"What's this?"
Draco whipped around, absent-mindedly tugging at the bottom of his shirt. Potter had picked up a framed photograph from his bedside table.
"Put that down," Draco snapped, his voice unusually high.
"I didn't know you sang," said Potter, studying the picture. "The choirboy look suits you, actually…"
Draco snatched the picture away, and was annoyed to see that his visitor was smirking. "It's not my fault," Draco said shortly, feeling an irrational need to explain, "my father signed me up when I was four. Seriously," he added, when Potter looked at him skeptically.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his tangled hair. How did this happen? The question kept rolling across his mind as if set on an endless loop. How did this happen? It was too surreal, too dreamlike to be true. And yet here Potter was, the insufferable pest, here in his room. Draco's hands tightened into fists at his sides. He hated Potter and his stupid smirking face, his round glasses, his dirty hair.
"Look, can we get this over with, already?" he said, forcing himself to scowl in Potter's direction.
Potter shrugged and turned his back on the other boy, ambling over to the bed and sitting on it. Clearly, he wasn't planning on making it easy. He picked up textbook that was lying, open-faced, on the comforter, and began to thumb through it.
"Potter," Draco said through clenched teeth, walking over to him and plucking the book out of his fingers. "Stop fucking with me."
Potter's eyes widened in mock surprise.
"Watch your language, Malfoy," he said. "You're hardly in the position to give orders." Draco folded his arms across his chest and said nothing, but he knew it was true. What was more, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It had been easier when he had been looking the other way.
"But alright," said Potter after a moment. "We'll do it your way."
Instantly, Draco regretted hurrying things along; his hatred was replaced with a sense of panic and dread that he had never felt before. Potter stood up, and Draco instinctively took a step back. Potter smiled widely and Draco's eyes darted towards the door.
Potter must have noticed this because he said now with exaggerated delicacy, "This is going to happen." He reached out and touched Draco's bare arm. His hand was warm, but Draco shivered. "So you might as well have fun."
*
What the hell kind of story is this? What does Harry have on Draco? Why is this stupid?
You're asking the wrong person. I found this in my files, added a few things, and posted it. I think it started as an excuse to get the choirboy thing in, actually.