It was a gloomy Wednesday, Draco thought, looking towards the library windows. Usually the large room was well lit, and the few lamps decorating the open space were just that, for decoration. But today, the dim lighting, a product of their dusty bulbs, was the only lighting to be found.
“Just talk to him,” Pansy said, as a small smirk graced her porcelain face. Her dark lashes fluttered as she looked over at Draco, her stark black makeup giving her an almost ethereal, cross and slightly intimidating look to anyone unfamiliar with her personality. As it stood, Draco mused, her personality actually seemed accurately portrayed. Well, that, and annoying as hell.
He couldn’t help the blush that heated his cheeks at her words, and he refused eye contact as he glanced towards the clock hanging above the library entrance. It was almost that time again. There was a reason that his trio left lunch early and went the library before their free period. At first Pansy and Blaise had followed blindly, but it took merely two days for them to catch on.
“Never.” He replied to her statement, still staring at the clock, his lips forming a very distinguished (or so he hoped) pout. The sound of a sigh broke his concentration, and he glanced over to where Blaise sat, his legs, clad in dark grey tight trousers and black laced boots, propped up on the table, a few books hazardously pushed out of place and nearing the edge. Blaise caught his eye and also smirked, mirroring Pansy’s expression.
The library table they currently occupied was messy, books strewn across the oak, and their school bags lying half open in the middle of the table. Pens and papers were half out of Pansy’s bag, and a dress shoe poked out of the red tote Blaise carried, along with a battered textbook and a half empty water bottle. Draco’s own bag, a gray across the shoulder style, a product of whatever new designer his mother had admired, was the most orderly of the three. In front of Draco was an open book, his notebook next to it, and a pen behind his ear. He wasn’t actually working, a bit too distracted to do anything.
The weather was making him want to grab a blanket and some hot chocolate and cuddle up near a warm heater with dark hair and emerald green….
He shook his head and threw himself back into the conversation. Pansy and Blaise had moved on from tormenting him to arguing about what winter color was in this season.
“Green.” Draco interrupted.
Pansy smiled. “Yes, emerald green.” Blaise let out a short laugh. “You know what else is green Draco? Two shining orbs that-”
“-PANSY,” Draco wanted to hit his head against the wood table. “For gods sake-“
“C’mon Draco. Everything you think about has something to do with him!” Pansy practically shrieked.
“It does not!” Draco leaned back in his chair and elegantly crossed his feet at the ankles, his maroon suede shoes a stark contrast to the navy blue carpeting covering the floor. His gray trousers were crisp and freshly pressed, the perfect length at his ankle. Personally fitted clothes made a wonder of a difference, his mother had always said, and he reluctantly admitted that she was right. Was it worth the hours being poked and prodded, measured and scrutinized by a seamstress? Maybe. Possibly not. Did he have anything better to do? Probably not.
Pansy groaned and plopped one leg on top of the piled booked, and folded the other underneath her body. “Earth to Draco!” He narrowed his eyes at her and then threw his head back, staring at the ceiling and letting his arms fall to his sides. “Come back to us.”
“I don’t want to.” He whined and closed his eyes, snapping them open a second later when flashes of green irises and black messy hair filled the space behind his eyelids.
“Draco, how long have you held this unhealthy obsession?” Blaise gave him a crooked smile and raised his arms above his head, stretching his shoulders. His long sleeve black sweater slightly raised, showing a line of dark, toned, cocoa colored skin and a bright blue belt right below that.
“Since primary,” Pansy unhelpfully chimed in and Draco’s cheeks reddened again.
“Not true,” He protested meekly, ignoring the snickers of doubt rolling from the two hooligans, aka his two best, and maybe only, friends.
“Yes!” Blaise almost cooed. “I remember, the first day of school!” He let out a deep laugh and Pansy began to giggle in unison. “You marched right up to him and demanded-“
“-To know how on earth someone’s hair defied gravity like that!” Pansy finished with a snort. “And then he stomped on your foot and that was that!”
“You were smitten and he declared you his arch-nemesis.” Blaise smiled fondly at the memory. Then he sat up and stared at Draco. “You know, had you not made it your mission to try and get his attention all the bloody time, usually by the immature way of annoying the poor boy to death, you guys may have been friends.” Draco couldn’t help but laugh at that, waving Blaise’s statement away with a flick of his wrist.
“As if. We are complete and total opposites.” Draco’s face morphed into something resembling disgust and perhaps (though he would never concede to it) a tad bit of envy. “He’s coordinated, athletic, oblivious, idiotic, stubborn, rude and not to mention a pain in the ass! I am not infatuated, nor am I spell-bound, in love or anything either you two numbskulls produce. In fact, Harry Potter can kiss my flawless, porcelain, and much too good for him bare-“
Before Draco could finish a shrill bell filled the library, and the double doors flung open, three figures loudly making their way into the large room.
“Just on time.” Pansy smirked and muttered under her breath. Draco found that while he couldn’t finish his sentence nor his train of thought, he also had ceased to continue thinking all together.
In the middle of the other two, dark, curly and extremely messy hair hazardously framed an olive toned face, bright green eyes glittering from behind rounded spectacles, as a large humorous smile graced Harry Potter’s deep pink lips. He was dressed in his usual deep red letterman’s jacket, a wrinkled black shirt underneath hanging off his slim frame. He wore slightly ripped dark blue jeans, and his sneakers were scuffed and well worn. A black messenger bag hung off one hip, and one of his arms was casually slung across his red headed companion’s shoulders. Draco felt a small twinge of jealously at the closeness of the two.
The ginger, Ron Weasley, had bright freckles that stood out on his skin like black dots on a white canvas. He had messy auburn hair, and his ears slightly protruded in a most unbecoming fashion, in Draco’s completely non-biased opinion. His letterman’s jacket was slung over his shoulder, and he had on a bright blue graphic t-shirt with the words “Bite Me” across the chest. He too had on jeans, his were more faded and obviously had seen much better days. The third member of their group could barely be seen under the large pile of textbooks in her arms. Only two root-beer brown eyes, framed by long lashes and slightly bushy eyebrows, could be seen, other than her large mass of dark brown curly hair, and the smooth light cocoa color of her skin. A pleated skirt fell to her knees, and an overstuffed backpack was precariously hung off one of her shoulders. Of the three, Hermione Granger was, in Draco’s mind, the most tolerable, though he hated seeing her name as the only name above his when the test scores were posted.
The three made their way past Draco and his companions, smack dab in the middle of the sea of seats and tables as usual.
Harry sneered as he made eye contact with Draco. “Malfoy.” He gave a sarcastic nod and Draco didn’t even acknowledge him, looking down at the book in front of him, pulling the pen from behind his ear, and pushing his glasses further up his nose. He clenched his unoccupied fist, hoping Harry didn't notice the blush that was beginning to warm his face.
Harry hadn’t gotten over the fact that Draco had purposefully stolen his usual library table, partially the reason that Pansy, Blaise and Draco arrived so much earlier than them every day. Draco didn’t know exactly why he did it, just like he didn’t know why he put a snake in Harry’s gym locker in middle school, or why he purposefully sabotaged his experiment in chemistry freshman year, or why he did the millions of other little things he had done over the years. Harry and his friends knew he was the culprit, but without proof his only retaliation was similar pranks and schemes, and while Draco pretended to be angered, any attention Harry gave him was exactly what he wanted.
Draco sighed, and this time tried to actually read the book in front of him, but instead ending up drawing doodles of black ink curls and round glasses. Pansy and Blaise shared a knowing look and in return received a middle finger salute from Draco’s left hand.
He couldn’t help his little glances towards the table at the far left of the library, almost hidden behind one of the shelves, but Draco had chosen his vantage point wisely. Unfortunately, to his disappointment, Harry’s back was to him, but his eyes couldn’t help but linger on small strip of tanned skin between his messy hair and the collar of the jacket. It was sinful how easily Potter could make his heart beat faster and mind fill with delicious and completely school inappropriate images.
“Malfoy’s staring at you again.” Ron’s voice interrupted Harry’s train of thought and he looked up from the book cradled in his hands.
“The git’s probably planning his next attack strategy.” Harry grunted and closed the book with an abrupt clap.
“Harry,” Hermione began, fiddling with the pen in her hand. “He really hasn’t done anything this year-“
“- besides steal our bloody table!” Ron interrupted loudly. “Knowing him, he’s definitely up to something! He’s always staring at us, always looking over here and always showing up wherever we are! Him and those two conniving henchmen!” Hermione looked pointedly at Ron and he shrunk a bit in his seat. “Okay, henchman and henchwoman!”
Harry turned to stare at Malfoy, whose gaze abruptly dropped to the book in front of him. His white blonde hair was slightly wavy and hung across his forehead gently and uniformly. His skin was the color of ivory, flawless and bright, and his face was all angles and points. A scowl seemed permanently ingrained on his mouth, and his blonde eyebrows were slightly furrowed. His gray eyes looked up at Harry again, and then quickly dropped back down. Gray wasn’t the right word. His eyes were like the color of silver, almost colorless in a way. A pair of gray steel glasses rested on his face, with narrow and sharp square frames, giving him, in Harry’s opinion, a very dorky look.
Malfoy was quiet and usually seen with a book in hand and a pen tucked behind his ear. He wore sweaters with collared shirts underneath, nice pressed trousers and shiny shoes. His grades were the highest in the class, on par with Hermione, usually they danced between first and second. When Malfoy spoke his voice was very confident and sure, yet quiet and almost timid. Half the time his cheeks seemed to be stained pink, and Harry had it on good authority that the older Draco got, the more socially awkward he became.
He wondered what had happened to the loud and brash boy who had always spoken his mind, regardless of the content. As time went on Draco had become much more reserved, more level headed and kept to himself and his two (and only) friends. In middle school Harry had always seen the pale boy surrounded by a large group of adoring friends, always wanting to tag along and hanging on every haughty word that came out of his mouth. But slowly that diminished, whether it was the glamour of his wealth fading or lack of satisfaction with his superior attitude.
No matter what, Draco Malfoy had always been a thorn in Harry’s side. A nerdier thorn now, but regardless, still a thorn. And while Hermione was right, his only move so far during the year was the capture of Harry’s usual table, still he couldn’t help but know that Malfoy was definitely up to something. And he wanted to strike before he got hit first.
And the perfect chance arose later that day, right at the end of seventh period, the last period of the day and Harry’s favorite class, Gym.
Wednesday’s were always mile day, and just like every mile day, the last one to finish was issued an extra lap. Draco was alone in Gym, none of his friends had the same period. Harry was partially in the same boat, Ron and Hermione both had chemistry 2 last period, a class Harry had been forcefully opted out of, due to the chemistry teacher not only hating his guts before the incident, but also refusing to teach him due to that same, completely not-his-fault incident freshman year that had resulted in Harry receiving his first D, and Professor Severus Snape losing both eyebrows. Gym wasn’t required, but when the alternative was the history of art or anatomy, Gym seemed like the best option. All the other classes had filled up quickly.
As for Malfoy, Harry had no idea why he was in Gym, as Malfoy was the least athletically prone person Harry had ever seen. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that Malfoy was allergic to the sun because while all the other days he seemed to do fine inside the gym, usually sitting on the bleachers rather than participating, the minute they went outside he lagged behind. Gym’s only grade was participation, and that was completing the mile run, four laps around the track, before the period ended. As a little encouragement, the teacher had added a penalty. The last person to finish the mile had to run an extra lap. Whenever everyone else finished they were allowed to go do whatever until the end of the day, after a mandatory shower in the locker room.
Harry was usually the first to finish, and Neville was usually last, but on this gloomy day, Neville Longbottom was nowhere to be seen. In fact he had been absent all day. So it was only a minor surprise, when Harry finished his fourth lap and grabbed his water bottle, sitting in the shade and watching everyone else finish, that Malfoy seemed to be last. In fact he didn’t even seem to be trying, simply walking, one foot in front of the other, his black sports sweatpants swishing around his long and thin legs with every stride.
He didn’t look out of breath, tired, or even overheated. He just looked bored. But as he made his way to where Harry sat, and passed by without a word, continuing on the track, Harry noticed the clench in his fists and the beats of sweat rolling down his face and neck. In fact, his hair looked absolutely soaked.
As the last person, other than Malfoy, made his way across the line marking the lap start, the teacher blew her whistle. Malfoy was directly halfway done with his final lap. He looked up, startled, and turned to look behind him, seemingly surprised when no Neville was found.
He must have not been paying attention, Harry mused, and had no idea he was last.
“You know what that means Malfoy!” The teacher yelled across the track, waving one arm, one of her fingers pointing up. “Another lap for you!” She turned to where Harry was lounging, the rest of the remaining boys and girls were either drinking water or heading inside to shower and leave. “The rest of you, the period is almost over so if you ride the bus or want to get your car out before the rush, I’d head up now, after you shower!”
That’s when an idea started to take form in Harry’s mind, as he watched Malfoy slowly make his way down the track. He made his way quickly back into the locker room and showered, waiting for everyone else to make their way out of the room. Finally there was no one but Harry left.
The locker room was set up pretty simply. The room itself was a giant square, one door in the middle of the right wall, and one in the middle of the left wall. The blue door led to the indoor gym, and the right one led to the sidewalk that led back into the building, past the overflow portable classrooms. The track and field were behind the gym, making the fastest way to get from the track to the boys locker room to go through the gym. The girls’ locker room was actually close to the track on the opposite side of the gym, with a door leading out to the track and one leading into the gym, so he had heard. He had never been inside, nor had tried to peep like half the other boys.
Half of the boys’ locker room was lockers, filling three walls, with benches in the middle of the room. Then were the two doors on either side, then on the left were a few bathroom stalls, and then the open stall showers took up the other half of the room. There were about 8 shower stalls, they had two walls, but if you walked straight down the open area, where there was a long blue bench, it was best to not look to either side as the stalls had no curtains or door. Near the door leading to the gym, there was a small supply room that was left unlocked. It held a few basketballs, the water heater, some extra rolls of toilet paper and a broom and mop.
When the boys showered, they usually changed out of their gym clothes in front of their lockers, wrapping a towel around their waists, and making their way to the showers. Inside each individual stall there was a shower rack. They would hang their towel, shower, and then dry off, wrapping the towel around their waist and making their way back to their locker, changing into their dry clothes in front of the locker, and then hanging their towel inside the locker to dry.
Usually changing in the locker room included a lot of adverted eyes and quick changes.
The lockers themselves were school issued, with school locks. Every year the school used the same lock for the same locker. The combinations never changed. Malfoy’s locker was about four rows from Harry’s. The lockers could fit a book bag, clothes, extra shoes, and a few textbooks. They weren’t very big, but Harry had seen on more than on occasion one of the smaller boys being locked in one of them, usually by two seniors (who had been seniors already for an extra year and failed) named Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoys locker was number 217. It was in the middle, one locker above it and one below. The combination was 11-07-11. Harry knew, as he had that locker the year before in mandatory gym (one year of gym was required during one’s high school career).
An idea had embedded itself in Harry’s brain, one he knew Ron would approve of, and Hermione, probably not, which meant it was suitable revenge for the D in chemistry he knew Malfoy had caused him to get.
The supply closet had four metal vents, meaning that you could see out of it, but no one could see in it very well when the door was closed. This is where Harry was huddled, pressed against the water heater and a broom, his backpack already on his back, waiting for Malfoy to make his way in.
What seemed like hours later, the sound of the door opening reached Harry’s ears, and a very sweaty and very pale Malfoy trudged in. As he made his way past the closet, he left Harry’s vision. Harry listened as he heard the sound of a locker opening and closing, and the rustle of clothing. A few seconds later, Malfoy once again appeared in his vision.
A green towel was wrapped around his waist, almost sinfully small, long creamy legs stretched from beneath it, his thin knees bending with each stride, and almost delicate ankles attached to the long and narrow feet with long elegant toes. He seemed almost hairless, but the light just caught the pale fine hairs covering his calves. His stomach was thin and flat, when he moved a slight shift of muscle could be seen. His chest was just as white and flawless as the rest of his body, with two small rosy pink nipples, and pronounced collar bones. His arms were also thin and long, his hands gentle and his fingers bony and nails manicured. Malfoy had left his glasses behind, and his eyes were even more vivid and silver. Without the glasses, he looked less sharp and more frail, less angular and almost softer.
Harry almost felt a sense of loss when he made his way out of the door’s vision. Harry felt like his face was on fire, and the pit of his stomach felt a little queasy. Maybe he was dehydrated from the run, he thought, holding a hand to his forehead.
Harry waited for the sound of the water running, and when it reached his ears he quietly made his way out of the storage room and to Malfoys locker. Quietly, he put in the combination, a smirk on his lips when it opened. He pulled out the clothes, neatly folded, and the gym clothes, slightly damp with sweat. He quietly unzipped his backpack and shoved the clothes in, closing in quietly. He creeped towards the door leading to the outside, slipping out and closing it gently without a sound. He couldn’t help the gleeful chuckle that ripped from his mouth as he glanced at his phone, it was almost time to meet Ron and Hermione near the senior parking lot.
He couldn’t wait to tell them what he had done. For a second, a vivid image of long legs and silver piercing eyes filled his head, but he shook the thought away.
This had to be some kind of joke, Draco thought, as he stared at his empty locker, sans his bag. His clothes were nowhere to be found. He almost screamed. He looked around wildly, but no one else was in the room, and he was sure he had locked the locker before he went and showered.
His eyes were drawn to the storage room, but when he flung it open, no one was there. A small piece of paper caught his eye, and he reached down to pick it up. It was a hall pass, signed to Harry Potter.
He clenched it in his fist. First he needed to text Blaise to bring him some clothes, and then it was time to plan revenge. That bastard Potter would get what was coming to him, all little crushes aside.
Harry was exhausted. He had barely slept at all, thoughts of creamy skin and light blonde hair keeping him tossing and turning more than he cared to admit. While Ron had thought him brilliant, Hermione was much less impressed. She had ranted about crossing lines and ya-da ya-da. Harry was sure no damage was done, Malfoy had probably called one of his lackeys to come bring some clothes, Harry was sure it had just give him a good scare.
“Malfoy’s staring at you again.” Ron said gleefully, as Harry flipped through the book in front of him. At the sound of his name, Harry’s mind filled with silver eyes and pink lips and-
“Whatever.” Harry huffed, shaking his head to try and clear the thoughts away.
“Do you think he knows it was you?” Ron asked, dodged the disapproving look Hermione sent their way.
“He probably suspects,” Harry admitted, “but I bet he has no proof, so I would expect a retribution attack in the foreseeable future, but that’s nothing new.”
Ron nodded, a serious expression on his face. “Aye mate, and we’ll be ready to whoop his ass again!” Harry’s mind drifted, he wondered if Malfoy’s arse was a creamy and soft as the rest of him. He hadn’t really payed attention to it, but he bet it was curved and as soft as lose long legs looked, he fact he bet it would feel firm and-
He abruptly stood up, his face felt like it was bright red. “I’m going to go use the restroom.” He blurted and took off through the library doors, heading for the men’s restroom towards the end of the hall. He turned on the sink and cupped his hands, splashing water on his face. He looked down at the sink, his hands resting on either side of the porcelain, and his shoulders bared. What was going on with his head? One glimpse of a half-naked Malfoy and he was acting like an utter pervert. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror and quickly flipped around.
Lounging against a stall door was Malfoy, with his arms, clad in a gray sweater, crossed in front of his chest. His ankles were also crossed, tan suede shoes covering his feet with argyle pattern socks covering his ankles, his khaki pants cuffed halfway down his calf.
“Malfoy.” Harry hoped his voice sounded less confused than how he was feeling on the inside.
“Potter.” He replied and straightened up, stepping towards where Harry was leaning against the sink, a feeling of impending doom filling his stomach. Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, taking another step forward. “I found something of yours.”
He reached out his hand, holding the paper between his thumb and forefinger. Harry hesitantly grabbed it from him, looking down at the small slip. It was a hall pass. He looked up questioningly at Malfoy, who sneered and took another step forward, almost pinning Harry against the sink. Harry couldn’t help the urge to stare at either his eyes or lips, but the glint in his eyes had him trapped like a bug under a glass.
“You left it in the gym supply closet.” Malfoy spat, staring right at Harry. Harry felt the feeling of doom swallow him whole as his heart stopped in his chest. He tried to think of an excuse, anything, but those silver eyes peering at him from behind the gray frames had his mind and mouth unmoving.
Looking back, he could blame temporary insanity, or even a moment of cranial lapse, but at that exact moment Harry did the only thing he could think of.
He leaned forward and crushed his lips to Malfoys, and realizing what he had done he cringed, waiting for the inevitable blow but instead the feeling of Malfoy reciprocating made any doubts fly right out of his brain. His body leaned forward making contact with Malfoys, and Harry stifled a groan. One of his hands wrapped around and pressed against Malfoy’s lower back, pressing him even closer to Harry, and his other hand wrapped itself in his white blonde hair, pushing the kiss closer and deeper.
He felt one of Malfoy’s hands creep onto his chest, and his other cupped Harry’s face, slightly tilting him as to allow Malfoy’s tongue to gently enter Harry’s mouth, slowly withdrawing and repeating the action, making Harry’s whole body heat up, and making the kissing more frantic (especially on his part). Tongues intertwined and heavy breathing filling the room, and Harry lost track of time, until the shrill sound of the bell echoed off the bathroom walls, the two jumping apart. Malfoy raised one hand to hesitantly touch his lips, his cheeks bright pink and pupils dilated. Harry opened his mouth, to say what, he didn’t know, but before he could do anything, Malfoy bolted out of the room, leaving Harry and a running faucet (which he had forgotten about the entire time).
Malfoy wasn’t in gym last period, and Friday there was no sign of head of blonde hair.
“Malfoy’s friends are staring at you.” Ron said with a sigh, his head resting on one of the books in front of him. Harry kept quiet knowing that Ron’s response if he mentioned the kiss, would not be pretty. Harry wouldn’t say he regretted it one bit, in fact, deep down, the only thing he regretted was not grabbing a fistful of Malfoy’s ass while he had the chance.
Harry had decided that he was indeed a raving pervert, and wondering how it had escaped his notice all these years.
Thinking about it, he wasn’t that surprised he was attracted to Malfoy, much less boys. A kiss from Ron’s sister a year back had left him pretty sure that girls were not his forte, and though he had never before looked at a guy and thought him attractive, he would admit perhaps it had manifested itself into a bit of an obsession (aka his rivalry with Malfoy).
In fact, when Malfoy wasn’t being a git, he was actually quite funny, he was smart and witty and confident, not to mention rich to boot (not that that was very important to Harry).
And Harry really wouldn’t mind, perhaps, dating him. That is, if Malfoy would ever speak to him again, much less come back to school. Harry had learned from the years of classes with Malfoy, that he did not handle embarrassment well at all.
Which is why, after some begging from Pansy and Blaise, and even a little bribery, Harry found himself in front of Malfoy Manor Saturday morning. It was a large mansion, with a long driveway and rolling hills. The house itself had beautiful gardens on the sides and the front walkway was lined with roses and small green shrubs. The paint was a deep grayish purple, and the window frames and front door were painted black, as were the shutters and other paneling on the outside. There was a large knocker on the front door, and Harry hesitated before bringing it down three times.
When the door opened, he was met with startling blue eyes, very similar to Draco’s own in intensity. The woman at the door was tall and thin, with pale skin and sharp features. She wore a black dress, and her hair was long and blonde. She glanced over Harry. He had tried to dress halfway decent, and was wearing black pants and a maroon collared shirt with black shoes. It wasn’t anything as nice as Draco’s clothing, but Harry had ever cared too much about clothes. He had a black messenger bag strung across his chest.
“How can I help you?” The woman asked.
Harry cleared his throated and nervously smiled, “Hi, I’m Harry Potter, I was wondering if Draco was in.” The woman nodded and turned, opening the door wider.
“I’m Narcissa, his mother. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Potter.” He began to follow her into the large home.
“Hopefully good things,” Harry didn’t know whether to smile or grimace. “Oh and Harry is fine.”
She nodded, obviously something had met her approval, and smiled softly. “I’ll go get him, wait in the foyer.” Harry nodded and followed her, waiting in a large room with a few dark red couches and soft gray carpeting. A few moments later, the sound of heels on the stairs grew louder, and Narcissa walked over to where Harry stood awkwardly.
“He says he isn’t home.” She sighed and look exasperatedly at Harry.
Harry looked at his hands. “So he doesn’t want to see me. I can’t blame him.” He felt a bit foolish, he shouldn’t have expected Draco to give in so easily. He would just count his cards and try again when Draco had cooled down. “It’s okay, I’ll be going.”
Harry began to leave, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “His room in the last on the left.” She smirked. “I know my son, Mr. Potter, and my husband and I have been hearing much about you for years. Please be kind to Draco. I believe he is quiet envious of you.” In a rustle of black fabric she tapped away into another room, and Harry made his way up the stairs, sure he was dreaming or something paranormal was going on.
He knocked on the dark room at the end of the hall, and a loud voice reached his ears. “Mother I said to tell him to go, I don’t-“ The door swung open and Draco’s lips froze, his eyes staring right at Harry.
“Hi.” Harry said and Draco looked pained.
“Potter.” He huffed and Harry mentally steeled himself and said fuck it, pushed him aside and entered the room. It was large, with a white canopy bed, hunters green carpeting and black furniture. There was a black loveseat, a few nice chairs, a large writing desk, a dresser, a vanity (no surprise there) and a wardrobe. A TV was mounted on the wall across the room, and a set of speakers were on the night-table next to the bed.
“Harry, actually.” Harry said and plopped down onto the small sofa, throwing his bag next to him, Draco cautiously perching on the chair across from him.
“Okay, Harry, what the bloody hell do you want?”
Draco couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Harry Potter was in his room, sitting on his sofa, and staring at him with the vivid green eyes. Then again, he couldn’t quite believe that Harry Potter had kissed him Thursday, or stolen his clothing or whatever else bizarre had occurred during the week. Harry reached into the bag that was next to him and pulled out a pile of clothes, tossing them over to Draco. Draco caught them and looked down, of course. His clothing.
“I wanted to apologize, first off,” Harry started, and smiled at Draco’s confused expression.
“For stealing my clothes?” Draco asked and Harry nodded.
“And putting glue in your shoes in elementary, stealing your wallet, putting a fish in your locker, filling your car with packing peanuts, covering your backpack in glitter, and whatever else I’ve done over the years.” He said with a grin, and leaned back.
“Oh,” Draco leaned forward and wrung his hands together, looking at his lap. This was very out of character for Potter. “So that is why you’ve come?” He couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.
“No.” Harry stated seriously and Draco looked up into those glimmering emerald orbs, a look of absolutely seriousness, and a little fear radiated from them. “I would also like to ask you on a date. And I’d like to kiss a bit more. And perhaps be boyfriends? And maybe friends, at least friends. And maybe do some other things.”
“In that order?” Draco joked, delicious panic creeping through his body. Harry abruptly stood up and leaned over Draco, pinning him against the chair. Now the panic manifested into an aching feeling of ‘what the hell’ and ‘please may this not be a dream’.
“No.” He said boldly, and pressed his lips to Draco’s. Draco’s only reply was a moan, and the small smile he couldn’t help as Harry wrapped his arms around his back.
Draco pulled away quickly, watching Harry’s face fall. Then he smirked, and pulled off his own glasses, and then proceeded to remove Harry’s. “Ok” Draco said. “I accept.”
He didn’t expect the huge smile that stretched across Harry’s face, nor did he expect the warm feeling that spread from his stomach to his fingers and toes.
And he definitely didn’t expect it when Harry grabbed his arse, and then proceeded to kiss him even harder.
The whole situation was quite unexpected, Draco mused, and then told his brain to shut up as he felt a warm tongue run along his bottom lip.