Harry was sitting in the middle of the hall, watching the people dancing. None of the dancers, whirling joyfully from one spot to another, seemed to have noticed him and Ron sitting there. When Parvati and Padme realised they wouldn’t be joining them on the dance floor any longer, they had moved away and were now having fun in a corner with a group of people.
Harry scanned the room, as he had done so many times before; Hermione was still dancing with Viktor, completely lost in her own world, whilst Neville and Ginny were dancing with drinks in their hands, joking around with a few others beside them. Snape had now vanished from the spot where Harry had seen him so many times before.
Ron, sitting next to him, made a sound like a snore; Harry turned towards him to see that Ron’s eyes were closed and he was dozing. Harry dropped his head and fixed his gaze on his feet; perhaps he should go to sleep too, or perhaps he should wake Ron up and suggest getting out of there.
Harry looked up with a sigh; now, at the other end of the room, metres away where drinks were being served, Draco Malfoy was standing, staring intently at him. Beside him, Crabbe, Goyle and a few Durmstrang students were chatting; occasionally, an unfamiliar Durmstrang student would make gestures in the air whilst speaking, tapping Draco’s arm with the back of his hand as if waiting for a reply.
It was clear that Draco wasn’t listening to the conversation, though he would occasionally nod his head slightly as if in jest; yet his eyes remained fixed on Harry, never straying even as he sipped his drink.
For several minutes, Harry pretended not to notice him and let his gaze wander over the people in the room, though he couldn’t help stealing the occasional glance at Draco. After a few minutes, Draco finally looked away, turned to one side, joined in the conversation and began telling a story.
Harry heard Ron snoring from the side once more; he reached out an arm, and Ron opened his eyes in bewilderment, having forgotten where he was, and blinked for a few seconds. “Come on,” said Harry, “let’s go.” Ron nodded slowly, picked up his robe from the table, and stood up.
As Harry got up, he found Hermione standing beside them. He could now hear Hermione and Ron arguing about something, but his attention wasn’t on them. He didn’t even glance at the argument and walked on, leaving them behind; a moment later, Ron caught up with him and asked, “What’s wrong with her?” Harry replied, “I don’t know – girls, you know.”
As he walked down the corridor, Harry spotted the robe in Ron’s hand and realised he’d left without taking his own. In annoyance, he muttered, “You carry on; I’ll just go and get my robe and be right back.” And he turned back the way he’d come. When he reached the common room again, he couldn’t find the robe he’d left on the table. A voice behind him said, “Is this what you’re looking for, Potter?”
Harry didn’t need to turn round to know who was speaking. Just as he was about to turn, the robe was draped over his shoulders. He spun round quickly; Draco said with a mocking grin, “Don’t catch a chill.”
Harry was trying to work out what Draco was up to, why he’d done this instead of simply giving it to him, or, more importantly, why he’d taken it in the first place. Harry thought that beneath Draco’s grin, he was either about to fall victim to a joke or be on the receiving end of a dig, but nothing happened.
Draco wasn’t wearing his black velvet jacket; he was simply wearing a white shirt, a white waistcoat over it, and a white bow tie to match. It was the first time he had seen Draco dressed like this. He always wore black and would have a jacket or cloak on. At most, the shirt he wore casually at school on hot days was white.
He couldn't help but think how good he looked. The white went well with his platinum hair and grey eyes. As the outfit fitted snugly around his body, it emphasised his figure and highlighted his broad shoulders. “Do you want a kiss, Potter?”
Harry was stunned by what he’d heard. Draco now had a huge grin on his face. “You were staring for so long, I thought for a moment you were going to pounce on me,” said Draco, laughing heartily. Harry couldn’t think of anything to say; he turned on his heel and walked away.
Harry was now lying in his bed. Everyone had returned and were asleep. Although a few hours had passed, Harry still couldn’t sleep. Lying face-down in the dark, he was thinking: ‘Why had Malfoy reacted like that?’ Had Harry been staring at him longingly? Yes, he’d thought he looked good, but he’d only thought it in a casual sort of way. Harry blushed for a moment.
He knew he liked girls; he was sure of that. Otherwise, why would he have liked it when Cho showed an interest in him? But at the same time, he was living with that little secret he couldn’t admit to anyone. Whilst out and about or sitting around with Hermione and Ron, Viktor would sometimes come into their line of sight. Sometimes he’d be wearing normal sports clothes; other times he’d be doing his daily running training, having taken off his top to reveal his skin-tight, sweat-soaked vest. Harry was, of course, in awe of Viktor after seeing his moves in the match, but he also had feelings that went beyond mere admiration.
On one occasion, Viktor had visited them whilst they were practising Quidditch. As there were to be no matches this year, the whole team wasn’t training, so Viktor had suggested joining in for a quick match. At the end of the match, whilst Viktor was offering his comments on everyone’s performance, when it came to Harry’s turn, he had praised his performance and congratulated him on becoming a Seeker at such a young age.
But the only thing Harry could think of whilst Viktor was speaking was his hand. The hand that Viktor had first placed on his shoulder and squeezed—perhaps due to the burst of energy that followed the match—wouldn’t stop moving. As Viktor spoke, it would slide from his shoulder down his arm, stroking him, then move up to his hair, ruffling it, before sliding down his back and patting him a few times. Harry realised that Viktor wasn’t doing this on purpose; after all, he’d done it to others too. Harry thought it was just an unnoticed habit, but for days he couldn’t get Viktor’s touches out of his mind.
Every now and then, he’d squeeze the shoulder Viktor had squeezed, or stroke the arm Viktor had wrapped his own arm around in the same way. But he didn’t get the same feeling. Viktor’s touch had been rough and brusque, yet Harry had found it pleasing. But he wouldn’t even have dreamt of telling Hermione and Ron about it.
Now, that feeling he’d experienced weeks ago had returned this evening.
As Draco draped his robe over Harry’s shoulders, he placed his hands on them with the same firmness with which Viktor had squeezed his shoulder. Harry had always thought of Draco as a scrawny sort. The robes he wore concealed his figure, but when he’d worn a fitted jacket at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry had realised that Draco was actually quite well-built and had a good physique.
Harry was blushing again. Why was he thinking about these things? Why was he so preoccupied with men’s touch and appearance? Harry banished the thoughts from his mind to stop himself from blushing any further. He turned onto his side, buried his face in the pillow, and tried to sleep.
for so long this had been in my drafts (im not gonna write it so you can take inspiration/use)
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