"Sure Potty, I'll be your friend."
He tosses the sweat-soaked blond hair from his face and pushes his hips closer. Harry's eyes droop as he watches the line of stomach that's revealed when Draco raises his arms above his head and undulates to the beat. Harry tries to move backward but is immediately jostled by other dancing, sweating, intimidating men. Why he agreed to come here, he'll never know.
Across the dance floor he sees Ron, who's standing around a bar table with Dean Thomas, the Weaselette, and a man who looks familiar. A Hufflepuff, maybe, a few years ahead of them in school? Harry catches Ron's eye and jerks his head in a silent "come help me now, you traitorous pillock" gesture. Ron just shrugs and points. Harry follows his eyes and sees Hermione pushing her way through the crowd.
"Harry, you need to drink some water, or you'll get dehydrated. Malfoy, you too," she says firmly, pushing bottles of water into both of their hands.
"Granger! Good to see you again," Malfoy pants, his hand sneaking around Harry's waist to grab Hermione's in a shake.
She frowns. "It is?"
"Yes! You, with the humongous hair, in that tiny little blouse. Is that a blouse? Turn around a sec. Does that tie in the back? Merlin, Granger, this is a gay club! You'll confuse the boys, looking all dishy like that. Or is it a simplified thing, so Weasel doesn't get confused when he's trying to take it off? A swish and a flick and it's vanished?"
"This has been grand," Hermione intones sarcastically, "but I've got to get back to my simpleton boyfriend. You know, the one who's just made Auror?"
"Yes, yes, go on then. And gods, Granger, watch where you fling those things! I need a good lay and you whipping tits around will turn all the bisexual boys straight. Ruining my chances, damn trollop." He slips a finger into one of Harry's belt loops and pulls him closer. "Do you play for both teams, Potter, or are you only after the boy snitches and no snatches?"
"I. Erm. Snitches only, I guess. Only, I should go back and find my friends, I've been sort of ignoring them, and they did bring me here, so-"
Draco's smirk grows wider and he slides a hand into Harry's back pocket, and Harry tries to concentrate on breathing and staying detached. "Yes, the Saviour's Coming Out night. I saw your grand outting in The Prophet this morning. Lucky me you showed up at my club."
"This is... Incarcerous is your club? Wait. Of course it is." Visions of rope against pale white skin flit across his mind, and he feels his prick take notice. As it if hadn't paid attention to the way Malfoy's hips moved against his.
"Funny that Granger didn't tell you. She did come by this afternoon and check the privacy charms. No cameras, no Quick-Quotes Quills, no secret legion of inferi to do my bidding. Just plenty of booze, beats, and a backroom that would make your head spin. Fancy a tour?"
"No! I mean, this is fine. Here." Harry clears his throat and looks away from pale gray eyes. "This is nice."
"Nice?" Draco's smirk grows feral. "There's nothing nice about me, Potter. You come into my club, looking like that, yeah, of course I'll call a truce, but when I say I want to be your friend, I'm lying. I don't want to be your friend. I don't care about Granger or the Weasel or their boring relationship. I'm not going to grab tea with you and Hagrid or listen to you practice speeches on wizard and Muggle unity. I care about your glasses on my nightstand and your ugly Muggle clothes crumpled up on my floor while you fuck me until I pass out. I want to wake up with your stupid scar in my face and the taste of your cum still in my mouth. Does that sound friendly to you?"
Harry's cheeks were on fire. He feels every place Malfoy's body touches his, and no, it doesn't sound friendly, but it sounds bloody brilliant. He allows his hands to rest on Malfloy's hips, his thumbs sliding just barely below the waistband of the Slytherin's ripped (and very Muggle, that hypocrite) jeans. "It sounds... Well, friendly is a relative term..." He decides then and there to stop fighting. The Prophet had sounded the alarm, Harry Potter is a Giant Poof (perhaps it wasn't that offensive, but it certainly felt that way), and why not go all in with a slutty Slytherin lush? He's gorgeous, and it wasn't as though Harry hadn't thought about it, jerked off to it, dreamt about it before... And it would just be a one-off, yeah, nothing serious. Just get off and get out. He doesn't have feelings or anything. Not for Draco Malfoy.
And that was it. That started everything that would come afterward, the fights and the tears and the agonizing frustration of falling for an arsehole who demanded everything from a man but gave back even more. It wouldn't be easy, and Harry would remember this exact moment for decades; that decision that changed everything, that accounted for all the misery and all the overwhelming happiness. That fucking moment when he let Draco into his life. The start of his real life.
"I would love to be your friend, Malfoy."