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"Draco! You lost!"
A chorus of jeers echoed throughout the Slytherin dungeons. Clearly, these young snakes were exceedingly interested in the fact that the Malfoy heir had lost—so much so that not even the threat of future retaliation from the platinum-haired Malfoy dragon could dampen their excitement. And the centre of the snakes' entertainment, the Malfoy family's only son, Slytherin's little platinum prince, sat grimacing on that dark green leather sofa, silently cursing himself for the umpteenth time for ever taking part in this wicked Muggle game.
The whole thing started because of this Muggle game—Truth or Dare. Sometimes you have to admit that Muggles have an immense enthusiasm for prank games, and likewise, that group of little snakes wanted to use the opportunity to thoroughly mess with their friends.
And Draco?
He was just a poor Draco who had accidentally passed by, only to be ensnared by his dear Pansy.
Originally, Draco had planned to go to Honeydukes to check out their new products and see if anything suited his taste. If so, he would buy some. Of course, if he still had time, he would also go and pick a fight with that brainless Gryffindor troll along the way.
Merlin above! He really was just passing by, and at the very beginning he genuinely, genuinely scorned this game—he had always despised Muggle games. But after Pansy dragged him over and made him listen to the rules, he couldn't help his mischievous streak from kicking in.
He wanted to use the game to prank Pansy and her sickeningly sweet boyfriend. Those two flaunted their love right in front of him, utterly oblivious to his presence, day in and day out—it annoyed him to death.
The mischievous little dragon had already imagined himself victorious in the game.
But imagination is beautiful, reality is cruel; he never expected that he would be the one pranked first.
"Alright, my dear little dragon, Truth or Dare? Choose one," Pansy said with a grin, while that insufferable Zabini watched the show with great relish, chiming in alongside his girlfriend. "Yeah, Draco, hurry up and pick one." He paused abruptly. "You're not thinking of backing out, are you? Surely our little Slytherin prince wouldn't choose to renege, right?"
Damn Zabini!
Draco thought savagely. Merlin's stinky socks, he really had been thinking of denying it—after all, this lot couldn't do anything to him anyway.
But! That Zabini had gone and voiced it outright, leaving him absolutely no way out!
Does a Malfoy have no pride?!
Utterly cornered, Draco hung his head dejectedly. "Then Dare."
"I thought you'd pick Truth, little dragon," Pansy said regretfully.
As if. If I picked Truth, what would happen if something that shouldn't be dragged out got dragged out? Draco thought to himself.
Just as the little snakes were racking their brains on how to mess with this platinum little dragon, Pansy suddenly blurted out, "How about this, little dragon: you wear shorts with black thigh-high socks for an entire day?"
The little snakes: "?"
Blaise: "??"
Draco: "???"
Silence, the Cambridge of the night. (A playful reference to the poem "Farewell to Cambridge".)
The Slytherin common room fell into a deathly hush, and then came Draco's roof-lifting shriek. "Pansy Parkinson! Have you gone utterly mad?!"
Blaise considerately covered his girlfriend's ears and directed a decidedly un-aristocratic wolf whistle at Draco.
"Little dragon, you have to accept the consequences of losing."
Suddenly, an evil glint flickered in Blaise's eyes. "If I remember correctly, little dragon, didn't you lose two rounds?"
Draco choked, then retorted defiantly, "That was just the first trial round for beginners! It doesn't count!"
Look at this pitiful state of his, Blaise shook his head inwardly.
"No welshing, or no little cakes for you tomorrow."
"!"
"Zabini, you're threatening me!"
"It's not a threat, little dragon. This is called Slytherin astuteness—"
Draco desperately wanted to hex Zabini with a front-tooth-sweller on the spot. If Zabini wasn't going to let him off easy, then Zabini could forget about having it easy either!
But he couldn't. For the sake of his little cakes, he had to swallow his pride.
"Oh, and there's another challenge," Blaise feigned a troubled expression, then suddenly his eyes lit up. "You have to go provoke Potter wearing this!"
"?" Draco was baffled.
Why do I have to wear this to provoke Potter?
Enlightenment struck Draco.
Zabini definitely wanted to see him make a fool of himself!
Damn Zabini!
Draco still gave in. What could he do? The Slytherin little prince couldn't actually go back on his word. Besides, Zabini held his lifeline in his hands—the green apple little cakes.
I will definitely get my revenge, Draco ground his teeth.
Draco's figure actually leaned towards the slender side. The Malfoy family's requirement for aristocratic poise meant he couldn't possibly be built like those tall, burly Muggle rugby players—muscular and solid, all over—it didn't suit the Malfoy aesthetic. And Draco himself had extremely high standards for his own appearance; every day before class, he would meticulously inspect himself in the mirror.
Tie, trousers, robes, scarf, hairstyle—all had to be absolutely immaculate.
Refinement, nobility—these were compulsory courses for a Malfoy.
And as an esteemed Malfoy, he could never possibly wear shorts—it was simply against decorum. Especially shorts that didn't reach the knee, and on top of that, paired with black thigh-high socks.
Back to the point: Draco's build was on the slender side, but that didn't mean he had no flesh on him—the scrawny, bony kind, that is.
Draco's thighs actually had a bit of plumpness to them.
However, since he always wore long trousers, the flesh on his legs never showed.
Draco helplessly tugged at the thigh-high socks. They felt a little tight.
Have I been eating a bit too much lately?
Draco fell into deep self-doubt.
Seeing Draco like this, if Blaise hadn't been clinging desperately to Pansy's hand, there was no doubt she would have flown over to wrap Draco in a hug—and seized the chance to feel up those fair, plump thighs.
Merlin's beard!
They looked so incredibly touchable!
I truly am the cleverest Slytherin!
Pansy was beside herself with excitement, circling Draco madly.
Meanwhile, the other little snakes, on the surface all appearing proper and composed, were actually all sneaking peeks at Draco.
As everyone knows,
The Slytherin little prince has a bad temper, a venomous tongue, and loves to stir up trouble for no reason—a complete second-rate character.
But he possesses first-rate beauty.
You can't blame us; blame the fact that Malfoy is genuinely quite good-looking.
Mm, a free look is a free look. The little snakes felt perfectly justified.
Hidden in a corner, Blaise rubbed his nose. Honestly, little dragon dressed like this was lethally effective.
The next morning, the Great Hall at Hogwarts was in utter chaos.
The chicken leg in Ron's hand dropped onto the floor for the first time without any warning. He shook Harry frantically—Harry had just finished his Potions essay and was so exhausted he could have fallen asleep right on the flagstones of the Great Hall.
"Hey... mate, you know I just finished my Potions homework... I think I need a good rest..."
Harry was yawning even as he spoke, casually grabbing a bottle of pumpkin juice from the table.
Ron stared at the entrance to the Great Hall, his expression one of sheer horror, as if he were seeing one of his mum Molly's Howlers flying in.
"Harry!!! Look at what that little ferret is wearing!!! How could his ferret family allow him to dress like that—"
Wearing what?
With pumpkin juice in his mouth, Harry turned his head in a daze.
And then he saw the freshly presented Slytherin little prince, wearing shorts that didn't reach the knee and black thigh-high socks.
And then, Harry's gaze was rooted to the spot.
Merlin, his legs were so slender, so long—the gap between the thigh-high socks and the shorts revealed a dazzling expanse of white.
Oh, and coupled with the embarrassed flush on his face, Merlin above, he really was so beautiful.
Harry looked at Draco, and for a moment forgot to swallow the pumpkin juice, which then dribbled out of the corner of his mouth—making Harry look for all the world like a pervert at that moment.
"Scarhead! What are you looking at!!!"
Draco yelled at Harry.
Dressed like this, Draco felt extremely self-conscious. His thighs felt exceptionally exposed. He really couldn't understand why Pansy had insisted he wear this.
And after he put it on, she'd been inexplicably ecstatic.
The whispers spreading through the Great Hall made Draco burn with shame and rage. And then, he saw Potter staring fixedly at him with those green eyes pickled in toad slime.
Unable to contain his fury, Draco stormed aggressively towards the Gryffindor table.
Before Harry could even register what was happening, Draco had grabbed him and dragged him out.
Oh ho, looks like the second challenge is about to be completed. Blaise rubbed his hands together excitedly, dragging his girlfriend along as they stealthily followed.
Draco shoved Harry against the wall, slammed one foot up onto the wall beside Harry's waist, and planted a hand next to Harry's bird's-nest of hair.
"Funny, is it, Potter?" Draco's face was dark with fury.
What was Harry thinking just then? Harry wasn't thinking anything. His mind was completely blank. He and Draco were too close—so close he could smell the scent of green apples on him.
Merlin's trousers, was this Merlin's reward for him staying up all night to finish his Potions essay?
If this truly was a reward, he could write another three inches of Potions essay.
Harry had completely lost his bearings, but a sliver of rationality remained. Just as Harry was about to speak, he glanced down, and that last shred of rationality just... snapped.
Draco was wearing shorts—the kind that didn't reach the knee.
What did this mean?
It meant the shorts were inherently short, and moreover, while Draco's thighs had some flesh, it wasn't enough for the shorts to fit snugly around them.
So, as Draco lifted his leg, his shorts slid all the way up to the top of his thigh.
Harry Potter suffered a ten-thousand-point critical hit.
It really wasn't that he wanted to look!
He was not a pervert!
He truly wasn't a pervert!
Though this was what Harry was telling himself inwardly, in reality, his eyes could not tear themselves away from those legs.
Draco seemed to realise something was off too, and then he also noticed what Potter had noticed.
Draco's face now resembled a boiled tomato, equal parts mortified and furious.
Hurriedly, Draco put his leg down and frantically yanked the already-not-long shorts further down.
"Don't look!!! If you look again I'll dig out those green eyes of yours pickled by toad—"
Right, earlier it was Draco dragging Harry away, and now it was Harry dragging Draco away.
As if! How could Draco be seen in this state by others? That was the only thought in the mind of the somewhat delirious Harry as he whisked Draco off.
Harry brought Draco to the Room of Requirement, turned around and slammed the door shut fiercely, pinning Draco against it.
The already shooting-up frame of the young man was overwhelmingly oppressive; the shadow falling over Draco gave him a twinge of unease.
"Potter, you'd better let me go right now! Or I'll tell my father!" Draco couldn't break free from the scarhead's restraint no matter what, so he could only try to use his father to make this brainless troll back down.
"Malfoy, why did you dress like this to come and find me?"
Harry smiled, but it wasn't quite a smile.
What necessary connection is there between me dressing like this and me coming to make trouble for you? Draco scoffed internally.
He'd originally intended to thoroughly mock the scarhead, but then a malicious idea struck him—he'd use this chance to disgust the fellow.
It's not like the troll knew why he was dressed this way. Being able to disgust him through this seemed rather good.
Draco pondered for a moment and felt very satisfied with his scheme.
Abruptly, Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's tie, forcing Harry's head down. Using this momentum, he leaned in and pressed his face right up to Harry's ear. "What if I said I was trying to seduce you, scarhead? Would you believe me?"
Warm breath lingered around Harry's ear. These words seemed to carry magic, as if a thousand paper cranes were fluttering madly in his heart.
Harry was dizzy from the impact of that sentence.
Seduce?
My crush is seducing me?
Our feelings are mutual?
Harry's eyes suddenly erupted with a tremendous light.
And Draco? He was currently very satisfied with Harry's state. He figured the scarhead would shove him away next, flee without looking back, and then be unable to eat for days on end—his prank a perfect success once more!
Though Draco might actually feel a little upset at this reaction too. Even though it was a prank, there was a hint of genuine feeling mixed in—he really did like the scarhead, though no one knew.
And while Draco was lost in this tangled web of thoughts,
He was abruptly thrown by Harry onto a large bed that had appeared out of nowhere. Draco was dizzy from the impact and was just about to get up and hurl abuse when the lion on top of him pinned his hands above his head.
Draco: "?"
Draco: "!"
Draco struggled madly—this was completely different from what he had imagined!!!
"Harry Potter!!! Let me go right now!!"
Harry planted a soft kiss on his lips, a kiss that immediately made Draco's entire body stiffen.
"My dear little dragon, I must say, you've successfully seduced me," Harry laughed lowly, with a note of merriment that was hard to decipher. "If I don't do something, wouldn't my dear feel as though he hadn't truly succeeded?"
Draco roared silently in his heart: I'm not seducing you!!
And I absolutely do not want to succeed, alright?!
The next day, Draco tottered unsteadily into the Great Hall, glancing around warily the entire time.
"Darling—" Pansy patted Draco's shoulder, and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing it was Pansy. "Pansy, you scared me to death..."
"You were gone from classes for an entire day yesterday. Professor Snape was almost worried sick—what did you and that Potter go off to do?"
Upon hearing this, a blush suddenly crept onto Draco's face.
Before he could speak, out of the corner of his eye he spotted the head of black hair barreling straight towards him, along with those bright green eyes.
A jolt went through Draco's entire body. As if the physical exhaustion had been swept away in an instant, he spun on his heel and sprinted wildly down the corridor in the opposite direction.
It's that damned Gryffindor troll aaaahhhhh!!!
I absolutely have to get as far away from him as possible aaaaahhhh!!!
Everything about this Gryffindor is terrifying!!!
Harry saw Draco turn tail and run, paused in surprise, then immediately broke into a run and charged forward.
"Draco!!! You're my boyfriend!!! I'm your boyfriend!!! Why are you running—"
Without looking back, Draco yelled: "Don't come near me aaaaaaaaaahhhh!"
Snape, who was passing by: ?
Boyfriend? What boyfriend???
Whose boyfriend is whose???
Nearby, Ron watched the scene unfolding before him, utterly dumbfounded. "'Mione, am I not awake yet?"
Hermione gave the poor lad a sympathetic look, patted her boyfriend on the shoulder, and said quietly, "You're awake. Also, perhaps we should find a chance to celebrate Harry getting what he's always wanted?"
Ron: ???
Getting what he's always wanted???
Get what, what's wanted, what???
And how could Draco possibly outrun Potter? Held tightly in Potter's arms, the little prince wept inwardly:
I am never, ever picking Dare again!!!