Sixth year - Griffindor vs. Slytherin, and an admission.
This was wrong. Harry Potter knew that it was and yet he still found himself walking behind the stands, slipping behind the changing rooms and settling onto a hidden place of grass that no-one would come to.
Draco was minutes behind. "Sorry" he breathed. "Stupid people wouldn't let me go." Harry knew he meant his team-mates, who were most likely mourning their loss against Griffindor.
Harry nodded. He was still in his Quiddich Robes, still sweaty and dirty from the game.
They were kissing. They did this every match, whether they played or not. Quiddich was a shared passion, something that pulled on the primal instincts in their bodies, instincts they would use on each other.
They were wrong, the Slytherin Prince and the Griffindor golden boy. Still lips met lips in frenzied love.
Hang on, had he just thought that. Love? Yes, Harry Potter had thought that he loved Draco Malfroy for quite some time, since their first kiss. A kiss he would never forget as long as he lived. Dare he say it? Dare he tell Draco?
"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Draco worriedly, pulling away but not allowing Harry to leave his arms. Strong arms. Protecting arms. Safe arms.
"I love you." The words come out in a jumble, rushed and embarrassed and anxious. Draco blinks. The words are muddled but their meaning is clear. I love you.
Draco smiles, pulling Harry close again. "I love you too" he grins. "Thought you knew that though."
Harry leans into Draco, warmed by his happiness. He shakes his head and Draco laughs, kissing him ago. "I have a place" he whispers when they break apart. "Tonight. Meet me at the Entrance doors at midnight."
Harry nods and Draco is gone with one last brief kiss that warms Harry's soul. Slowly he rises, and troops back to his curious but silent team-mates, who stand in their changing room fully dressed but un-asking where the young seeker and Captain has been. They know better by now.