked…good.

Though his clothes were often hidden under school robes or loose hand-knitted jumpers, Draco had seen plenty of Potter's baggy, ill-fitting clothes throughout their time at Hogwarts. Apparently though, sometime during the past few months while Draco had been holed up in his room whenever he could manage it, the boy had learned how to dress himself. The clothes were a far cry from anything that would be acceptable in any respectable establishment, but damn it all if Potter didn't pull it off.

His eyes roamed the expanse of Potter's chest as the tight black t-shirt he wore clung to his frame, accentuating his shoulder and arm muscles that had filled out some since the war. It tapered down over his lean waist and led his eyes to the worn dark jeans that stretched deliciously over Potter's sturdy thighs. They were looser near the ankles, contained way too many pockets for any one person to use, and were accessorized with chain links that hung in an arc from the belt loops at the front of the trousers to where it was clipped in the back. He watched as the metal links caught the rays of the moving lights, glittering as they brushed against the sides of Potter's thighs.

With his black combat boots, hair that always made him look freshly shagged, metal bracelets that stood out against his tan skin, and…oh dear Merlin was that eyeliner? Fuck him gently with a beater's bat, Potter was wearing eyeliner around his waterline and Draco might just spontaneously combust right here in the middle of the party.

Potter looked like a wet dream come to life, and Draco was sure that even in the dark of the room the flaming rush of heat to his face was stark against his pale skin.

Shaking his head and trying to focus on the conversation around him, he gleaned that Weasley had done something stupid—which wasn’t surprising to Draco—and that Granger's assistance was needed as soon as possible to remove him from Finnegan's grasp. Apparently, the Irishman often lured Weasley into drinking games knowing the ginger had a shit tolerance and was easily provoked into competitions. Draco could understand the appeal in provoking Weasley, it truly was too easy.

Granger exhaled a heavy sigh, shaking her head fondly before moving to rescue the Weasel from his own demise. Though her expression was exasperated, Draco thought he saw a tiny smile on her face as she walked into the crowd of people toward the waterfall on the other side of the room.

With a shit-eating grin and a hurried explanation along the lines of "not missing the show" Pansy rushed off, following behind Granger and leaving Draco in the company of a sinful looking Potter.

Alone.

There was a reason Draco only interacted with Potter in group settings, and it was because neither of them knew how to talk to one another.

Potter stood there awkwardly, glancing at where Granger and Pansy had disappeared into the crowd, as he shifted his weight nervously from side to side. Draco was uncertain on what he was supposed to do now, tension creeping back into his limbs.

Why is Potter still here?

"Don't you have a certain redhead to go help wrangle?" Draco asked in confusion.

Potter's wandering gaze locked onto his, and Draco almost regretted speaking up in the first place, pinned under the weight of Potter's stare.

He looked at Draco with an unreadable expression, and after a tense moment turned his head away. Potter shifted to lean against the armchair behind him, crossing his arms over his chest before responding in a carefully casual tone of voice, "Nah, not really. Hermione's always been better at dealing with these types of things."

"Ah, of course."

The conversation died out then, leaving the two of them standing uncomfortably next to each other. Biting his lip, Draco looked down at his empty solo cup. Pansy had gotten him another raspberry fizzy drink as repentance for making him spill the last one. He was contemplating using his lack of beverage as an excuse to go wander off to the drink stand when Potter spoke up again in the silence.

"What flavor?"

"Hm?" Draco glanced up to find Potter looking at him expectantly. When Draco didn't respond, he nodded his head toward the cup in Draco's hands.

"What flavor of fizzy drink did you get?"

"…How did you know I had a fizzy drink?" Draco asked half-curious and half-suspicious, narrowing his eyes at Potter.

Potter flushed before waving his hands around dismissively.

"Oh, uh, well—you know," Potter spluttered, "lucky guess. You seem like the type."

Draco watched as Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly before dismissing the strange behavior with a shake of his head.

"Right…It was raspberry, I believe—the flavor," Draco answered.

"Oh, yeah. I—uh think I tried that one. It was good."

Draco hummed absently in agreement as he drummed his fingers against the cup, tapping to the beat of the music.

"You know…I think you would like the green one," Potter stated suddenly.

"Oh? And which flavor is that?"

"Green Apple," Potter answered with a small smirk. "I distinctly remember you having a certain—what's the word? Ah, yes. Proclivity for green apples."

Draco let out a surprised huff of laughter as he shook his head at Potter, the git snickering at his awful attempt at a joke.

"Wanker," Draco retorted, though his lips quirked up in a small smile.

They let the silence stretch, settling between them—more comfortable this time albeit still a little strange—wrapping them in their own little bubble away from the party. At least, it would have been comfortable, except for the fact that Potter kept glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eye in a way he probably thought was subtle.

After a minute or two more of this, Draco was inclined to believe he must have spilled something on himself or messed up his clothes, but when he glanced down to check he couldn't see anything wrong with his outfit.

Having never attended one of these types of parties before, he asked Pansy to dress him up for the night lest he wear one of his dress robes, something he was now very glad Pansy did not let him do.

As a result, his outfit consisted of a white band t-shirt from one of the muggle groups Pansy introduced him to, which he then tucked into some dark brown slacks from his own closet. Disliking his bare forearms being shown in public, he paired the outfit with one of his oversized, blue long-sleeved button up shirts which he also tucked into his trousers, but left most of it loose and open so you could see the shirt underneath. He was also wearing some cream colored shoes that Pansy called 'Converse', and he had to admit that they were much more comfortable than the expensive handmade loafers he wore regularly.

Once they got him in the outfit though, Pansy decided that his normally well-kept hair wasn't cutting it. They spent a good bit of time styling it until it gave that 'intentionally messy' look that Pansy nodded in approval to.

So, overall, Draco thought he looked quite nice.

The tiny crease in between Potter's brows as he looked Draco up and down begged to differ.

Draco bristled and raised an eyebrow at Potter before he bit out a little defensively, "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"What?" Potter mumbled as his eyes snapped up to Draco's. It takes a second for the question to register before Potter's face reddened as he frantically waved his hands in front of him. "No. No. God, no. Of course not. I was just—erm…thinking that I had never seen you before, you know…in muggle attire." The words tumbled out of Potter's mouth, and Draco didn't think he had ever seen the boy so flustered before.

"…Oh," Draco said at length, warmth flooding to his cheeks. He looked down at his hands as he continued fidgeting with his empty cup, "Well…Pansy enjoys muggle fashion magazines, so I've asked her to order me some catalogue items from time to time."

Another beat of silence before he heard Potter respond somewhat jokingly, "Have an assortment of muggle clothes in your closet, do you?" Draco looked up and caught the teasing smile on Potter's face, eyes bright in amusement.

Draco blinked a few times before he replied good-naturedly with a small smirk, "Only things of good taste, of course. Not that I expect you to understand."

Potter let out a sharp bark of laughter before tilting his head at Draco. "Oh, I see," he said provocatively, "So ABBA is in 'good taste' then?"

Draco tamped down the smile that threatened to rise to his lips as he crossed his arms. "ABBA is in excellent taste, thank you very much," he sniffed.

Potter grinned before his gaze flickered away, shoving his hands in his pockets and his shoes moving to scuff the floor in a nervous gesture.

"I didn't know if you were coming tonight," he said softly. Draco decided to ignore the way Potter's voice made his heart skip a beat for reasons he really didn't need to look into right now. "Not that I didn't want you here," Potter continued hastily with a frazzled glance at Draco, "but we've been doing these for a while and you've never shown up before."

"Yes, well…" Draco was at a loss for words. He can't exactly tell Potter why he never showed up before, he thought it was rather obvious actually. "I assumed it wouldn't be fun if I came," is what he settled on.

Though he said it in a way to imply his own lack of enjoyment, Potter looked at him knowingly like he understood what Draco was trying not to say anyway. He stared intently at Draco, holding his gaze as he spoke, "And are you? Having fun?"

A breath of loaded silence, and then Draco answered, leaning into Potter's space slightly, "We'll see how the night turns out, I suppose."

Potter's eyes flashed with a look that Draco is sure he's misreading before smiling and turning back to face the party. The strange, tense atmosphere between them left to dissipate into the hushed air of their little corner of the room. "I have no doubt that Pansy will find a way to make it a memorable one," Potter said with dry amusement.

Draco snorted, agreeing wholeheartedly with the statement when a sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. When his eyes found the source of the commotion he released a resigned sigh because what else was he expecting?

"Speak of the devil," he drawled.

They both turn to watch Pansy climb onto a chair near the back of the room and magically echo her voice throughout the party.

"Listen up bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes!"

"Oh, Merlin," Draco breathed in horror while Potter laughed beside him.

"It's time for the game of the night!" Pansy announced enthusiastically, a wave of cheers springing up across the crowd.

Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Pansy summoned all those who wanted to play the mystery game over to the back corner of the room. She scanned the mass of people until she locked eyes with Draco who suddenly had a bad feeling about this whole thing. Reluctantly, he followed behind Potter who was making his way over.

The group of people that had gathered around the strange piece of furniture Pansy was currently standing beside were all the usual suspects for a drunken party game plus some others Draco didn't recognize, and he decided it would be best to stand slightly away from the congregation and observe before throwing himself headfirst into whatever this may turn out to be.

"Alright, everyone! Thank you for coming tonight," Pansy began once everyone that seemed to want to play had gathered in the corner. "For those of you that have never attended one of these before, every party we play one game which is appropriately called the game of the night. It is technically listed as a bonding activity under the planning sheet given to the professors, but really this whole ordeal is just an excuse to have some unrestricted fun without supervision."

"Pansy," Granger chastised with a small smile, and Pansy shrugged unapologetically.

"What? We survived a war, I think we deserve at least that much," Pansy reasoned. Granger sighed as the black haired girl continued her explanation over the group's chuckles, "Anyway, tonight we will be playing—drumroll please…" People started tapping against their thighs and stomping on the ground to create an excited rumble as Pansy let the noise drag out for dramatic effect.

"Seven minutes in heaven!" she crowed out, stopping the crowd in their movements.

Most of the crowd let out cheers with some looking nervous or confused but excited at the prospect of the game.

"What is seven minutes in heaven?" Macmillan questioned.

"It's where two people get locked into a closet together for seven minutes to do whatever they want," Thomas answered with a grin on his face as he waggled his eyebrows at the Hufflepuff suggestively.

"Whatever they want?" Bones asked, her voice slightly shocked but her expression one of excited anticipation.

"Yep!" Finnegan affirmed from where he was sitting beside Thomas with a wide, cheeky grin on his face.

"I would like to remind everyone, however," interjected Granger, "that once the seven minutes are up we will be opening the closet doors regardless of your…positioning inside the closet."

"You can just say even if they're fucking, Hermione," Weasley added.

"Ronald!" Granger hissed with wide eyes, as people laughed at the comment.

"Yes," Pansy added with a sly smile that Draco knew only meant trouble. "Once the seven minutes are up, the doors will be opened for everyone to see inside, without warning."

"How are the two people chosen?" one of the Patil's piped up. Draco thought it was the Gryffindor one.

"That is where…this comes in," Pansy answered as she picked up the empty glass bottle that was on the ground beside her, holding it up for the group to see. "Someone will spin the bottle and whoever it lands on will be the lucky person to go inside the closet with them. The closet, that was so graciously provided by the Room for this very party, is laced with silencing and privacy charms so that us patient partygoers outside will not be able to see or hear any activities that might be occurring within."

Sure enough, the piece of furniture that the group had huddled around was an old wardrobe closet, with intricate door handles and dark wood finishings. Draco privately thought that it looked a bit small to house two grown young adults, and apparently the sentiment was shared with some in the group when Longbottom suddenly spoke up from where he was situated between Abbot and Thomas.

"Isn't it a bit…small?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Pansy brushed off with a wave of her hand. She walked over to the closet and opened one of the doors. She moved to step inside the small closet, and the wardrobe magically expanded to fit her size. She turned back around to Longbottom with a grin on her face as she called out with a grand gesture, "See! Magical shapeshifting closet, fit for yours truly." The Gryffindor raised his eyebrows, impressed, as the closet shrunk back to its original size when Pansy stepped out to resume her position in front of the group once more.

"So as you all saw, the closet can change its size to accommodate the bodies of those inside it. However, with this in mind we have decided to add a little twist to the game."

"What twist?" Micheal Corner hesitantly questioned, his expression becoming worried when Pansy's grin turned sharper.

"The closet shrinks in small increments during the seven minutes. Ergo, the space between you and the person across from you will become smaller the longer you’re inside."

A thrill ran through the group as those who were excited to play started talking in anticipatory murmurs, and those who looked on edge before were shifting around nervously, Draco included.

As Pansy organized everyone that wanted to play sitting around the wardrobe, Draco made sure he was standing far enough away from the group that it was clear he wasn't playing. Pansy gave him a disappointed look when she noticed his absence from the rough circle of players, but allowed him his peace for the moment as she sat herself down to begin playing.

Draco stood there outside the circle of players for a couple rounds, watching the proceedings of the game as various pairs of people spun the bottle and faced their fate inside the closet. Though it was funny to see how far the pair went, so to speak, during their seven minutes of 'heaven', waiting outside the wardrobe the whole seven minutes each round staring at a silent, shrinking closet turned out to be quite boring in Draco's opinion. During the waiting period, Finnegan and Thomas had started running a betting pool for each pair, guessing which raunchy position they'd end up in when the closet door was opened. 

Not everyone seemed to partake in salacious activities within the wardrobe, however. Luna and Ginerva were perfectly composed when Granger opened the doors although both of their faces were as red as the She-Weasley's hair, so what exactly was said during the seven minute period was anyone's guess.

Draco was debating on whether he could slip out of the party unnoticed now that Pansy was distracted with the game, but when he made to turn around the girl was right beside him causing Draco to flinch a little in surprise.

"Merlin, Pansy," Draco said, a hand jumping to his chest. "You startled me. Make some noise when you move around would you?"

Pansy looked at him with a deadpan expression that said she wasn't falling for his dramatics. "Oh? Like you were planning on making noise just now while trying to slip out of the party without saying goodbye?"

Well…she wasn't wrong.

Draco sighed as he looked at Pansy seriously. He supposed he would have to tell her his hesitations for playing if he had any chance of getting out of this. 

"Look, Pansy…I'm just being realistic, alright. Nobody here would want to be stuck inside a shrinking closet with me for any length of time. Not to mention the fact that I don't trust everyone here, and if the all-knowing bottle pairs me with the wrong person, someone could get hurt." He doesn't have to say that that someone would be him.

Pansy's expression softened. She took a breath and exhaled before speaking, "Alright, Draco. How about this?"

"Pansy…"

"Please, just listen. You're already here and you're having a good time—don't look at me like that, I know what you look like when you're having fun—and in my humble opinion, participating in the game of the night at least once is imperative to your complete 'Interhouse Reconciliation Get-Together' experience," she declared, somewhat jokingly. "So have some faith in me, would you? And, if it really does bother you that much, I'll charm the bottle for this next round so that it won't pick anyone who’ll harm you. Does that sound alright?"

He thought it over for a moment before deciding that he had already taken the risk in coming to the party, and despite his grumbling, Pansy was right. He was having fun.

Oh, fuck it.

"Fine."

"Really?" Pansy asked, her whole demeanor lighting up at Draco's response.

"Yes, really. You don't have to look so happy about it, though."

Pansy didn't dignify that with a response as she grabbed Draco by the wrist and tugged him over to where she sat before in the misshapen circle next to Granger. The bushy-haired girl shot a satisfied smile at him when she saw Pansy yank him down to the floor with her, and Draco felt harassed at all the pushing and pulling he's had to endure today. When the next person reached out to spin the bottle and start the next round, Pansy swiftly nicked the bottle from the middle of the circle.

"Actually, it's Draco's first time attending one of these events, so I think it's only fair he should get a turn at the game tonight." She turned to Draco with a reassuring smile, and Draco stiffened as everyone in the group turned to look at him.

"Pansy, what are you doing?" he whispered frantically at her. "I'll get a turn later, do we have to do this right now?"

"Just trust me, Draco," she whispered back.

She moved to hand him the bottle, which is when he noticed her murmuring a faint spell under her breath before the glass vaguely glowed, the barely there pulse of light easily passed off as glare from one of the colorful beams shining around the room.

He took the bottle from her tentatively, and locked eyes with her before she gave him a small encouraging nod. He took a breath before leaning forward to spin the bottle in the middle of the circle, hoping that Pansy's spell had worked.

He anxiously followed the trajectory of the bottle as it started its decline in speed, and for a moment Draco wondered if Pansy's spell would work too well as the bottle made its way back toward his side of the circle. What if nobody wanted to be in the closet with him, and what if the bottle would end up pointing at him over and over again no matter how many times he spun it. Then everyone would know that he asked Pansy to spell the bottle, and he would become an even bigger laughing stock than he was now and—

"Bloody hell," someone said, startling Draco out of his thought spiral with a suspiciously Weasley-sounding voice.

He opened his eyes unsure of when he closed them and eyed the bottle in front of him. It wasn't pointed at him like he thought it would be, but rather three people away from him. When Draco's eyes trailed up the neck of the bottle he saw where it was undoubtedly pointing at—

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Harry Fucking Potter.

Potter was staring at the bottle in disbelief, and Draco thought that this was an even worse outcome than what he was afraid of. He would rather be trapped with someone who would use the time to attack him than spend seven minutes of stiff silence trapped in close quarters with an uncomfortable Harry Potter. The realization that Draco had been trying to avoid for longer than he would like to admit was suddenly ramming against the walls of his mind, and he was now faced with this very real, very dangerous situation.

He liked Potter. Badly. It was almost embarrassing how much Draco fancied him, in all honesty.

And now he and Potter would be stuck in a shrinking closet together, and Draco's mind was running faster than it had all term trying to come up with a way to get out of it.

He liked Potter. Potter did not like him. This was completely understandable because why would he like Draco, Draco had been nothing but awful to him and his friends for as long as he had known him. Granted, Draco hasn't been as awful since good old Voldy destroyed every dream and self-image Draco had ever had for himself, his family, and his future, but regardless, he was still self-aware enough to know that he had continued to be a prickly bastard.

Which begs the question of what was he going to do now?

Before he had any time to think about a solution though, Pansy was pushing him to stand up—again with the manhandling, would you calm down woman?—causing him to stumble toward the wardrobe with wide eyes and what he was sure was a fearful expression on his face.

He didn't dare turn around to look at Potter, not wanting to see the expression on his face. He stiltedly pulled on one of the door handles and shuffled his way inside the closet. He heard Potter do the same and quietly take a seat across from Draco. Both of them sat stiffly with their backs pressed against opposite walls of the closet as it expanded enough to fit the two of them inside. Draco distantly heard someone that sounded like Granger wish them luck, and then the space around them was plunged into sudden darkness.

True to Pansy's explanations, once the doors were closed all sounds from the party outside disappeared. Which only left the sounds of their clothes ruffling as they shuffled around and the awkward silence between them.

Draco's shallow breaths sounded loud to his ears as he stared down at his knees from where he folded up his long legs against his chest and wrapped his arms around them to take up as little space as possible. Potter sat across from him with his legs crossed where he was picking at the hem of his trousers. Draco felt the urge to pull Potter's hand away to stop its fidgeting, but then immediately chastised himself for the thought.

After a few seconds of silence, the closet moved its first few centimeters and Draco flinched as he felt the wall behind his back push his body minutely forward. The wall behind Potter did the same and the space between them began to shrink. He started mildly panicking when the image of the wardrobe's appearance during previous rounds unwittingly flashed in his mind. How unassuming it looked from the outside, its small shrinking increments barely registering to Draco while he was planning his escape from the party. How those small increments now seemed to steal his breath as the slow but steady pressure against him hummed through his body and vibrated under his skin. The distance between him and Potter no longer seemed impossibly wide, but merely an arms length away and Draco was terrified.

It certainly wasn’t helping that Potter was just looking at him.

Draco was familiar with the feeling of Potter staring at him, but for some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the way Potter was staring at him now felt different.

The same prickly feeling against his skin, the same warmth rushing through him as he registered who the gaze must belong to, but the reason it made Draco's body tense up felt entirely new.

Draco—deciding he was not going to be a complete coward about it—did what he always did when he felt Potter's eyes on him. He looked up and met the boy's stare.

They spent a moment like that, quietly looking at each other, and Draco was just glad the closet was dark enough that Potter couldn't see the way he flushed under his watchful gaze. When the air between them became too tense and Draco felt like he couldn't handle it anymore, he wretched his eyes away and began looking at the space around them.

Merlin, this is awful. 

After a moment more, Draco felt the prickly sensation leave his face as Potter followed Draco's lead in uselessly analyzing the closet’s interior. The darkness left the details of the dark wood to the imagination, but Draco could swear that his eyes were slowly adjusting to the lack of light as the shape of his and Potter's bodies were becoming clearer to him. Though, every time it seemed like he could relax his body just a smidge, the walls would push forward again, and he tensed up as the wardrobe constricted the path to his inevitable fate.

Draco felt the pressure of the moving wall against his back. Pushing him closer to the other side. Closer to Potter. His body was strung tight, and he hated how he couldn't ignore how his stupid feelings for the boy made him react like this as their bodies pressed closer together.

“What’s wrong? Scared, Malfoy?” Potter teased him with an infuriatingly smug smirk on his face. Draco flicked his eyes to Potter as he took in gibe.

“You wish, Potter,” Draco spat back in return, his voice not sounding as harsh as he wished.

God, I’m going to kill Pansy when this is over.

Potter smiled, apparently amused at Draco’s predictable response to the taunt. 

“I don’t see you doing anything yourself,” Draco huffed, trying to prod at Potter to see if they could possibly fill the space between them with their familiar bickering. Anything was better than silence at this point.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment,” Potter’s voice was lightly teasing as he said it, and there was a small quirk to his lips and a strange twinkle in his eyes. Potter looked almost…fond. Of Draco.

Draco’s cheeks unwillingly flushed at the expression on Potter’s face and he flicked his eyes back away, as they sat there in a loaded silence that he felt was leading them toward something, though he wasn’t sure what. What wasn't helping was the strange fluttering sensation he felt in his stomach whenever caught Potter's eyes looking at him from across the ever-shrinking closet floor. 

Entirely too quickly, he gave up his attempt at trying to pass the time by staring at the closet ceiling, and his gaze inevitably flicked back to the place he least—or most if he was being honest with himself—wanted to look. Draco took in a deep breath as he allowed himself to look at Potter. Really look at him. After all, if Potter had no issue with blatantly staring at him, then surely he couldn’t begrudge Draco for doing the same, right? 

Draco could count the number of times on one hand that he had been this close to Potter without it devolving into snarling insults or hostile fighting. Granted, Draco had been careful not to get too close to Potter—physically or otherwise—since the war. 

He’d always snuck glances at Potter: from the other side of the Great Hall, during classes, or even more recently, across the table at Granger and Pansy’s study sessions. Every time he caught himself staring, he would force himself to turn away.

Now, Potter was looking at the backboard of the closet with a small frown on his face, and Draco felt the urge to pass his thumb between Potter's brows to smooth out the crease that had formed there. The seconds ticked by and the already limited space inside their enclosure shrinked even further.

He noted that the man in front of him had grown since the war. His frame had filled out a bit, and he no longer looked emaciated and sickly pale from the unwilling year-long camping trip he, Weasley, and Granger took while in hiding. There was a healthy flush to his cheeks, and the way he carried himself spoke of someone who was learning to live without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Draco’s eyes caught on the inky mess of hair on top of Potter's head, and felt his hands twitch with the sudden need to run his hands through the soft-looking curls. As his eyes traveled down Potter’s figure he hungrily took in the expanse of Potter’s chest up close and those thighs that Draco fantasized sinking his teeth into. His gaze traced the vein that ran down Potter’s forearm, and his face heated further as he mentally compared the size of Potter’s hands to his own. He imagined what Potter could do with those hands, where he could put them…

Catching himself before his thoughts fell into total depravity, Draco snuck a quick glance upwards, and he was suddenly thankful for the fact that Potter was looking at something off to the side of Draco’s head as he was sure his inappropriate thoughts were written all over his face.

His eyes were drawn to Potter’s where dark, thick lashes and smoky eyeliner—Merlin, the eyeliner—framed striking green-colored irises. He watched as they fluttered softly when Potter blinked behind his glasses. The glasses themselves were still the same horrendous pair Potter had always worn, which were perched delicately on the slightly crooked bridge of Potter’s nose. Draco found himself reluctantly not hating how they looked on Potter for what was not the first time—unfortunately—and most definitely not the last.

Draco thought about how, if it wasn’t for the dim light of the closet, he knows he might have been able to see the flecks of gold that danced in the green of Potter’s eyes. He had only ever seen the flickers up close, glittering in anger when Potter glared at him and stuck a wand in Draco’s face. He thought about how he knows that Potter has a light spattering of freckles across his nose from the hours of playing Quidditch outside without a sun protection charm, but that the light brown dots normally go unnoticed at a normal distance where they blended into the golden color of Potter’s skin. Draco thinks about how he knows that Potter’s lips are always bitten and slightly chapped, and that he has imagined a hundred times in dreams both day and night what they might feel like pressed against his own. 

“You have a…thing,” Potter said in the heavy silence, abruptly cutting Draco's attention away from his pathetic ruminations.

Potter was waving a hand at his bird nest of unkempt curls, trying to indicate to Draco where this ‘thing’ was. Draco confusedly raised a hand and patted around his hair delicately with his fingertips, trying to feel around for this mysterious item stuck in his hair without messing up his painstakingly intentionally styled disheveled hair. After watching Draco fruitlessly feel around for a moment, Potter huffed an amused breath and leaned forward, reaching out a hand toward Draco’s hair.

“Here let me just…”

Draco held his breath as Potter crossed the short space between them until Potter was hovering right over Draco, one hand braced against the wall beside Draco’s head. Draco closed his eyes, hoping that not looking at Potter would make this easier, and tried his best to keep taking small breaths in and out, lest he pass out. Nevertheless, he felt his body stiffen when Potter’s fingers brushed against his hair while the man picked out whatever it was he happened to see on his head. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the radiating heat of Potter’s body this close to him, and when Potter leaned down to presumably try and get a better look at Draco’s hair in the dark of the closet, the soft puffs of Potter’s breath caressed his cheek from where his face felt like only inches away from Draco’s. 

“Ah-hah, there we go,” Potter said after a tense moment, his voice sounding quietly triumphant as Draco felt him lean away. Draco's eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at the hand in front of him to see a fake feather from the cheap boa Pansy had thrown around him pinched between Potter’s fingers. Draco chuckled breathlessly at the tiny, unassuming fluff. 

“How on earth did you even see that when it’s so dark in here?” Draco questioned softly.

Potter gave a little huff as he too presumably looked at the small white feather in his hand, “There’s a bit of light coming through your edge of the door. It was lighting up part of your head, so I noticed it sticking out, but I—uh...” 

Potter stuttered to a stop as his body went abruptly still, and when Draco looked up away from the feather, he could see why. Draco inhaled sharply as he was hit with the full force of Potter’s gaze locking him in place, and they were close. Too close. 

Potter’s hand was still on the wall next to Draco’s head, and from where he was sitting on his knees opposite Draco meant that Potter's face was positioned right in front of him. He only had to glance down slightly to see the breath of space between them. 

With his newfound proximity, he could see now the bright emerald color of Potter’s eyes, and the small flecks of gold in his irises that were not shining in anger like Draco was used to, but rather with something more heated he was hesitant to name. The faint light brown freckles were dotted across Potter’s nose, and his lips were rosy pink and chapped, and Draco noted there was a faint, tiny scar on his chin that he had forgotten was there. 

It had been so long since he saw Potter this close and—Merlin—Draco thought he was beautiful. 

Their slowly quickening breaths were loud in the silence and Draco knew he was doomed.

The wall against Draco’s back started pushing him forward again, and for a second Draco thought that the moment would break and Potter would move away, but he didn't.

And neither did Draco.

Neither of them moved an inch as they were pushed toward each other, and Draco barely remembered to close his eyes a split second before his lips met Potter’s.

Sweet Salazar.

It’s just the barest touch of closed lips, but Draco’s heart is beating so hard in his chest, it feels like he can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t dare do anything while they’re like this, or else Potter might move away. 

There’s a beat where neither of them move before Potter shifted forward slightly, the light increase in pressure against Draco’s lips causing a tingling sensation throughout his body. The strange feeling only increased when Potter tentatively reached up his hand to softly cup Draco’s jaw before leaning in further to press their lips firmly together and then they were doing it.

They were actually kissing.

Potter was kissing him which finally snapped Draco out of his daze to start kissing Potter back. 

They slid their lips together until Potter’s hand slowly moved backwards and sank into the mess of Draco’s hair. His blunt nails scratched lightly against his scalp before softly gripping the strands with his fingers and pulling to tilt Draco’s head.

Draco gasped at the feeling, and Potter tilted his head to better fit against Draco. He deepened the kiss, prying open Draco’s lips further with his tongue and causing Draco to moan at the sensation of a tongue sliding against his own. The wet warmth was completely unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Potter groaned against Draco’s lips and pressed his body against his, pushing the blonde harder into the wall and covering him with his body. His tongue was exploring Draco’s mouth, sinking deeper and then pulling back in a maddening push and pull as he coaxed Draco’s tongue to move in tandem with his. Draco tentatively stuck his tongue out into Potter’s mouth, and the boy moved to grab Draco’s waist as he gradually leaned backward. He pulled Draco with him, keeping their lips interlocked and bodies flush against each other. 

Potter propped himself up against the opposite wall of the closet, holding Draco in his arms and pushing him around till Draco was straddling his thighs and sitting in his lap. Draco melted into the other boy as Potter slowly dragged his hands up the sides of Draco’s body and dug them back into his hair. He worked on ravaging Draco’s mouth, nibbling and sucking at his lower lip. 

Draco’s lips felt red and swollen, but when Potter went back to shoving his tongue down Draco’s throat, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was so completely lost to the wondrous feeling of Potter kissing him feverously that he couldn’t even begin to think of anything else.

When Draco started feeling light-headed—still not having completely figured out the breathing while kissing situation—he reluctantly pulled away from Potter’s lips to catch his breath. Potter, completely undeterred, moved to bite along Draco’s jaw, nipping up the side of it until he reached the soft spot under Draco’s ear and sucked on it. Draco moaned at the sensation and felt himself relax even further into the body below him. Potter pulled out Draco’s shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers and slipped his hands under Draco’s clothes to feel along his waist and back, dragging his teeth across Draco's neck. Draco felt his skin burn everywhere Potter touched him, his calloused hands leaving a trail of heat when he caressed Draco’s body.

His mind was fuzzy and his face hot to the touch. His head easily tilted backward when Potter nudged under his jaw with his nose and started to suck and kiss messily down the line of Draco’s neck, and he felt like he was floating. His heart was beating so fast and the heat that burned his face spread down his body until he felt it all over. Everywhere Potter was pressed against him, every touch and kiss felt like almost too much, and Draco was overcome with sensation.

After a moment of letting himself turn to putty under the skillful ministrations of Potter’s mouth and hands, he attempted to blink through the haze of his mind. He tried to recall what he’d seen people do before in those muggle romance shows Pansy always watched with him, and unwillingly remembered some of the things he had seen during his brief encounters with couples getting frisky in the corridors during prefect night patrols. 

He dazedly leaned forward to take Potter’s earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it lightly before biting down hesitantly, drawing a surprised moan out of Potter. Draco felt the noise reverberate through his body where Potter’s mouth was pressed against the junction between Draco’s neck and shoulder. He had pulled down the collar of Draco's shirt to expose more skin and had started to suck a dutiful trail of hickeys across Draco’s collarbone. 

Draco grazed his teeth against the shell of Potter’s ear, causing a shiver to run through the man, and Draco felt it everywhere their bodies were pressed together. Feeling emboldened by the response, he ran the tip of his tongue along Potter's ear and continued his teasing until Potter was panting quietly, the puffs of air feeling cool on the fresh bruises bitten onto his skin. Draco dipped his head down to suck at the soft spot under Potter’s ear like he had done to Draco, hoping that Potter would enjoy it as much as he had. 

In response, he heard Potter curse softly and drop his head back against the wall with a soft thud. As Draco moved to bite down the column of Potter’s throat, he could feel Potter’s hands exploring his body. They traced down and up Draco’s thighs and grabbed his arse, kneading it in his palms before dragging his fingers up across Draco’s back and flattening his hands over his shoulder blades. Questing fingers moved up Draco’s shoulders, then back down his arms before making their way slowly up his body again. 

One of Potter’s hands drifted up into Draco’s hair and pulled softly at the blonde strands until Draco’s mouth was successfully detached from Potter’s throat and guided back to the man’s lips. Draco felt something inside him stir upon hearing Potter release a small content sigh when their lips interlocked once more.

Draco couldn’t believe this was happening. Potter was sighing like that because of Draco, and his hands were carding through Draco’s hair and caressing his body like he was something precious, something he wanted.

As their kissing continued, Draco felt his hips start to grind in little involuntary motions, dragging forward and then pushing down against Potter’s lap. 

If he wasn’t sure before that Potter wanted him, it was quickly becoming obvious that he wanted Draco in this way, at the very least. 

When a particularly well aimed roll of Draco’s hips had them both groaning into each other's mouth, Potter suddenly grabbed Draco’s arse and pulled him forward, adding more force behind the next roll of his hips. Draco broke away from the kiss with an embarrassingly loud moan that made him thankful for the silencing charms surrounding them. They were both panting now, kissing foregone as they got distracted in the deliberate actions of their lower bodies. 

Salazar, it felt so good. Each movement sent a sharp flash of pleasure shooting up his spine, and he could feel Potter's fingers digging into the meat of his hips as Draco grinded down onto the bulge beneath him. He felt his movements speed up of their own accord, his breaths now coming in gasps. He steadied himself with his arms around Potter's neck, and Draco never wanted it to stop.

But, entirely too soon, Potter gripped Draco’s hips firmly and brought the delicious rolling to a stillness. Draco whined at the loss of friction as he tried to wriggle his hips out of Potter’s grasp, too lost in bliss to care about how he was behaving. Potter gave a breathless chuckle at his neediness before leaning forward to recapture Draco’s mouth with his own. This kiss was softer and unhurried compared to the fierce way Potter had been kissing him before, and Draco felt his breath catch in the back of his throat at the soft tenderness of it. 

"You're gonna kill me," Potter whispered roughly against Draco's lips, and Draco let out a small puff of laughter in response. Before he could say anything though, Potter had seized his lips once more, and, suddenly, Draco didn't feel the need to speak any longer.

Potter pulled Draco closer—if that was even possible—wrapping his arms around his middle. As they kissed, Draco’s fingers started playing idly with the soft curls at the nape of Potter’s neck, and one of Potter’s thumbs made gentle back and forth strokes along Draco’s hip. He sucked lightly on Draco's lower lip, soothing his earlier stinging bites with his tongue.

Potter released his lip and moved to press his lips against Draco’s reverently, pressing forward and then barely breaking apart before capturing Draco's lips in small lingering kisses over and over again. If their earlier kisses burned him with a scorching heat, these sent a sensation of warmth spreading throughout his body, his heart fluttering with every brush of their lips. 

This was something more than just hunger.

After a moment, they broke the kiss properly. Though, they didn't move far—their foreheads pressed together as they panted quietly into the space between them. Draco leaned back, away from Potter, his eyes fluttering open to look at the man below him, and what a sight he made.  

Potter’s glasses had come off at some point during their heated makeout session leaving no barrier now between his eyes and Draco’s. Gone were the bright dancing flecks of gold, now consumed by a black pool of swimming desire surrounded by a thin ring of green that made a shiver run down Draco’s spine. Potter’s face was tilted up slightly, and his lips were red and kiss-swollen where they were bitten along the soft inside edge of his bottom lip.

Draco didn’t completely recall biting Potter’s lips, although he couldn't say for certain considering this entire experience was feeling more like one of his daydreams rather than reality. He was inclined to believe it was real though only because he could have never in his wildest dreams imagined that Potter would look at him like this.

Potter’s eyelids were heavy as he looked up at him with a dark gaze that caused the fire that had been building in Draco’s body over the past few minutes burn bright with a sudden flare of desperate arousal. 

After a moment of his eyes flickering across Potter’s face, with Potter doing the same to him, the raven-haired boy smiled widely as his hands drifted up to grab either side of Draco's waist.

“Hey,” Potter rasped out breathlessly. 

“Hi,” Draco replied back in a disbelieving, equally breathless tone with a small smile that was quickly growing to match Potter’s. 

“So,” Potter began, his expression turning surprisingly shy, “did you want to—,“ but before Draco could hear the rest of that fateful sentence, the closet door was ripped open, and the sounds from the party flooded back into his ears. 

His eyes blinked rapidly against the sudden onslaught of light, his vision having previously adjusted to the almost complete darkness of the closet. When he could finally see properly again it was to the gobsmacked expression of Weasley and the hootering and hollering of the rest of the party goers in their field of view.

Pansy, who had been the one to open the closet, was now standing in front of them with her hands on her hips and a smug smile growing on her face. Her eyes were alight with clear amusement, and she looked like wanted to take a picture of whatever expression Draco was making right now. 

“Well boys, had some fun did we?” she said through her grin.

That’s when Draco quickly became aware of his and Potter’s positioning: how Draco was still sitting in Potter’s lap with his arms around his shoulders, fingers in Potter’s hair, and Potter’s hands gripping his waist firmly.

Draco’s head snapped to the side to look at Potter’s expression, expecting to see growing regret or embarrassment there as Potter realized what he had done and who he had done it with. Instead, what he saw was Potter—who still hadn’t moved an inch to let go of Draco or move him off his lap—looking at Pansy with an unrepentant look in his eyes and that same satisfied grin on his face that made Draco’s heart skip a beat. 

Potter’s whole appearance was doing something to Draco actually, now that he could see Potter in the light of the room. Potter’s hair was even more of a mess than usual, spiking up in odd ways from where Draco had run his hands through it, and his clothes were rumpled where a few hickeys were poking out from underneath the stretched collar of his t-shirt. Draco’s face flushed hotter with embarrassment at seeing the proof of his savageness marked across Potter’s tan skin. Though Draco had to assume he didn’t look much better.

He noted that Potter’s body was relaxed and his limbs were loose, and that, overall, Potter looked thoroughly debauched.

And Draco had been the one to make him look like that.

Fuck.

After some urging from Pansy, they moved to get out of the closet, Potter's gentle hands touching Draco's hips and shoulders as he helped maneuver him off his lap to stand up. All of this did nothing to help ease the feverish warmth still pulsing in Draco's body. 

As Potter walked out of the closet and back into the party, Draco noted Weasley and Granger rushing over to Potter. He noted Weasley's shocked face as his mouth moved quickly—Draco too far away from them to hear what he was saying—but, assumedly, he was questioning Potter for his lapse of judgement in ravaging Draco Malfoy. He also noted the surprising lack of surprise on Granger's face as she said something to Potter with a small amused smirk, and the way Potter's ears had reddened in response as he sheepishly ran a hand through his hair.

His mussed up hair. That Draco had mussed up.

Circe, he was done for.

Tearing his eyes away from Potter before his mind delved deeper into the gutter it already seemed to have made a home in, he tried to surreptitiously glance at the people around him.

To his surprise, most of the party hadn't even looked their way, too busy dancing with their friends or losing money to a Ravenclaw gambling ring to pay attention to their game. The remaining players were spinning the bottle to decide on the next two lucky victims to be sacrificed to the shrinking closet, and the ones who were looking were laughing or whistling good-naturedly as teenagers were wont to do.

The only person who Draco could see that was uncomfortable was Smith, but everyone knew he was a homophobic bastard anyway, so there's no telling how much of that was because of Draco specifically.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it. Draco was locked in a closet with Potter for seven long minutes and made out with him egregiously and nobody looked twice in disgust. Everyone watched as Potter held him in his lap without a care in the world and nobody minded.

Draco Malfoy kissed Harry Potter and the world didn't end.

Draco was still standing in shock when Pansy approached him with a sly smile on her face. She stood in front of him until he looked down at her in disbelief.

“I did say you would like the party if you came,” she said with a shrug.

Draco blinked twice at her before glaring in disbelief, “You bint, you knew this would happen when you rigged the bottle didn't you? What if Potter didn’t want anything to do with me?”

Pansy sighed, “Draco, darling. I didn’t make the bottle point towards Potter." Draco looked at her confusedly as her grin widened, "I charmed it so that it would point toward someone who wanted to snog you.”

Draco's eyes widened as he glanced over at Potter who was being slapped on the back by Finnegan and accosted by Thomas. Just then, as if he could feel Draco's gaze on him, he turned his head, catching Draco’s stare with a look in his eyes that turned hooded the longer he looked at the blonde.

Draco swallowed dryly as he realized that his…problem that had started up during their activities in the closet was still making itself known and pressing insistently against his trousers.

Potter murmured something halfheartedly to those around him and started walking in Draco's direction. When Draco turned back around to say something to Pansy, he found she had already made herself scarce. He turned to Potter just as he reached Draco, a small smile gracing his lips and a fiery look in his eyes.

"So…" Potter began, his voice carrying a surprisingly boyish tone.

"So." Draco repeated back, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt as he resisted the urge to shift nervously back and forth on his feet.

Potter reached out and grabbed Draco's hand, looking down at his fingers as he entangled them with his own, and started lightly swinging their hands back and forth between them. Draco's heart squeezed at the action.

"What I wanted to say—back there in the closet, I mean."

Right. Draco had almost forgotten Potter had started to say something before they were rudely interrupted. Nerves, excitement, and arousal fluttered in his stomach, and his traitorous heart started speeding up without permission.

"Yes?" Draco asked, hoping his voice didn't sound too eager.

Potter took a deep breath before continuing, his voice more confident now as he looked away from their hands and up at Draco, "What I wanted to say was," Draco held his breath, "…did you want to get out of here?"

His heart skipped a beat as he looked at Potter.

This wonderful, beautiful man who was asking Draco to leave with him.

The innocently hopeful look on Potter's face in contrast with his earlier heated gaze left Draco helpless to the overwhelming feeling of affection in his chest that threatened to burst out of him. He realized that he hadn't responded when the once tentative, confident look in the boy’s eyes started to turn crestfallen, and their hands swinging stilled between them. 

Well, that simply just would not do.

Draco smiled with what he was sure was a pathetically besotted expression on his face and answered softly, "I would love to, Harry."

Potter's eyes widened in shock for a brief moment before a brilliant grin lit up his features. He moved his hand to grip Draco's more firmly and tugged them over to the door at the front of the Room. They weaved through crowds of bodies before breaking free out into the deserted, empty corridors. They rushed down the twisting hallways, rapid footsteps echoing into the night, and when Potter looked back over his shoulder at Draco with the promise of more written all over his face, Draco thought that maybe parties in the Room of Requirement weren't so bad after all.