He stared adoringly at the face next to his. The hair falling forward slightly onto the face. The strong curve of the jaw line, the distinct features that weren't exactly good-looking, but oh-so attractive!
Draco moved back a bit to admire the profile better, but a frown slipped across the face and the hand holding him tightened its grip. With a smile he snuggled closer, stretching and matching their bodies for a minute (when had Harry become so tall?!) then curling up so that he was against his chest. His eyes traveled down his own hand to where his fingers intertwined with Harry's. Harry's long, perfect fingers. The fingers that had first held up Draco's chin as he had forced him to look into his eyes. In other words, Draco thought with a sad smile, the fingers that had wrought his doom.
As if sensing the sudden sadness in his thoughts, Harry's fingers tightened. Draco leaned forward and kissed them and he could see Harry's face relaxing into that unconscious half-smile that Draco loved to bring forth. As he gazed into his lover's sleeping face, his mind went back to how it had all started…
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"Watch where you're going, Potter." The blonde boy sneered as he bumped into the Head Boy. They were both alone; Draco had by now outgrown the need to have Crabbe and Goyle offer him security. He was full of confidence and knew almost no fear. And what he did fear, he could hardly escape.
Now, as he sneered and walked past, he expected Harry to either deduct points- oh wasn't he original! - from his house or curse him. Or both. But as he looked into the boy's face, instead of the usual fury or hostility, he saw a grim anger. Something in the green eyes locked the gray and Draco couldn't look away. He'd never seen Potter look like this before. A small portion of his confidence withdrew itself from the vicinity. There was a dead, ringing silence for a minute, then Harry spoke, "Detention, Malfoy. Tomorrow evening. Nine. My room."
"Detention, Potter?" Draco laughed, "You might be Bighead boy, Potty," had Draco known he was borrowing Weasley humour he'd have used a scouring spell on his mouth, "But surely even you can't presume to have the power to grant me, a Malfoy at that, detention?"
The grim anger was replaced by an even grimmer smile and the green eyes emitted a spark or two of pure, evil, triumph. "I've had a little too much of the Slytherins, and Malfoys especially, treating the corridors like a jousting ground. As has Cho. And together we laid a petition before McGonagall today that favourably answered. So, detention it is. And you better be on time, Malfoy, unless you want to assist the house-elves in their chores for the rest of the year."
And before the dumbstruck Slytherin could snarl back a response, he'd walked on. At the end of the corridor though, he turned and said, calmly, "Nine, Malfoy." And then, he was gone.