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There were many things that led up to the choice Harry found himself making on the first day of classes.
It must have been because of the visit to Gringotts he made alongside his parents on his 17th birthday that resulted in the gold ring embossed with a capital “P” that now always sat on his left first finger. It probably had something to do with this being his last year at Hogwarts, or that his mom promised to remind him to study for his NEWTs in every letter she’d send so he had options for career choices, or because he wished his time here wasn’t coming to an end. It could have been because of the stuttering mess of a speech he made over the summer about how he liked both boys and girls and the freedom that came with it, or the loving warmth of being tackled by his parents, Remus, and a crying Sirius as they shouted their support.
It was possible, too, that Harry decided right then that their old game of derisive back-and-forth had grown stale, and a new angle was needed to match all the other improvements in his life.
So when divine timing brought Harry to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at the same time as a certain blonde-headed, mollycoddled prat, Harry waited. When a mocking, sarcastic comment about some article of Harry’s recent claim of heirship left the ferret’s mouth, Harry felt his temper rise, and then leave. He felt the familiar charge of animosity as he gazed at the other boy, yet the usual belligerence that would spill out of him was greatly overshadowed by a fierce wave of curiosity from an idea forming in his head.
Seeing Malfoy’s uneasy confusion at the small smile Harry sent him was, in all honesty, what made him do it.
“Your eyes are very pretty, Malfoy, did you know?”
Harry nearly burst out laughing at the physical step back the blonde had to take at the comment, and the choked sound Ron made behind him wasn’t helping.
Malfoy managed to compose himself enough to glare and say a quiet “What the—” before the classroom door swung open and dark, unimpressed eyes promised long detentions to anyone who didn’t immediately shut up and enter.
With a pointed scowl, the prat led the bewildered Slytherins in, and Harry couldn’t help the suppressed chuckles that shook his shoulders. Hermione was staring at him like he was a complicated equation she wanted to solve, her brows furrowed. Ron’s mouth was gaping as he looked between the doorway and his best friend. Harry threw his hands up in mock surrender before either could speak.
“I don’t know what just happened.” Another giggle left Harry as he straightened his bag. “It was entertaining, though.”
“‘Entertaining’ is one word for it,” Hermione said, her quiet tone suggesting her mind was still running several calculations.
“I don’t even—” Ron cut himself off with a shake of his head. He started towards the door, muttering to himself, “I knew he’d lose his marbles one of these days.”
Harry worked on containing himself before following.
He also couldn’t help thinking that maybe the pair of cool, grey eyes he had spent years glaring at really were quite nice.
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A few days later, Harry and Ron were able to give Hermione the slip before she sat them down for homework. They had hurriedly grabbed their brooms and rushed out into the tepid afternoon for a fly around the quidditch pitch. Harry was so busy trying to picture Ron’s insane retelling of the prank the twins pulled on their mother last month that he almost didn’t notice the Slytherin quidditch team running drills for tryouts. Ron’s voice died out into an annoyed groan.
“Figures,” he scoffed. “I guess we can fly over by Hagrid’s. I don’t think I saw anyone around there.”
“Or we could watch.”
Harry was already watching, his eyes finding bright hair without really meaning to.
“Oh,” Ron started, his tone hinting at his piqued interest, “and plot ways to crush them in game? Brilliant, Harry.”
He hadn’t been thinking of that. His attention was solely attuned to the Slytherin seeker’s sharp turns and precarious plays, ones he was well acquainted with. Having been appointed Team Captain for Gryffindor’s team the previous year, though, Harry thought he might as well use the opportunity to take notes on any potential new players.
The two of them walked the rest of the path down to the pitch and found a nice patch of shaded grass by the stands to spy from. They spent the majority of Slytherin’s tryouts sharing observations and strategizing plays to oppose certain players’ strengths.
Every so often, Harry followed the flight of the seeker, watching as he nimbly outmaneuvered his teammates and nailed impressive dives for the snitch. At one point, the blonde had smiled at something Crabbe said, and Harry quickly looked away. He wasn’t used to such an unguarded expression from his rival. A snide grin at someone’s misfortune or a taunting smirk, Harry witnessed those loads of times. But this felt too private for his eyes, something he shouldn’t have seen.
He tuned back in to Ron’s detailed breakdown of the poor technique from one of the younger kids trying for keeper and smiled at the redhead’s theatrical analysis.
It was nearly sundown by the time the Slytherin Team Captain called the players in. Harry lifted his head from atop his bent knees as they all landed, twisting his ring around his finger absentmindedly. It was a habit he gained since receiving it. Harry briefly remembered his dad comparing it to his own ring, one of lordship, with a proud smile. Harry remembered wanting to be just like him, and happy he seemed one step closer.
A sharp jab at his side startled Harry out of his thoughts, his eyes zeroing in on the trio of green-clad figures walking their way. He found it curious that Malfoy hadn’t brought their presence to the attention of the entire team.
Perhaps the ‘pretty eyes’ comment really got to him. Harry muffled a snicker into his arms, resting his chin back on his knees.
Malfoy’s hair seemed to glow in the sunset’s dying light. A layer of sweat covering his exposed skin made him gleam, and the flush in his cheeks somehow brought out his aforementioned ‘pretty eyes’ even more. The two hulking boys behind him also appeared run-ragged, though it didn’t work as well for them.
Harry would have definitely questioned that last thought more if his attention wasn’t completely taken by the prat now sneering down at him.
Has he gotten taller? Bastard.
“It’s poor etiquette to watch the tryouts of other houses, you know,” the blonde stated in a peeved drawl. “If you really need to stoop this low to learn proper gameplay, you should perhaps resign as Captain, Potter.”
“You’re one to talk about ‘poor etiquette,’” Ron spat, his fists tightening. Crabbe and Goyle stood taller and sent him menacing looks.
Harry watched in amusement as Malfoy’s glare shifted to him. Wariness was so clearly written in his expression, and it only gave Harry more motivation to throw the blonde even further off his game.
“Your Wronski Feint is getting much cleaner.” Malfoy’s pale eyebrows slowly raised, his lips parting slightly. Harry continued with a casual shrug, “You might be better at it than I am now.”
The prat’s quiet growl of frustration pulled at Harry’s lips.
“Shut up, Potty,” Malfoy snarled petulantly. Harry had oddly missed that terrible nickname from their younger years. “Saying that as if you’re the best of the best. Your arrogance is astounding.”
“Well, I think your weaving technique is astounding.” Harry smirked at the deepening blush on the blonde’s face. He was finding this new game much too exciting. “And your intense focus puts you at a very high advantage when it comes to bludger attacks. I admire your concentration.”
Crabbe and Goyle seemed very lost, unsure whether Harry was somehow insulting their friend or not. They did, however, immediately follow when Malfoy (who was bright red, Harry noted) turned on his heel and stomped away.
Harry watched their retreat for a moment before looking over at Ron. He laughed loudly at his friend aggressively rubbing his temples and grumbling to himself.
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It seemed that complimenting Malfoy was becoming something Harry began to look forward to. He found it equally as amusing whenever the prat would actively avoid any interaction with him. The few times the blonde hurried away after the two of them made eye contact were some of Harry’s fondest memories of his seventh year so far.
The next opportunity fell into his hands during Potions. Literally.
Harry hadn’t even noticed Malfoy passing by his table, focused on trying to decipher the instructions of his textbook while not letting his sorry excuse for Amortentia burn. Out of the corner of his eye, he barely glimpsed the flash of something falling before catching it at a speed that seemed to startle everyone nearby.
“My hero,” Malfoy stated callously, snatching the empty vial from Harry’s hand. “What would I have done without the precious Golden Boy there to save the day?”
“You would’ve been fine, I know. You’re brilliant at Mending Charms.”
The thought that he was finding all these flattering comments very easily crossed Harry’s mind, but he brushed it aside.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “How do you—what are you doing, Potter?”
Harry turned his attention back to his failure of a potion to hide his smile, deciding to pile on even more. “Simply commenting on your impressive aptitude and natural talent for Charmwork. And your independent and self-efficient nature, if you’d like to count that, too.”
Harry spared a glance at his dumbfounded rival before pretending to read his textbook again. Malfoy walked back to his desk with an exhausted huff, leaving behind the strong smell of green apple and cinnamon. Harry found he liked the scent and catalogued that for later use.
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After forgetting his Defense textbook in his dorm, Harry was hurrying through the near-empty halls of the castle trying to somehow shove the damn book into his very disorganized bag. He sharply turned the corner into the hallway outside of his class and nearly ran into the ferret right outside the door.
Malfoy had come rushing in from the other end of the hall, and from his lowering hands and the absence of gel, Harry figured he was too distracted by trying to fix his hair to watch where he was going. A quick scan of the blonde’s uneven robe and loosened tie had Harry further guessing he had slept in.
He makes this too easy.
Harry pointedly looked at Malfoy’s hair before confidently stating, “You look good either way, but I think I prefer your hair like this. It frames your face nicely.”
Malfoy sent a threatening glare despite the blush creeping up his neck.
“Your hair is a rat’s nest as always,” then the taller boy stormed his way into the D.A.D.A. classroom. Harry followed him with a bright smile.
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Malfoy had started to keep himself surrounded by other Slytherins, obviously hoping they’d act as some sort of barrier between Harry and his odd new behavior. Harry, of course, found this highly amusing.
“What has gotten into you, Harry?” Hermione questioned him as they sat around one of the fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room.
On their way out of the Great Hall earlier that day, Hermione had been openly laughing at some absolutely idiotic thing Ron had said and Harry saw him. The blonde had been straggling behind a few of the other seventh year Slytherins, an old book laying open in his hands. The shocking thought that he found it quite cute the prat read while walking made Harry stop in his tracks. In the split moment the two of them had passed each other, Harry quietly said, “I like how tall you are,” and gave Malfoy a bright smile when he looked up from his book. Harry had snickered to himself when the blonde rolled his eyes.
“Really, mate,” Ron started. He shoved the rest of his chocolate frog into his mouth and Hermione threw a disgusted look at him. “I could maybe get knocking that ferret off his game like that once or twice, but now it’s become a thing and I’m worried for my own sanity. Don’t look at me like that. Seriously, imagine if I started throwing compliments at Snape.”
Harry shivered at the thought, and then immediately became defensive. “That’s not the same thing. Uncle Sev would probably kill you on the spot. Malfoy just gets embarrassed, and he’s spent more time avoiding me than anything else. It’s quite nice.”
“What’s nice? The fact he avoids you or that you make him easily flustered?” Hermione asked in her clinical voice. Harry got the feeling she was trying to lead him somewhere but was completely distracted by struggling to open his Fizzing Whizzbees to really think about it.
“The avoiding bit, surely. Really must be nice,” Ron added enviously.
“Maybe you should try my method,” Harry replied.
Ron immediately acted like he was throwing up, sound and all.
The rest of the night was pleasantly filled with Hermione discussing her new ideas regarding S.P.E.W. and Ron betting anyone who would take him on the outcome of the Chudley Cannons’ upcoming game. Harry reread the letter he had gotten that morning from his mom, who was already questioning him about plans for Christmas break. He happily ate his fill of candy, feeling very pleased with how his day went.
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The next time they ran into each other, Harry was trekking back up to the castle from Hagrid’s. His hands and clothes were covered in dirt from helping his friend tend to his vegetable garden. He had been very grateful for Sirius’ insistence on Harry joining him during runs and workout sessions in 4th year and every year since once Hagrid mentioned moving entire plots of farmland slightly to the left for better sunlight. Harry rubbed at his grimy palms and considered adding a daily run to his routine while here at school, and would’ve completely missed the ferret if he hadn’t decided to open his big mouth.
“Well, you’re looking cleaner than usual.”
Harry felt a smile grace his lips before he looked up. Malfoy’s frown deepened, and a vicious glint in his eyes made Harry’s pulse pick up in excitement. They both stopped and the blonde used his extra few inches of height to menacingly tower over him. Having to tilt his head to maintain eye contact gave Harry a very strange feeling.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Malfoy continued, his fists balling up at his sides. “Have you finally gone barmy? Has your ego truly grown so large that your untouchable self must humiliate all of us mere peasants?”
Harry almost frowned at that. He had been doing it because he liked how embarrassed Malfoy got, but putting it into terms like ‘humiliation’ made him feel unreasonably upset. “I’m not trying to humiliate you, Malfoy.”
The blonde angrily scoffed. “Oh really? You expect me to believe you’re all sunshine and rainbows now? That you’re not the same big-headed, insolent git?” Malfoy took a looming step closer. “Whatever it is you’re doing, knock it off. I’ve got enough going on, I don’t need—whatever the fuck this is.”
Harry liked how worked up the prat was getting, but took note of the stressed undertone from the other boy’s words.
“I’ve noticed,” Harry began, a bit cautious, “you really only reserve your hostility for me now. I haven’t seen you pick on anyone else, and whatever the reason for that is, I really appreciate the effort you’re putting in.” Malfoy let out some confused growling sound, and Harry gave him a small smile. “I hope this year you feel more comfortable being yourself around everyone. I’m sure you’d love people getting to know the real you. I definitely encourage it.”
“Shut up.”
Malfoy’s voice was quieter than before. Harry found he was now incredibly interested in seeing all the different reactions he could get out of him, as well as how much had changed compared to the Malfoy he knew in years prior. He then wondered if he ever really knew him.
“I think I like that I’m the only one you save your witty insults for.” Harry silently thanked Merlin for his brown skin that hopefully hid his own blush at the words leaving his mouth. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do like attention.”
There was a tense pause before Malfoy all but whispered, “What are you doing?” His grey eyes were filled with confusion, panic, and something else Harry couldn’t recognize.
Harry quickly brushed off his own embarrassment and smiled brightly. “Complimenting you. Isn’t that obvious?” Malfoy’s face flushed and Harry couldn’t help himself. “You look cute when you blush by the way.”
A choked sound left the blonde and he brought up a hand to block his face. His skin reddened even more, and Harry found it incredibly endearing. The overwhelming warmth he felt throughout his body was both addictive and alarming.
Malfoy abruptly bolted away without another word. After a little chuckle, Harry continued his walk up to the castle.
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It had only taken two weeks since the start of term for Malfoy to accept his losses. Two weeks was enough for the prat to realize nothing he said seemed to bother Harry as it would have in previous years. Harry was honestly surprised by this. He had fully expected the blonde’s stubbornness to win out for at least a few months.
Perhaps Malfoy wanted change, too.
In the last attempt made by the ferret to purposely anger Harry, he really hadn’t seemed to be trying very hard. Hermione had been dragging Harry and Ron to the library to work on their Transfiguration essays and nearly ran Malfoy over in the entryway.
“Sorry, Malfoy,” Hermione had said.
By her pulling Ron past the door and the bored tone in her voice, it was obvious she did not actually care. And to Harry’s amusement, Malfoy had seemed to visibly hold back any derogatory comments as he glared at her retreating back. Harry hadn’t realized he had stopped to stare until those sharp, grey eyes met his. They didn’t narrow as they usually would have, and the blonde’s posture seemed resigned if Harry had to guess. A single pale eyebrow rose was the only sign of resistance to the new game Harry was pulling him into.
“Before you comment on my exemplary study habits,” Malfoy had begun, his usual drawl somewhat subdued, “just know that I think you are a blithering idiot, and the library books don’t deserve to be drooled on.”
Despite the words, Harry huffed a laugh. Malfoy had shook his head as he passed, knocking his shoulder into Harry’s to emphasize his contempt.
Since then, the blonde began to simply look at Harry expectantly whenever they were close enough. He gave a dramatic sigh whenever other people were around and blushed profusely if Harry made his compliments quiet enough just for them to hear.
Over the years, the two of them had overplayed every embarrassing incident and reserved their harshest looks for one another. They were cruel and snide and entirely too competitive. Notably, they had glared at and taunted each other from across the Great Hall during meals.
Since the beginning of this year, however, it became more common for Harry to send Malfoy an exaggerated smile across the dining tables when their eyes met, and this was always met by a shake of a head or rolling eyes.
“You need to stop. This is getting out of hand,” Ron whined after Harry had caught grey eyes already looking at him and smiled warmly. “This is literally just flirting, Harry.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. You’re flirting with him.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Hermione!” Ron cried. “Knock some sense into him! He’s lost it!”
With a distracted turn to the next page of her book, Hermione sighed. “Harry. You are flirting.”
“No,” Harry replied, his face scrunching in confusion. “If I gave you a few compliments, ‘Mione, that wouldn’t be flirting.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and then immediately found her page again. “It has to do with your intention.” Harry listened with rapt focus as she turned another page. “If you compliment me, you are most likely doing so to make me feel good or show your appreciation. When you compliment Malfoy, what are you trying to achieve?”
“Good question, ‘Mione,” Ron said through a full mouth, pointing at her with his fork. He then turned it to Harry in a somewhat threatening manner.
What was he trying to do with these compliments?
“Well, he gets embarrassed by them,” Harry spoke his thoughts aloud, “and I guess I like… throwing him for a loop. Keeping him on his toes, maybe.”
“There are so many other ways you could go about that,” Hermione added.
“New pranks, for one.” Ron shoved another sausage into his mouth. “Fred and George stocked my trunk with loads of their products. Said it would give them free advertising.”
Hermione looked up with a scolding glance at Ron, then bodily turned towards Harry, who couldn’t seem to hold her knowing look.
“You said you like it when he gets embarrassed by your comments.”
“Well, no—”
“Yes, you did.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s fun, don’t you?”
“Um, well, I—”
“That sounds like teasing,” Ron added.
Harry started to shake his head, but Hermione kept going, “You like doing it and seeing how he’ll react. You compliment him to provoke a reaction and do so playfully because you are quite literally saying only nice things. That is the definition of ‘teasing’, Harry.”
A loud beating began playing in Harry’s ears and it took him a few moments to realize it was his heart thundering up from his chest.
“Well,” Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, “it’s not like I—I like him or something.”
The few quiet seconds of his two best friends staring at him were not very comforting.
“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice calmly even. “I’m going to ask another question and I want you to think about it before you answer.” She paused for Harry to nod in acknowledgement. “Out of all the compliments you’ve given Malfoy so far, were any of them lies?”
Harry felt his body freeze, his mind going eerily quiet. He didn’t need to think about it. He already knew his answer.
“No,” he whispered.
Hermione must have noticed his panic because her expression immediately softened and her hand began rubbing consoling circles on his back.
“Okay,” she began, “That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that—”
“Well, except that it’s Malfoy—”
Ron’s voice fell off with a sharp yelp of pain. Harry knew it was from a kick beneath the table. Hermione had good aim.
“Even if it’s Malfoy, it’s okay,” she stated in a firm but gentle tone.
Harry’s brain was still fuzzy. He had meant every one of those compliments he gave that damn ferret. Harry liked his hair without all the gel and watching him fly and how tall he was even though Harry was only an inch or two shorter. He liked how studious the blonde was and loved the soft grey of his eyes, especially when they were only looking at him. Harry even liked the stupid green apple and cinnamon scent that always seemed to be present around him.
He wanted to facepalm himself for not wondering why the smell of it was so strong the first time he had noticed it. They were quite literally making Amortentia that day.
A long, shaky breath left him and relieved some of the tension in his shoulders. He felt his heartbeat slowing and the noise of the Great Hall come back into focus.
“Mate, really, it is fine.” The last word from Ron was strained, as if it hurt to say. “I may not understand the appeal at all—like, not at all—but you can’t help it. And even if you could, you’re allowed to be with whoever you want.”
Harry was highly comforted by Ron’s words, Hermione’s hand still at his back. He looked up and smiled at them, still unsure what to say. He had no idea he felt this way. But really, who compliments people they don’t like this much?
Hermione gave him a few pats and turned back to her book as she said, “It is quite interesting, though. Looking back, you and Malfoy have always been a bit obsessed with each other.”
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice and Harry buried his burning face into his palms.
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Harry had always sworn Uncle Sev used his talent as a Legilimens against him. There was no other explanation as to how the man managed to find the perfect ways to mess with him.
“For dueling today, I want complete silence,” their professor explained from the front of the bare classroom. The desks and chairs had been pushed to either side, leaving plenty of open space. “Nonverbal magic only. In your pairs, one will attempt a jinx and the other will defend in silence. I better not hear anymore complaining about your assigned partners. Carry on.”
“I will attack,” Malfoy said shortly before turning away and stepping a few paces.
The falsely confident aura Harry had managed to maintain briefly fell as he gulped. His nerves were driving his focus haywire and he wanted to kick himself for it.
Damn you, Hermione.
When Malfoy turned around, Harry was a bit worried about the determined air about him. However, if he was confident about any of his skills, it was his ability to match the prat’s energy.
Harry widened his stance and raised his wand. After he came of age, he spent many afternoons dueling against his dad and Sirius and occasionally even his mom (who always won) for some practice. He felt relatively good about his chances of casting a Shield Charm nonverbally.
He held the blonde’s calculating gaze, hoping his stare expressed his own challenge. Harry’s attention then caught on to the other’s hair, which in fact was not gelled back. It hung loose over his pale forehead and curled slightly around his ears, framing his face just the way Harry said he liked it. He scolded himself for losing focus, readying himself for Malfoy’s jinx and vowing to block it.
Well, that was until he clocked the mischief hidden in his opponent’s beautiful eyes. There really wasn’t much time at all between the quick glance Malfoy threw at Uncle Sev on the other side of the room and the blatantly spoken, “Levicorpus.”
Harry’s body was thrown upside down, his seeker reflexes kicking in as he snatched his falling glasses mid-air. Blood started rushing to his head as he pushed the lenses back onto his face. Malfoy was now much closer. Harry was hanging at nearly the perfect eye-to-eye level. He smiled at the obvious amusement written all over the prat’s face.
“Cheater,” Harry teased. (Yes, he knew it was teasing now.)
“It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” Malfoy drawled. His lips twitched as if he was trying to hide a smile. Harry stuck his tongue out at him.
“Very mature, Mr. Potter,” Uncle Sev deadpanned. The pair looked towards their professor, his own amusement over Harry’s dangling state dancing in his eyes. “How has your incompetence been brought to light so quickly?”
“I was distracted, sir.” Harry glanced back at the blonde but quickly had to look away for fear of his skin reddening at the pleased smirk on Malfoy’s face.
“Distracted,” Uncle Sev repeated. A pointedly raised eyebrow said that glance was definitely noticed, and Harry hoped the man could read the pleading in his eyes to keep that information to himself. “Very well. You will continue defending until your focus clears. Hopefully Mr. Malfoy can knock some common sense into you.”
“I’ll try my hardest, sir,” the prat said sincerely.
Before turning away to insult some more students, Uncle Sev flicked his wand towards Harry, who yelped as he fell to the floor.
The snort from his opponent was muffled behind a hand, and Harry couldn’t help but smile despite his sore shoulder.
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Harry was struggling through another terrible excuse for a potion when he fumbled a few of his Billywig stings. With a sigh and a quick Stasis Charm on his cauldron, Harry weaved through tables to the ingredients closet. Right before reaching the door, Theodore Nott pushed it open, laughing.
Harry quickly stepped aside for the Slytherin, who gave a quick, “Apologies, Potter,” with a smile as he passed.
Malfoy followed behind his friend, holding a jar of some powdered substance. Harry, much to his chagrin, was thoroughly entranced by the wide smile he carried. His breath hitched when Malfoy’s eyes found his. Harry’s own little smile appeared upon seeing the blonde’s carefree energy not change in the slightest despite Harry’s presence.
The blonde stopped before him, his eyes sparkling. With an entitled tilt of his head, he said simply, “Go on, then.”
Harry laughed, “You prat.”
He pushed at Malfoy’s shoulder to let himself by. The blonde pressed his back against the door, letting Harry pass, the both of them nearly touching. As he did so, Harry side eyed the other and said, “You have a beautiful smile.”
Malfoy hummed, seemingly pleased, and let the door close behind him as he left.
Harry had to take a moment to compose himself. It took ages before he could keep the stupid smile off his face, and by then, he had forgotten what he came to the closet for.
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On a particularly pleasant afternoon, Harry and his friends were spread out by the shore of the lake. They weren’t the only ones with this idea. It seemed as though the entire school was walking the grounds or wading in the water.
Of course, Hermione had brought her homework and was currently explaining a complicated Charms theory to Ginny, who seemed to be trying hard to understand. Ron and Neville were competing to see who could skip rocks the furthest. Luna had dragged Harry further away into the bloom-spotted grass where she got busy making a crown of flowers. She said it was reserved for Harry, to help with his wrackspurt problem. Harry had tried to help her for a bit but lost interest quickly, choosing to instead lay on his back in the grass and bask in the sun’s warmth.
He had been close to sleep when he felt the shadow and presence of someone standing over him. It was starting to get weird, this ability of his to recognize this prat by something as intangible as the feeling of his shadow.
Harry kept silent, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. His eyes stayed resolutely closed.
“Oh! Hi, Draco,” came Luna’s wispy, sweet voice.
“Hello, Luna,” Malfoy replied, his voice oddly just as sweet. Harry did peek up at him then.
“Do you need something? Are you lost?” he asked in a falsely sincere tone that he knew usually annoyed the blonde.
“I’ve come for my next compliment.”
Both of Harry’s eyes snapped open and he stared in obvious shock at the prat towering over him.
“Oh?” Harry started, a little breathless but amused nonetheless. The grey eyes staring down at him held no embarrassment at the admission, and Harry was greatly impressed by his nonchalance.
He took a moment to look over the blonde. Harry didn’t remember a single time he found the Hogwarts uniform attractive on someone, but he couldn’t deny that Malfoy made it work. Really well. Not a single wrinkle in sight, cut perfectly to the prat’s flawless proportions. And the blonde’s hair, Merlin’s tits, had no gel. Again. As if Malfoy had actually listened to Harry’s comment a week earlier. As if he was doing it on purpose. It fell beautifully across his forehead and nearly into his eyes. Harry seriously needed to get over this disturbing fixation he had for this guy’s hair.
While Harry took his time, Malfoy didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he seemed to revel in the scrutiny, even with the faint flush on his skin.
“Hmm…” Harry began. “What haven’t I mentioned yet?” Malfoy rolled his eyes in exasperation, and Harry smiled. “Luna? Do you have any ideas?”
Luna looked up from her flower crown and stared wide-eyed at the other blonde for a few seconds.
“He has very nice skin.”
Harry, who hadn’t looked away from Malfoy, took this into consideration.
“You’re right,” he agreed. Malfoy narrowed his eyes down at him, but it felt almost playful. They stared at each other as Harry continued, “He does have very nice skin.”
The prat couldn’t seem to hold in the small smile that pulled at his lips. Harry chuckled proudly before crossing his arms and settling into a comfier position on the grass.
“Well, there you go, pretty boy. You have perfect skin,” Harry said again. He was surprised at how confidently he used the teasing nickname, and he promised to use as much as possible as the blonde’s blush darkened. Malfoy’s eyes suddenly gleamed with challenge and the slow tilt of his head made Harry’s body burn with anticipation. Harry tilted his own head to the side. “Satisfied?”
“No.”
The response was immediate. The deepened voice held so many implications. Harry couldn’t help the blush he knew was spreading on his own face, or the deep swallow he had to take, or his inability to look away from the all-consuming, greedy grey. He wanted to curse as Malfoy smirked down at him, obviously enjoying the reaction.
Harry nearly stopped breathing all together when the blonde crouched down beside him. He didn’t move as pale fingertips grazed his cheek. His eyes wanted to close at the feeling of it.
“You’re looking a bit red, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice still deep and teasing. Harry couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t help his irregular breathing. A smug smile replaced the blonde’s smirk, and he removed his hand with a lingering touch as he stood. He chuckled while he turned to leave. “Perhaps find some shade.”
Harry wasn’t sure how long he stared off into space for, but when he came to, his face burned tenfold and he covered it with his arms and let out an agonized groan.
“I didn’t know you and Draco were friends, Harry.”
Harry laughed out loud.
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Harry squinted up at the higher shelves, trying to read the worn titles of the books just out of his reach. After dragging him to the library to help revise an assignment for Charms, Hermione, amidst all her info dumping and threats for his attention, remembered a book she had read in third year that she claimed held vital information. This then led to her pulling out her own copy of the Charms homework. Of course, once she requested he go find said book while she reviewed her work, he gratefully welcomed the chance to stretch his legs.
Now, however, he was feeling quite frustrated.
He sent a harsh glare at the dark blue binding emblazoned with the title he had been looking for. If books had auras, Harry swore this one was smug. It seemed to laugh at him every time he attempted to grab it. Weren’t the books charmed to fly down into your hand?
Harry was trying another attempt at retrieving the text, balancing on his tippy toes, when a familiar chuckle had him both rolling his eyes and attempting to suppress a smile.
“Would you like me to use my height that you adore so much to help you?”
Malfoy’s teasing tone had Harry sending him a weak glare over his shoulder.
The blonde didn’t wait for a response. He stepped in so close to Harry he could feel the heat from his body at his side. It was a challenge to not automatically step away, yet at the same time, it really wasn’t. Harry liked the proximity, much to his embarrassment.
Easily grabbing the blue book, Malfoy examined the cover with feigned interest. He lifted it back out of reach when Harry made a lunge for it. Harry tried so very hard to keep up the pretense of being annoyed, but he knew he was failing. He was biting his bottom lip so hard to keep from smiling he was surprised it wasn’t bleeding.
“Thank you,” Harry said very pointedly. He held out his hand, not breaking eye contact with the other boy, who smirked at his words.
“You owe me,” Malfoy said as he pushed the book into Harry’s hand.
Harry scoffed, turning away to hide his smile. “Like hell I do.”
He made to leave, worried his heart might beat out of his chest if he stayed longer, but a sudden pull at his wrist stopped him. He was spun back around from the momentum and almost ran into the blonde, who couldn’t seem to hold in his own smile.
“I at least get a compliment.”
“Um—”
Harry couldn’t think straight (pun intended) being this close to the prat. The damned grey eyes scanned his warming face and Harry had to look away. His attention caught on the pale hand still wrapped around his wrist. The grip was gentle, careful almost. The blonde’s skin felt soft where it touched his. Even as Harry stared down at them, Malfoy didn’t pull back.
“I like your hands,” Harry finally said, his voice almost a whisper.
Harry’s breath caught as Malfoy’s hand slid down to grab his own, still gentle. The pale hand flipped his around and back again as the taller boy examined it.
“Yours is smaller than mine.”
Harry clicked his tongue in mock offense. “You’ve just got big ass hands.”
Malfoy softly chuckled as he maneuvered their hands to rest palm against palm between them. The blonde’s hand was bigger, and Harry found he really didn’t mind. At least until Malfoy laughed a little harder. He smacked the prat’s shoulder with the book.
Harry watched Malfoy grab his hand again and examine the heir ring on his finger. He ran his thumb over it as he snickered again.
“Of course it’s gold,” Malfoy said before letting go. His eyes sparkled as they met Harry’s. “Gold for the Golden Boy.”
Ignoring the frustrating flush of his skin and uncontrollable smile pulling at his lips, Harry rolled his eyes and playfully shoved at the blonde’s shoulder as he turned to leave. He was grateful Malfoy let him go this time. He was worried he might actually implode if those hands held his for a moment longer.
─────────
The sound of the aristocratic voice Harry knew so well echoed off the stone walls of the hallway he was passing through. It was seriously getting embarrassing how attuned Harry was to Malfoy, yet here he was, searching for the flash of white-blonde hair somewhere among the few groups of students and down intersecting corridors. He heard the voice again, trying to tune in to the conversation. Malfoy seemed to be exasperatedly annoyed with Parkinson, who found this amusing, if Harry was interpreting her bored, unaffected responses correctly.
And they were speaking in French.
How had Harry missed this piece of information? That Malfoy could speak another language? A part of him taunted that that should have been impossible for him not to notice and Harry silently cursed his own brain for the thought.
How had he gone seven years without registering his obvious obsession with the Slytherin?
Harry made a conscious effort to turn his attention back to Neville and Luna’s conversation about some new plant Professor Sprout had acquired from Nigeria. He tried to listen as they spoke of lateral roots and the PH balance of soil and soon found his eyes wandering the near-empty hall again. He couldn’t tell what he hoped for more: Malfoy sensing his presence from wherever he was or not at all, letting Harry get through his next class without an intense blush and distracted thoughts.
The pang in his chest at the idea of Malfoy not being as infatuated as he was, of Malfoy hearing his voice and not looking for him, made it quite clear he did in fact know what he hoped for more.
Harry brows furrowed in frustration at his own feelings and then he gasped as a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him down an near-empty corridor. He found himself face to face with the stupid, blonde idiot he was just thinking about.
Malfoy crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly with a small smile. Harry decided the best course of action would be to copy him, so he did.
“Ugh, this again?” Parkinson stepped past them as she shook her head. “Ne flirte pas trop longtemps, nous avons bientôt cours.”
“T’es chiant,” Malfoy replied back with a glare. Parkinson snorted and turned the corner.
“I didn’t know you speak French,” Harry said absentmindedly. Even just from that short interaction, he was starting to understand why people seemed to find the language attractive.
Malfoy looked back at him and whatever he saw on Harry’s face made a slow smirk form. “Oh, tu aimes ça.”
Harry glared at him, though he hoped quite desperately the prat would keep talking.
“I’m waiting for my next compliment,” Malfoy said then. His tone, smirk, and stance were entirely too smug for Harry’s sensibilities.
“This was a terrible idea. I’m feeding you’re already huge ego,” Harry said with a dramatic shake of his head. Malfoy smacked his shoulder with a weak glare, and Harry really couldn’t help but smile. “Besides, you never compliment me.”
“Oh? You want a compliment, Potter?” Malfoy looked entirely too delighted by this. Harry had the feeling he may have miscalculated somewhere. The blonde took a step closer, and Harry used the remaining dregs of his composure to raise a challenging eyebrow. “J’adore ton sourire, il est tellement charmant.” Harry’s breath hitched at the language switch, and Malfoy’s knowing look was not at all welcome. “Tu as aussi de belles mains.” The blonde ran a few fingers over Harry’s hand where he had his arms crossed.
Harry realized then that he was totally screwed, that he’d really let this prat do absolutely anything to him. He kept as still as his beating heart would let him as the taller boy dragged a knuckle gently across his cheek.
“Tu as de beaux yeux.” Malfoy said this with such delicate reverence. Despite not knowing what the other was saying, Harry felt so warm and content. He leaned into the hand on his cheek and hoped they could stay like this for a while. Grey eyes softened significantly, and Harry never wanted to look anywhere else.
The hand slid back into Harry’s hair, and Malfoy said, “Mais tes cheveux sont un désastre.”
And then he pulled.
Harry yelped and grabbed Malfoy’s wrist to yank it away. The blonde’s eyes danced with silent laughter and he had the biggest smile Harry had gotten out of him so far. Harry rubbed at the tender area on his head with one hand, his other still wrapped around Malfoy’s wrist.
“You complete arsewipe,” Harry whined. He couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice, though, and a smile soon grew on his own face from the blonde’s obvious enjoyment.
“Your turn. Hurry up, Potter,” Malfoy insisted, quickly regaining his upper-class bravado. Harry shook his head in exasperation, his smile growing.
“So needy, Malfoy,” Harry teased. There was an almost imperceptible nod of the blonde’s head that Harry wasn’t sure he imagined or not. “Fine. I like it when you speak French.”
“Everybody likes French, that doesn’t count.”
“No,” Harry shook his head again, sliding the hand that held Malfoy’s wrist down, barely intertwining their fingers without ever looking away from those grey eyes, “I like it when you speak French.”
Malfoy hummed as he fully wove his hand into Harry’s. “Only me?”
If there hadn’t been a few passing students nearby, if the warning chime for the next class period hadn’t rung out, Harry probably would have kissed the stupid prat. Instead, he slid his hand from Malfoy’s, gently yanked at his bangs, and said, “Only you, pretty boy.” He walked away to the sound of the blonde’s soft laughter.
Neville and Luna had waited for him at the end of the hallway, and of course the reality of what just happened hit him full in the face as he reached them. Quite a few people passed by them, and Harry was sure they had been not subtle in the least.
His thoughts turned unhelpfully to the lessons he had to endure from his parents and Sirius about wizarding traditions and pureblood etiquette. Harry anxiously began messing with his ring as he remembered their reassurances that they held no expectations for his choice in partner or any future decisions he made in regard to children. They did not care about heirs and ‘preserving the bloodline’ like many pureblood families did.
Harry’s brows furrowed as he recalled the few times he had witnessed Lucius Malfoy.
“You and Draco seem to get along great, Harry!” Luna commented as they continued their walk through the corridors. Harry winced.
“Oh, they definitely get along all right,” Neville added, trying to hold in his laughter. Harry elbowed him in the ribs hard before covering his face with his hands as his blush deepened drastically.
“’Getting along’ right in the middle of the hallway, too,” Neville continued. He laughed heartily as Harry attempted to tackle him to the ground.
─────────
The homely atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks had always brought Harry immense comfort with its friendly chatter and clinking glasses. In his third year, during their first visit here, Madam Rosmerta had immediately clocked him as his dad’s son and warned him against any mischievous behavior while in her pub. Since then, she has always provided him Butterbeer on-the-house as some sort of ‘thank you’ for his disinterest towards Marauder-level pranks. A reward for good behavior, his mom had called it.
Harry sipped from his free Butterbeer as he slouched in his chair. The first Hogsmeade trip of the year had gone wonderfully. Ron had analyzed all the new products at Zonko’s to report back to the Twins, Harry had restocked on candies and treats from Honeyduke’s, and Hermione had raided Scrivenshaft’s for her favorite type of ink that often sold out. They had then met up with a few more of their friends here for some rest and relaxation before making the trek back up to the castle.
Harry refocused on the conversation after a piece of scone flew past his face.
“No, you idiot,” Ginny said, her voice mocking. “There is absolutely no chance for the Chudley Cannons this season. Just like last year, and the year before that, and the year before—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ron pointed an accusing finger at her. “Dorkins said he was pleased with their recent progress as a team!”
“They still have Gudgeon as seeker. There’s no way they’re winning anything, mate,” Neville butt in.
Ron looked to Harry in desperation, who consolingly shook his head. The redhead groaned loudly and thudded his head against the table. Hermione smacked his shoulder and admonished him after having to rescue her book from the drink he knocked over.
Harry snickered at Ron’s stricken expression. He lifted his stein of Butterbeer for another sip as he heard a new group of people enter the pub and froze when he saw who they were. Zabini stepped in first, scanning for an empty table. Nott and Greengrass followed, then Goyle and Crabbe, and then him. Harry gulped. Right before he looked away, feeling creepy because of his staring, Parkinson walked in last and unfortunately caught his gaze. A wolfish smirk appeared on her face for the briefest moment before she looked away.
To the best of his ability, Harry kept his attention on the drink in his hands. For as long as he could, he pretended to find the white foam floating at the top very interesting. This, obviously, didn’t last long. Harry decided he was very weak-willed.
He glanced up at the Slytherins pulling out chairs around a table on the other side of the pub. He watched as Parkinson steered the prat by the shoulders towards an empty chair on the far side of the table. A chair directly facing Harry.
Harry wasn’t sure whether he should be thanking her or not. He would be able to sit here and stare at gorgeous, blonde hair and beautiful, grey eyes, but those same eyes could just as easily stare back. Harry felt his cheeks already heating up, his pulse beginning to race. The more he thought about it, he really wouldn’t mind those eyes staring back at him.
It only took a second after getting settled for Malfoy to spot him. The small, seemingly automatic smile he sent over had Harry biting his lip to tamper down his own. The blonde’s skin began to flush the more Harry stared, so of course he didn’t look away. Harry rested his elbows on the table and hid his smile behind his folded hands. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and he languidly copied Harry’s position.
The longer they looked at one another, the more everything else around them became muted and obsolete. At first, Harry found he couldn’t stop smiling. This felt like a bizarre imitation of the years they spent glaring daggers at each other, and he found the idea humorous. But the longer they stared, the calmer he became. His heartbeat slowed and his face stopped burning. Grey eyes seemed to soften, as if the other boy felt it, too.
Then something smacked Harry’s head.
He held his arms up in defense in case another attack came. Ron, sitting next to him, held a rolled-up newspaper threateningly over his head.
“What was that for!?” Harry exclaimed, eyeing the paper with distrust.
“Will you stop gawking at him and help defend my honor?” Ron asked, irritated.
“Why can’t Hermione defend your honor?” Harry whined. He risked a glance at Malfoy, pleased to see him laughing behind a hand, and earned himself another whack. “Ron!”
“Who’s he gawking at?” Ginny cut in, looking over her shoulder at the other side of pub.
“I am not gawking!” Whack.
“Oh, Draco’s here!” Luna leaned around Ron to look at Harry. “You should go say ‘hi’, Harry!”
“Should he now?” Ginny asked. The predatory gleam in her eyes made Harry nervous. He had no interest in learning what that look meant.
“No, thank you.” Whack. “Merl—give me that!”
Harry ripped the newspaper out of Ron’s hands, glaring viciously at his best friend.
“I can’t believe I’m losing my best friend,” Ron moaned morosely into his hands. He squawked loudly after getting smacked on the head with the newspaper.
“Losing your—what have I missed?” Ginny asked greedily.
“Harry’s got the hots for Malfoy,” Neville stated simply. He dodged Harry’s newspaper attack with a taunting smile. “They’ve become quite close.”
“Harry and Draco are great friends!” Luna added.
With a distressed groan, Harry hid his burning face in his arms on the table.
“Enemies to lovers, eh?” Ginny began, and Harry heard a quiet snort from Hermione’s direction. “What are our thoughts on this?”
“I think they like each other very much!”
“They’ve always been at each other’s throats for years, haven’t they? Was probably because of suppressed feelings for one another.”
“Malfoy’s a right prat.”
“He’s gotten better over the years, though. He doesn’t pick on the younger kids or muggleborns anymore.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
“Harry’s really the only one he can’t seem to leave alone.”
“And Harry has always been obsessed with him.”
“How do you think Malfoy’s parents would react to this?”
Harry’s breath caught at the question. He had kept silent while his friends discussed his love life, mainly from embarrassment but also out of interest in their opinions. And this, Malfoy’s parents and their views on the subject, was something he had thought about a time or two since Malfoy pulled him into that hallway.
“Well, believe it or not, but a year or two ago, I heard a rumor Malfoy had been caught with a boy at a Ministry event.”
Harry stopped breathing all together. His fists clenched hard at the overwhelming jealousy that came from the thought of Malfoy with someone else. Then he felt bad, imagining the possible repercussions the blonde might have had to deal with because of all that. For being himself. If the rumor was true, of course.
“I’m pretty certain he was arranged to be wed to Parkinson after they finished school, as per blood purity traditions and what not.”
Harry refused to acknowledge the stinging in his eyes. He was frustrated with himself for not questioning things like this. He had been his usual, Gryffindor self and had done things without thinking. If he ended up getting hurt, he was fine with that. It was his own fault. But he sincerely hoped Malfoy wouldn’t suffer because of him.
“But hasn’t Parkinson been dating the Ravenclaw keeper for a while now?”
“Yes, she has! Her and I make bracelets in the common room sometimes.”
“So maybe the arrangement is off?”
“We could just ask—"
“Harry could ask him! Great idea!”
Harry shook his head, still not lifting it from his arms. He then felt a large hand squeeze his shoulder.
“Mate,” Ron began, quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear, “I can tell you’re freaking out. I’ve already told you, you’re free to like whoever you please. And since Malfoy keeps glancing over here with a worried look, I feel like he might care about you just as much.”
Harry did lift his head at that. He found the grey eyes already focused on him. They scanned his face and, true to Ron’s word, he really did look worried. Harry instantly felt the urge to reassure the blonde that he was okay, to wipe the concern off his beautiful face. He smiled warmly at the other boy, who seemed to relax then.
Not enough. Harry winked at him, and the prat shook his head in disbelief, trying and failing to hide a smile.
─────────
Harry really should have known better than to partner with Ron for their first complicated potion of the year, especially with how distracted he’s been lately. He should have snagged Hermione when he had the chance.
Harry reread the next step for the third time and still didn’t completely understand what it was asking him to do. He looked between the Fluxweed and Goosegrass in front of him, truly unsure which one was which. He then questioned why he was taking NEWT level potions.
“I think that one is the Fluxweed,” Ron said, pointing at the lighter brown stalks. Harry could tell he also had absolutely no idea and was definitely guessing.
Deciding not to care anymore, Harry measured the appropriate amount out while Ron finished up the 15 anticlockwise stirs. After the potion settled, Harry held out the supposed Fluxweed and looked to his partner, who shrugged and stared warily at the cauldron. Harry bit his lip and sprinkled the plant in.
Immediately, they could tell something was wrong. Instead of the potion turning a light lavender, it bubbled into a deep green. Its gurgling grew more aggressive and the entire cauldron began to shake.
“Uh oh,” was the last thing Harry heard before the potion exploded.
One moment, he was staring in horror at their abomination and the next, he was pulled away from the table and protected from the eruption by a Shield Charm. The grip on the back of his robes loosened yet the hand stayed. Harry found the dark wand that casted the charm and looked over his shoulder at its owner, who was frowning at the mess. Harry couldn’t help himself.
“My hero,” he said in an exaggeratingly reverent tone. And then quieter, “Thank you.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes before they met his. Behind the layer of annoyance, Harry could see the glint of humor, and he smiled up at him. Grey eyes fell to Harry's lips briefly, and Harry may have stopped breathing. Then the hand at his back lifted to his hair and Malfoy lightly pulled on it as he softly said, “Idiot.”
Harry wanted nothing more than to follow the prat back to his table and annoy him for the rest of class, but Professor Slughorn appeared, in distress, and Harry started laughing at the ruined potion that now coated a scowling Ron.
─────────
After attempting to answer the fourth question on his Potions assignment for the past hour, Harry wanted to give up. He debated with himself for the millionth time about whether or not he should drop the class. He gazed longingly out the nearest window, wishing to instead be flying his broom through the afternoon breeze, chasing his practice snitch. His eyes fell back down to his textbook. He glared at it before sighing dramatically, tilting his head back, and closing his eyes. His homework could wait another minute.
Then he heard the sound of someone walking nearby. Being that the library was usually pretty occupied around this time, Harry thought nothing of it.
Until said person seemed to stop directly behind him.
Of course, he knew it was him by presence alone. The familiar scent of green apple and cinnamon only confirmed it.
Harry’s growing smile relaxed completely as a hand brushed his bangs from his forehead. He hummed happily and then nearly whined when the hand withdrew. His eyes opened so he could pout at the prat taking the seat next to his.
Malfoy snorted at the look as he set his bag on the ground. The blonde snatched Harry’s Potions assignment while Harry, unbothered, closed his eyes again.
“Do you often let strangers touch you unawares?”
Harry scoffed. “You are hardly a stranger.”
“Are you implying you knew it was me?” Malfoy’s voice was unbelieving.
“Of course,” Harry’s own tone softened without him meaning to, “I’d know you anywhere.”
After a second, a hand ran through his hair again and he unabashedly leaned into it. As the following minute passed, Harry had to focus really hard on not falling asleep. From the slow petting of his hair to the quiet of the near-empty corner of the library, it was proving to be very difficult.
“Your answer for number two isn’t entirely correct.”
Harry huffed, “Of course it isn’t.”
Reluctantly opening his eyes, Harry tilted his head and watched the blonde read through the rest of his homework in concentration. He then felt the need for a better angle. He sat up in his chair, briefly mourning the loss of the hand in his hair, and rested his arms on the table before laying his head on top of them. The hand found it’s way back into his curls and Harry thought this might be the best thing ever.
He stared up unabashedly at Malfoy. The warm sunlight shining in through the window made his white-blonde hair and unblemished skin glow. He looked ethereal, and Harry wanted to run his own fingers through his hair, to watch the sun set in the reflection of his soft, grey eyes, to trace his perfect cheekbones and hold his hand in his. And not just now. All the time. As much as he could.
Malfoy began explaining his own take on question four but Harry really wasn’t listening. His focus did, however, remain solely on the blonde’s mouth as he spoke. Harry swallowed down the need he felt as he stared, entranced.
For Harry, the past few months had been both torture and the most exciting thing since making the quidditch team in second year. He had come of age and accepted heirship of his family name and told the people he loved the secret he had kept since he was 14. He had changed the dynamic of his relationship with this pampered, uptight idiot without even understanding why. And when he figured it out, when he continued to compliment the hell out of his rival despite knowing why he wanted to, he wasn’t turned down or made fun of for it. Malfoy’s responses have felt encouraging thus far, like he wanted this change, too.
“You’re not listening, are you?”
Harry zoned back in and met the grey eyes gazing down at him in fond exasperation.
“Not at all,” he responded. His voice sounded a bit breathless.
“Well, focus,” Malfoy reprimanded, adding a tug at Harry’s hair for emphasis. “I’m taking the time out of my own study schedule to help you. You’re very lucky I’m feeling generous today.”
The blonde began explaining the answer to question four again and Harry really couldn’t help it. Without thinking, he lifted his head from his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to Malfoy’s cheek. The other boy immediately fell silent and stared at Harry in surprise.
Harry felt his cheeks immediately begin to burn. He started to apologize, “I’m—um, I’m so—”
“You missed.”
Harry stared back at the blonde. He tried so hard to understand what the other was saying, but the hand that had fallen to his neck dug into his hair again and grey eyes kept looking down at his lips and pale cheeks became flush like his. Harry couldn’t think.
“What?” he asked faintly.
“You missed,” Malfoy repeated in a whisper.
The hand in Harry’s hair pushed him forward and, before Harry fully registered what was happening, their lips met in a devastatingly soft kiss. It was sweet and breathtaking and much shorter than Harry wanted. They separated after only a second, and then Harry’s hand grabbed Malfoy’s robe and pulled him back in. When their lips met again, it lasted much longer and felt more insistent than the first. Malfoy tilted his head just right at one point and Harry nearly groaned at the feeling. Separating a second time, their foreheads rested against each other’s as they took a breath.
“Why haven’t we been doing that this whole time?” Malfoy asked, his voice almost a whine.
Harry chuckled. He kissed him again, and again.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to,” Harry eventually replied. He turned his attention to the blonde’s jaw, trailing kisses across it and then down his neck.
Malfoy tilted his head to give him better access, his grip on Harry’s hair tightening deliciously. “I’m pretty sure I made it quite obvious.”
Harry managed to reign himself in enough then, placing a few more kisses against pale skin before resting his forehead on Malfoy’s shoulder. He knew they really should talk about things.
“I like you.”
Malfoy laughed, bringing both arms over Harry’s shoulders as rested his head against Harry’s. “Yeah, no shit.”
“No. Like I really like you,” Harry swallowed nervously, leaning more into Malfoy’s neck, “and I want to date you. Publicly. Like kissing you whenever I want to and holding hands and eating meals together. And—and I’m so happy that you like me enough to kiss me back, but I don’t want you to get in trouble with, like, your parents or whatever. I don’t want to hurt you, so if you can’t do any of that, that’s okay, we could still—”
He cut off when Malfoy gently pulled him from his hiding place, his hands cupping Harry’s burning cheeks. Grey eyes sparkled as they stared at each other.
“You were worried about my parents?”
“Well, yeah,” Harry said sheepishly, looking down. “I know your family cares a lot about ‘preserving the bloodline’ and all that, and being with a guy doesn’t really work well with the idea—”
“Potter.”
“No, really. If you get… disowned or something because I can’t control myself, I don’t know what I’d do—”
“Potter.”
“They’re your family. There’s no way I’ll put your relationship with them at risk. Merlin, I really shouldn’t have even—”
“Harry.”
Harry froze. He looked up in surprise at the blonde, who was smiling fondly at him.
“You’re an idiot,” Draco said with a laugh. He squished Harry’s face with his hands and placed a gentle kiss on his nose. “My parents know I’m gay. They grumbled about it for a while, but they just want me to be happy. They don’t care.”
“Oh.”
The blonde snorted.
“So,” Harry continued in a daze, “we can—do you want to—”
Draco shut him up by bringing his lips to his. They kissed and kissed, and Harry felt his body relax with relief. At some point, Harry glasses were removed. Harry’s hands wound their way around the blonde, almost giving in to the urge to pull him onto his lap. Draco pulled at Harry’s hair with one hand and dragged the other down his chest. An embarrassing, needy sound left Harry from the feeling, and the prat chuckled.
“You know,” the blonde began a trail of kisses to Harry’s ear, “I believe there was a book in the back row of the alchemy section that could help you with question four.”
Harry snickered, tilting his head. “In the back row, huh?”
Draco hummed as he kissed down Harry’s neck.
“What about your precious study time?” Harry teased.
“I found something better to do.”
Harry smiled cheekily. “Lucky me.”
He pulled Draco’s face back up and peppered it with kisses. Draco protested the onslaught of affection, grabbing Harry’s wrists, but really did nothing to make him stop.
─────────
Harry had already tuned out Hermione’s long-winded lecture about the properties of Moonseed by the time they had reached the D.A.D.A. classroom. As fate would have it, Draco and a few other Slytherins made it there at the exact same time.
Harry heard Ron groan behind him when he visibly perked up at the sight of the blonde. Draco looked up at the sound and his eyes brightened when he saw Harry. He stepped out of the way, letting the others pass into the classroom, rolling his eyes at the snickers and teasing comments from his friends. Ron shoved Harry towards the prat and followed Hermione through the door.
“You look lovely today,” Harry said in a dramatically polite tone.
Draco snorted, a soft smile on his face. He then grabbed Harry’s tie and pulled him closer. A startled gasp left the shorter boy that made the blonde smirk before he began to undo the red tie. Harry pouted at the lack of attention to his lips.
“I always look lovely,” Draco stated, ignoring Harry’s pleading eyes.
“Yeah,” Harry said with a sigh.
The two stayed comfortably silent as Harry watched Draco finish folding his tie into a perfect knot with nimble fingers. Then he straightened Harry’s robe. Then Harry’s vision went blurry as the blonde pulled his glasses off to cast a Cleaning Charm on them. Harry was blatantly loving the care and tenderness.
“You’re a mess, as always,” Draco commented as he very gently pushed Harry’s glasses back into place.
“Yet your hands are all over me,” Harry teased. His eyes closed as pale hands began brushing through his untamable curls.
“Yeah.”
The sudden, gentle brush of lips against his forehead sent a wave of warmth through Harry’s body. His eyes fluttered open and his arms wound around his boyfriend’s waist. Finally, their lips met for a soft, slow kiss.
Then someone cleared their throat.
They broke apart and Harry began shaking his head at his Uncle Sev standing in the doorway of the classroom before begging, “Do not show my mother that memory. Please! She’ll never let it go!”
Uncle Sev snorted as he turned away, and Draco chuckled before kissing Harry quiet.
“She’ll bring it up every chance she gets,” Draco teased, and Harry groaned in dismay. “You’ll turn bright red every time.”
“I’ll make sure you’re there, too, then. Every time. So you can laugh at me,” Harry replied, tucking his face into the blonde’s neck.
Draco snickered, kissing Harry’s temple as he dragged him through the door. “Okay, Golden Boy.”