#2kfa

At first, it was only drinking. Harry stood with Ron by the drinks table chatting casually but fully conscious of Malfoy behind Ron’s shoulder, still sitting by the fire. Daphne Greengrass had brought a full bottle of firewhisky over for him and had one shoe resting on the footrest of his stool.

“You’re staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring,” Ron repeated. “It’s not subtle.”

“I don’t– ”

“Know what I’m talking about,” Ron interrupted. “Sure.” He shoved a cup in Harry’s hand. “You need a drink.”

Harry looked down at the firewhisky swirling in the cup. The last time he drank, he’d been very tempted to kiss Malfoy. He’d stared at Malfoy’s lips all night, and when he’d finally walked over to give in to it, Malfoy had made an offhand remark and Harry had ended up shouting at him instead.

You should see your face right now. It looks like you’re about to kiss me. Just how drunk are you, Potter?

Harry took a large gulp of firewhisky, wincing at the burn in his throat.

“Feel better?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t help but look past Ron again. Malfoy was still talking to Greengrass.

He knew it was coming, but Harry still groaned when Pansy Parkinson announced it was time for truth or dare. “What are we? Twelve?” He muttered to Ron.

Ron only laughed. “You just wait. It’s brilliant.”

Harry wasn’t convinced.

The room converged into a circle with Parkinson at the centre, some on the couches, some cross-legged on the floor. Malfoy hadn’t moved from his stool, but Zabini now sat between him and Greengrass. Harry tried not to be so pleased by that small detail.

“Let’s talk rules,” Parkinson called out seriously.

“We all know the rules!” Dean Thomas said.

“No, you don’t,” Parkinson said, “because you all keep cheating. I know you were lying about McGonagall last week, Dean.”

“Was not!” Dean argued, his face bright red. “Seamus made up that rumour.”

“No more cheating,” Parkison announced. “This time, we play properly.” Then she pulled a small vial from her pocket.

Harry’s stomach dropped.

“What the fuck, Pans?”

Malfoy stood up and strode to the centre of the circle. He whispered something in Parkinson’s ear. She laughed and brushed him away.

“Every player must take a drop of Veritaserum,” She said to the group. “Those are the rules. If you don’t like it– ” she turned her head to Malfoy– “you don’t have to play.”

Malfoy’s lip twitched but he didn’t say anything else, just turned and sat back down on his stool.

Pansy Parkinson made her way around the circle, making sure a drop of the truth potion landed on everyone’s tongue. No one opted out of playing, not even Malfoy.

“Got any secrets, Potter?” Parkinson whispered as she held out the vial to Harry.

“No,” Harry lied just before the Veritaserum hit his tongue.

Parkinson smiled wickedly and moved onto the next person. Harry felt sick. He should have walked away, but he was curious about Malfoy. Ron rubbed his shoulder.

“You alright?”

Yes, Harry tried to say but the word stuck in his throat. “No,” he admitted.

“If you want to go, say the word and we go,” Ron said, and Harry would’ve known he meant it even without the Veritaserum.

“I don’t want– let’s stay.”

Harry had already decided he wasn’t going to choose truth. There were too many questions he didn’t want to answer and right now his mouth would readily betray him. Dares would be easy. He wasn’t too fussed about stripping to his underwear or skinning dipping in the Great Lake. Obviously, they weren’t his favourite 1am Sunday morning activities but if it was that or telling the truth, the choice was simple.

Except nobody was daring anyone to skinny dip in the Great Lake.

Zabini went first, daring Daphne Greengrass to kiss Parvati Patil. Greengrass rolled her eyes and led Parvati into one of the dormitories off the common room.

“What are you doing?” Zabini asked.

Greengrass looked back at him with an innocent smile. “You never specified we had to do it in front of you.”

They returned five minutes later, Parvati’s lipstick significantly lighter than it had been when they entered and Greengrass’s lips bright red.

“New rule,” Parkinson announced. “All dares, unless specified otherwise, must be completed in this room.”

Zabini looked pleased with the update until Greengrass dared him to kiss Neville Longbottom on her turn. Then Justin Finch-Fletchley dared Seamus Finnigan to kiss Dean Thomas. Then Dean chose truth and was asked if he had a crush on Professor McGonagall.

“No,” he said quietly, his face pained. Then his eyes lit up and he started to smile until the Veritaserum made him add, “But I used to.”

After that, it was back to dares again, which were almost always some variation of kissing someone else in the room, as if there was no other possible dare.

Parkinson had shuffled her way into the circle a few spots to the right of Harry – although Harry had never seen her take Veritaserum herself. When it was her turn to ask someone, she leaned around Hermione to stare at Harry.

“Truth or dare?”

He watched her eyes flicker to Malfoy and back to him and panicked. He knew exactly what her dare would be. He changed his answer at the last second.

“Truth.”

Parkinson’s face dropped but only for a second. She tilted her head and smiled at Harry in that way Professors do right before they tell you you’ve earned a T for Troll on your essay. “Why aren’t you choosing dare?”

Harry didn’t have any time to consider his answer before the Veritaserum was speaking for him. “Because I’m worried you’ll dare me to kiss Malfoy.”

Harry took a relieved breath. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. He hadn’t really revealed anything. Of course he wouldn’t want to kiss Malfoy. That would be ridiculous.

“So, that’s the worst dare you could think of?” Malfoy drawled in a voice that wasn’t quite as bored as it was probably intended. “Grow up, Potter.”

“Get fucked, Malfoy,” Harry muttered back automatically. 

Malfoy held up the bottle of firewhisky he’d been nursing all night. “Working on it.”

Harry had no idea what to do on his turn. It seemed like everyone had already kissed everybody in the room and he couldn’t think of any other interesting dares. He looked around the room trying to find someone who wouldn’t mind him daring them something boring. His eyes passed quickly over Malfoy.

“Just pick someone, already,” Justin Finch-Fletchley called out. Hermione shushed him.

“Come on, Harry. Who do you want to pick?” Ernie asked and then threw a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– ”

But it was too late. “Malfoy,” Harry’s mouth said. Veritaserum was a bitch.

The room buzzed. Harry took a long sip of his firewhisky. His face felt warm. He hoped to Merlin it wasn’t red.

“Go on then, Potter. Ask me.”

Harry looked up at Malfoy and almost dribbled the firewhisky back into his cup. Malfoy had crossed his legs over and perched his head on his arms, staring down at Harry intently across the circle. Harry quickly composed himself and swallowed.

“Truth or dare,” he said, placing his cup back down. It wobbled but Ron’s hand shot out and grabbed it just in time.

“Malfoy only ever picks truth,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear. “He always lies, though.”

“Dare,” Malfoy said clearly.

Pansy Parkinson gasped in excitement.

The room seemed to be on edge, everyone leaning forward in the circle waiting for Malfoy’s first dare. Malfoy was staring at Harry with uncomfortable intensity.

“I dare you– ” to kiss me. Harry wasn’t brave enough to say it, but it’s all he could think of. His mind had been wiped clean of every possible dare under Malfoy’s gaze.

“I dare you– ” he started again. The room was getting impatient now, but Malfoy’s intensity held. What could he possibly ask?

Harry cleared his throat. “I dare you– ” his eyes flickered to Malfoy’s tight sleeves– “to show us your Dark Mark.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry wanted to take them back. He heard Ron’s sharp intake of breath beside him. For once, Parkinson was silent. It was a terrible thing to ask of Malfoy, even more horrible to dare him.

Malfoy looked down at his left arm through the fabric of his robes.

“Wait,” Harry called out, meaning to take the dare back. But Malfoy held up a hand to silence him.

“The sleeves don’t roll up,” Malfoy said. He looked up at Parkinson who shook her head. He stood up, placed his firewhisky bottle carefully on the stool and started on the buttons at his neck.

Harry watched on, horrified. Not only was he forcing Malfoy to show his Dark Mark, something he had kept hidden so well no one had ever seen it, but he was also forcing him to strip to his underwear in front of the entire eighth year.

The room was silent as Malfoy worked his way down the buttons that spanned from his neck to where his robes brushed against the floor. Harry hated himself for noticing how delicately Malfoy’s long fingers handled the buttons. But he kept focusing on the hands so he wouldn’t look at the rest of Malfoy’s skin as it was slowly revealed. It was bad enough that Harry caused this humiliation, it wouldn’t be fair for him to take any enjoyment from it.

Malfoy unhooked the last button and stood up, shrugging the robe from his shoulders. There was too much skin to avoid now. Malfoy didn’t even seem concerned about his near-nudity. All he wore under the robe were black boxer briefs that clung tight to his thighs–

Harry snapped his head up, away from Malfoy’s underwear. Malfoy peeled the robe back from his arms. Harry caught a flash of black ink before Malfoy turned and placed the robe carefully on his stool. Harry resolutely did not look down at Malfoy’s briefs when he bent slightly forward. And he certainly did not let his eyes linger there until Malfoy turned back around.

Malfoy held out his left arm to the room, his face blank, eyes empty. The Dark Mark wasn’t how Harry expected. He had seen it before – he knew Voldemort’s style well. But Malfoy didn’t just have ink on his arm. At the head of the skull was a huge gaping sore, scabbing at the edges. And where the snake coiled out, Malfoy’s skin was grey and bruised. Harry looked up and met Malfoy’s eyes.

“Happy now?”

“No,” Harry answered honestly.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Harry held completely by Malfoy’s eyes, until Malfoy turned away and the spell was broken.

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. “You alright?” He asked again.

“No. But I don’t want to go.”

Malfoy pulled his robe back on but he didn’t bother with the buttons. He perched himself back on his stool, one leg up on the footrest, letting the robe fly out beside him. Harry averted his eyes.

It was Ron’s turn next and when he announced it the whole room groaned and the mood lightened immediately.

“Please pick someone else this time, Weasley,” Parkinson said. “You can’t keep doing the same dare every week.”

“That wasn’t a rule,” Ron said. He turned to Hermione. “Truth or dare?”

“Say truth,” Neville called out and the room followed in a chant. “Truth, truth, truth.”

Hermione ignored them. “Dare.”

“I dare you– ” more groans– “to kiss the most handsome man in the room.”

Hermione stood up, making a show of assessing each member of the circle.

“Just do it, already,” someone heckled.

Hermione made a beeline for Malfoy.

“Why does everyone have the hots for Malfoy?” Ron called out, pretending to be hurt.

Malfoy’s head snapped up, looking past Hermione to Ron. Harry’s stomach felt tight.

Ron gestured to Padma and Parvati beside him. “I heard these two whispering just now,” he quickly covered (to Harry’s relief).

Malfoy looked away, immediately disinterested and Hermione stopped the pretence and ran to Ron, settling into his lap before finally kissing him. The room groaned again.

The game continued with more dares – mostly kissing – and a couple of truths – mostly related to kissing. Harry would’ve regretted not walking away earlier if it weren’t for Malfoy sitting casually, half-naked on his stool, rolling his firewhisky bottle from hand to hand.

Then it was Malfoy’s turn, and his eyes landed on Harry.

Harry gulped.

“Truth or dare?”

Malfoy had to be planning revenge for Harry’s dare. He couldn’t risk it.

“Truth.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. He looked around the room and then returned his eyes to Harry. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

Oh fuck. The words were already forming in Harry’s mouth. He should have chosen dare.

“I want to kiss you more than anything,” he blurted out. He felt heat creeping up his neck. “But I didn’t want you to know that,” the Veritaserum compelled him to add, although it felt like a silly thing to say. It was too late now. Not only Malfoy but the entire eighth year knew. The whole school would probably find out by Monday.

“You want to kiss me?” Malfoy asked, his voice soft and – despite the half-empty firewhisky bottle in his hands – very, very sober.

“You heard him,” Ron said. He stood up, blocking Harry (and his embarrassingly red face) from the rest of the room.  “Don’t be a prick and make him repeat it.” Ron turned to Parkinson. “Let’s call it a night– ”

“Wait,” Malfoy said. “ I need one more turn.”

“You’ve just had your turn,” Ron reminded him. “You can’t– ”

“But I have to dare Potter– ”

“Harry’s already answered your truth. I think that’s enough, don’t you, Malfoy?”

“No, it’s not, I– ”

Harry stood up beside Ron. “Dare,” he said, against his better judgement.

Ron turned to him. “Harry, it’s fine, you don’t have to– ”

“I accept your dare, Malfoy,” Harry said loudly, his voice more confident than he really felt. “Go on.”

Malfoy stood up, passing his firewhisky to Zabini. He walked across the circle to Harry, his robe moving with him, the skin of each leg revealed and hidden again with each step like an endless striptease. He stopped in front of Harry, leaning on one leg so their eyes were at the same height.

“Potter,” he said seriously, “I dare you to kiss me.”

Malfoy’s voice was quiet but it was pretty clear everyone heard anyway from the chorus of gasps and excited whispers that followed. Harry easily blocked them out – Malfoy held his full attention now. He realised it was quite silly to worry about this dare, that he had wanted it all along regardless. Even if nothing further eventuated from it. He really wanted to kiss Malfoy.

So he did.

It started all wrong. They both tilted their heads the same way and  Harry’s mouth landed on far more chin than necessary. It didn’t help that everyone was watching. When they finally got their mouths right, the taste was awful – the Veritaserum left a sharp tang like liquorice – and Malfoy’s mouth was dry from the firewhisky. Harry wasn’t sure if he should be including his tongue yet or if that was too far for a first kiss. He wasn’t sure what he was doing at all.

Then Malfoy’s hands found Harry’s hips and pulled him forward, just as Malfoy’s tongue decided to make the first move. And the kiss didn’t feel so wrong anymore. Now, Harry didn’t hesitate when he felt the urge to run his hands through Malfoy’s hair – he just did it, and enjoyed when Malfoy made a soft sound of approval.

Harry could hear Ron herding people out around them and he felt relief in knowing he wouldn’t have to stop doing this any time soon.

“Come on, hurry up,” Ron was saying to the room. “Anybody who’s still here in the next five seconds will be bat-bogey hexed by my sister.”

“Ginny’s not even here– ”

“Out!”

“But this is our common– ”

“OUT!”

Harry opened his eyes for a second. The room was clear except for Ron who was scooping up the belongings people had left behind. Their eyes met and Harry tried to smile – which probably didn’t come across all that clearly with Malfoy’s mouth still covering most of his. Ron mouthed “HOLY FUCK” and gave Harry the thumbs up before running out the door. Harry would have to thank him later.

Just as Harry was about to close his eyes, Malfoy opened his and pulled back slightly. He laughed when Harry’s face dropped.

“Kiss me again,” Malfoy said. “If you want.”

Harry realised what Malfoy was doing. He wasn’t daring anymore. He was simply asking. 

“Do you want?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” the Veritaserum answered for Malfoy. He rolled his eyes and added: “Obviously.”

So with no dares and no audience, Harry kissed him again.

Draco looked at him expectantly, remaining half behind the bookshelf as if afraid to come out any further. Harry realised Draco was still waiting for an answer. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It was stupid.”

“As stupid as this?” Draco asked. His hand went to the cuff of his sleeve but then he pulled back and just pointed at his left forearm instead. Harry understood all the same, although he couldn’t quite get Draco’s tone. Was he joking?

“No,” Harry said slowly, “I guess not.”

“Then I’m in no position to judge you,” Draco said, his face impassive. It was impossible to understand the tone of the conversation they were having with Draco doing that. Harry was used to identifying Draco’s various scowls and glares but this was devoid of any tell.

What the hell, Harry decided. “I was just thinking that it might be nice to be dosed up on Veritaserum so I’d be forced to tell everyone the truth all the time.”

Draco took a step out from the bookshelf and the faintest smile flickered across his face. “Is Harry Potter a liar?” He asked.

Harry couldn’t tell if it was a genuine question or a jibe. He wished Draco would give him some clue. “It’s not that I’m lying,” he answered carefully. “It’s just that I’m not always telling the full truth.”

Draco stared at Harry for a moment – far too long a moment, Harry was starting to sweat – and then pulled out the chair across the table and sat down. He propped his chin on his hands. “What’s the full truth?”

Harry was a little taken back by the directness, and still not sure of Draco’s intentions. He couldn’t think of an answer. “I don’t know.”

Draco smiled properly then. It was teasing, but not in a cruel way. It was the kind of way that made Harry feel like he was in on the joke. “You want everyone to know that you don’t know.”

Harry laughed, surprised that the sound had been elicited by Draco of all people. His once sworn enemy. “If I had Veritaserum, I wouldn’t have to know what I wanted to say, it would just come out.”

“I don’t think it works like that. You still have to know,” Draco said, tilting his head thoughtfully and blinking through eyelashes Harry only just realised were strikingly long. “I know what I’d say to you.”

“What?”

“A lot of things. Many that I definitely won’t be saying without Veritaserum.” Draco dropped his hands and let his eyes fall to the table. There was a slight blush on the edges of his cheekbones that made Harry curious. “There is one thing, though, that I’ve been meaning to…” He trailed off and looked back up at Harry seriously. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For the big things. For the little things. For everything I’ve done that’s made your life harder. For every hex and for every line of ink in this stupid mark on my arm. I’m sorry.”

Harry blinked back at Draco in surprise. It was not what he’d been expecting. Not after months of silence. And now Draco was looking at him, waiting for a response, and Harry didn’t know what to say.

Draco dropped his gaze back down to the table and– “I like your eyelashes,” Harry blurted out. Loudly.

Draco’s head snapped back up. He and Harry both flinched when a heavy Shhh, courtesy of Madam Pince, floated their way.

“Excuse me?” Draco whispered, staring at Harry strangely.

Fuck. “They’re long,” Harry said because it was the only explanation he could think of. Inside, he was screaming at himself for opening his mouth at all. He felt his face heating up. Why had he said that?

Draco laughed (and another Shhh came their way). It was light and high-pitched (the laugh, not the shhh), and nothing like Harry expected Draco’s genuine laugh to sound like. He had never heard it before. 

“I don’t think you’re cut out for Veritaserum,” Draco said.

“Why?”

Draco smirked but there was no cruelty in it. “If you blush like that just from telling me you like my eyelashes, then you probably won’t be able to handle the things a truth serum makes you say.”

The way Draco said it, it was like he knew. Instead of asking the obvious, as Harry could only imagine the horrible circumstances in which Draco would have been fed the potion, he asked: “What kind of things?”

Draco hummed for a moment – a pretty sound Harry also hadn’t heard before – and then said: “All kinds of things. Simple things, like eyelashes, but other things too. Fears and anxieties you’re used to keeping hidden. Debased things you usually only think of in the dark. Desires you convince yourself you don’t feel but you know you do.” He shrugged as if to take away from the seriousness of what he was saying. “If the Veritaserum allows you say it aloud, then it’s something you already know.”

Harry felt himself unconsciously leaning into Draco over the table. He stopped himself before he went too far. Draco’s words made him curious. “Debased things?” He repeated. “Like what?”

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked to be thinking carefully. And then: “I like your hair.”

Automatically, Harry lifted a hand to his head and pushed back his hair at the mention. Draco’s eyes followed the action. “How is that–“

“I won’t answer that,” Draco interrupted. His lips quirked upwards. “At least, not without Veritaserum.”

Harry tried to imagine the implications himself but thought better of it when a number of images appeared in his head too inappropriate to entertain in a library. He shuffled in his seat. “I like your cheekbones,” he said.

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise but replied quickly. “I like the green in your eyes.”

“I like the sound of your laugh,” Harry shot back.

“I like the way you fly.”

“I like your hands.”

“Shhhhh,” whispered Madam Pince’s voice from a distance.

“My hands?” Draco repeated, lowering his voice. They both looked down at them.

“They’re elegant looking,” Harry explained lamely. Draco’s fingers were long and delicate and his hands looked like they’d be soft to hold, albeit a touch boney. Not that Harry was thinking of holding Draco’s hands. He’d just happened to notice is all.

When Harry looked up, Draco was already starting back at him, although Harry could have sworn Draco was looking at his lips in particular. He stuck his tongue out and swiped it across his bottom lip, and Draco’s eyes darted right back down. Harry could feel his face heating up again. If he really was dosed with Veritaserum, he’d tell Draco–

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

The words were Harry’s but they fell from Draco’s mouth.

“Me too,” Harry said quickly.

Draco smiled, warm and soft at every edge, and he leaned across the table, taking Harry’s face in his hands. Harry was right – they were soft. Harry leant forward himself – he couldn’t let Draco do all the work – and pulled his hands up onto the table to lift himself up a little. In the process, he accidentally knocked his Potions textbook to the floor with a loud ka-plunk, but he wasn’t particularly concerned; his only thoughts were of Draco and how those lips would feel against his. Would there be sparks? Electricity? Heat? He was feeling all those things in his body just from the anticipation alone so he knew it had to be something more.

He closed his eyes as their lips grew closer and braced himself for the impending magic. And sure enough, when his lips met Draco’s, it was an instant flash of magical energy. He’d never felt so charged in his life. But it only lasted a second. Because as soon as their lips met, they were ripped apart.

Harry fell backwards with the force and toppled backwards over his chair. He looked up to find Madam Pince standing above him, wand raised. “This is a library,” she whispered, a look of horror on her face. “A place of study. It is not your bedroom.”

Harry nodded quickly, scrambling to his feet. He could see Draco doing the same on the other side of the table.

“Get out of my library. Now,” Madam Pince said venomously. “And pick up that book!” she ordered, eyeing Harry’s Potions textbook on the floor.

Harry hastily grabbed it, shoved it into his bag and after a quick side-eye to Draco to make sure he was doing the same, made a run for it. Harry was surprised, but not unhappy when Draco slid his hand in his and they ran together, Draco’s laughter in his ear.

“And no running in the library!” Madam Pince yelled out after them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy asked, or rather accused. He’d taken the bed covers with him and was holding them around himself, leaving Harry in a particularly vulnerable position.

Harry sat up quickly, crossing his legs over the semi hard-on he was sporting. It appeared erections were contagious. Malfoy’s eyes followed the action and Harry couldn’t be sure whether he’d noticed or not.

“Nothing,” Harry answered Malfoy. Which was basically the truth after all – Malfoy had been the one holding Harry down and pushing certain appendages up against him.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t seem like nothing.”

“You were the one with your arm around me,” Harry bit back. He had known from the moment he’d woken up that Malfoy would try and turn the situation around on him.

Malfoy held the sheet tighter. “I did no such thing.”

“You wouldn’t let me go,” Harry explained, wondering why he bothered. He was certain Malfoy wouldn’t believe him. “That’s why I had to wake you up. You were…holding me down and cuddling me.”

Malfoy’s face changed, indignant accusation replaced with whatever the feeling was that made Malfoy blush like a fire engine. That was interesting.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said after a painful silence. “I – I must have thought you were someone else.”

Harry would have easily believed the excuse if Malfoy’s face were any other colour. Now, he wasn’t so certain. “You said my name,” he pointed out.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. He leant against the post of Harry’s bed with an attempt at casualness that was anything but. “Yes, well…” He paused, taking a sudden interest in Harry’s bed-hangings and then the floorboards of their shared room, before returning his eyes to Harry. “I have a thing for my pottery teacher.”

“You have a thing for your pottery teacher,” Harry repeated blankly, trying to process the absurd excuse. “When have you ever taken a pottery class?”

Malfoy sniffed and twirled Harry’s bed-hangings in one hand, (the other still holding Harry’s bed covers tightly to his chest). “I’ll have you know that I tried out several muggle activities during the Summer holidays, Potter. There’s no need to act so surprised.”

Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy taking any muggle classes, let alone getting his hands dirty making pottery. But whether Malfoy was lying or not, it didn’t matter. Because: “You didn’t say Potter.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You just said–“

“You said Harry,” Harry finished.

Malfoy visibly gulped. “My pottery teacher’s name is Harry?” he said weakly.

Harry couldn’t help the embarrassingly wide smile that claimed his face. “Let me get this straight. You have a thing for Harry the potterer.”

“I thought you were supposed to be all noble and good, Potter, but if you’re going to tease me about this, then you’re clearly not as good as you–“

“Is that why you like me?” Harry interrupted, grinning up at Malfoy. “You think I’m noble?”

Malfoy looked past Harry to the far window. “I don’t like you. I like–“

“Harry the potterer?”

Malfoy fixed Harry with a warning glare that would have been much more convincing had his cheeks not still been painted red. “Yes.”

Harry stared back, unblinking. He wanted to catch every tell in Malfoy’s face, wanted to find anything that would confirm what he could hardly hope to believe: Malfoy liked Harry as much as Harry liked Malfoy.

Malfoy’s face didn’t give Harry the sign he was looking for at first, although the red had spread to the tips of his ears. The real giveaway came when Malfoy simply gave up. “Fine. It’s you. I like you,” he confessed, slumping under Harry’s gaze. “Now that you’ve humiliated me, can we please ignore each other for the rest of our existence?”

“But I– “

“No, Potter, don’t even try to make this better. Unless you’re going to willingly let me obliviate you, there’s nothing you can–“

“I like you too.”

That shut Malfoy up. He gaped at Harry for a moment before he seemed to realise what he was doing and snapped his jaw shut. “You…like…me,” he choked out.

“Obviously,” Harry supplied. If confessing his feelings wasn’t enough, the semi hard-on in his pants that Malfoy surely must have noticed by now was another dead giveaway.

“What do you mean, obviously?” Malfoy asked, straightening up. “It’s not obvious at all, Potter. If–“

“Harry,” Harry corrected. Malfoy ignored him.

“–that’s how you conduct yourself, no wonder all of your fan club still think they’ve got a chance. You have to be clear with your signals. You can’t just–“

Harry stood up, slipping himself into the very small gap between Malfoy and the bed. Once he straightened up, Malfoy’s face was centimetres from his, close enough he could feel Malfoy’s warm breath as he stumbled over his words.

“–just–just–just–“ he was saying on repeat, his eyes fixed on Harry’s lips.

“Is this clear?” Harry asked. He closed his eyes, tilted his head forward and–

Harry’s eyes jerked open as he felt a cold pressure hit him square in the mouth. He could taste mint and cucumber and – was that orange? It wasn’t an unpleasant taste but it was strong and unexpected and (this was the worse bit) it hadn’t come from Malfoy’s lips. In fact, Malfoy had taken half a step back and wore the same expression Harry imagined was on his own face. The sensation finally made sense: a breath freshening charm.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said. “You were going to kiss me and I realised we hadn’t brushed our teeth yet– wait, you were going to kiss me, weren’t you?” Malfoy dropped his gaze to the floor. “Oh fuck. It’s just you were so close–“

“Malfoy.”

“–the way you were looking at me–

“Malfoy.”

“–I didn’t mean to–“

“Draco!”

Malfoy–Draco finally stopped and looked up.

“I was going to kiss you,” Harry said. “I am going to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Draco’s lips twitched into a smile. “Hurry up, then.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he leant back in for take two. This time, Draco laid another charm on him, but it wasn’t so much magic as it was his mouth. There was no warming into things or slow beginnings, it was all hunger and greed from the second their lips met. Harry was certainly grateful for the breath freshening charm since Draco seemed quite intent on exploring the full extent of Harry’s mouth. His impossibly long tongue had Harry already contemplating its other potential uses.

Harry’s hands found their way – completely of their own accord – to Draco’s hips, holding onto the bare flesh tightly for support. His legs were firmly backed up against the bed, and with his upper body pushed back with the force of Draco’s kiss – not that he was complaining – Harry could feel himself starting to fall. He dug his fingers further into Draco’s hips but the only good it did was bring Draco down with him.

Falling back onto a bed sideways mid-kiss was not as glamorous as movies had made it look. The sharp edge of the mattress dug into Harry’s back and Draco’s body hit him in the chest hard enough to wind him momentarily. Even worse, their lips had dislodged during the fall which Harry was not too happy about. He shuffled himself up the bed, righting the angle and bringing Draco with him. Harry kept shuffling until Draco’s body seemed to slip in place on top of him, his legs around Harry’s and – yes, there it was – his erection pressing against Harry’s own.

Draco’s mouth was back on Harry’s immediately, helped in part by Harry lifting his neck as far as it would allow, unable to wait for Draco to close the full distance. The kiss was just as hungry as their first, only this time, every time Draco pushed deeper into Harry’s mouth with his tongue, Harry could feel the pressure in the rest of his body as well, including a certain appendage that was no longer semi-hard.

Harry spared a brief thought for the breakfast they would certainly be missing this morning in the Great Hall before gliding his fingers down to the waistband of Draco’s pyjama pants. He let them sit there, brushing across Draco’s hipbones gently, waiting for permission to go further.

Draco broke the kiss and pulled his head back slightly to look at Harry. “I– I’m not– I mean–“ Draco’s earlier blush returned. “This is my, er, first time.”

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Harry admitted. He’d never gotten very far with Ginny; the impending war had basically cockblocked him.

“You too?” Draco questioned, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s. “Then why are you acting so…so cool about it?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess I just assumed we’d figure it out?”

Draco sat up which Harry could see logically was an indication to take a break from their…heavy petting…but it didn’t help physically that Draco was still straddling him and the new position put just that extra pressure on Harry’s cock.

“Right, I should have realised,” Draco said seriously, clearly not affected by the position in the same way Harry was. “Classic Harry Potter, barging recklessly into sex as he does all his endeavours.”

It took all Harry’s strength not to move, not to buck up into Draco and– “Is that bad?” he asked, shaking the impulse from his head.

Draco frowned. “Of course it’s– look, we can’t just have sex. We have to talk about it first.”

Harry wanted to point out that perhaps talking about it would be easier if Draco wasn’t straddling him but he wasn’t so sure Draco would take it the right way. He tried adjusting his position with an inconspicuous shuffle but that only made the situation worse. He concentrated on keeping his face composed instead. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

“What it means.”

“Um.” Harry wasn’t quite sure what Draco wanted to hear. “I like you and I want to have sex with you?” he suggested.

Draco snorted. “Eloquent, Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry corrected again. “What do you want me to say?”

“Are we…dating now, then?” Draco asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said automatically, but as soon as he did, he felt exposed so he coughed and added as nonchalantly as possible (so not very): “if you want.”

“Yes,” Draco said, taking a particular interest in the pillow behind Harry’s head, “I do.”

Relieved and happy, incredibly happy, Harry brought his hands back to Draco’s hips. “Okay, we’re dating. Now can we–“

“Wait,” Draco said. Harry dropped his hands. “We also need to work out how we’re going to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” Draco said with wide eyes. “Who is going to…and who is going to…” Draco trailed off, his face flaming up once again.

“Oh.” Harry’s did the same as he caught on. ““Well, did you want to…” Harry faltered as he came across the same words Draco couldn’t quite vocalise. "I mean, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, shrugging. “You?”

“I don’t know either,” Harry admitted. “Why don’t we forget it for now and just do what feels good?” he suggested.

“How–“

“Does this feel good?” Harry asked, starting a gentle hand at Draco’s neck and slowly trailing his fingers down Draco’s chest.

Draco swallowed. “Yes.”

Harry’s hand took a slight detour, gliding over Draco’s right nipple. “And this?”

“Yes,” Draco said, closing his eyes.

Harry let his hand drop further, pausing to play with the fine hairs beneath Draco’s navel. “And–“

“Just shut up and keep going, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Harry,” Draco agreed as Harry slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Draco’s pants.

I know what a fridge is. And if you have the likes of that poem on yours, then you must seriously be starved for attention. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were keeping my letters on the fridge as well. Sentimental, Potter? Do you miss having someone to blame for all your misgivings?

Hoping this letter doesn’t come anywhere near your fridge,

Draco Malfoy

I can assure you that your letters are not nearly poetic enough to make it to the fridge. Maybe you should try rhyming?

And I think you’re forgetting that you were the one intent on bullying me for most of our time at Hogwarts. I’m still waiting on an apology.

Waiting fruitlessly because I know you’re a prick,

Harry Potter

Great, Potter. Now I have to apologise just to prove you wrong. I am not a prick. And I am sorry for any supposed “bullying”.

Bet you feel real stupid now.

Not rhyming as I have no desire to be on your fridge (Have I not made that clear?),

Draco Malfoy

Malfoy,

That’s hardly an apology. You really are a prick.

And just so you know, you could write me a poem in iambic pentameter and it still wouldn’t make it onto my fridge.

Wondering if your heart is frozen in ice or if you were just born without one,

Harry Potter

Fine. I’m sorry for bullying you. I mean that.

I actually do have a heart. Which you would know if you knew me at all. Which you don’t. So don’t presume to.

Wondering what the fuck iambic pentameter is and why anyone would want a poem in it,

Draco Malfoy

Apology accepted, Malfoy. Was that so hard?

Forget about the iambic pentameter. It’s not like you’d ever write me a poem anyway.

Not presuming to know Draco Malfoy in any way, shape or form,

Harry Potter

Potter,

I don’t appreciate being mocked. Apologies are hard, actually. Although I’ve never heard one from your mouth so perhaps you don’t know that. Merlin forbid, the great Harry Potter ever do anything wrong.

And maybe I will write you a poem. It will be called “The Boy Who was a Constant Pain in my Arse.”

Suggesting you order a new quill as your ink is splotchy,

Draco Malfoy

I think you might want to reconsider the title of your poem.

Liking my quill as it is thank you very much,

Harry Potter

What’s wrong with the title?

Enclosing a new state-of-the-art quill with this letter,

Draco Malfoy

I think it might give people the wrong impression. Unless you want to imply we’re fucking?

Continuing to use my own quill and throwing away yours,

Harry Potter

Fuck you, Potter.

Saying fuck you a second time for emphasis,

Draco Malfoy

Your title would actually imply the other way around, Malfoy.

Enjoying being a constant pain in your ass,

Harry Potter

I’m changing the title of my poem to Potter Sucks. Short. Simple. To the point.

Not so sure what you’re proposing to be enjoying,

Draco Malfoy

Although accurate, I don’t think that title is really the angle you’re going for either. What’s your poem rated?

Enjoying ‘sucking’,

Harry Potter

Potter,

My earlier observation that you were starved for attention was clearly an understatement. You are so desperate for it, you seem to be hitting on me. We’re enemies, Potter. Have you forgotten? Or has the blood from your brain rushed to other areas, leaving you incapable of thinking about anything other than sex?

Wondering if this is all an elaborate prank,

Draco Malfoy

To other areas? Draco Malfoy, you wouldn’t be thinking about my dick would you?

Wondering how pink your face is right now as you fantasise about my dick,

Harry Potter

POTTER. Must you be so vulgar? How can you put your splotchy quill to parchment and actually write something like that down?

NOT thinking about your dick in any regard,

Draco Malfoy

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Not thinking about you not thinking about my dick in any regard,

Harry Potter

Now, you’re just talking nonsense. I don’t know why I expected anything else from you. My mistake.

Wondering why I’m still writing to you,

Draco Malfoy

No one’s forcing you to write back to me, Malfoy. You’re doing it because you want to.

Here, let me demonstrate something to you: If your write back to this letter, I’ll make you blush brighter than your pale face has ever known. If you don’t write back, you’ll never hear from me again.

If you really don’t enjoy writing to me, then the solution’s easy.

Knowing you’ll write back,

Harry Potter

Fuck you, Potter. I have no interest in playing your games.

Waiting for your head to deflate,

Draco Malfoy

And yet you still wrote back knowing what it would mean. You can stop acting coy with me, Malfoy. I gave up on that ages ago. Now I’m going to give you what you want.

I’ve been thinking about you lately. Thinking about the way your face flushes when you’re embarrassed. Thinking about the way you flick your hair back when you’re frustrated. Thinking about the way you strut around like you own each piece of the world you step on. And very lately, I’ve been thinking about the sounds you’d make with my cock inside of you.

I did promise to make you blush.

Unashamedly hard as I send this letter,

Harry Potter

Potter,

Can you please explain to me what it is you’re trying to do? Because, for the life of me, I can’t think why’d you’d willingly humiliate yourself like this. How can you be so unashamed, as you put it, in sending such filth through the mail?

And just for the record, not that it would ever happen, but if it were, you would be the one moaning with the sensation of my cock inside of you, Potter. Just so that you’re aware.

Not blushing in the slightest (but you should be!),

Draco Malfoy

You write about me moaning with the sensation of your cock, and I’m the one writing filth? Seriously, Malfoy, you must realise what you’re doing here. What you’re doing to me.

And just for the record, I wouldn’t be opposed to the sensation of your cock inside of me.

Fantasising about it right now,

Harry Potter

Potter,

Can I remind you that I did specify it would never happen between us, so fantasising is all you’ll ever be doing?

I’m not easy. Quite frankly, it’s insulting that you think you can trick me into your bed with filthy letters.

Suspecting you can’t think without your dick,

Draco Malfoy

Malfoy,

I never thought you were easy. In fact, writing to you has been incredibly difficult. I’m sorry if I’ve been…overly explicit. I promise it’s not all about getting you into bed. I’m just not sure how else to get through to you.

There’s something about you. You set me on edge. You challenge me. You excite me. Writing to you, although frustrating at times, has given me something to look forward to every day.

Please tell me you feel the same.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

Harry Potter

Potter,

About today. I didn’t expect to see you in muggle London. Please don’t take my actions as indicative of my feelings. I was just surprised.

Sure that you will understand,

Draco Malfoy

Potter,

I think your return owl may have gotten lost. You may have to resend your last letter.

Patiently,

Draco Malfoy

Look, Potter. I didn’t mean to say those nasty things to you. It’s just seeing you, in the flesh, after so many years…well, as they say: old habits die hard.

I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. Please write back.

Impatiently,

Draco Malfoy

Potter,

I know it may not seem like it, but I feel the same. I do.

Please read The Daily Prophet tomorrow morning.

Yours,

Draco Malfoy

Draco,

You made it onto the fridge.

Yours,

Harry