Chapter Text
It was during an early morning, in late May, when Harry realised this. He didn’t know how to love people.
Harry wasn’t heartless, no, that wasn’t it. He loved his friends. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and despite her weird but adorable way, Luna. He loved them, and he knew this like the back of his hand.
A warm tuft of ginger hair tickled his chin, and he looked down at the warm body of Ginny. She was asleep, shiny from the warm sunlight that filtered through the curtain. She had nice skin. He loved her, he realised. He loved the way her soft snores filled his tiny, four-poster bed, damping the scorching silence with her presence, the way she flew on the broom—bright and fearless, something he can’t imagine himself doing anymore. The way she held him at night, whispering sweet assurances, grounding him, cradling his shaking form, with her strong, firm embrace.
Harry loved Ginny. But he wasn’t in love with her.
He started thinking a lot, and lately, nothing ever seemed to make sense to him. After everything—his life—the war, shouldn’t he—
Shouldn’t he be capable of loving someone properly?
Then again, he didn’t know what properly meant. No one had taught him. At the Great Hall, his chest would tighten—just a little—when he saw the way Hermione draped her curls on Ron’s shoulder, drowning him in them. It was sweet. Ron would then press his lips to the top of her head, hold her close and smile into her eyes, like she held his whole world. Like she meant everything to him. It was clear as the blue sky on top of their heads, that that was proper love.
There were plenty of examples too, everywhere Harry looked. Mr and Mrs Weasley. Neville and Luna. Parvati and Lavender. Dean and Seamus. Even… his own parents.
Harry didn’t know how to be in love with Ginny. He liked her, just wasn’t in love with her like everyone else seemed to be. But he just knew that when she was around, all thoughts would stop.
She would jab him, poke fun at him, get him out of his own, miserable head. Pull him out of the water, before he managed to drown in his ugly, murky thoughts. He cherished that about her.
Ron and Hermione, and if he was honest with himself, everyone, were treating him like he’d break any minute. Their faces would turn small at the sight of him, lips pressed into the same thin lines, eyebrows furrowed. Like he was a baby. Harry didn’t like their wary looks, or the weird sympathetic voice they’d use on him. He didn’t like it one fucking bit.
The only exception was of course, Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t treat him like he was—he hated the name—The Chosen One, or The Saviour. He treated him with a disgust so familiar and a hatred so deep, that it made something in his chest contract, and in a way, Harry found it nice. It was comforting that at least one person, apart from Ginny, would look at him like he hadn’t been through the war.
“You awake Harry?” Ginny asked, her voice groggy.
“Mmm…” he mumbled, lost in his thoughts. She stretched away from him, and he desperately missed the warmth.
“I’ve got classes soon,” she said, blinking at him through her eyelashes, fluttery with sleep. He wanted to hide away that strand of her hair behind her ear. It covered her pretty eyes.
He nodded instead, and pushed himself off the bed. The white light abused his eyes as he emerged outside their safe curtain-barrier, and he screwed his eyes shut, rubbing them, wincing at the yellow sun.
Ginny came from behind him, swinging her arms around his middle. Harry wished he could hug her back, with the same spirit and love she seemed to spill him with. But he couldn't, and ignored the pang his heart made.
She seemed to sense this, and hit him lightly on the back of his head. “Don’t think too much silly. Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”
They went downstairs, and he wondered where she was getting this energy from. Wasn’t she tired like him? Didn’t her arms ache rough from Quidditch?
The Great Hall was tall as usual. The sky stretched long above them like a painting, clear and blue and cloudless. Harry took a seat across Ron and Hermione, who were already engaged in their own mindless conversation.
They sat flushed together from their shoulders to hips, glued to one another.
“Sleep well Harry?” Hermione asked, suddenly taking notice of him.
He felt bad, like he was interrupting something important, and just nodded. A strange sadness filled him today, but he couldn’t pin-point why.
But he knew it wasn't just him. A sideways glance to Ginny verbalized it more than enough.
Her eyes were fixed on a very animated Luna, dreamy as always, chatting away with Neville about The Quibler, or perhaps Nargles, Harry couldn't tell. She has this angelic aura about her, all white and pure and clean. It felt like being in her presence was enough to cleanse someone. Harry didn't blame Ginny, anyone could easily fall in love with Luna Lovegood. Well maybe not him. Right. He didn't know how that would be.
Harry didn't have classes until after noon, and walked aimlessly about the castle. He would go out for Quidditch, to take his mind off things, but then Ginny had classes of her own that moment, so he couldn't go. Being alone, high up in the sky might give him bad ideas.
He tried not to think of what Ron and Hermione might be up to, or Parvati and Lavender for that matter.
A rustle and a clank from inside an old classroom made him stop. He held his breath, waiting for any more noises. The wind seemed to still for a minute, too, waiting with him. For almost an entire minute, Harry stood there, convincing himself he probably heard things.
Then a silent whimper, edging close to a sob was heard. It felt wrong to just leave, so Harry gently pushed open the door.
It took him a few long seconds to realise that it was Draco Malfoy.
He cautiously went up to him, slow, like he was approaching a small, wounded animal. The thought made him snort silently—Malfoy would certainly not appreciate him being referred to as an animal.
“Malfoy?...”
He was curled into a tiny ball, legs pressed to his chest, head on his bony knees. He trembled around the edges, like he was going to implode any minute.
Harry noticed his blond head moving a fraction at his name, but he didn’t look up at him. The air was tense and quiet, and Harry took a few more steps forward, until there was no space between them.
Malfoy’s thin frame seemed to shrink even further against the wall, as if scrambling away from him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he stay? Leave? What would Hermione do? No. What would Ginny do?
The answer was simple. She’d pull him in tight, until there was no space between them to breathe. She’d remind him, teach him, how to breathe, feed sweet words into his ear, press her hand on his heart, and rock him back and forth, until he learned, just until he learned how breathing worked.
He loved her for that.
Harry crouched down slowly, and settled next to him against the wall, shoulders not touching. He wasn’t sure Malfoy would’ve liked being touched.
Up close, Malfoy’s shoulders shook violently, but they also tensed up randomly. He started gasping and breathing hard, and now Harry was panicking. He knew this was a panic attack, he’s had his fair share of those to identify one, and it’s bloody awful, but Ginny was always with him though it.
But Draco didn’t seem to have a Ginny—which, was unfortunate, but then again, he had Parkinson and Zabini and perhaps even—he cut off his train of thoughts. Not helping Harry.
“Malfoy?…” Harry clenched his teeth as he reached out his arms, enunciating his name again, before he said lowly, “Do you… want a hug?”
His head shook a little, vaguely resembling a nod. Harry’s hands faltered, and he let them slowly drop on him, hoping his touch didn’t hurt.
He expected a cool body, for two reasons. First, the classroom was abandoned, the windows were a little ajar, and it was just bloody cold. Second, Malfoy always looked as pale as death these days, so he assumed the git would be freezing anyway.
Boy was he wrong. Malfoy was very warm.
The hug itself wasn’t exactly a hug, his right arm was barely hoisted around on Malfoy’s shoulder, it mildly hurt because of the odd angle. His elbow screamed in pain, digging into the wall, pressed by Malfoy’s firm back.
Then, Malfoy’s breathing hitched, and he was moving, bunching up the front of Harry’s robes with his fists, pulling him close, and buried his face into the soft crook of his neck.
Now Harry’s breath got caught, and he stilled for a few minutes. With his unsteady, weak hands, he hugged Malfoy in earnest, trying to mimic what Ginny would've done. The front of his robes were quickly soaking in his tears, and it surprised him that the sobs were all inaudible, apart from the occasional shaking that rattled his body.
It took him another embarrassingly long time to realise that Malfoy’s back must be in pain, the angle he was twisted in just looked uncomfortable.
Harry pulled him even closer, slowly, as to not startle him. Malfoy melted into him, resting his forehead on his shoulder, sniffling softly. It made something flicker in his chest.
He ran his fingers through his hair, like how Ginny might’ve done. It was soft, contrary to how brittle it looked. It felt so weird and wrong comforting him, like it should've been someone else. Someone who actually cared about Malfoy, loved him, and cherished him. Harry didn’t do any of that.
And just like how all good things ended too quickly, Malfoy coughed, and abruptly pulled back—wait, Malfoy crying wasn’t a good thing, what the hell, maybe comforting him was good?
Harry let him, watching for any more signs of break down, or any familiar anger, disgust perhaps.
“Potter…I…” He refused to look at him, eyes fixed on his own hands, nestled in his lap. He balled his fists, and opened his mouth—
“Have you ever…” Harry started, and cut himself off. “Er, nevermind. Are you alright?”
Malfoy frowned, and the action made the remnant tears between his inner eyes glisten on his skin. Harry had the weird urge to wipe them away.
He licked his lips, shrugged, and stood up. He looked at Harry for a beat, and said, “Forget this happened Potter. It stays a secret.”
Harry nodded absently, eyes fixed on Malfoy's hair. It had grown a lot, and while he had noticed this, it seemed more real up close. Platinum strands curtained his face, reaching his shoulders, and it framed his eyes in a completely different light. Huh.
“Shh, I’ve got you Gin…You’re fine, you’ll be okay honey. C’mon, you’re okay..”
Soft words. Warm, and tepid, each with meaning and dripping with so much emotion. Harry wished he was the one saying these words. But he didn’t know how to, and it didn’t make sense to just…mimic it.
Word had gotten around that Neville took Luna out to Hogsmeade, and it was all cute and sweet and pleasant. It made sense, anything with Luna just couldn’t be unpleasant.
Ginny was heartbroken. Harry knew she was desperately in love with Luna Lovegood. Now, he realised bitterly, she would just have to learn to live with the fact that she can’t be with her.
Hermione continued murmuring assurances into the top of her hair, holding her, consoling her, as she collapsed. Ron had gone out to get them some Butterbeer, and Harry had stayed. He realised with an ache in his throat that he’d never loved someone so much.
“Harry…”
Sure, his parents and Sirius and Remus and many others. But not like this. Not like Ron, not like Hermione. Or Neville. Perhaps even Luna. Why not? I mean, how hard is it to fall in love with someone?
Her cries were muffled and messy, her sniffles louder, more forceful, reaching a crescendo. Bold. Bolder than Malfoy. Harry wondered with an odd curiosity if Malfoy was capable of falling in love like Ginny.
What an odd thought indeed.
“Harry?”
“Sorry. Er, what is it?” He looked at both of them, forgetting for a muddled second who called to him.
He was crushed in a bear hug suddenly, and pushed against the old couch in their eighth year common room. Ginny’s warm, blazing hair blurred his vision, and he allowed himself to hug her back tighter, once.
“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed, wiping her nose on his shoulder. He didn’t know what she was talking about, but it seemed like the right thing to nod along, hold her, hoping he was doing a decent job. Like how she had done countless times before.
She trembled against his hold. “Harry, I can’t do this to myself…I love her…I’m in love with her…” she took a few shaky breaths, “We can’t be together…”
Harry understood. He had understood from a very young age that finding your true love was hard. He’s too insecure, too hard on himself, others. Too difficult. But if, he indeed did have a true love, he was sure Ginny came closest to it.
“Of course Gin… Hey, you’ll be okay.”
There was this soreness in his throat he didn’t find pleasant. It was heavy and rocky, harsh to swallow, dry like a barren land. He didn’t trust his words, they’ll be messy and ugly anyway, so he just nodded to everything she said after. She smiled at him, small and warm and familiar, and for once, Harry thought he was doing something right.
Harry didn’t know exactly when he started cutting.
He just knew that it happened somewhere between fourth year and fifth, the scorching summers numbed his head, and he found a rusty old razor somewhere in his room. With a few flicks against the window pane, it grew sharp. He drew a small red line along his skin, up the crook of his elbow, and stopped immediately.
It took him approximately a month to return to the old habit, when he came to yet another draining year, this time with Umbridge.
It had been two weeks, just two, since he and Ginny had ended it. Though, there was nothing really to end. See, they didn’t kiss, or do anything. Just two plain people, one in love, one who didn’t know…how to love.
So why was it so bloody hard to carry on without her?
He was in their shared bathroom, in the dead of night when no one was up. The bathroom tile was freezing his bare feet numb, and he settled against the wall, sliding on the floor.
He couldn’t sleep.
The razor, the same rusty one he’d saved, was glistening against the faint bathroom light in his hand. It had been a while since he held the tiny thing. Rain plattered gently against the glass panes outside, its little thunk thunk thunks a small sound in the black night. Harry couldn’t hear it, but he saw it on his way.
The first cut, he felt nothing. He expected some pain, given it had been a while, a couple of months, since he’d done this.
The second cut was also not too different. Nor the third or fourth.
By the fifth cut, he was feeling something. A little annoying sting, but if he concentrated enough, he stopped feeling that too.
So Harry kept going, for a while there, piercing the small patch of skin above his inner-elbow, going up and up, onto his shoulder now, since there was no other place to cut. The bathroom light flickered, and he started hearing footsteps.
He hurriedly pocketed the trusty old razor, and rushed to the sink with shaky legs, checking, and washed his hands.
It was Ron.
“Harry? S’that you?” he slurred, walking on unsteady legs. He rubbed his eyes, covering them with his palms, head bent at a funny angle, and peered at him through the tiny gaps between his fingers. Harry found it funny.
“Yeah, it’s me…” he said, watching his best friend.
“Have you been here long?”
“No,” he lied. “Not really… Why, did I wake you?”
“Nah, jus’ nightmares… And don’t lie, it’s been half an hour since you’ve gone mate.”
Oh.
“Er, I kind of fell asleep in the middle.” he blurted, scratching the back of his neck, an old habit whenever he lied.
Ron noticed. He had that look, it was something small in his blue eyes, shining with suspicion. But he didn’t press, and Harry was grateful. “Fine. Go sleep Harry, you look dreadful.”
“Right. Yeah, I’ll be going.”
Harry wished he could sleep. But he knew he couldn’t, not that anyone else could either anymore.
The morning came sooner than he wanted, sunlight sneaking through the little curtains, which didn’t feel so safe like it once did anymore. It warmed his face into consciousness, much to his dislike. He missed Ginny.
Breakfast was dull too. Much like many things these days.
He knew he should get a therapist. That’s what Hermione had said, and though he never really liked her ideas, he knew deep down she was right. He was too messed up, dirty, filled with ugly, all consuming thoughts.
“Sleep well Harry?”
This time it was Ginny. She sat across from him now. Not next to him anymore. He couldn’t put his head on her shoulder, lean his heavy mind on hers for support, and while the angle had always made it painful for his neck, he longed for it with an ache he couldn’t name.
“Yeah, you?” he asked simply, pushing the pumpkin juice to her. She didn’t answer, and only smiled at him, the smile not quite reaching her blood-shot eyes.
He let his gaze wander around, looking and looking, searching for something he didn’t know. Ron and Hermione had had breakfast early today. Ron had nudged him countless times, calling him up for breakfast, and he’d thought it was a silly dream.
They were probably in the library, he guessed. Studying, or drafting a schedule for their N.E.W.Ts, or… he didn’t fancy finishing the thought.
His eyes found Malfoy a few feet away from their small, eighth year table. He was pushing around the food at his plate, back and forth, his eyes furrowed, like he was solving an unsolvable puzzle. Harry watched him for a while, until Malfoy looked up at him without warning.
It startled him for an insignificant moment, but he kept watching. It reminded him of their little incident two days ago, and he felt a little bad for him. It certainly must’ve been humiliating if your rival had to comfort you. Then again, were they really rivals anymore? Harry didn’t know. Or, he didn’t really care.
He smiled at him, the stretch of his lips twisting his face in a strange way, unfamiliar to him, and he stopped. Malfoy watched him with confusion, and when he realised what Harry was doing, or trying to do, he scowled at him. Then, he stormed away.
"Oi Malfoy! I dare you to..." Dean held his chin in thought. He smirked at him, and said quickly, "Show us your biggest scar."
There was a sudden silence in the common room.
The eighth years had decided on a games night, which had been going on every Friday now, almost since the start of the year. The majority had of course opposed the idea of the Slytherins joining, but once Luna changed her mind, pulling Parkinson and Malfoy with both hands into the circle on one particular day, no one said anything to object. It seemed they didn't even think to do it.
People stared at him, including Harry. He realised with an uncomfortable guilt what his biggest scar would be, and stared determinedly at his lap.
Malfoy didn't catch his eyes either, and simply kept his head down. He licked his lips once, and opened his mouth, and then Parkinson cut him off.
"That's not fair to him. You can't just—that's not—" she stammered, one hand fiercely clasping Malfoy's. "Give him something else."
"A dare's a dare," said Dean. "Besides, it isn't even that bad! Unless you want me to dare you to snog someone you have a crush on—"
"Fine." he drawled.
This time, Harry did look up, and caught his stare. He had a new shine in his eyes, challenging, like he dared everyone to say something. Before Harry could make sense of what was happening, Malfoy started unbuttoning the top of his crisp white shirt—the posh git still dressed up for games night—showing the pale line of his collarbone.
Harry looked away.
It seemed however, that everyone else were so engrossed in Malfoy's scar, like moths to flame. Hermione and Ron, who sat a little away from him, were watching him too.
His eyes drifted back to Malfoy, tentatively. He undid the last of his buttons and then, he stood up. He pushed away the shirt with practiced ease, not quite removing it, but just so it revealed his bare torso.
People gasped. Harry held down a shiver, as he stared at the scar flashing a few feet in front of from him. It looked like a thick pink line, all ragged edges and fading. It started on the top of his left collarbone, dragging down, and ended just below the dip of his right hipbone.
His body was very... thin? pale? fit?
Harry stared at it, gulping, as Malfoy spoke again. "Good enough Thomas?"
"Yeah," Dean croaked, suddenly looking very guilty. Harry didn't blame him, he was feeling just as awful. Malfoy stared at him with an icy gaze, unwavering, and Harry broke eye contact.
Parvati clapped her hands slowly then, and wolf-whistled. "That's quite sick Malfoy." she said. Lavender joined her too, until everyone clapped for him, even Harry—though he did so feeling dumb.
"Alright that's enough with the sour mood," Seamus piped. "This is supposed to be fun, you lot! I say let's spice this up—Malfoy, give a good dare to the next person."
"That depends on the next person," he said smoothly.
People stared expectantly at him, and Harry saw his face heat up a little. He redid his buttons, and Harry watched his nimble fingers move quickly.
Then, he looked directly at Ron, "Truth or dare Weasley?"
"Er, truth."
"Bummer," he muttered and stared at him with a smug look. "Which teacher would you shag?"
"W-What?" spluttered Ron.
"He's asking which teacher you'd fuck—"
"Yes, I got that Seamus." said Ron, whose face was burning up like his hair. He looked at the floor for a long minute, Harry was counting sixty eight seconds now, and muttered slowly. "Er... I... Madam Hooch?"
A few people laughed. Harry supposed it was the safest option, considering they were all either too old, or just not desirable in that way.
"Nice one, I see you prefer your women fit?"
"Shut up Malfoy! As if you aren't any better!" he said, pointing at Parkinson.
At that, he and Parkinson exchanged funny looks, and started laughing like they'd heard the funniest joke in the universe.
"Salazar, was that a compliment Weasley?" laughed Pansy. Maybe it was, because she was fit wasn’t she? Harry wouldn’t blame Malfoy for falling for her. She had a nice face too. Pleasant when she didn’t scowl at them.
Pansy elbowed Malfoy, "If only we weren't such raging homosexuals, right Draco?"
A blush crept up Malfoy’s face, making him look even softer, though Harry wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or the Firewhiskey. Either way, Malfoy smiled at her, a genuine smile, and nodded.
Malfoy was gay. Malfoy was… gay?
Perhaps it made a little sense, now that he thought about it, because he was a little feminine wasn't he? With his long, slim fingers and thin frame... his pointy features. Though they didn't seem as pointy when he laughed like he actually meant it. Now that the thought crossed his mind, maybe with his blush and all that, he seemed soft, didn’t he?
"Harry?"
Maybe he was changing, Malfoy. Then again, a war did do that to people. Harry was no exception really, he was changing too. Just like Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, Neville, Malfoy—
"Harry!"
He looked up, flushing when he caught everyone's eye. Malfoy frowned at him a little.
"Sorry... What was the question?"
Ron smiled at him softly, "It's okay mate. Truth or dare?"
Truth might be safe, but that meant he'd have to talk about things he might not want to talk about. A dare was risky, but he could just get it over with.
He chewed his lip a little, contemplating, and minutely caught Malfoy's eye again. He looked at him in an odd way, and looked away quickly.
"Dare. Give me something good Ron." He didn't know why he said it, it just came out of him.
Ron looked at him for a beat, thinking. "Er... I dare you to... put makeup on your face for the rest of the round!"
"Ron!"
"What? This is revenge for you and Ginny did to me—"
"But that's not fair—"
"I swear if you lot say it isn't fair one more time!" said Seamus, "You picked dare, Harry. Gotta follow through it, or you're out."
He huffed. "Fine... just, can someone help me with the makeup?"
He looked at Ginny, but felt Malfoy's stare drill into the side of his head. He felt nervous.
She jumped into action with a "Yes Ms Harriette," and pulled him right to the bathroom.
After they came back, the rest of the game continued. Maybe he was self-conscious, but it seemed like Malfoy was looking at him more often than not. He was probably imagining it.
Was his eyeliner weird? Maybe the contour or whatever Ginny put on was a little too much?
"I dare you to confess to your crush!" said Neville, looking at Zabini.
Zabini blanched. "Wait, you mean like right now right now?"
"Yeah, if it didn't mean right now, as opposed to fifty years ago."
"But I don't—"
"You lot really need to loosen up! I swear, first it's Malfoy, then you," Seamus pointed at Harry, "and now you too Blaise!"
He got up, pulled out a few more bottles of Firewhiskey. He really was trying to make everyone drunk. Then, he proceeded to fill everyone’s share, ignoring Hermione’s complaints just like everyone else, and settled down with a dramatic sigh.
"Finally. Go on Blaise, confess up!"
Zabini pulled his hands up, dragging it over face. He contemplated for a few minutes, staring down at his own hands. His eyes slowly drifted over to Ginny.
"Er... " He muttered eloquently.
The others made hooting noises, some supportive and others surprised, and Harry stared at him, a stricken look on his face. Zabini liked... Ginny?
"I er, I like you." He bit his lip as he said it, flushing a deep red that coloured his cheekbones. Harry realised that they were very sharp and high. Zabini had good cheekbones.
He shook his head, looking at Ginny. She muttered something to Zabini, but Harry couldn't hear it over the others talking. She smiled at him, and then took huge gulps out of her drink.
"Mate?" Ron nudged him.
"Yeah?"
"Is it just me or does Malfoy keep looking at you every other second?"
At the mention of his name, Harry quickly turned to him, only to note his eyes already looking. Like a child that had been caught doing something naughty, Malfoy quickly looked away, face flushed.
"Yes, Harry, I think so too. Malfoy just can't stop staring at you!" Seamus slurred, quite loudly, in fact, so loud that everyone now looked between Harry and Malfoy, funny looks on their faces.
As if she found the perfect distraction, Ginny looked devilishly at Malfoy and said, “Truth or dare Malfoy?”
“Dare.”
There was hooting and hollering, people generally very excited, too excited in Harry’s opinion. His heart thudded rhythmically against his ribs, increasing its pace without warning, like something was gonna happen. Good or bad, he didn’t know.
Ginny giggled, a soft bubbly sound, and stared at him with mirth. “I dare you… to kiss Harry on the lips.”
To his absolute surprise, Malfoy didn’t seem even meagerly shocked. He flushed a visible pink, gulped his Firewhiskey with enthusiasm, and looked at Harry with new determination.
Then, he was moving to the center, that too elegantly—how did he even crawl elegantly, he allowed himself to wonder, the git, and then the others with looking at him with loopy smiles. Harry was frozen.
“Harry! Harry! Harry!”
“Go to your lover!”
“What?” He must’ve imagined that.
“Give the ferret a kissy!”
“Ron! Not you too—” he stuttered, feeling very hot and nervous. Ron clapped him on the back, just as he kneeled, and in the process pushed him way into the center, way too much, in fact so much that he was directly falling into Malfoy’s arms. He caught him around his shoulders, as the others cheered on. Harry’s heart took another leap.
“Scared Potter?”
Harry shook his head. He was, tempted to say you wish, but decided against it. It seemed weird to remember something from years ago, when they’d been little kids, innocent, and filled with thoughts about stupid rivalry. Plus, he didn’t need Malfoy knowing he remembered.
“Go on you too! We haven’t got all night!” yelled Ginny. Pansy snickered in response, “Maybe we do, they can take all night.”
He wished he hadn’t heard her. Now his face was like a bloody furnace, heating up without permission.
Malfoy looked at him with no discernable expression, but maybe that was because Harry didn’t wear his glasses. Damn her, Ginny, she’d taken them off despite his protests.
He felt a hand, soft and warm, on his chin, tilting his head upwards. He thought Malfoy was going to kiss him, and then, he was kissing him.
It was chaste. At most three seconds, Harry counted. It almost felt like nothing, just like a soft pair of clouds. Malfoy’s other hand was firm on his shoulder, while he barely felt the one on his chin.
He felt fuzzy all over, tingly and jittery. His heart raced, and then he was being pushed back, and he blinked dumbly. Without another look at Malfoy, he crawled back to his place.