Warning: Slash
Disclaimer: I own no characters mentioned
Summary: Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Head Girl. Hermione falls for Draco and Harry agrees to accompany her to get nearer to the Slytherin Prince. EEP! Is this just the chance for Draco to get Harry, or does the ice prince melt his heart for the girl?
When McGonagall had said either one of them had to clean the trophy room, Harry hadn't expected it to actually mean cleaning. He scrunched up his nose at the overpowering smell of the floor clean.
"Ugh…"
"Enjoying yourself, Potter?"
The Golden Boy fought the urge to jump, and then recovered and scowled. Just what he didn't need. And it had to come knocking on his front door.
Harry determinedly kept himself turned away. "I am, actually. You would love it. Care to join me?"
He felt rather than heard the snort in Malfoy's voice. "I wouldn't like to give you the pleasure of seeing my ass like that."
At that, Harry sprang up, and whipped around. "…You're a bloody pervert, you know that?"
"Yes well, I learn from my enemy."
Harry growled and turned away again. He would try to be nice, but only in front of Hermione. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be sliming up to Snape now?"
"Professor Snape, Potter. I could give you a week's detention for not having respect for a teacher. And I'm here to supervise you. You missed a spot," Malfoy smirked.
"Whatever," Harry retorted and went back to scrubbing the floor. The least McGonagall could have done was given him a broom or something that didn't require bending down.
Ah, his back was starting to hurt.
Draco frowned when the boy in front of him paused to rub his back. How long Harry had been going at this, he didn't know. But for a young back like his to hurt, it must have been quite a while. He glanced around.
"Potter."
"What?" said boy snapped.
Draco's frown deepened, but he continued, "The place is almost done. You could stop if your back's hurting."
Harry visibly froze. He turned around slowly. "What?"
The blonde rolled his eyes. "Are you daft or what? I said, stop if you're hurting."
The dark-haired narrowed his eyes. Draco sighed, deciding to just ignore that accusing look. He walked towards his enemy/crush and held out his hand. "Get up," he fake-snarled. "I don't want the burden of having to drag you to the infirmary."
Harry glanced away and muttered something that sounded strangely like 'bastard kid doesn't have a bloody heart' and reluctantly grabbed the outstretched hand. Draco tried to stop the hitching of his breath when their hands came into contact.
And everything suddenly played in slow motion. Harry stupidly stepped on the bar of soap he was using, and Draco, wanting to save him from falling, pulled hard on the hold he had on him.
For a moment, just for a moment, their faces were last than an inch apart, and it must have been the black-haired boy's seeker reflexes that enabled him to react that quickly and push away.
But alas, the hero isn't ever very smart. Harry's grip still strong on Draco's hand, he fell backwards, pulling the Head Boy down along with him. And after a moment, after everything settled, they were found one on top of the other, limbs tangled, breathing harsh.
"Potter," Draco couldn't help growling. "That was a very, very stu—"
He cut off when he realized their positions. Realized how huge those green eyes looked, realized how hot the breath of Harry's felt across his cheek, realized how close their lips were, that they were almost touching.
'If I could just lean in a bit…' Draco thought. And even before he felt it, Draco knew he'd done it. He'd pressed his lips to Harry's.
Green eyes, if possible, grew even huger. Harry tried to pull back, but the slender hand that had, in the midst of don't-know-when, trailed to the back of his neck and stayed there, refused to budge.
The white blonde groaned into the kiss, pressing harder. His tongue slithered out and swiped across the pink lips against his own.
Harry's eyes slowly drifted close, and his lips hesitantly parted.
But just as Harry was getting comfortable, his head harshly hit the floor and he blinked open his eyes, confused, a dull throb starting to spread across his head. Malfoy was standing above him, panting heavily, with one hand over his mouth.
And before Harry could open his mouth and say anything, the Slytherin Prince was out the door, robe billowing in his wake.
The Gryffindor boy just lay there for a while, letting what just happened soak in. Then his mouth fell open and he started banging his head against the still soapy floor.
"Mr. Potter?"
The second time in ten minutes, Harry got a shock. He scrambled up and almost fell over again, but caught himself in time. He looked up to see Professor McGonagall with a disapproving frown on her wrinkled face.
"I assumed an hour and a half was enough, but you seem to like to play with bubbles more," the Gryffindor head said. She shot a look at Harry, before clearing the room of soapy suds and bubbles with a flick of her wrist.
The black-haired boy blushed and stared at his sneakers. "No normal dinnertime for a week." Harry's head snapped up. "What?"
"You heard me, Mr. Potter. Now go and clean yourself up. It's almost time for bed," Professor McGonagall said, and click-clocked out the door. Harry sighed and dejectedly made his way back to the common room, deciding that he had had too much to deal with for one night to actually think about it.
Because honestly, what the FUCK was Malfoy doing?