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Draco has surprisingly pale skin, with freckles scattered everywhere you can imagine, in milky trails, in constellations, and that smile… no, a truly rare smile, the kind that appears for just a few seconds when you look away, first to the left, then to the right, in a playful way. Harry rarely thought about such little things—I mean, really, what kind of romantic is he? And yet, damn it, it’s amazing to realize just how… handsome Malfoy is. Harry would prefer not to think at all about that annoying blond, whose name always makes him look up with interest, or about his delicate features.
But how can I not think about him when I always want to look only at him? The way he smiles, running his fingers through his platinum locks—carefully, so as not to ruffle them by accident, down to his damn lips, to the tips of his fingers? Even his loathsome personality—he’s… delightful.
But, obviously, watching him so openly in the middle of the hallway wasn't the best idea. Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly when he noticed how intently Harry was looking at him.
“What are you staring at, Potter? Do you like what you see?” he snapped maliciously, lazily tilting his head slightly to the right, causing the circles of dancing light to follow along his fluffy hair. Harry swallowed, smoothed down his tousled locks, not knowing where to put his hands out of embarrassment, and, just as he was about to stammer something, was calmly interrupted.
“Non, non, continue, c'est vraiment très sympa*.”
Harry, who was completely out of sorts today, couldn’t help but notice how naturally Draco had said it and how, true to form, he had lazily drawn out the “r” before he even realized it. Harry didn’t like French and didn’t understand it at all—only the simplest words, which he sometimes picked up during the rare lessons at his old school in Little Winging. But the words Malfoy was saying—they sounded pleasant.
“What? You speak French? Well, yeah, of course… it's just easier to call someone an idiot that way.”
“Oui, juste un idiot comme toi qui ne comprends pas que j'aime regarder dans tes beaux yeux**”
“What did you just say?” Harry tried to burn Malfoy with his gaze. The whole situation was getting on his nerves: not only did he not understand a single word of the blond’s slightly rapid speech, but the beautiful tones in Draco’s voice were really distracting.
“I said: you don’t even need to mention it—everyone knows it anyway.”
Malfoy must have seen Harry’s face flush with a sweet pinkish-red blush that was clearly spreading down to his neck.
He saw it and gloated. Gradually, curious students began to gather around them: the spats between these two, especially when they were alone, always seemed to attract a strange kind of attention. Harry glared at them angrily from under his furrowed brows, trying to recover from his embarrassment, and turned away decisively. This wasn’t the first time he’d walked away in the middle of an argument: the excessive attention, which had increased significantly since the war, was extremely irritating.
“You're such a beau***!” Harry heard a quiet voice just before he rounded the nearest corner.
———
*-No, no, keep going. It feels really good, honestly.
**-Yeah, only an idiot like you wouldn't understand that I love looking into your beautiful eyes.
***-beautiful
———
꧁ ꧂
After that incident, Harry seemed to have completely lost his mind. Whenever Malfoy inadvertently came into view, and Potter—as if out of habit—found himself staring at that haughty face, he would catch Malfoy’s gaze fixed directly on him. And, yes! It really was driving him crazy.
He looked at him so brazenly, not taking his eyes off him for a second, studying Harry’s surely flushed face as if for the first time—every feature, every stray strand of hair. Sometimes, even when he was talking to Pansy or Blaise or anyone, for that matter, he wasn’t looking at them at all. At Potter, for heaven’s sake!
When they had walked away, he ran his long fingers through his slightly curly, short hair with a slow, almost sleepy motion, barely ruffling it, while continuing to stare at Harry with a smirk. And Harry, who until then had been trying hard, but unsuccessfully, to pack all his textbooks into his backpack on a windowsill in one of the hallways, couldn’t take it anymore.
Furrowing his brow, he stood right there, almost directly across from Malfoy and shouted, “Cut the crap!”
Draco didn't even think to look embarrassed. He simply leaned his head back against the wall, just as calmly as before. His face looked so relaxed now, even without his usual smirk, that Harry swallowed almost frantically.
“Quand tu parles très méchamment, tu es très beau*.”
“I know you're making fun of me, Malfoy, but cut it out! I can't stand listening to your French anymore, or the fact that you're constantly staring at me as if you actually care about me! Enough already!"
Draco sighed slowly, as if pondering something, and walked wearily, almost exhausted, closer to Harry, who, on the contrary, froze and pressed himself even closer to the wall. For the first time, Potter regretted that even at the busiest time of day, there were too few people in this hallway—in other words, no one at all.
Because Draco's breathing was the only thing he could hear, aside from the tapping of his own heart.
“Mais je ne peux pas cela dire en anglais**!”
"You...!" — the Harry nearly choked with indignation, though for some reason there wasn’t a trace of mockery in Malfoy’s strikingly beautiful eyes; on the contrary, they seemed to betray him as they gazed affectionately at Harry, who had turned a deep crimson.
“Je t'aime***!” Draco tried unsuccessfully to tuck a fluffy strand of hair behind his ear, then suddenly lowered his gaze so that the Gryffindor found himself staring at his light-colored eyelashes—which looked even lighter than they actually were because of the patches of light falling on them—as they fluttered slightly.
And then Harry realized. It seemed almost impossible not to recognize that phrase, and Potter let out a strained gasp, almost covering his slightly parted mouth with his hand. Damn it!
“Damn it, Malfoy!” he said, gently touching and lifting Draco’s face with trembling hands to catch that embarrassed look once more. Touching such soft skin felt so good, and his lips, now so close, were driving him crazy. “You… do you love… me? Answer me, please!”
Draco remained silent, and Harry unconsciously traced his finger across Draco’s pale cheek. Draco didn’t seem to be reassured by the gesture at all, but nevertheless soon spoke in a voice that sounded all too hopeless:
"You know everything."
"Well, not everything. But you'll definitely translate it for me later, right? And you know what?" Draco studied Harry's smiling face intently, as if admiring every emotion and the dimple above his lip.
His face was suddenly very close as the Harry stepped away from the cool wall and very gently traced his fingertips down Harry’s cheekbones, brushed against his tense neck, and ran his palms down to the curls at the nape of his neck. Draco, meanwhile, watched him intently, eye to eye, and Harry exhaled:
“Close your eyes. Please. You… the way you're looking at me, and I… just close them, okay?”
Draco let out a heart-wrenching sigh, wavering. He hissed through clenched teeth: “I hate you so much! Let me go already, you idiot!”
But Harry didn’t have to repeat himself: Malfoy blinked slowly and closed his eyes, almost squinting them shut. Potter was immediately overcome by a sense of awkwardness, and it felt terrifying—to run his hands through the fluffy hair and press his nose against the flushed cheek of the now-quiet Slytherin. With stiff, uncertain movements, feeling his way, the boy reached out his hand toward Harry’s dark hair, ruffling it even more. The brunet exhaled: those full lips were too close.
Then they brushed lightly against his own, his mouth parting invitingly as he kissed him. They felt warm, a little dry, and soft. The touch was very brief, and Draco pulled away first, staring at Harry with wide eyes. Harry swallowed and murmured:
"I... well... what?" Malfoy seemed to smile and snapped.
“For God's sake, Potter, just kiss me”
Damn, it was so nice to look at those twinkling stars in his eyes.
———
*-You're so handsome when you speak so spitefully.
**-But I can't say that in English!
***- I love you
———