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Chapter Text

Hogwarts Academy, Eighth.Year, Day One.

Harry Potter stared across the grand dining hall of Hogwarts Academy, his fork hovering in the air, forgotten. His best friend, Ron Weasley, was halfway through his mashed potatoes, completely oblivious to the internal crisis playing out next to him. Hermione Granger, seated across from them, was talking about their upcoming literature exam, but Harry could barely hear her.

All Harry could focus on was Draco Malfoy.

There he was, sitting at the far end of the hall, his platinum blond hair practically glowing under the warm lights. Draco was laughing at something Blaise Zabini said, his laughter smooth, effortless, and way too elegant for a 17-year-old guy. Everything about him seemed cool, composed, and untouchable. The tailored blazer, the perfectly tied school tie, the way he pushed his plate aside like it was beneath him. Harry felt his stomach do a weird flip.

This was not normal.

He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Hermione waved a hand in front of his face. “Harry? Are you listening? You’ve been out of it all dinner. You’re not worried about the exam, are you?”

“W-What? No, of course not,” Harry stammered, quickly shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth. He chewed mechanically, but his eyes kept darting back to Draco’s table. Why was he still staring?

Ron finally looked up from his plate and followed Harry’s gaze. “What’re you staring at? Malfoy again? He’s been acting all high and mighty as usual. Typical git, right?”

Harry swallowed his potatoes with a gulp, his face heating up. “No reason. Just, um… lost in thought.”

“Right,” Ron said, his face scrunching up. “Well, stop thinking so much. It’s weird.” He turned back to his food, but Hermione wasn’t as easily distracted.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, observing the blush creeping up Harry’s neck. “Harry, you’ve been acting strange for a few days now,” she said carefully. “Ever since the start of term. Is something going on?”

Harry opened his mouth to deny it but then immediately closed it again. Because, yeah, something was going on. And he had absolutely no idea how to talk about it. How was he supposed to explain that he’d spent the last week unable to stop thinking about Draco Malfoy—the guy he was supposed to hate, or at least find irritating? That every time Draco passed him in the hallway or leaned casually against his locker, Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe? That he’d been replaying that moment from third year, when Draco had smirked at him, way too often in his mind?

The problem was, it wasn’t just Draco. Harry had been noticing other guys too. Small things, like the way Dean Thomas would laugh during soccer practice, or how Cedric Diggory would smile and make everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. These thoughts had been creeping into his head for months now, and after spending all summer trying to push them away, they were back in full force now that school had started.

And Draco Malfoy was at the center of all of it.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry mumbled. “Just tired, I guess.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced but didn’t push. She just glanced at Ron, who had moved on to dessert, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil sitting right next to him.

As the dining hall began to empty, Harry gathered his things and started making his way toward the dorms, Ron and Hermione trailing behind. They were talking about their upcoming classes, but Harry’s mind was still elsewhere—until he heard a voice that sent a jolt through him.

“Potter.”

Draco’s voice.

Harry stopped in his tracks, his pulse quickening. Slowly, he turned around to see Draco leaning casually against the wall just outside the entrance to the dining hall, his usual posse surrounding him. His grey eyes fixed on Harry, and for a split second, Harry swore there was a glint of amusement in them. Or was that just his imagination?

“Still trailing around with your entourage, I see,” Draco drawled, his voice smooth like silk. “I suppose you three never get tired of it.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but his brain short-circuited. What was he supposed to say to that? Was Draco trying to provoke him like he used to, or was it just… Draco being Draco? All Harry could think about was how good Draco looked standing there, how the way he crossed his arms seemed annoyingly graceful.

“Yeah, well, at least we have friends,” Ron shot back, stepping in to cover for Harry’s silence. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but his gaze flickered back to Harry, lingering just a moment too long. “Whatever you say, Weasley,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking away, his group following closely behind.

Harry watched Draco leave, heart still hammering in his chest. Why did Draco’s stupid comments get to him so much? Why couldn’t he just act normal around him?

Ron was already laughing, clearly pleased with himself. “Can you believe that git? Same old Malfoy.”

Harry forced a chuckle, trying to appear like his usual self. “Yeah, same old Malfoy,” he echoed, but the words felt hollow.

Because it wasn’t the same old Malfoy. At least, not to Harry.

He was officially in trouble.

As they headed back to the dorms, Harry’s mind raced. His feelings for Draco weren’t just going away. They were only getting worse. He’d spent years assuming he was straight, and now… well, now he had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he had to figure it out—and fast.

And preferably without making a total fool of himself.

Chapter Text

The next day at Hogwarts Academy started like any other… except it wasn’t. Not for Harry Potter.

Harry woke up in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling, trying to push away the flood of thoughts about Draco Malfoy that had filled his head before bed the night before. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. How was he supposed to act normal around Draco today, when every interaction they’d had so far only made things worse?

“Harry, mate, you’re going to be late for breakfast if you keep lying there like that,” Ron’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts.

Harry groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’m getting up.”

As they made their way to the dining hall, Harry couldn’t shake the nervous energy coursing through him. Every time he thought about seeing Draco today, his stomach twisted. This wasn’t going to get any easier.

Once they got there, Harry quickly scanned the room, but Draco wasn’t in sight yet. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and sat down with Ron and Hermione. They started their usual breakfast routine—Ron inhaling food, Hermione chatting about their class schedule, and Harry nodding along distractedly.

But halfway through breakfast, Harry felt it. A shift in the air, like something important had just happened. And sure enough, when he glanced up, there was Draco, walking into the dining hall like he owned the place.

Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to him. Draco’s uniform looked as crisp and flawless as ever, his blond hair neatly styled, and his usual cool expression was firmly in place. As he walked past their table, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Draco’s eyes flicked over to him for just a brief second. It was so fast that Harry could’ve convinced himself he imagined it, but no. He definitely hadn’t.

Harry quickly looked away, trying to focus on his food, but it was hopeless. The more he tried not to think about Draco, the more his thoughts were consumed by him.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, breaking through his daze once again. “You look like you’re about to choke on your toast.”

“What?” Harry nearly coughed up a bite. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “If you’re sure,” she said slowly. “You’ve been acting distracted lately.”

Ron, however, was too busy stuffing his face to notice. “You’ve got to relax, mate. We’ve got a big soccer match this week. Can’t have you zoning out on the field.”

Harry nodded absently, barely registering Ron’s words. Soccer. Right. He had practice after classes today. Maybe that would help take his mind off things. If only he could stop thinking about—

“Potter.”

That voice again.

Harry’s head snapped up, his pulse immediately spiking. Draco was standing at their table, an amused smirk playing on his lips. He looked at Harry with the same sort of distant curiosity one might reserve for an animal doing something peculiar.

“Malfoy,” Harry muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart, however, was pounding.

“I need you to move your stuff,” Draco said coolly, pointing at Harry’s bag, which had apparently slipped onto the floor and was blocking the aisle. “Some of us don’t enjoy tripping over stray Gryffindor rubbish.”

Ron, always ready to start something, opened his mouth, but Harry moved quickly, grabbing his bag and yanking it out of the way. “Sorry,” Harry said, his voice awkward and too loud. “Didn’t notice.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Clearly.”

And then he was gone, heading back to his table without a second glance. Harry sat there, staring at the spot where Draco had stood, heat rising to his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if Draco’s comment had been insulting or if that was just how he sounded all the time, but either way, Harry couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

Ron, oblivious as ever, grunted, “Honestly, he acts like he owns the place.”

Hermione, though, was watching Harry closely. “Harry,” she said quietly, “I don’t think this is just tiredness. Is something bothering you?”

Harry stiffened. Hermione knew him too well. He couldn’t lie to her forever, but… could he really say it out loud? That he had a crush on Draco Malfoy? It sounded ridiculous even in his head.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry muttered, shoving the last of his toast into his mouth as an excuse not to keep talking. “Really.”

But Hermione’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned back to her book. Harry was grateful she didn’t push the issue—at least not yet.

Later that day, Harry headed to soccer practice, hoping the physical activity would help clear his head. And for a while, it did. He focused on the drills, running back and forth across the field, passing the ball to his teammates, trying to get out of his own head.

But then, halfway through practice, Draco showed up.

Not to play, of course. Draco Malfoy didn’t do team sports. But he had some reason to be there—probably talking to one of the coaches about some school business, judging by the way he was leaning casually against the fence, his arms crossed.

Harry’s concentration wavered almost immediately. Every time he glanced in Draco’s direction, he felt his focus slip. He missed two passes, nearly tripped over his own feet, and by the time the practice was over, he had earned himself an annoyed look from the coach.

“Potter, you alright?” the coach barked, hands on his hips. “You’re usually better than this. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

Harry mumbled something about being fine, all the while knowing that the real problem was standing a few yards away, still looking completely unfazed. Harry had barely noticed the end of practice when Draco turned to leave.

With a sigh, Harry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading back to the locker rooms. His mind was still swirling, torn between frustration at his lack of focus and the confusing feelings he couldn’t seem to control.

By the time he returned to the common area later that night, Harry was exhausted—not just from practice, but from the mental gymnastics he’d been doing all day. He plopped down on one of the couches, staring blankly at the fireplace, when Hermione sat down next to him.

“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” she asked gently, not even looking up from her book.

Harry sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

“I figured as much,” she replied. After a pause, she added, “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.”

Harry glanced at her and smiled slightly, appreciating her patience. “Thanks, Hermione. I just… need to figure some stuff out.”

And so, as the night wore on, Harry found himself no closer to an answer than he had been that morning. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop thinking about Draco Malfoy.

And that, more than anything, scared him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry woke up with a sense of determination, something he hadn’t felt in days.

If he was going to survive the rest of the school year without making a complete fool of himself over Draco Malfoy, he needed a plan. He couldn’t keep stumbling around, letting his feelings get the better of him. Draco was just another student. A really attractive, kind of infuriating student. But still. Harry convinced himself that all he needed was to act normal, keep his distance, and maybe this whole ridiculous crush would fade away.

Piece of cake, right?

As Harry entered the bustling hallway leading to his first class, he decided to avoid Draco as much as possible. If he didn’t have to look at him, he wouldn’t be reminded of how his stomach flipped every time Draco walked by.

Unfortunately, life had other plans.

Harry had just settled into his desk in English Lit when Professor McGonagall walked in, carrying a stack of books and looking as serious as ever. “Good morning, class. Today, we’ll be working on our group project,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve already paired you up. You’ll be working together for the next two weeks on an in-depth analysis of your chosen novel.”

Harry relaxed slightly. Group projects were fine. He could work with Hermione or Ron, or even Neville—someone safe. But as Professor McGonagall began reading out the pairings, Harry’s blood ran cold.

“And finally,” McGonagall said, her eyes scanning the room, “Harry Potter and… Draco Malfoy.”

Harry froze in his seat.

He felt a sharp jab in his side as Ron nudged him, trying not to laugh. “Bad luck, mate. Guess you’ll be spending a lot of quality time with Malfoy.”

Harry barely registered Ron’s words. His mind was spinning. This couldn’t be happening. He had to spend two weeks with Draco, working on a project where they’d be sitting close together, talking, sharing ideas? This was the exact opposite of what Harry needed right now.

Across the room, Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, clearly unimpressed with the pairing, but he didn’t say anything. He just gathered his things and made his way over to Harry’s desk with his usual calm, composed expression.

“Potter,” Draco greeted, sitting down with a flick of his perfectly styled hair. “Looks like we’re stuck together.”

Harry swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Draco opened his notebook and began flipping through the pages with that maddeningly elegant precision he always had. “We should probably get started. I assume you’re capable of keeping up?”

“Of course I can,” Harry snapped, more defensive than he intended. He wasn’t going to let Draco think he was intimidated. Even though he absolutely was.

Later that afternoon, Harry met up with Hermione and Ron in the library, hoping to complain about the terrible luck that had cursed him with Draco as a partner.

“I’m doomed,” Harry muttered as they sat down in a quiet corner, pulling out their books. “How am I supposed to get over him if I have to spend every day working on this stupid project with him?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You know, maybe this is a good thing,” she said, flipping through her notes. “If you spend more time with Draco, maybe you’ll realize he’s not as perfect as you think. Crushes are usually based on an idealized version of someone.”

Hermione, ever the observer, cornered him the other day and practically forced him to come out with his crush on Draco or she wouldn’t have let him go to soccer practice. So now she knew.

Ron, oblivious as usual, looked between them in confusion. “Wait, are we still talking about Malfoy? What exactly is going on here?”

Harry sighed. He’d been dreading this moment, but he couldn’t keep dodging the subject. He took a deep breath. “Ron, I need to tell you something.”

Ron blinked, setting his book down. “Uh, okay. Shoot.”

“I… I think I might be bisexual,” Harry said quietly, his heart pounding as he finally said the words out loud to Ron. “And I have this… ridiculous crush on Draco.”

Ron stared at him, mouth slightly open. For a moment, Harry thought he might be upset or weirded out. But then Ron just blinked again and said, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Harry repeated, unsure how to interpret that reaction.

“Yeah, oh,” Ron said, scratching his head. “I mean, it’s a bit of a shock, I guess. But, y’know, you’re still Harry. And Malfoy’s still a git. So, nothing’s really changed, right?”

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Hermione smiled at Ron, clearly impressed. “That was surprisingly mature of you, Ron.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, I don’t know much about all that, but if Harry’s into Malfoy, that’s his business. Just… don’t ask me to compliment his hair or anything.”

Harry chuckled, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders. It wasn’t the perfect situation, but at least he wasn’t dealing with it alone.

The next day, Harry and Draco met up in the library to start their project. Harry was determined to keep things professional and avoid any embarrassing moments. He couldn’t let Draco know how much he was distracting him.

“So, what novel should we pick?” Harry asked, pretending to study the list in front of him instead of Draco’s annoyingly perfect profile.

Draco leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “I was thinking Pride and Prejudice. It’s a classic. And it’s all about misunderstandings, pride getting in the way, and learning to see people in a different light. Seemed appropriate.”

Harry felt his heart skip a beat at Draco’s words. Learning to see people in a different light? Was he reading too much into that? Probably. Definitely. But still, it made Harry’s pulse quicken.

“Yeah, sure. That works,” Harry said, trying not to sound flustered.

As they began discussing the themes of the novel, Harry found himself slipping into the conversation more easily than he expected. Despite the awkwardness, Draco was actually smart—sharp, even. He made insightful comments, and his dry humor slipped in here and there, making Harry laugh in spite of himself.

By the time they finished, Harry was surprised by how much he’d enjoyed it. And that was the real problem. The more time he spent with Draco, the more his crush was growing. Instead of fading, it was getting worse. Draco wasn’t just good-looking; he was smart, witty, and—annoyingly—kind of fun to be around.

As they packed up their things, Draco glanced at Harry, his usual smirk in place. “Well, that wasn’t entirely painful, was it?”

Harry tried to play it cool, but his heart was racing again. “No, I guess not.”

Draco stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and for just a moment, Harry thought he saw something softer in Draco’s eyes. “See you tomorrow, Potter.”

“Yeah, see you,” Harry muttered, watching Draco walk away.

As Draco disappeared around the corner, Harry collapsed back into his chair, groaning. He was definitely not getting over this crush anytime soon.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even sure he wanted to anymore.

End of Chapter Three.

Chapter Text

Harry’s plan to avoid Draco and play it cool had been working well—until the library incident. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to Draco, and if Harry wasn’t careful, he’d start thinking they were actually getting along. Which was dangerous, because getting along made his crush ten times harder to deal with.

To distract himself, Harry had thrown himself into his usual routine: classes, soccer practice, and the occasional chess match with Ron. But no matter what he did, Draco was always lingering in the back of his mind. So when Harry found himself in the common room one evening, waiting for Ron and Hermione to finish up a Prefect meeting, he started rummaging through Hermione’s bag for a quill.

That’s when he found it.

Stuffed between her notebooks was a paperback romance novel, its cover bright and colorful, with a man and a woman locked in a dramatic embrace. How to Win Their Heart: The Definitive Guide to Winning Over Your Crush was scrawled in fancy letters across the front.

Harry blinked at the title, feeling a mix of curiosity and dread. He wasn’t one for romance novels—Hermione was usually the one to gush about them—but there was a tiny part of him that thought, What’s the harm in taking a look?

It wasn’t like he had any better ideas for dealing with his Draco situation. And besides, Hermione wouldn’t know he’d borrowed it if he put it back before she noticed.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Harry pulled the book out and flipped to a random page. The chapter heading read: Impressing Your Crush: A Step-by-Step Guide. Beneath it was a list of surefire ways to make someone take notice of you. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Step 1: Find out what they like. Pay attention to their hobbies, interests, and passions. Then, show interest in those things to create common ground.”

Harry snorted. Right, like I’m going to walk up to Draco and ask him about his hobbies. That would be a disaster waiting to happen. He kept reading.

“Step 2: Confidence is key. Be bold! Even if you don’t know much about their interests, showing that you’re willing to try new things can be impressive. Fake it ‘til you make it.”

Harry frowned. Confidence was easier said than done, especially when it came to Draco. But something about the “willing to try new things” part stuck in his head. If Draco liked anything, it was probably something obnoxious and pretentious, like fencing or polo or—

A burst of laughter from across the common room caught Harry’s attention. It was a group of Slytherins, huddled near the fireplace, with Draco sitting at the center. Harry wasn’t eavesdropping—he was just incidentally listening, okay? He was already too close to move away without it being obvious.

“So, what’s the deal with you and that Ravenclaw guy?” Pansy Parkinson teased, nudging Draco. “I saw him staring at you in the dining hall. Sexy,Tall, Submissive , definitely your type.”

Draco shrugged, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Not interested. He’s all talk, no substance.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Draco, you’re too picky. What are you looking for, then?”

Draco took a sip of his drink, his tone casual. “I don’t know… someone with a bit of drive. Ambition. Maybe an athlete. I’ve always liked boys who row. Something about the strength and focus it takes.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Boys who row? Since when was Draco into rowing? Did Hogwarts even have a rowing team? And more importantly, how was Harry supposed to fake knowing anything about rowing? His knowledge of boats was limited to the ferry they’d taken on a school trip once.

But still, the gears in Harry’s brain were turning. If Draco liked rowers, then maybe… just maybe… this was his way in. He could join the team, show Draco he was capable, athletic, and—according to Hermione’s romance novel—willing to try new things. Sure, he knew absolutely nothing about boats, but how hard could rowing be?

The next day, Harry marched up to the sign-up sheet for the Hogwarts rowing team, determination in his eyes. He stood there for a solid five minutes, staring at the list of names, trying to convince himself that this was a good idea.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face her. “Nothing! Just, um… thinking of trying something new.”

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “Rowing?”

“Yeah. You know, I figured it could be a good way to stay in shape. And… I don’t know, maybe impress certain people..” He mumbled the last part, his ears burning.

Her eyes widened, and she glanced between him and the sign-up sheet. “Wait… is this about Malfoy?”

Harry’s face turned even redder. “Maybe.”

Hermione looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Harry, you don’t know the first thing about rowing. You’ve never even set foot on a boat.”

“I know! But I can learn, right? It can’t be that hard.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure about this? I mean, trying to impress someone by doing something you’ve never done before—”

“Look,” Harry interrupted, “it’s either this or I keep sitting around, staring at him like a complete idiot. At least this way, I’m doing something.”

Hermione sighed but gave him a small smile. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Just… be careful. And maybe read up on rowing before your first practice?”

Harry nodded, but in truth, he was already in too deep. He scribbled his name down on the sign-up sheet before he could change his mind.

A few days later, Harry found himself standing by the lake at dawn, freezing his backside off and staring at the sleek, intimidating rowing boats. He wasn’t the only one. Several other students were gathered around, looking much more confident than Harry felt.

The team captain, Cedric Diggory, approached with a clipboard in hand. “Morning, everyone. Let’s get started! Newcomers, stick close. We’ll be doing a basic intro to technique before we get in the water.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Intro to technique? That didn’t sound so bad. All he had to do was pay attention, and he’d get through this. Maybe he’d even impress Draco with his effort. Confidence was key, right?

But as Cedric started explaining the rowing stroke and demonstrating with the oar, Harry’s confidence quickly crumbled. The movements looked simple enough—until he tried them.

“No, Harry, your hands are too far apart,” Cedric said gently, adjusting Harry’s grip on the oar. “And you need to keep your back straight. Try again.”

Harry awkwardly mimicked the motion, but it felt unnatural, and his arms were already starting to ache. How did people make this look so effortless?

“Good effort,” Cedric said, though it sounded more like a polite consolation.

By the time they got into the actual boat, Harry was a nervous wreck. He was at the front, where he couldn’t see what anyone else was doing, and as the boat rocked with each row, he panicked, yanking the oar too hard and splashing water everywhere.

“Easy there, Potter!” Cedric called out from the back. “It’s all about rhythm and timing. Just follow the others.”

But Harry’s rhythm was completely off. Every stroke felt like a battle against the oar, and he kept catching it in the water at the wrong angle. By the time they reached the middle of the lake, Harry was drenched, frustrated, and utterly humiliated.

It didn’t help that Draco and his group of friends had wandered down to the lake to watch the practice. Harry could practically feel Draco’s eyes on him, and his attempts to row only got worse the more he thought about it.

Why the hell was he even here?!

“Alright, let’s head back!” Cedric called, guiding the boat toward the dock.

Harry’s relief was short-lived. Just as they were about to reach the shore, his oar caught in the water again, jerking the boat sharply to the side. The sudden movement caused Harry to lose his balance, and before he knew it, he was tumbling over the side of the boat and into the freezing lake.

He came up spluttering, soaked from head to toe. The rest of the team looked on, trying (and failing) to suppress their laughter.

“Great first day, Potter,” one of the other rowers said, patting him on the back as they helped him out of the water.

Harry glanced toward the shore, and sure enough, Draco was watching. He couldn’t tell whether Draco was amused, horrified, or just indifferent, but Harry’s face burned with embarrassment. So much for impressing him.

As he dragged himself out of the lake, shivering and dripping wet, Harry wondered what on earth had possessed him to think this was a good idea.

Later, as he trudged back to the dorms, Hermione was waiting for him in the common room.

“How did it go?” she asked, looking up from her book. But when she saw his drenched appearance, her face fell. “Oh no…”

Harry flopped onto the couch, still dripping water everywhere. “It was a disaster. I fell in the lake.”

Hermione tried to stifle a laugh but failed. “I did warn you, Harry.”

Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I’m never going near a boat again.”

As Hermione patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what Draco thought of the whole thing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Chapter Text

Harry’s entire plan had been simple: sneak the letter into Draco’s bag during lunch, or maybe after class, and avoid further disasters. But as he sat in chemistry, clutching his “Dear You” letter in his pocket, nerves twisting his stomach, he wasn’t sure if he could actually pull it off. He’d spent the morning stressing over every line, trying to make it sound mysterious and heartfelt without giving too much away.

Dear You,

I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and you might even think I’m a mess (which, to be fair, I am). But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, so confident and cool, that gets to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, and even though I have no idea how to tell you this, here I am, writing it all down like an absolute idiot.

I like you. Maybe more than I should. Probably more than you’d ever guess.

- Your Secret Admirer

The whole thing was ridiculous and sappy, but… maybe it would work. He just had to get through this class without any slip-ups. Unfortunately, that became a little harder when he noticed Draco was already sitting in his seat, idly flipping through a textbook with that usual air of disinterest.

To make things worse, Ginny Weasley, sitting in the row behind him as part of her advanced placement chemistry, shot Harry a curious look as he pulled the letter from his pocket, giving it one last once-over before he stashed it in his textbook. She’d been watching him fidget with it all morning, and now she seemed to have picked up on his nerves.

“Potter,” she whispered, leaning over. “What’s that? A love letter?”

She hasn’t truly called Harry by his first name since their Break up over the summer…which was kinda understandable.

Harry froze, his face immediately heating up. “N-no! Just some notes. For… a class project.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She reached over, quick as a flash, and snatched the letter from his textbook. Before Harry could stop her, she had skimmed the first line, her eyes lighting up with realization.

“Oh my God, Potter,” she whispered, struggling not to laugh. “You’re actually writing a love letter? I’ve got to see this—”

Before he could grab it back, Ginny had opened it up and was whisper-reading to herself. “‘Dear You… I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and you might even think I’m a mess…’” She gave him a wicked grin, clearly delighted by his embarrassment.

“Ginny, please!” he hissed, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to snatch it back.

But, as luck would have it, Professor Snape chose that very moment to glide over to their table, his usual scowl in place as he noticed Ginny holding the letter. He raised a single eyebrow, a look of pure displeasure crossing his face.

“Passing notes, are we?” Snape’s voice cut through the quiet murmur of the classroom, immediately drawing the attention of the other students. Draco looked up, his expression mildly curious.

“N-no, sir!” Harry stammered, but Snape had already taken the letter from Ginny’s hand. Ginny looked torn between amusement and regret as Snape unfolded it, scanning the contents with his usual disdainful expression.

The silence in the classroom grew thick as Snape cleared his throat, then began reading in a loud, sneering voice. “‘Dear You, I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and you might even think I’m a mess…’” He rolled his eyes as he continued, “But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, so confident and cool, that gets to me.”

The entire class burst into poorly contained snickers, and Harry’s face went beet red. Draco raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked on Harry. Snape ignored the laughter, still reading with growing irritation.

“‘I can’t stop thinking about you… even though I have no idea how to tell you this, here I am, writing it all down like an absolute idiot.’” Snape paused, curling his lip. “‘I like you. Maybe more than I should. Probably more than you’d ever guess.’”

By now, the laughter in the room was nearly uncontrollable. Harry was practically sinking into his seat, his face burning as he forced himself not to look in Draco’s direction. This was, without question, the most humiliating experience of his life.

Snape folded the letter with exaggerated distaste. “Such juvenile infatuation is inappropriate for the academic setting,” he said icily, eyes narrowing at Harry. “Mr. Potter, if you feel the need to express your personal affections, kindly do so outside of my classroom.”

Harry’s face was blazing, and he mumbled a strangled, “Yes, sir,” wishing he could sink right through the floor. His only consolation was that he hadn’t written Draco’s name on the letter—it was vague enough that maybe Draco wouldn’t suspect anything.

Snape wasn’t finished, though. He fixed his glare on Harry, his voice dripping with contempt. “And as for the rest of you,” he addressed the class, “I expect better behavior in the future. No more… distractions.” His eyes landed on Draco for the briefest of moments before he turned back to the front of the room.

Harry’s mortification was compounded as Draco leaned over, a smirk firmly in place. “Nice letter, Potter. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Harry glared at him, trying to keep his cool. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

But Draco’s smirk only grew. “A secret admirer, hmm? Vague. I wonder who it’s meant for.” His eyes glinted, and Harry felt a sinking sensation that Draco might know exactly who the letter was for.

“None of your business,” Harry mumbled, attempting to look indifferent, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

As class continued, Harry’s mind was in turmoil. Draco kept throwing him sidelong glances, an amused, almost knowing look in his eyes that made Harry squirm in his seat. It didn’t help that Snape kept glaring at him throughout the lecture, clearly annoyed that he’d caused a disruption.

By the end of class, Harry was ready to bolt. But as he gathered his things, Draco stepped into his path, his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

“See you at detention, Potter,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Maybe you can work on your letter-writing skills.”

Harry’s face burned as Draco walked away, and he had the strangest feeling that Draco knew exactly what was going on. He stood there, feeling mortified, as Ginny gave him a thumbs-up from the door, clearly delighted by the entire disaster.

One thing was for sure: Harry was never, ever writing a love letter again.

Chapter Text

Detention wasn’t new for Harry, but this was the first time he was dreading it for reasons that had nothing to do with Snape’s grueling punishments. He couldn’t shake the memory of Draco’s smirk or the feeling that Draco somehow knew who the letter was meant for. Draco’s “See you at detention” had been too smug, too teasing—it left Harry a tangled mess of nerves.

As he made his way to the chemistry lab that evening, Harry rehearsed every possible response he might have to any sarcastic comment Draco threw his way. He would deny everything, act unfazed, and pretend the letter meant absolutely nothing. That was the plan.

The lab was silent and empty when he arrived, save for Professor Snape, who gave him a withering look as he entered. “Potter,” Snape drawled, as if just his presence were an offense. “You’ll be cataloging and reorganizing the supply cabinets in the back. I expect complete silence.”

Harry nodded quickly and ducked into the storage area, hoping to avoid further scrutiny. But his stomach twisted as he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Late as usual, Potter?”

Harry turned to see Draco entering, looking relaxed and infuriatingly amused. Snape directed Draco to assist with the cabinets, giving them both a sharp warning look before retreating to his desk to grade papers.

Draco slipped into the storage area, his smirk only growing as he took the shelf beside Harry. Harry tried to focus on his task, organizing beakers and test tubes, but Draco’s presence beside him made it nearly impossible.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Draco broke it with a low chuckle. “So, love letters now, Potter? Didn’t know you had a romantic side.”

Harry clenched his jaw, trying to stay calm. “It was just… a stupid note. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t seem stupid to me,” Draco said, casting Harry a sidelong glance. “Kind of sweet, actually. Though I would’ve expected something more… creative.”

Harry shot him a glare, cheeks flushing. “You don’t know anything about it.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully, organizing a row of test tubes with exaggerated care. “I don’t know, Potter. You didn’t exactly try to hide it. A secret admirer?” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Wonder who you had in mind.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. He forced a casual shrug, refusing to meet Draco’s gaze. “No one. Just… practicing, I guess.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Practicing your heartfelt confessions. Very convincing.”

Harry didn’t respond, instead focusing on stacking vials in the cabinet, but his hands were shaking, and he could feel Draco’s gaze lingering on him. This was quickly turning into another disaster.

After a tense silence, Draco leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, if you wanted to impress someone… you’d probably need to do more than write a letter.”

Harry’s heart pounded. Was Draco actually… flirting? He risked a quick glance and was met with Draco’s intense, almost playful stare. Suddenly, Harry felt the urge to do something bold, maybe even reckless.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you suggest?”

Draco’s smirk softened, just a bit, and he took a step closer. “Maybe try honesty. It’s surprisingly effective.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. His brain was screaming at him to back down, to play it safe, but instead, he held Draco’s gaze, unable to look away. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small, and the air between them felt charged in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

They were interrupted by the sharp clearing of a throat. Snape was watching them from his desk, his eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“No, Professor,” Draco replied smoothly, straightening up, but he didn’t break eye contact with Harry until Snape turned his attention back to his papers.

They worked in silence for the rest of detention, both of them sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. The tension lingered, simmering, until Snape finally dismissed them.

As they left the chemistry lab, Draco paused in the hallway, glancing back at Harry. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but then he gave a small, almost private smile.

“Goodnight, Potter,” he said softly, his gaze lingering a second too long before he turned and walked away.

Harry watched him go, his heart racing. This hadn’t gone according to plan at all… but, for once, he didn’t mind. Because as he stood there in the empty corridor, Harry knew one thing for sure:

Draco Malfoy definitely knew. And, maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

The start of term at Hogwarts Academy was as routine as Draco expected. The same morning greetings, the same subtle admiration from other students as he walked down the halls, the same well-rehearsed persona he’d perfected as the Malfoy heir—untouchable, immaculate, and always in control.

He didn’t expect anything unusual that morning as he strode into the dining hall, eyes scanning the tables as he made his way to his usual seat. That’s when he spotted Potter.

Harry was sitting with his usual crew, and Draco’s initial reaction was to brace himself for one of their standard eye-rolling exchanges. It was predictable, really: a glare, maybe a muttered insult, the kind of mutual annoyance that had come to define their interactions.

But as Draco looked over, Harry did something unexpected. Instead of his usual defiant stare, Harry’s gaze softened into… something else. Draco watched in growing surprise as Harry blinked, his eyes going wide, his face turning a shade of red that was impossible to miss. Instead of throwing a scowl, he just… stared. Like Draco had somehow caught him off guard.

Draco’s usual smirk wavered. He watched Harry’s face turn an even deeper shade of pink, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times like a fish out of water. There was no hint of anger or annoyance in his expression—just a sort of dumbstruck panic that left him looking completely flustered.

And for the first time, Draco had an odd thought, something both absurd and intriguing: Could Harry Potter actually like me?

The idea seemed ridiculous. But there was something undeniably entertaining about the possibility. Draco was used to people liking him—boys and girls both. They were drawn to him for obvious reasons: his family’s wealth, his good looks, his name. But the thought of Potter—a person who would care nothing for his status—being interested in him? That was new. And, maybe, a little intriguing.

Draco turned away, his expression carefully neutral, but his mind was already racing. The possibility was too tempting to ignore, and Draco found himself wondering if he could actually confirm it. If Harry Potter liked him, he’d know. Draco was excellent at reading people, at spotting the signs. And if he played his cards right, he’d be able to tell.

So, as he left the dining hall, a plan began forming in his mind. If Potter was interested, then he would make it easy for Draco to confirm. And if he was going to make Harry squirm, he might as well have a little fun doing it.

Over the next few days, Draco put his plan into motion, testing Potter’s reactions to subtle hints and gestures. He’d pass him a little too closely in the hallways, leaning in with a practiced smirk, watching Harry’s face heat up every time. He’d position himself in classes to be directly across from him, holding Harry’s gaze just a second longer than necessary. Each time, Harry stammered or fumbled, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of red that Draco couldn’t help but find amusing.

But Draco wanted more than just blushes and nervous glances. He needed something that would push Potter further, something that would force Harry to take a bolder step. And so, Draco devised the next part of his plan.

A few days later, he made sure to sit within earshot of Harry and his friends in the dining hall, leaning back casually as he struck up a conversation with Pansy and Blaise. He kept his tone light, his voice just loud enough for Harry to overhear as he said, “I don’t know, there’s something about athletes that I’ve always liked. Maybe a rower—someone with strength and discipline. Definitely appealing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry go still, his face going pale before he quickly looked down at his plate. Draco hid his smirk. He knew Hogwarts had a rowing team, but he’d never had an ounce of interest in it. Rowing was all splashing water and tedious hours of practice—not his style in the slightest. But he’d suspected that Harry would take the bait, and he was more than willing to let him embarrass himself.

After breakfast, Draco barely contained his laughter when he overheard someone mentioning that Harry Potter had just signed up for the rowing team. It was perfect. He could already picture Harry fumbling his way through practice, probably falling out of the boat, trying to impress him with skills he didn’t have.

Sure enough, the next day, Draco strolled down to the lake just as the rowing team was finishing up practice. He arrived just in time to see Harry looking like a nervous wreck as he climbed into the boat, his face set with a mix of concentration and panic.

Draco took a seat on a nearby bench, pretending to be engrossed in his book, but watching closely as Harry attempted to row. It was, frankly, a disaster. Harry’s strokes were uncoordinated, his oar catching in the water and splashing all over him. The rest of the team looked at him with a mix of sympathy and annoyance, but Draco was thoroughly entertained.

And then it happened. Harry’s oar got stuck, yanking him sideways, and he lost his balance entirely, tumbling straight into the lake with a loud splash.

Draco bit back a laugh, forcing himself to maintain a neutral expression as Harry surfaced, spluttering and soaked from head to toe. The rest of the team helped him out of the water, but Draco could tell by the look on Harry’s face that he was absolutely mortified. And when Harry glanced toward the shore and saw Draco watching, his cheeks turned bright red, as if he’d just realized he’d fallen into the lake in front of him.

Draco gave him a little wave, just to see him fluster, and Harry’s face went redder as he hurried away, avoiding his gaze.

The plan had gone better than Draco could’ve hoped. Now he was certain that Harry liked him—there was no other explanation for his behavior. And, if Draco were honest with himself, the realization was more than just satisfying. It was thrilling. For the first time, he had Harry exactly where he wanted him, and he intended to make the most of it.

The icing on the cake, however, came when Draco saw Harry in chemistry, clutching a folded note like his life depended on it. Draco’s eyes narrowed, watching as Harry fiddled with it, glancing around nervously. And when Ginny Weasley—who was sitting in the advanced chemistry class just a row behind—snatched the letter from him, Draco could barely contain his excitement.

What followed was better than he could’ve imagined. Snape intercepted the note, and as he began reading it aloud to the entire class, Draco watched Harry’s expression go from mortified to utterly defeated. The “Dear You” note, the stammering confession… it was all just too perfect. He made sure to look at Harry, meeting his gaze with a knowing smirk that left Harry looking like he wanted to disappear.

After Snape’s tirade, Draco couldn’t resist one last jab. He cornered Harry in the hallway, leaning in just a little too close. “Nice letter, Potter. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, his smirk widening as Harry turned a deep shade of pink.

Harry’s voice was barely above a mumble as he muttered, “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco just chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. He hadn’t expected Potter’s crush to be this obvious, this easy to confirm. But now that he knew, he planned to savor every bit of it. Watching Harry squirm, stumble, and try to hide his feelings was far too entertaining to give up now.

As Draco walked away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. This year was turning out to be far more interesting than he’d expected, and he had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

Draco had been on a high ever since term began. His plan to fluster Harry Potter had worked spectacularly, and now he had the satisfaction of watching Potter stumble around like a complete fool every time he walked into the room. It was a delicious victory, one that Draco savored with every awkward glance and stammered reply.

But lately… something about his amusement had taken on a new edge. He couldn’t quite place it, but he’d found himself watching Harry more closely than necessary. The way Potter’s cheeks flushed red whenever they made eye contact, the way he tripped over his words whenever Draco was nearby—it was starting to feel a little addictive. And it wasn’t long before Pansy and Blaise noticed.

They caught on during breakfast one morning. Draco had been half-listening to Pansy go on about some gossip involving one of her female “study buddies” when Harry walked into the dining hall. Instinctively, Draco’s eyes followed him as he moved through the crowd, taking a seat with that usual messy hair and clueless expression. Draco found himself smirking, waiting to see if Harry would look over, waiting for that familiar pink flush.

But Pansy had her eyes on him, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she leaned in. “Draco,” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement, “you’re fucking staring.”

Draco snapped his gaze back to her, rolling his eyes. “I’m not staring,” he retorted coolly. “I’m just… observing.”

“Observing my ass,” Blaise cut in, laughing. “If you watch him any harder, he’s going to burst into flames.”

“Shut it, Zabini,” Draco muttered, though he could feel heat creeping up his neck. “I just happen to notice things. It’s called paying attention.”

“Please,” Pansy said, scoffing. “You’ve got that lovesick stare, Draco, and don’t pretend otherwise. You look like a bloody idiot, sitting here mooning over him.”

Draco scowled, but Pansy’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying every second of his discomfort. And the worst part was, Blaise was leaning in with a smug smirk, backing her up. “Merlin’s balls, Draco, it’s pathetic,” Blaise added, snickering. “Potter? Of all people?”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Draco shot back, glaring at both of them. “I am not ‘mooning’ over anyone. Just enjoying a bit of entertainment, that’s all.”

“Right,” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re so full of shit, it’s almost cute. You’ve got it bad, Draco, and it’s hilarious. I can’t believe you of all people are crushing on Potter.”

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Blaise cut him off, grinning. “What’s even worse is that Potter’s too thick to know what’s going on. You’re practically drooling, and he still doesn’t get it. If it weren’t so sad, I’d be impressed.”

Draco clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. He knew Blaise and Pansy were pushing him, and he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. “I don’t give a damn about Potter,” he said coolly, picking up his coffee. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Pansy snickered, exchanging a knowing look with Blaise. “You’re just like those lovesick idiots that follow me around the library trying to ‘study.’ But at least I get something out of it.” She winked, and Blaise laughed, knowing full well she wasn’t talking about boys.

Draco’s scowl deepened. “Pans, honestly, must you be vulgar?”

“Must you be a coward?” she shot back, smirking. “Just admit it—you’re hot for Potter.”

“Go to hell, Pansy,” Draco grumbled, though he couldn’t shake the smug looks on both of their faces. They weren’t wrong, and that irritated him even more. But he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

Still, for the rest of the morning, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea that maybe he did have feelings for Potter was enough to drive him mad, but he knew that giving in would mean giving Pansy and Blaise ammunition for the rest of eternity.

The next few days were a nightmare of teasing and sideways looks. Pansy and Blaise were relentless, making it their personal mission to torment him over his “little crush.” Every time Harry entered a room, Pansy would nudge him with a smirk, and Blaise would mutter something obscene under his breath. They seemed to take perverse pleasure in watching Draco squirm.

“Maybe you should write him a letter back,” Pansy teased one afternoon as they sat in the common room. “Come on, Draco, show Potter what you’ve got. The real Malfoy charm.”

Draco glared at her, though his cheeks tinged pink. “Oh, shut up, Pansy. As if Potter would even know what to do with a proper letter.”

“Probably not,” Blaise agreed with a grin. “But it’d be entertaining as hell to watch him try.”

“Or maybe,” Pansy said, lowering her voice with a wicked grin, “Draco should join the bloody soccer team. Maybe Potter has a thing for boys who can’t aim a damn ball to save their lives.”

Draco rolled his eyes, even as he felt an unwanted pang of curiosity. He’d seen Harry during soccer practice—looking disheveled and sweaty, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead in that annoyingly attractive way. He shoved the thought aside, scowling. “I’d rather spend a night in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Pansy said, clearly delighted by the irritation written all over his face. “But honestly, Draco, if you keep acting like this, we’re going to start taking bets on when you finally make a move.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, though he knew full well that they would.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy, we’ll let you in on the action,” Blaise said, laughing. “Just let us know if you ever work up the nerve to actually talk to him without the sneering and the smug little act.”

Draco scowled, but his mind was already racing. Because as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t help feeling a strange thrill at the thought of getting closer to Harry. The last few days had shown him more than he’d intended to see—his own restless curiosity, the way he looked for Harry’s reactions, the way his heart beat a little faster when Harry blushed or stumbled over his words.

And that scared him. He didn’t want to admit it, not to himself and certainly not to Pansy and Blaise, but the idea of actually acting on his feelings left him feeling exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. And he hated it.

One afternoon in chemistry, Draco found himself seated directly across from Harry. Pansy, always meddling, had somehow arranged it, claiming it was “completely accidental.” Draco didn’t believe it for a second, but he stayed put, curious to see what would happen.

As class dragged on, Draco found himself losing interest in the lesson entirely, his attention drifting to Harry, who was busy scribbling in his notebook. Every few minutes, Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet his, then quickly darted back down, his face turning pink with each glance.

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Harry squirm. “Something distracting you, Potter?”

Harry blinked, clearly caught off guard. “W-What? No. Just… paying attention.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “To me, apparently. Try not to drool, Potter.”

Harry’s face went beet red, and he muttered something incomprehensible, looking down at his notebook as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Draco was thoroughly entertained—until he heard Pansy’s voice behind him.

“Oh, look at him, Blaise,” she said in a loud, teasing voice. “Draco’s being such a gentleman, flirting with Potter in the middle of class. Isn’t he precious?”

Blaise snickered, chiming in with a wicked grin. “Yeah, precious is one word for it. Pathetic might be more accurate.”

Draco felt his face heat up, and he shot them a murderous glare. “Would you two shut up?”

“Aw, come on, Draco,” Pansy taunted, leaning over his shoulder with a smirk. “Don’t be embarrassed. We all know you’ve got a hard-on for Potter. Just admit it already.”

Draco’s face went red, and he glanced at Harry, who looked utterly bewildered and mortified. “You two are absolute nightmares,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, but you love us,” Pansy replied with a wicked grin, nudging him. “And apparently, you love Potter, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes, refusing to respond, but his heart was pounding. Because the truth was, as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. He couldn’t ignore the flutter in his stomach every time they made eye contact, or the thrill of watching Harry’s flustered reactions.

Maybe he was just as much of a fool as Potter. And, as he stole another glance across the table, watching the faint flush on Harry’s cheeks, he realized with a sense of dread that he might not mind that so much.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

By now, Draco was fully aware that he had the upper hand in his strange little game with Potter. He knew exactly how to make Harry squirm, and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed every minute of it. Watching Harry stumble, blush, and look everywhere but at him was a thrill Draco hadn’t anticipated, and it left him feeling more entertained—and maybe a bit more intrigued—than he’d like to admit.

He’d started treating it almost like a sport, finding new ways to provoke Harry, to push him just enough to get a reaction without ever making things too obvious. And the best part? Harry seemed completely oblivious, never once suspecting that Draco’s teasing was fueled by anything other than his usual competitive spirit.

Today was no exception.

Draco spotted Harry in the library during lunch break, sitting alone with his nose buried in a book. The sight was oddly endearing—Harry, completely unaware of the world around him, hair a mess as usual, biting his lip as he read. Draco’s lips curled into a smirk. This was too easy.

Casually, he strolled over, pretending to scan the shelves nearby. He could see Harry’s shoulders tense the moment he noticed Draco standing there, and Draco took his time, letting the tension simmer before finally acknowledging him.

“Potter,” he said smoothly, leaning against the shelf and giving Harry a lazy smirk. “Enjoying a bit of light reading, are we?”

Harry looked up, blinking as if pulled from a trance, and immediately fumbled to close his book. “Uh… yeah,” he muttered, clearly flustered. “Just… studying.”

“Studying,” Draco repeated, feigning interest as he leaned over the table, glancing at the cover of Harry’s book. “For what, exactly? How Not to Be a Bisexual Diaster 101?”

Harry scowled, his face already pink, and shoved the book into his bag. “Mind your own business, Malfoy.”

“Oh, but it is my business, Potter,” Draco replied smoothly, enjoying the way Harry’s eyes darted away from his. “I mean, how am I supposed to focus in class when you’re always fumbling around, blushing like a schoolgirl? It’s quite distracting, actually.”

Harry sputtered, his face turning a deeper shade of red. “I—I don’t… You’re the one always staring at me!”

“Am I?” Draco raised an eyebrow, letting the silence linger just long enough to make Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Funny, because every time I look over, you’re the one watching me.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed like he wanted to retort, but he clearly couldn’t find the words. Instead, he looked down, fiddling with the edge of his book, his face a burning shade of red. Draco fought back a grin. This was too easy.

Draco leaned in, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Tell me, Potter,” he drawled, his gaze locked on Harry’s, “why are you so nervous around me?”

Harry’s eyes shot up, wide and startled, and for a moment, Draco almost felt a pang of guilt. Almost. Because the way Harry’s face flushed, the way his hands trembled slightly as he tried to pull himself together—it was all far too satisfying to ignore.

“Nervous?” Harry scoffed, though his voice shook slightly. “I’m not nervous. You’re just… annoying.”

“Annoying?” Draco echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re blushing right now?”

Harry’s face went redder, and he let out a frustrated huff, shoving his chair back and standing up. “You know what, Malfoy? I don’t have time for this. Go bother someone else.”

But Draco wasn’t about to let him escape that easily. He straightened, stepping closer and blocking Harry’s path. “Oh, come on, Potter,” he murmured, his voice a teasing whisper. “Admit it. You like this.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and indignation. “You’re delusional,” he muttered, though he didn’t make a move to push past Draco.

“Am I?” Draco leaned in just a fraction closer, his gaze locked on Harry’s. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re practically begging for attention.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he looked down, his cheeks flaming, and Draco felt a flicker of something unexpected—something close to exhilaration. He had Potter right where he wanted him, and he wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.

“See, Potter, the thing is,” Draco continued, lowering his voice to a near whisper, “I don’t mind giving you attention. But you should really just ask for it instead of skulking around, staring at me from across the room like some lovesick puppy.”

Harry’s gaze shot back up, his face a mix of anger and embarrassment. “I am not—” he began, but Draco just raised a hand, cutting him off with a smirk.

“Save it, Potter. We both know the truth.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, and added, “And I have to say, it’s quite endearing. Really. Almost cute.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, his face a shade of red that Draco hadn’t known was possible. For a moment, he looked completely speechless, and Draco felt a rush of triumph.

But then Harry’s expression shifted, a spark of defiance flashing in his eyes. “You know what, Malfoy?” he said, his voice steadier than Draco expected. “If anyone’s desperate for attention, it’s you.”

Draco’s smirk faltered, just for a second. “Oh, really?”

“Yes,” Harry shot back, crossing his arms in a move that almost mirrored Draco’s. “You spend half your time trying to get a reaction out of me, following me around like it’s some kind of sport. Maybe you should be the one asking for attention.”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but for once, he found himself at a loss. Harry’s words hung in the air, and Draco realized with a jolt that he might not be as subtle as he thought. Because the truth was, he did enjoy this—more than he wanted to admit. The thrill of teasing Harry, of seeing him flustered and nervous, wasn’t just about winning some petty rivalry. It was something else, something he hadn’t let himself fully acknowledge.

Before he could come up with a retort, Harry shook his head, brushing past him with a muttered, “I’ll see you in class, Malfoy.”

Draco stood there, watching Harry’s retreating figure, his mind racing. Harry’s accusation lingered, unsettling him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tried to shake it off, to convince himself that it was all just a game. But as he turned to leave, a nagging thought crept into his mind.

Maybe Harry was right. Maybe Draco wasn’t just toying with him for amusement. And the realization that he might actually want Harry’s attention was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

As he walked back to class, Draco couldn’t shake the strange, uncomfortable feeling that he’d just lost control of his own game.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

Harry was losing his mind. Absolutely, undeniably losing it.

Draco Malfoy had been relentless over the past few days, taunting him, staring at him, smirking in that way that left Harry flustered and furious. It had gotten to the point where every time Draco was in the same room, Harry felt his stomach twist, his palms go clammy, and his thoughts spiral into chaos.

He didn’t understand it. Draco was infuriating, arrogant, and far too good-looking for his own damn good. But every time he leaned in a bit too close, or smirked like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking, Harry felt his face flush and his heart race in a way he couldn’t control. It was maddening, and he hated it—at least, he was pretty sure he hated it.

So here he was, trying (and failing) to keep his cool, even as every encounter with Draco seemed to make things worse. He’d been avoiding him all morning, ducking out of sight whenever he spotted that familiar blond hair down the hallway. But Hogwarts was only so big, and sooner or later, he knew he’d have to face Draco again.

It came to a head in between classes, when he ducked into an empty supply closet to avoid Draco and his friends. He figured he’d wait a few minutes, let Draco pass by, and then slip out unnoticed. But just as he closed the door behind him, he heard a voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Potter? Hiding in closets now, are we?”

Harry froze, his hand still on the door handle. Before he could react, the door opened, and Draco stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. The closet was cramped, barely enough room for the two of them, and Harry was painfully aware of how close they were, Draco’s face inches from his.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Harry stammered, his face heating up.

Draco just smirked, leaning back against the door, effectively trapping Harry in the small space. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Potter,” he murmured, his gaze flicking over Harry’s face, intense and focused. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“I have not!” Harry protested, though even he could hear how unconvincing he sounded.

Draco’s smirk widened. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you can’t handle being near me.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Am I making you nervous, Potter?”

Harry’s heart was pounding, his face flushing even as he tried to hold Draco’s gaze. “I’m not… nervous,” he managed, though his voice sounded shaky even to him.

“Oh, really?” Draco’s voice was low, teasing, as he took a small step closer, their faces so close Harry could feel his breath on his skin. “Because you look nervous. In fact, I think you’re blushing.”

Harry clenched his fists, his pulse racing as he struggled to form a coherent response. “You’re… you’re insufferable, Malfoy,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Draco chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. “Maybe. But you still can’t look away, can you?”

Harry’s mind was spinning. Draco was close—too close—and every inch of space between them seemed to crackle with tension. Harry’s eyes flicked to Draco’s mouth, and he felt his breath hitch, the air between them thick and charged.

“Potter,” Draco murmured, his voice barely a whisper, “if you want me to stop, just say so.”

But Harry couldn’t say anything. He was rooted to the spot, his heart hammering as he looked up at Draco, his lips parted slightly. And then, before he could second-guess himself, he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Draco’s in a sudden, desperate kiss.

Draco responded instantly, his hands sliding around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer as he kissed him back with a fierce, almost possessive intensity. Harry felt himself melt into it, his hands gripping Draco’s shoulders as he let the kiss deepen, the world around them fading away.

It was all heat and urgency, their mouths moving together in a way that felt wild and out of control. Draco’s hands tangled in Harry’s hair, pulling him closer, and Harry gasped against his mouth, feeling a surge of something he couldn’t quite name—something raw and electric that left him breathless.

Draco’s lips moved to his jaw, trailing kisses along his skin, and Harry let out a shaky breath, his mind blank as he leaned into Draco’s touch. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and all he could think about was how good it felt—how he never wanted it to end.

Harry was no virgin, he and Ginny had their fair share of secret times in empty classrooms or empty abandoned corridors. Hogwarts had way too many secret spots for horny teens to find. But this. This was so much different.

Their bodies pressed closer, their breaths coming fast and shallow, and Harry felt a rush of exhilaration, like he was standing on the edge of something terrifying and thrilling all at once. He’d never felt this way before, and he didn’t understand it, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn’t want to stop.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their faces flushed. Harry looked up at Draco, his heart still racing, and saw that same intense look in his eyes—like he was seeing Harry for the first time, really seeing him.

“Potter,” Draco whispered, his voice rough, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Yeah?” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco’s smirk softened into something almost… vulnerable, his gaze lingering on Harry’s face. “So, are you still going to pretend you don’t feel anything?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He could lie, brush it off, pretend this was just another moment in their endless rivalry. But as he looked into Draco’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

“No,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m done pretending.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. And as they stood there, locked in that tiny closet, Harry felt a warmth spread through him—a warmth he hadn’t known he’d been missing.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t running away from how he felt. And, maybe, just maybe, Draco felt the same way.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

The closet incident haunted Harry for the rest of the day. It was all he could think about—the feel of Draco’s hands on him, the intense way Draco had looked at him, and, most overwhelming of all, how much he had wanted it.

As he sat in his next class, the world around him felt distant and muted, every thought drowned out by memories of Draco’s mouth on his, his skin tingling with the memory. It had been intense, almost unreal, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d crossed some invisible line, stepping into a territory he hadn’t even realized existed.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry lingered in his seat, trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. How had he gone from avoiding Draco like the plague to… making out with him in a closet? And why did the thought of it send a thrill through him, despite the confusion and embarrassment?

“You alright, Harry?” Hermione’s voice snapped him back to reality. She was standing in front of him, a concerned look on her face. “You’ve been acting strange all day.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron chimed in, glancing over at him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Harry forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m fine, just… tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press. “Alright,” she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t buy it. “Well, if you want to talk, we’re here.”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Harry mumbled, grabbing his bag and trying to sound casual. “Just need some fresh air, that’s all.”

He quickly made his way out of the classroom, grateful that they hadn’t pushed him further. But as he walked down the corridor, heading outside to the courtyard, his mind was still spinning. He couldn’t get Draco out of his head, couldn’t shake the feeling of Draco’s hands on his waist, the way he’d kissed him back with a hunger that left Harry breathless.

But now, in the cold light of day, the reality of it all hit him like a brick. This was Draco Malfoy—his rival, the guy who’d spent years taunting him, the one person he’d always been at odds with. What had changed? And why did it feel so natural, like something he’d been waiting for without even realizing it?

He found himself a quiet corner in the courtyard, sitting on one of the benches as he tried to make sense of the chaos in his head. Part of him was angry, annoyed that Draco had somehow wormed his way into his life like this, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself. But another part—a part he didn’t want to examine too closely—was excited, his heart racing at the memory of Draco’s smirk, the way his voice had softened when he’d whispered Harry’s name.

Harry leaned back, closing his eyes, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. He knew he couldn’t keep running from this, but the idea of confronting it, of acknowledging whatever was between him and Draco, felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice someone approaching until he heard a familiar voice.

“Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up to see Draco standing there, hands in his pockets, that familiar smirk on his face. But there was something different in his expression, a hint of uncertainty that Harry hadn’t seen before.

Draco sat down on the bench beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. The silence between them was thick, charged with everything left unsaid.

“So,” Draco began, his voice casual, though his gaze was intense, “are we going to talk about it? Or are you planning on running off every time we’re in the same room?”

Harry swallowed, forcing himself to meet Draco’s gaze. “I… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think there was anything to talk about.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to talk about?” he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Right. Because making out in a closet is totally normal, isn’t it?”

Harry felt his face heat up, but he held Draco’s gaze, refusing to look away. “I just… I don’t understand what’s going on. With you. With… this.” He gestured between them, his voice wavering slightly. “One minute, you’re taunting me, and the next… this happens.”

Draco’s smirk softened, his gaze flickering over Harry’s face. “You’re not the only one who’s confused, Potter,” he admitted, his tone quieter than usual. “I didn’t exactly plan for this either.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their words hanging between them. Harry felt a strange sense of relief at Draco’s admission, like he wasn’t the only one grappling with something he couldn’t quite understand.

“So… what now?” Harry asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco was silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he studied Harry’s face. “Maybe we don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he said finally. “Maybe we just… see what happens.”

Harry’s heart pounded, his mind racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He didn’t know what “seeing what happens” would look like, didn’t know if he was ready to take that step. But as he looked into Draco’s eyes, he felt something click into place—a quiet, undeniable certainty.

“Alright,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I can do that.”

Draco’s smirk returned, but this time it was softer, almost genuine. “Good,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied look. “Because, believe it or not, I actually enjoy making you squirm.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Of course you do,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the warmth spreading through him.

As they sat there, side by side in the quiet of the courtyard, Harry felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. Maybe this wasn’t what he’d expected—hell, it was probably the last thing he’d ever expected—but for the first time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And as he glanced over at Draco, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and fear, he knew one thing for sure: whatever happened next, he was ready to find out.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

Draco was still trying to process what had happened in that closet with Harry when he finally sat down with Blaise and Pansy in the common room later that day. The memory of it all—the way Harry had looked at him, the way he’d kissed him back, so fierce and real—left Draco feeling like he was floating somewhere between disbelief and exhilaration. He’d walked out of that closet feeling like his world had shifted on its axis, and he didn’t know how to make sense of it.

And, apparently, he wasn’t going to get the chance to make sense of it alone. The second he sank into the couch, Blaise and Pansy turned to him with twin expressions of pure, unfiltered curiosity.

“So,” Pansy drawled, leaning in with a wicked grin, “you’ve got that look on your face, Draco. Like you just did something incredibly stupid… or incredibly hot. Spill it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Blaise snorted, nudging his shoulder. “Oh, please. You look like you’re about to start blushing. What, did you finally do more than stare at Potter like a lovesick idiot?”

Draco glared at him, though he could feel his cheeks heating up despite himself. “It’s none of your business,” he muttered, though he knew that was as good as admitting everything. The two of them wouldn’t let this go until he told them something.

“Oh, Merlin,” Pansy gasped, her eyes widening. “You did. You kissed him, didn’t you?”

Draco’s mouth twitched, and he cursed himself for being so obvious. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms. “Yes, we… kissed. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

Blaise broke into a loud laugh, clapping him on the back. “Knew it! Took you long enough. So, tell us, how was it? Worth the endless pining and bad poetry?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “First of all, it was Potter who wrote the damn letter,” he said, though he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching. “And second, it’s not like it was some… planned thing. It just happened. We ended up locked in a closet…stupid enough.”

Pansy gave him a skeptical look, raising one eyebrow. “Oh, right, because people just ‘happen’ to get themselves locked in closets together,” she mocked, grinning. “Let me guess, you ‘accidentally’ tripped into his mouth?”

Draco glared at her, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re both idiots.”

“But we’re right,” Blaise said, smirking. “And by the looks of it, I’d say you enjoyed it.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but he knew it was pointless. They knew him too well, and they could see right through him. And the truth was, he had enjoyed it. More than he’d ever thought possible.

“It was…” He hesitated, searching for the right word, but his friends were watching him with such glee that he rolled his eyes and finally muttered, “It was… intense.”

“Oh, intense,” Pansy mocked, waggling her eyebrows. “Tell me, Draco, did you finally get to see the  famous scar up close? Or were you too busy trying to figure out how far down his blush went?”

Draco scowled, but he couldn’t stop the faint heat rising in his cheeks. “You two are the absolute worst, you know that?”

“We live to serve,” Blaise said, grinning. “Come on, give us the details. How’d it even happen? Did he just grab you? Or did you finally stop playing hard-to-get?”

Draco sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Fine. We got locked in the supply closet, alright? Potter was hiding from me—”

“Shocker,” Pansy muttered with a smirk.

“—and I… may have called him out on it,” Draco continued, ignoring her. “One thing led to another, and… well. We kissed.”

Blaise snorted. “Called him out on it? Let me guess, you leaned in all close and whispered in his ear like a bloody Casanova?”

Draco shot him a look, though he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of knowing his approach had worked. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

Pansy laughed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, this is too good. I’ve never seen you like this, Draco. So… tell me, how was Potter? All that Gryffindor bravery translate into kissing skills?”

Draco fought the smile threatening to break through, but he couldn’t hide the memory of how Harry had kissed him back, so fierce and desperate, like he’d been holding back for years. “Better than you’d think,” he admitted, trying to sound casual. “I mean… not bad for a Gryffindor.”

Blaise laughed, giving him a smug look. “Face it, Draco, you’re head over heels for him.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco shot back, his tone defensive. “This is just… I don’t know. Fun. Nothing serious.”

Pansy shook her head, chuckling. “Oh, please. I saw the look on your face the second you walked in here. You looked like a damn lovesick puppy, and you know it.”

“Draco Malfoy, lovesick?” Blaise drawled, pretending to swoon. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Alright, enough,” Draco snapped, though he couldn’t stop the slight smile tugging at his lips. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t ignore the excitement that still lingered in his chest, the memory of Harry’s touch still fresh in his mind.

But he wasn’t about to let them see that. “It was just a kiss,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. “That’s all. Nothing more.”

“Right,” Pansy said, clearly unconvinced. “And next time you ‘accidentally’ find yourselves alone together, I’m sure you’ll keep it very casual.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t plan on finding myself alone with Potter again,” he muttered, though even as he said it, he knew he didn’t believe it. He wanted to see Harry again, wanted to test the waters, see what this strange, electric connection between them might turn into. But there was no way he was admitting that to Pansy and Blaise.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face. “Keep telling yourself that, mate. We both know you’re going to be watching him like a hawk tomorrow.”

Pansy grinned. “If you need any tips on how to seduce a Gryffindor, just let me know,” she teased. “I’ve had plenty of practice, after all.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you’re hopeless,” Blaise shot back, laughing. “But seriously, Draco… good luck. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be one hell of a mess.”

Draco sighed, though he couldn’t help the small smile on his face. He knew Blaise was probably right—this thing with Harry was bound to get complicated. But for the first time, he didn’t mind. Because as chaotic as it was, as much as it drove him mad, Draco knew he wanted to see where it would lead.

And if his friends were going to make fun of him for it? Well, he could live with that.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

Draco had come to a theory—one he hadn’t voiced aloud because, well, it sounded insane. But every time he encountered Harry Potter, something seemed to happen that left Harry blushing, stammering, or, better yet, utterly humiliated. Draco was starting to suspect that Harry might actually enjoy it. How else could he explain the constant string of embarrassing situations?

Because here was the thing: no one could accidentally put themselves in so many humiliating scenarios without some kind of underlying desire to be caught out. And Draco wasn’t complaining, of course. Watching Harry turn pink, trip over his own feet, and fumble through awkward explanations was, honestly, endlessly entertaining. But it was starting to feel… deliberate.

Today was another example.

He’d been minding his own business (as much as he ever did) when he turned a corner near the chemistry lab and spotted Harry standing by a bulletin board, scrutinizing some flyers with that overly concentrated expression he always wore when he was trying not to look flustered. Draco couldn’t help himself—he slid up beside him, quiet as a shadow, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

“Potter,” he greeted, folding his arms. “Lost?”

Harry jumped, his eyes widening as he looked over at Draco. “Oh! Uh—Malfoy.” His face turned red immediately, and Draco’s smirk widened. Too easy, he thought.

“What are you looking at so intently?” Draco asked, glancing at the board. “Considering signing up for knitting club? Or maybe pottery?”

Harry huffed, crossing his arms as if he was suddenly full of confidence. “It’s none of your business.”

“Ah, so it is something embarrassing, then.” Draco leaned closer, enjoying the way Harry seemed to get smaller under his gaze. “Well, if you’re looking for ways to improve your social skills, I’d be happy to give you some pointers.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but Draco could see the faint smile threatening at the corner of his mouth, as if he were almost enjoying this. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Malfoy?”

“Not at the moment,” Draco replied, feigning an innocent expression. “But if you need some motivation to leave the bulletin board, I’d be happy to give you that too.”

He expected Harry to push back, to roll his eyes and walk away in a huff. But instead, something unexpected happened.

Harry squared his shoulders, his face pink but determined. “Fine. You want to know? I was, um, looking at the flyer for the—well, the, uh… spring dance.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued. “The spring dance?” He let out a slow, deliberate chuckle. “Looking for a date, Potter?”

Harry’s face went even redder, and he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” He trailed off, clearly mortified, but there was something in his eyes—something that looked like he might actually be enjoying this, despite the embarrassment.

Draco raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Well, don’t be shy, Potter. Who’s the lucky victim?” He couldn’t resist the teasing edge in his voice, waiting for Harry to either stumble over some incoherent explanation or storm off. But, to his surprise, Harry actually looked up, his eyes meeting Draco’s.

“No one. Yet.” His voice was soft, hesitant, but there was a challenge in his gaze. “Why? You offering?”

Draco’s smirk faltered for just a moment, caught off guard by the directness of Harry’s response. “Oh, please,” he scoffed, quickly regaining his composure. “Why would I want to be seen at a dance with you?”

Harry shrugged, looking almost amused. “Because you seem to like making me look like an idiot, and this would be a pretty solid opportunity for that.”

Draco’s smirk returned, sharper than ever. “You’re right, Potter. You do make it easy. It’s almost as if you enjoy embarrassing yourself.” He let his gaze linger, watching for a reaction, and sure enough, Harry’s face turned even redder.

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry muttered, but he was smiling, his gaze flicking nervously back to the flyer.

“Maybe,” Draco said, leaning closer, his voice low. “Or maybe I’ve just figured you out. You keep putting yourself in these situations, Potter. Almost like you want to be humiliated. What, got a little kink for it?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his own breath. “What? No! I—are you—are you out of your mind?”

Draco smirked, thoroughly enjoying the look of sheer horror on Harry’s face. “Just a theory,” he said casually, though he knew he’d hit a nerve. “But admit it—you do seem to find yourself in these situations quite a lot.”

Harry spluttered, his face a brilliant shade of red, and Draco thought for a moment he might actually walk away. But instead, Harry squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath before meeting Draco’s gaze.

“Maybe I do,” he muttered, his voice so quiet Draco almost missed it. “Or maybe… I just keep ending up in these situations because you’re always around.”

Draco froze, the teasing smirk slipping from his face as he processed Harry’s words. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and Draco could feel the weight of Harry’s gaze, intense and unyielding. It was as though Harry had just turned the tables, flipping the power dynamic in a way that left Draco momentarily speechless.

Finally, Draco found his voice, though it came out softer than he intended. “Are you saying… you want me around, Potter?”

Harry’s face was still red, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe.”

The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, and Draco felt a strange thrill, like he was on the edge of something terrifyingly new. He’d spent so long teasing Harry, pushing him to the point of embarrassment, but now… now he was the one feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t expected.

But he wasn’t about to let Harry have the upper hand. Not entirely.

Draco leaned in, his voice a murmur. “Careful, Potter. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually enjoy my company.”

Harry’s lips quirked up in a shy smile, and he shrugged. “Maybe I do,” he said softly, his gaze meeting Draco’s with a challenge that left Draco’s heart pounding.

And for the first time, Draco felt his own composure falter, his carefully constructed walls slipping just a little. Because, as ridiculous as it was, he realized he wanted Harry to feel this way—to feel that thrill of embarrassment, the rush of excitement, the same things Draco had felt every time he saw Harry blush or stumble over his words.

“Alright, Potter,” Draco said, his voice low and daring, “let’s see how far you’re willing to go, then.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his breath hitching, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he nodded, a shy but determined smile playing on his lips.

And for once, Draco found himself unsure of who was leading this dance. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready to stop.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

Harry’s heart was racing before he even saw Draco.

He’d been standing in front of the bulletin board, staring blankly at a flyer for the upcoming spring dance. It wasn’t that he was actually interested in going—dances weren’t exactly his thing—but the idea had wormed its way into his mind, especially with… recent developments.

Recent developments being the fact that he had somehow, inexplicably, kissed Draco Malfoy in a supply closet.

Harry hadn’t been able to think about anything else since. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt Draco’s hands on him, the way his mouth moved against Harry’s, that surprising tenderness hidden beneath all the bravado. And now, Harry couldn’t shake the thought of what might happen next, even if it terrified him. Did it mean something? Or was it all just part of their strange game?

Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice Draco’s presence until he heard that familiar drawling voice.

“Potter. Lost?”

Harry jumped, his eyes darting to the side as he found Draco standing right next to him, leaning against the wall with his usual smirk. Harry’s cheeks flushed immediately, and he forced himself to stay calm, to act like Draco’s presence didn’t send his heart into overdrive.

“Oh! Uh… Malfoy,” he stammered, hating the way his voice wavered.

“What are you looking at so intently?” Draco asked, his voice casual but his gaze sharp. “Considering signing up for knitting club? Or maybe pottery?”

Harry huffed, crossing his arms in what he hoped was a defiant stance. “It’s none of your business.”

“Ah, so it is something embarrassing, then.” Draco leaned closer, his smirk widening. “Well, if you’re looking for ways to improve your social skills, I’d be happy to give you some pointers.”

Harry clenched his fists, trying to keep his voice steady. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Malfoy?”

“Not at the moment,” Draco replied, his tone light, though his gaze felt far too intense. “But if you need some motivation to leave the bulletin board, I’d be happy to give you that too.”

Harry wanted to walk away, to avoid yet another encounter that would leave him feeling like he’d just run a marathon, his heart pounding and his mind spinning. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. Something about Draco’s presence was magnetic, even though he knew he should turn and leave.

But then, in a moment of frustration, he blurted out something he hadn’t meant to say. “Fine. You want to know? I was, um, looking at the flyer for the… spring dance.”

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back. Draco’s eyebrows shot up, and his smirk turned downright wicked.

“The spring dance?” he repeated, a slow chuckle escaping his lips. “Looking for a date, Potter?”

Harry’s face burned, and he looked away, feeling utterly ridiculous. He hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t even considered how it would sound to Draco of all people. “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” He trailed off, mortified, but Draco didn’t let him off the hook.

“Don’t be shy, Potter,” Draco teased, his voice mocking but with a strange undercurrent that Harry couldn’t quite decipher. “Who’s the lucky victim?”

Harry swallowed, forcing himself to meet Draco’s gaze. He could’ve lied, could’ve brushed it off as a joke, but the taunting smirk on Draco’s face was too much to resist. Without fully thinking it through, he muttered, “Why? You offering?”

Draco’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, his composure slipping in a way that gave Harry a flicker of satisfaction. But Draco recovered quickly, crossing his arms and scoffing. “Oh, please. Why would I want to be seen at a dance with you?”

Harry forced himself to shrug, trying to keep his expression casual. “Because you seem to like making me look like an idiot, and this would be a pretty solid opportunity for that.”

For a moment, Draco just stared at him, his smirk fading as something more genuine flickered in his eyes. Harry’s heart raced, wondering if he’d gone too far, if he’d somehow shattered the delicate, teasing game they’d been playing.

Then Draco’s smirk returned, sharper than ever. “You’re right, Potter. You do make it easy. It’s almost as if you enjoy embarrassing yourself.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “What, got a little kink for it?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt his entire face turn scarlet. “What? No! I—are you—are you out of your mind?”

But Draco just laughed, looking far too pleased with himself. “Just a theory,” he said, his voice casual but his gaze piercing. “But admit it—you do seem to find yourself in these situations quite a lot.”

Harry felt his face burning, embarrassment washing over him as he struggled to find a response. But then, something clicked. He was tired of always being the one caught off guard, always the one left blushing and stammering while Draco stood there with that infuriating smirk.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up, meeting Draco’s gaze with as much confidence as he could muster. “Maybe I do,” he muttered, his voice quieter than he intended. “Or maybe… I just keep ending up in these situations because you’re always around.”

Draco’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something more serious, almost vulnerable. For a moment, Harry thought he’d gone too far, that he’d crossed a line. But he held Draco’s gaze, refusing to back down, feeling a strange sense of power as he watched Draco’s carefully controlled facade slip.

“Are you saying… you want me around, Potter?” Draco’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the question.

Harry took another steadying breath, knowing he couldn’t dodge this any longer. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed was charged, thick with unspoken tension. Harry could feel his pulse racing, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. He was terrified, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Because for the first time, he felt like he wasn’t alone in this strange, confusing attraction.

Draco’s gaze softened, his smirk turning into something more genuine, more vulnerable. “Careful, Potter. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually enjoy my company.”

Harry felt a small smile tug at his lips, a strange mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him. “Maybe I do,” he said softly, meeting Draco’s gaze with a hint of challenge.

Draco looked at him for a long moment, his eyes filled with something Harry couldn’t quite name. And for the first time, he felt like they were both standing on equal ground, both as unsure and exposed as the other.

Draco leaned in, his voice barely a murmur. “Alright, Potter,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go, then.”

Harry’s breath hitched, but he nodded, a shy but determined smile on his face. Because he didn’t know what was happening between them, didn’t know where it would lead, but he knew one thing for certain.

He was ready to find out.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

The whole “whatever-this-was” with Draco had reached a strange, unspoken agreement. They were still playing cat and mouse, still caught in a game of subtle glances, teasing remarks, and those moments of quiet intensity that left Harry feeling like the ground had shifted beneath him. Every day, Draco seemed to find a new way to make Harry squirm—leaning a bit too close in the hallways, smirking whenever Harry blushed, leaving him in a constant state of nervous anticipation.

But things took an unexpected turn in the days leading up to the spring dance.

It happened during lunch, while Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione, discussing whether he’d even bother to attend. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to Draco about it yet, partly because he was terrified Draco might smirk and brush him off if he tried to bring it up.

“Well, I think you should go,” Hermione said, giving him an encouraging smile. “It could be fun, Harry. Besides, who knows? You might get asked by someone nice.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I doubt it. Besides, I—”

“Hi, Harry,” a voice interrupted, and Harry turned to see Alice Collins, a sweet girl from Hufflepuff, standing beside him, a hopeful smile on her face. “I was just wondering… would you like to go to the dance with me?”

The question left Harry momentarily stunned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron’s eyebrows shoot up, Hermione’s mouth drop open, and a strange feeling of panic rise in his chest. He hadn’t expected this—not at all. And he certainly hadn’t prepared for it.

“Oh! Uh… well…” Harry stammered, feeling his face go red as he struggled for a response. But before he could say anything, he caught sight of something—or rather, someone—approaching.

Draco Malfoy was storming across the dining hall, his expression one of icy fury. His eyes were locked on Alice with such intensity that she actually took a small step back. The entire hall fell silent as Draco reached their table, and Harry’s heart raced as he felt the weight of Draco’s possessive gaze settle on him.

“Potter’s going to the dance with me,” Draco announced, his voice carrying across the hall, silencing any remaining whispers. He didn’t look at Alice, barely acknowledged her presence at all. His entire focus was on Harry, his eyes sharp, daring him to contradict him.

Alice’s face went pale, and she looked between Harry and Draco, her mouth opening and closing as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Oh,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I didn’t realize.”

Draco didn’t respond, didn’t so much as glance her way. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow at Harry, as if waiting for him to agree, to confirm what he’d just declared to the entire hall.

Harry, feeling every eye in the room on him, nodded slowly, too stunned to say anything else. “Uh… yeah. I guess I am.”

Alice gave a polite, if embarrassed, smile and quickly excused herself, practically bolting from the scene. Draco’s gaze didn’t waver, though, his smirk widening as he watched Harry’s reaction.

“Good,” Draco murmured, his voice low enough for only Harry to hear. “I’d hate to see someone else steal you away.”

And just like that, Draco turned and strode away, leaving Harry sitting in stunned silence, his face burning as he tried to process what had just happened. The entire hall was still buzzing with whispers, everyone clearly shocked by Draco’s public announcement, and Harry wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or… thrilled.

Beside him, Ron and Hermione were both gaping, clearly as stunned as he was.

“Did… did Malfoy just announce he’s taking you to the dance?” Hermione asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

Harry nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of it. “Yeah. I think he did.”

Ron’s face twisted in confusion. “Wait—so, are you two, like… a thing? Is Malfoy your date?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I… honestly have no idea. But I guess I am going with him.”

Ron blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process it. “Merlin’s pants, mate, you couldn’t have chosen, I don’t know, literally anyone else?”

Hermione shot him a look, nudging his shoulder. “Oh, hush, Ron. If Draco’s going to the dance with Harry, that’s… well, that’s great!.”

“Great?” Ron repeated, looking thoroughly baffled. “He just announced it to the entire school, Hermione! It’s not exactly normal.”

“Well, what’s normal, anyway?” Hermione replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she looked at Harry. “Besides, I think it’s… well, it’s rather romantic.”

“Romantic?” Ron stared at her, horrified. “Malfoy just stormed over here and practically claimed Harry like he’s some sort of… some sort of prize. That’s not romantic, that’s insane!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. Besides, you saw how he looked at Harry. It’s clear he wasn’t about to let anyone else take him.”

Harry, feeling both embarrassed and oddly pleased, leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the stares of everyone around him. He still didn’t understand what was happening between him and Draco, but one thing was certain: Draco wasn’t planning on letting him slip away quietly.

Ron groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “Alright, but if Malfoy tries anything funny at that dance, I swear, I’m coming for him.”

Hermione laughed, patting Ron’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure Draco will be on his best behavior. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry gave her a nervous smile, his mind still racing. “Yeah. Best behavior,” he muttered, though he couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through him at the thought of seeing Draco again, of facing whatever this strange, thrilling thing between them might turn into.

Because as much as he hated to admit it, there was something exhilarating about knowing that Draco Malfoy wanted him, that he’d been willing to announce it to the entire school.

And, maybe, just maybe, Harry was looking forward to the dance after all.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

Draco had never considered himself the type to lose his cool. He was always in control, always the one pulling the strings, watching from a distance with his signature smirk. So when he spotted Harry at lunch, talking with that sweet, soft-spoken Hufflepuff girl—Alice Collins—he hadn’t planned to intervene. He had absolutely no intention of making a scene.

And yet… there he was, marching across the dining hall like a man possessed, every nerve in his body buzzing with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could read Alice’s expression well enough. She was asking Harry to the spring dance, and Harry was considering it.

The idea turned his stomach.

Harry was looking pink-cheeked and stammering, and Draco knew he should just walk away, let it go. But instead, he found himself standing at their table, looking down at them with his best icy glare, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

“Potter’s going to the dance with me,” he heard himself say, his voice carrying across the dining hall, loud enough for everyone to hear. He barely registered Alice’s wide-eyed look of shock, or the stunned silence that filled the room. His entire focus was on Harry, who looked up at him, equally stunned, his mouth hanging open in shock.

In that moment, Draco realized he had absolutely no clue what he was doing.

But there was no going back now.

Alice stammered out an apology, looking somewhere between horrified and embarrassed, and hurriedly excused herself. Draco didn’t even watch her go. He kept his gaze locked on Harry, watching the blush spread across his cheeks as he mumbled, “Uh… yeah. I guess I am.”

And that was that. Draco gave Harry one last look—a look that he hoped conveyed something along the lines of “Don’t you dare say otherwise”—before he turned on his heel and strode back to his own table, his heart still racing, his mind reeling with the implications of what he’d just done.

“What the hell was that?” Blaise’s voice cut through his thoughts, equal parts amused and incredulous as Draco took his seat.

“Yeah, Draco,” Pansy chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she leaned in, a wicked grin on her face. “Did you just announce to the entire school that you’re taking Potter to the dance? Bold move.”

Draco forced himself to appear nonchalant, shrugging as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “I didn’t like the idea of someone else asking him, that’s all,” he muttered, though even he could hear the defensiveness in his voice. “No one else should be asking him.”

Blaise snorted, crossing his arms as he looked at Draco with an incredulous grin. “Merlin, Draco, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually jealous.”

“Jealous?” Draco scoffed, though his heart was still hammering in his chest. “Of course not. I just… Potter’s been following me around like a lovesick puppy, and I’d rather not have him trailing after anyone else.”

Pansy let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Draco. You practically stormed across the hall like you were claiming territory. You might as well have slapped a sign on his back that says ‘Property of Draco Malfoy.’”

Draco’s face heated, and he scowled, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. He hadn’t meant to be so… possessive. He hadn’t even realized he felt that way about Harry. But something about the thought of someone else dancing with him, of seeing Harry blush and stammer for anyone else, had set him off in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“Look, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do something stupid,” he muttered, more to himself than to his friends. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Blaise repeated, his smirk widening. “Draco, mate, you just made a public declaration. If that’s not a big deal, I don’t know what is.”

“Besides,” Pansy added, grinning like she’d won some kind of prize, “you looked ready to murder Alice just for asking him. That’s textbook jealousy, my friend.”

Draco scowled, though he knew it was useless to argue. Blaise and Pansy were relentless, and the smirk on Pansy’s face made it clear she wasn’t about to let this go anytime soon. “Fine,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe I didn’t like seeing someone else asking him. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, sure,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Just a mild case of possessiveness. Nothing to see here, folks.”

Draco glared at her, though he could feel the faint heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re both ridiculous,” he muttered, stabbing his fork into his lunch with more force than necessary. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t end up with some Hufflepuff who doesn’t even know how to dance properly.”

Blaise laughed, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that, mate. We all know you’re in way over your head.”

Draco refused to respond, though he couldn’t deny the strange, uncomfortable truth gnawing at him. Because as much as he wanted to brush it off, to pretend he’d only done it to keep Harry from making a fool of himself, he knew there was more to it than that.

He didn’t want anyone else taking Harry to the dance. Didn’t want anyone else looking at him like that, or making him blush, or getting to see that vulnerable, adorable side of him that Draco had come to know far too well. And the fact that he felt this way, that he’d let his jealousy push him into a public declaration, left him feeling exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Face it, Draco,” Pansy said, smirking as she leaned back in her chair. “You’re totally smitten.”

Draco shot her a look of pure disdain, though he knew it was useless to argue. “I am not smitten,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow, even to him.

Blaise chuckled, giving him a knowing grin. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, the whole school knows you’re going to the dance with Potter. So, you’d better figure out what the hell you’re doing.”

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, though he knew Blaise was right. He’d made his choice, and now there was no backing out. But as he glanced across the hall, catching sight of Harry talking quietly with Granger and Weasley, he felt a strange sense of anticipation bubbling up in his chest.

Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he’d acted out of pure, irrational jealousy, letting his possessiveness get the better of him. But as he watched Harry, saw the way he kept glancing back at him with that shy, nervous smile, Draco realized he didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

Because for better or worse, Harry Potter was going to the dance with him. And Draco intended to make sure everyone knew exactly where they stood.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

The Hogwarts spring dance was in full swing. The hall was transformed, decorated with strings of fairy lights casting a warm glow, and the tables were draped in deep blues and silvers, shimmering in the light. Draco surveyed the scene with a practiced air of boredom, though he couldn’t deny that it looked impressive. Music floated through the air, students in formal attire mingled and laughed, and he, Blaise, and Pansy held court by the refreshment table, looking every bit the epitome of elegance.

Of course, Blaise and Pansy had dates. Blaise’s date, a pretty Ravenclaw named Cressida, looked nervous but happy by his side, her gaze darting around the hall as though she couldn’t believe she was actually here. Pansy, true to form, had brought a gorgeous Slytherin girl named Lyra, and the two of them were already exchanging snide remarks about everyone’s outfits. Draco’s friends looked good. Better than good, even. But he couldn’t deny that he was more focused on the dance’s biggest question: Where was Harry?

He’d arrived solo, partly by choice, partly because—well, he’d loudly declared Harry would be his date, and he’d rather endure the night dateless than let anyone else steal him away.

“Trying to look like you’re above it all?” Pansy teased, leaning in and nudging him. “Or just waiting for your special date to finally make an appearance?”

Draco rolled his eyes, forcing himself to smirk as he looked over at her. “Keep it down, Pans. You’re giving people ideas.”

“Oh, please,” she said, grinning as she exchanged a smirk with Blaise. “After that stunt in the dining hall, everyone already knows.”

Before Draco could respond, Blaise’s date, Cressida, turned to him, her voice tentative but polite. “Draco, I have to admit, I never would have guessed you’d be one to… make a scene for someone.”

Blaise laughed, raising his glass. “Oh, Cressida, you have no idea. This is probably the boldest thing Draco’s done since—well, ever.”

Draco scoffed, giving them a dismissive wave. “I just didn’t want someone else asking him, that’s all,” he muttered, though even he could feel how flimsy his words sounded. “Someone had to take charge.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Just say you’re possessive, Draco. We all know you have no clue what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Draco shot back, though his confidence wavered when he glanced back toward the entrance and realized that, despite his best efforts, he was practically waiting for Harry to walk in.

Just then, Blaise nudged him. “Speak of the devil.”

Draco turned, and his breath caught as he saw Harry entering the hall, looking uncomfortable but strangely determined. He was wearing a crisp, dark suit that actually fit him well, and his usually messy hair was smoothed down just enough to look presentable, though a few stray curls fell over his forehead in a way that was ridiculously endearing.

And then their eyes met. Draco’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to stop himself from visibly reacting. Harry was making his way over, his cheeks flushed, his steps hesitant but deliberate.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Pansy murmured, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Draco Malfoy’s about to go up in flames.”

Draco shot her a glare, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was too focused on the way Harry looked, on the way he was walking towards him with that endearing mix of confidence and nerves. He looked… well, he looked like someone Draco could absolutely eat up, if he allowed himself. But he’d sworn he wouldn’t let anyone see him falter.

“Potter,” he greeted smoothly, keeping his expression carefully neutral as Harry finally reached him. “You actually showed up.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though his face was bright red. “Of course I did. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco replied, letting his gaze flicker over Harry, lingering a moment too long. “I think you’d find a way to make it up to me.”

Harry’s blush deepened, and he looked away, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his suit jacket. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Pansy nudged Blaise, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t watch. Draco’s practically drooling.”

Draco shot her a look that was equal parts irritation and warning, though he knew he’d been caught. He turned his attention back to Harry, trying to compose himself. “Well, come on then,” he said, holding out a hand. “Unless you’d prefer to stand here like a wallflower all night?”

Harry blinked, glancing down at Draco’s extended hand, his eyes wide. For a moment, Draco thought he might actually refuse, might pull back and brush off the offer. But then, slowly, Harry took his hand, his fingers warm and slightly trembling.

Draco felt a thrill rush through him as he led Harry toward the dance floor, aware of every single set of eyes on them. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. This was what he’d wanted—what he’d been waiting for.

As they reached the dance floor, Draco turned to face Harry, his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder as he held his gaze. Harry looked up at him, clearly nervous, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted slightly. And for a moment, Draco had to remind himself to breathe.

“Relax, Potter,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “I don’t bite.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh, his gaze darting to the side. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Draco smirked, moving a bit closer. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

They began to sway to the music, a slow, steady rhythm that allowed Draco to guide Harry effortlessly. He could feel the tension in Harry’s shoulders slowly melting away, his movements becoming more relaxed, more natural. And as they danced, Draco felt a strange, overwhelming warmth spread through him—something he hadn’t expected, something he wasn’t sure how to handle.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry met his gaze, a small, shy smile on his lips. “Yeah. Not so bad.”

And as they continued to dance, Draco couldn’t help but feel like, for once, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

(Before the dance)

Harry had spent the entire night replaying Draco’s dramatic announcement in his mind. Potter’s going to the dance with me. The words echoed in his head, leaving him flustered and, if he was honest with himself, more than a little thrilled. Draco’s bold declaration was ridiculous and possessive—and Harry found himself liking it far more than he was willing to admit.

It had been hard to sleep after that, with his mind a mess of questions. Did Draco mean it? Was he serious? And most importantly, why did he feel a spark of pride, knowing Draco didn’t want anyone else to ask him?

The next day, Harry’s nerves were at an all-time high, and Hermione, of course, noticed right away.

“Harry,” she said that afternoon, cornering him in the common room with a discerning look in her eyes, “I think it’s time we sort out your attire for the dance.”

“Attire?” Harry asked, blinking. “Can’t I just wear the usual?”

Hermione looked horrified. “Absolutely not! If Draco Malfoy is taking you to the dance, then you’re going to look like a million Galleons. Come on. We’re picking out a suit.”

And with that, Harry found himself dragged to Hogsmeade by Hermione and, reluctantly, Ron, who spent the entire trip muttering under his breath about how ridiculous the whole thing was.

They arrived at a shop filled with rows of suits in every color and fabric imaginable, and Hermione wasted no time, immediately pulling him over to a rack of jackets. She held up a deep navy blue blazer with a thoughtful expression.

“Here, try this,” she said, shoving it into Harry’s hands and steering him toward the dressing room. “We need something that makes you look sharp but not like you’re trying too hard.”

Harry slipped into the suit, glancing at himself in the mirror, and felt an uncomfortable thrill of nerves settle in his stomach. Did he really care that much about looking good for Draco?

When he emerged from the dressing room, Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, you look fantastic!”

Ron, however, looked like he’d just eaten something sour. “It’s Malfoy, Hermione. Why are you acting like he’s some sort of—of prince or something?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, adjusting Harry’s collar. “Because it’s important, Ron! We’re not going to let Harry go looking anything less than perfect. Right, Harry?”

Harry shrugged, feeling his face go red. “I mean, it’s not that important…”

“Sure, right,” Ron muttered, crossing his arms. “It’s only Malfoy.” But there was something strange in his expression, a look of dawning horror as he watched Hermione fuss over Harry’s suit.

Hermione, oblivious to Ron’s growing unease, kept adjusting Harry’s lapels, making sure everything was in place. “And you’ll need a tie, too,” she said, grabbing one off the rack and looping it around his neck. “Let’s go with something dark and classy. We want to make an impression.”

Ron’s face went from confusion to realization, and then, to utter disbelief. “Wait… hang on.” He looked at Harry, his mouth dropping open. “Are you actually going to… you know… snog Malfoy? And—” he swallowed hard, “—do more?”

Harry’s face turned beet red. “Ron!”

But Ron was already spiraling, his face contorted in a mixture of horror and resignation. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. You—you’re actually planning on—” he stammered, shaking his head like he could erase the image. “I can’t believe this. My best mate is going to… to… Malfoy.”

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, Ron, grow up. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Yes, it is!” Ron protested, throwing his hands in the air. “Harry’s going to the dance with Malfoy! And who knows what’ll happen next? I mean, Malfoy’s probably already plotting ways to get him alone—”

“Alright, alright!” Harry cut in, feeling like his face might combust from sheer embarrassment. “It’s just a dance, Ron. And, besides,” he muttered, half to himself, “it’s not like I’m the one who asked him.”

Ron let out a groan, rubbing his temples. “Oh, Merlin. This is actually happening. Next thing you know, I’ll be hearing about how you two are sneaking off to broom closets together.”

Hermione shot him a glare. “Honestly, Ron. If Harry’s happy, then you should be happy for him.”

Ron looked between them, his face a mix of disbelief and resignation. “Fine, fine. If you’re happy, mate…” He trailed off, grimacing. “Just… for the love of Merlin, spare me the details.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh, feeling both mortified and strangely touched by Ron’s half-hearted acceptance. “Don’t worry, Ron. I won’t say a word.”

After another round of adjustments and tweaks from Hermione, they finally left the shop, with Harry carrying a new suit, carefully folded and ready for the big night. His heart raced with a strange combination of dread and anticipation. He still couldn’t believe he was actually going to the dance with Draco, or that Draco had publicly declared it like some kind of royal proclamation.

But as they headed back to the castle, Harry couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Because for the first time, he wasn’t dreading the idea of going to a dance. He wasn’t even dreading the idea of dancing with Draco. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

And that, more than anything, terrified him.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

Harry’s nerves were through the roof. His hands fumbled as he tried to straighten his tie in the mirror, his fingers slipping on the fabric as he kept glancing at the clock, wondering if he was already late, and wondering what in Merlin’s name he was doing.

Hermione had helped him get ready earlier, and her encouraging words were the only thing keeping him calm. But now that he was standing here, staring at his reflection, he felt like a bundle of nerves. His suit looked good, better than he’d expected, and Hermione had even managed to wrangle his hair into something almost respectable. Still, the idea of walking into the dance—with Draco Malfoy, no less—felt surreal.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This wasn’t just any night. He wasn’t just attending some event. He was going with Draco, and while they hadn’t really talked about what it meant, he knew enough to feel like… well, like maybe it was something. Something real.

There was a knock on his door, and when he opened it, he found Hermione and Ron waiting outside. Hermione’s face lit up as she saw him. “Harry! You look fantastic.”

Ron nodded, though he looked mildly uncomfortable. “Yeah, mate, you clean up well. Not bad for a date with Malfoy.”

Harry’s cheeks turned pink, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

“Now don’t look so worried,” Hermione said, fussing with his collar one last time. “It’s just Draco.”

Just Draco, Harry thought, his heart pounding. Right. Easy enough to say.

As they walked down the corridor, Harry felt his nerves start to build again. They hadn’t even reached the hall yet, and he was already overthinking everything—what would Draco say? What would everyone else think? What would—

“You’re going to be fine,” Hermione whispered, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re going with him. You look happy.”

Harry glanced at her, feeling a warmth spread through him. “Thanks, Hermione. I… I think I am.”

Ron rolled his eyes, though he had a small grin. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t start getting all mushy on us. We get it. You’re… together.”

Harry’s face heated up, but he couldn’t help smiling at the way Ron and Hermione were finally acknowledging it, even if it was with some reluctance. It was surreal, yet strangely comforting, knowing his friends were right there with him, supporting him.

“Come on, let’s get you in there before you overthink it to death,” Ron added, nudging him with a grin. “Malfoy’s probably losing his mind waiting for you.”

And that was how Harry found himself standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, heart pounding as he looked around for Draco. The hall was beautifully decorated, the fairy lights casting a warm glow over the crowd, and students were already dancing and laughing, filling the room with the sound of music and chatter.

Then he spotted Draco.

Draco stood near the refreshment table, looking devastatingly good in a fitted black suit with a dark green tie, his hair perfectly styled. For a moment, Harry felt like his breath had been stolen away. Draco looked up, and their eyes met across the hall, and in that instant, Harry forgot every nervous thought.

Draco’s smirk softened into a small, genuine smile as he made his way over to him, his gaze sweeping over Harry like he was taking in every detail. When he reached him, he paused, eyes lingering on Harry’s face.

“Potter,” Draco said, his voice soft, almost a murmur. “You look… well, you look amazing.”

Harry’s face went red, and he managed a shy smile. “You… you look really good too,” he mumbled, trying to keep his cool, though his heart was racing.

They stood there for a moment, neither saying anything, and Harry felt a warmth settle between them, something real and unspoken. Finally, Draco held out his hand.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry nodded, swallowing his nerves as he took Draco’s hand, letting him lead him to the dance floor. The music was slow, and as they started to sway together, Harry felt his body relax, his hand fitting easily in Draco’s. They moved together in a way that felt natural, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Draco’s gaze never left his, and for once, Harry didn’t feel the need to look away. They were close, close enough that he could feel Draco’s breath, see the way his eyes softened when he looked at him.

“You know,” Draco murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I think you’re enjoying this.”

Harry’s face flushed, but he didn’t deny it. “Maybe I am,” he replied, his voice soft.

Draco’s smirk turned into a small, genuine smile, and he pulled Harry a little closer, his hand resting on the small of his back. “Good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music.

As they continued to sway, Harry felt a strange sense of peace settle over him, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He let himself relax, let himself just be here, with Draco, his nerves finally quieting as they moved together to the rhythm of the music.

Across the hall, Harry caught a glimpse of Hermione and Ron watching them, Hermione looking pleased, Ron with an expression somewhere between shock and begrudging acceptance. Harry couldn’t help but grin, feeling a warmth spread through him as he realized that, for once, he didn’t have to hide this part of himself. He didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to explain. He was just… happy.

Draco pulled him a little closer, his eyes warm as he looked at him, and Harry knew that, whatever happened next, this moment was real. This was them.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Point of View

It had been months since the spring dance, and somehow, everything felt right. Harry still couldn’t believe that he and Draco were together, but now that they’d settled into their relationship, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. There was a calmness to it that he hadn’t expected—a sense of belonging. It was strange, but he couldn’t imagine things any other way.

And surprisingly, their friends had come around, too. After some initial shock and a lot of teasing, their friend groups had actually started to blend. Now, Harry found himself spending evenings not just with Ron and Hermione, but with Pansy, Blaise, and even a few others from Draco’s crowd. They’d all found some unexpected common ground, and it was almost… nice.

Today, they were all sitting in a cozy spot by the lake, laughing and enjoying the rare bit of sunshine. Hermione and Ron sat close together, holding hands, their shoulders brushing as they talked. The way they looked at each other made Harry smile—everyone had known it was only a matter of time before they got together. And now that they were, he couldn’t help but laugh at how everyone was practically celebrating it.

“Finally,” he said, grinning at Hermione as she leaned into Ron’s side. “I think you two had more push and pull than Draco and I ever did.”

Ron rolled his eyes, though he was grinning. “Oh, shut it, Harry. You and Malfoy kept us all on edge for ages.”

Hermione nudged Ron, laughing. “Don’t act like we weren’t just as bad, Ron. If anything, we took longer.”

Pansy let out a snort, crossing her arms. “Please. I had a betting pool running on you two, but even I didn’t think it would take you that long to get together.”

Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. I thought I’d go mad listening to all that ‘Will they, won’t they.’”

Draco smirked, leaning over to Harry and murmuring, “See, we’re not the only ones with a flair for drama.”

Harry nudged him, his cheeks heating up. Draco loved pushing him, especially now that they were dating. In fact, a lot of their dynamic had changed. Before, their banter had been sharp and biting, but now it had a kind of softness to it—a trust. But there was something else, too, something Harry couldn’t quite ignore: his own tendency to give in, to let Draco take the lead.

It was something he never would have expected. Harry had always been the one in control, at least when it came to relationships. He’d been the captain of the soccer team, and even in past relationships—like with Cho, and especially Ginny—he’d been the one steering things. Well, until Ginny took the lead on ending things, since he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger himself.

But with Draco… things were different. Draco had this natural confidence, this way of asserting himself, that made Harry want to follow. It was embarrassing, honestly. It wasn’t like he wanted to feel this way, but he couldn’t deny that he loved the way Draco could just take control, like he knew exactly what Harry needed.

He wasn’t sure anyone had noticed, but the thought of them figuring it out was enough to make him nervous.

Or, at least, almost no one had noticed.

“Oi, Potter.” Blaise’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Come with me. I need to grab something from the dorms.”

Harry hesitated, glancing at Draco, who gave him an amused look. “Go on, Potter. You can survive a few minutes without me.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though he was smiling, and followed Blaise back toward the castle. They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, and Harry felt a little awkward, wondering why Blaise had wanted him along.

“So…” Blaise began, breaking the silence, “I figured now was as good a time as any to say it. You know you’re not the only one who likes taking a back seat, right?”

Harry stopped in his tracks, his face heating up instantly. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Blaise just gave him a knowing look, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come on, Harry. I’ve been where you are. You think it’s obvious, but it’s not. Most people don’t see it. But… I do.”

Harry felt a mix of relief and embarrassment. He hadn’t expected anyone to bring this up, let alone Blaise. “So, you’re… you get it?”

Blaise nodded, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Trust me, I know the feeling. I’m a bit of a soft spot for strong women myself. And yeah, letting them take the lead… it’s just what works for me.”

Harry let out a sigh, grateful to be talking to someone who understood. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve always been the one who… you know, takes charge.”

“Yeah, but relationships are different, mate,” Blaise said with a shrug. “Just because you’re confident in one part of your life doesn’t mean you have to be that way all the time. I’ve learned that sometimes… it feels good to let go.”

Harry looked down, a small smile forming on his lips. “I guess you’re right. But it’s a little embarrassing. I mean, everyone probably thinks—”

“Forget what everyone thinks,” Blaise interrupted. “You’re with Draco. You’re happy. That’s what matters, yeah?”

Harry nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Yeah. Thanks, Blaise.”

They continued their walk back to the group, and Harry felt more at ease. When they reached the lake, he saw Draco watching him, a faint smirk on his lips, and for once, Harry didn’t feel embarrassed. He felt content. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

And when Draco pulled him in close, his arm wrapping around Harry’s shoulders with that effortless confidence, Harry just leaned into it, letting himself relax. He didn’t have to be the one in control here. He had someone he trusted, someone who knew him better than anyone else.

And that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Point of View

Draco had spent the entire day keeping Harry on edge, and it was pure entertainment. He’d mastered the art of teasing Harry—brushing past him in the hallway, leaning over his shoulder in the library with just enough closeness to make him blush, or shooting him a sly look during class. By the end of the day, Harry was a flustered mess, and Draco couldn’t have been more satisfied.

But tonight, Draco had bigger plans.

He’d invited Harry to the Slytherin common room, a privilege few non-Slytherins ever received. Of course, to make sure they weren’t disturbed, he’d unceremoniously kicked Crabbe and Goyle out earlier in the evening. They’d grumbled, but Draco’s word was law, and they trudged out with promises to return tomorrow. For once, the common room and his dorm were silent—and Draco intended to take full advantage of that.

Harry looked nervous as he followed Draco into his private room, his green eyes darting around like he was stepping into a dragon’s den. Draco’s room was sleek and minimal, with dark green walls, a plush silver comforter on the bed, and shelves lined with books and trinkets. It was tidy and sharp, much like Draco himself.

“Wow,” Harry said after a moment, glancing around. “This is… nicer than I expected.”

Draco smirked, closing the door behind them with a soft click. “What, Potter? Did you think I slept in some medieval dungeon?”

Harry chuckled nervously, his hand brushing the back of his neck. “No, it’s just… very you.”

Draco leaned against the doorframe, watching as Harry wandered further into the room, his attention caught by the small box shelf next to Draco’s bed. It was lined with neatly stacked books, their spines showing titles in chemistry, English literature, and history, along with a few framed photos and small trinkets.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, tilting his head as he examined the shelf. His fingers grazed one of the books, curiosity lighting up his face.

Draco smirked, pushing off the doorframe and crossing the room silently until he was standing directly behind Harry. “Why don’t you find out?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Harry startled slightly, turning his head just enough to glance at Draco over his shoulder. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only you,” Draco replied smoothly, his hands sliding to Harry’s hips, pulling him back slightly. Harry froze, and Draco reveled in the way his breath hitched.

“Go on,” Draco murmured near Harry’s ear, his voice soft and teasing. “Read them.”

Harry hesitated for a moment before turning back to the shelf, his voice a little shaky as he began. “Um… Introductory Chemistry, The Chemistry of Everyday Life, The Great Gatsby, Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath…”

“Good choices, aren’t they?” Draco whispered, leaning closer, his lips brushing lightly against Harry’s ear. Harry’s voice faltered, and Draco grinned against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of his neck.

“Draco…” Harry breathed, his voice unsteady.

“Yes, Potter?” Draco asked, his hands tightening slightly on Harry’s hips as he trailed another kiss lower, letting his teeth graze just enough to make Harry shiver.

“I—I can’t—” Harry stammered, gripping the edge of the shelf as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

Draco chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to turn Harry around, his hands sliding up to cup his face. Harry’s green eyes were wide and unfocused, his cheeks a deep red, and Draco felt a surge of satisfaction as he leaned in, capturing Harry’s lips in a kiss that was both slow and deliberate.

Harry melted into him instantly, his hands clutching at Draco’s arms as he leaned into the kiss, his lips soft and yielding. Draco deepened it, pulling Harry closer until there was no space left between them, the warmth between them sparking like a fire that had been waiting to ignite.

When they finally broke apart, Harry was breathless, his forehead resting against Draco’s, his lips swollen and his eyes wide. Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Oh, Potter,” Draco drawled, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. He ran a thumb along Harry’s jaw, watching as Harry’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. “You are pudding in my hands.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to protest, but before he could get a word out, Draco kissed him again, silencing him completely.

And Harry, as always, didn’t even try to resist.

Chapter Text

Without warning, Harry found himself pressed against the cool stone wall of Draco Malfoy's dormitory, his heart pounding in his ears as Draco’s mouth assaulted his own with a ferocity that left him breathless. The kiss was deep and demanding, tongues tangling urgently as Draco’s hands roamed over Harry’s back, pulling him closer until there was no space between them.

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—excitement, fear, curiosity—but one thing was certain: he didn’t want this to stop. His hands fumbled with the hem of Draco’s shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. He managed to push it up just enough to stroke his palms over Draco’s ribs, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Draco…” Harry gasped against his lips, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco pulled back just enough to look into Harry’s eyes, his silver gaze intense and unwavering. “What, Potter?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Draco smirked, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Harry’s lower back. “Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll take care of you.”

With that, he captured Harry’s lips again, kissing him with a newfound tenderness that made Harry’s knees weak. Draco’s hands moved with purpose now, slipping under Harry’s shirt to caress his bare skin, sending shivers down his spine. Harry moaned softly into Draco’s mouth, his hands moving instinctively to Draco’s hips, where he gripped tightly, as if anchoring himself to reality.

Draco broke the kiss long enough to nip at Harry’s bottom lip before pulling away completely. He took a step back, giving Harry a once-over that made him feel both exposed and desired. “You’re so damn cute when you’re flustered,” Draco murmured, his eyes dark with lust.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. “Flustered?”

Draco chuckled, stepping closer again and running a hand through Harry’s already disheveled hair. “Yes, flustered. You’re practically shaking. Is it because you’re nervous, or because you’re turned on, Potter?”

Harry’s face burned hotter, and he looked away, unable to meet Draco’s knowing gaze. “Maybe a bit of both,” he admitted quietly.

Draco’s smile widened, and he leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear, “Don’t be nervous, love. Just relax and let me take control.”

The words sent a thrill down Harry’s spine, and he nodded mutely, his throat too tight to speak. Draco’s hand slid down to cup Harry’s erection through his trousers, squeezing lightly. Harry gasped, his head falling back against the wall as pleasure coursed through him.

“Well, well, look at that,” Draco purred, his thumb stroking over the taut fabric. “Someone’s excited.”

Harry groaned, his hands fisting in Draco’s shirt as he tried to pull him closer. “Draco, please…”

Draco obliged, pressing his body flush against Harry’s and grinding their erections together through the layers of clothing. Harry felt a moan escape his lips, and he arched into the contact, desperate for more.

“That’s it, Potter,” Draco whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Just give in to it.”

Harry did, his senses overwhelmed by the way Draco’s body moved against his, the heat, the friction, the delicious ache building in his core. He could feel Draco smiling against his neck as he nuzzled into the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the column of Harry’s throat.

“Such a good boy,” Draco murmured, his hands sliding down to undo Harry’s belt with practiced ease. “Let’s get these off, shall we?”

In moments, Harry’s trousers were pooled around his ankles, leaving him standing only in his underwear. Draco’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in the sight, his fingers deftly working at the button of his own pants.

“Turn around,” Draco instructed, his voice firm but not unkind.

Harry hesitated for only a second before obeying, leaning forward to rest his hands on the wall again. Draco’s hands settled on his hips, guiding him into position. Harry could feel the heat of Draco’s erection pressing against his buttocks through the thin fabric of his boxers, and he shivered, anticipation making his skin tingle.

“Good,” Draco praised, his fingers digging slightly into Harry’s hips. “Now stay still.”

Harry tried to comply, but his body was tense with nerves and excitement. Draco’s hands moved to his waistband, tugging it down slowly, exposing Harry’s hardened length. Harry bit his lip, holding back a gasp as the cool air hit his heated flesh.

Draco’s breath was hot against his ear as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Potter. So perfect.”

Harry couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him at the words, his cock twitching at the praise. He felt Draco’s fingers wrap around his shaft, stroking gently from base to tip. Pleasure shot through him, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from collapsing.

“Oh Merlin, Draco…” Harry breathed, his voice thick with desire.

Draco hummed approvingly, his grip tightening slightly as he began to pump Harry’s cock in earnest. “Look at you, all hard and ready for me,” he said, his voice dripping with lust. “Do you think about this often, Potter? About me touching you like this?”

Harry’s mind whirled, torn between the need to answer and the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body. “Sometimes,” he admitted finally, his voice strained.

Draco chuckled softly, his hand never slowing its relentless pace. “Not often enough, I suppose. But don’t worry, today you don’t have to imagine it anymore. Today, you get everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Harry groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as Draco’s strokes became firmer, more insistent. He could feel his climax building, his body trembling with the effort of holding on.

“Draco, I’m… I’m going to come,” Harry panted, his vision blurring with the intensity of his arousal.

Draco’s tongue flicked out to lick the outer shell of Harry’s ear, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. “Then come for me, Harry,” he urged, his voice a sultry murmur. “Come hard and fast for me. Show me how much you want this.”

Those words were all it took. Harry’s orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, his body seizing as ropes of hot come shot from his cock, splattering against the wall in front of him. He groaned Draco’s name, his legs shaking so badly that he would have collapsed if not for Draco’s strong hands gripping his hips.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Harry sagged against the wall, panting heavily. Draco’s fingers brushed lightly over the spent length of his cock, causing another involuntary shudder.

“Well done, Potter,” Draco praised, his voice warm and approving. “You did so well for your first time.”

Harry blinked, turning his head slightly to look at Draco over his shoulder. “First time?” he echoed, feeling dazed.

Draco’s grin was predatory as he stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, first time. And now that you’ve gotten that out of the way, we can move on to the real fun.”

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Draco pushed him gently towards the bed. “Lie down,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Harry obeyed, sprawling out on the plush comforter and watching as Draco stripped off his own clothes with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. By the time he was fully undressed, Harry was already half-hard again, his cock twitching with renewed interest.

Draco crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between Harry’s spread legs. “Ready for round two, Potter?” he asked, his voice teasing.

Harry nodded, his throat too dry to speak. Draco rewarded him with a slow, sensual smile before leaning down to capture his lips in a searing kiss.