AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Updated to (hopefully) be free of errors!
Harry went into round two with a strategy: he was going to learn as much as humanly possible about Draco Malfoy, and then he would decide if he was going to let himself develop a crush. Not that his emotions had ever listened to him before, of course, but he could at least decide if he was at peace with the idea or not. He had a list of questions, pre-prepared and already written out in his mind, and he was ready. Firewhiskey or not, he was going to get the answers he came for. Gryffindors were stubborn, strong-willed, even a bit bull-headed and Harry was prepared to use every single one of those traits to get exactly what he wanted to know out of the blond—until he walked into the room.
The eighth year Slytherins did not have class on Saturdays—no one did—but Harry honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen any of the Slytherin Trio outside of regular school activities. It was stupid to have expected them to show up in their full school robes, especially because no one else had, but Harry could have handled Blaise and Pansy in casual clothes… It was Draco who caught him off guard.
Never, in all his years of life, had he seen the blond in anything but pristine robes and uniform, save that one time in the bathrooms. It occurred to him that he had no idea what pureblood wizards even wore when they were being casual. There was no party tonight, so everyone was much more relaxed. Pansy was in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, Blaise was wearing jeans for Merlin's sake, but Draco… Draco Malfoy sat there, cross legged on the floor, in a dark pair of sweats and a grey, long sleeve shirt advertising a Quidditch team that Harry had never heard of. He looked so… not Draco.
"Skrewt got your tongue, Potter?" They were back to last names. As much as he tried to pretend that he wasn't disappointed by it, Harry still had to shuffle a bit to get his expression under control. Something about seeing Draco in clothes that were so clearly casual and domestic was like visual amortentia. For a split second, his mind gave him the beautiful suggestion of waking up to that sight—but Harry squashed it immediately. He didn't know enough yet.
"Who's first?" Somehow, during his little mental monologue, Pansy had managed to get drinks in front of all of them and was now addressing the group. It was still early—only eight pm—but no one seemed to care. The dark, quiet sort of weight in the room made it feel like they were alone, floating without time or interruption.
"Neville should start because he ended last time." A hum of agreement rippled through their little group, and Pansy cast a silencing spell on the room before procuring the veritaserum bottle. It was so small for something so dangerous…
"Draco," Immediately, the conversation had Harry's full attention. "Have you ever killed anyone?" Collectively, they all sucked in a breath. That was a rough question to lead with, but Neville clearly still harbored more than a few hard feelings from their previous years and no one was going to intervene. Not when it was a former-Death Eater who was taking the beating.
"No." Harry had yet to touch his drink and he was putting all of his effort into paying attention, noting every little expression or change that came over the blond. Draco was completely still and calm, but he saw Pansy subtly take his hand and squeeze.
"Verita." It was Ron who called bullshit, and again the tension between them leaked out into the air. Had something happened? Harry couldn't remember anything bad, or at least not anything recently, but there was clearly a lack of love between the two. Wordlessly, Draco opened his mouth and accepted the dose.
"Draco," Neville tried again. "Have you ever killed anyone?" Just for a moment, it seemed like the blond was going to fight the serum. He tensed, but then quickly gave into it and let his mouth open the way Ron's had so ungracefully done the night before.
"No, I've never killed anyone because that wasn't my job. The Dark Lord loved killing, especially muggles, and only he, Nagini, or Aunt Bella were ever allowed to kill anyone." If Harry let himself stare long enough, he saw a bit of shakiness in Draco's body language. Was it possible that he was upset? For anyone else, it would seem natural to be emotional talking about Voldemort or killing but for Draco's cold, harsh demeanor that just didn't seem to fit. Ron, however, was not going to leave it at that.
"Then what did you do for him?" Pansy tried to butt in—she really did—and Blaise protested that that was more than one question but Draco's drugged lips were already speaking.
"I tortured, mostly, and I got information—"
"That's enough, Draco." Instantly, like he'd been reprimanded, Draco snapped his mouth shut with a clack. He glared at Ron, and at Neville for asking him in the first place, but motioned for Pansy to take his turn and ask a question. With glee, she turned on the rest of them.
"Who shall we pick… Potter! You haven't even touched your drink, I think that calls for a question or two. Bottoms up! Can you really talk to snakes?" Of course. It was only a matter of time before the whole Parselmouth issues came up, but at least it wasn't something that Harry genuinely did not want to share with the group.
"Yes, I can." Before he could even protest, a tiny garden snake had been brought out from a box beneath Pansy's bed. So she'd been prepared for this… Interesting.
"Make it do something." Harry was going to start on a rant about how he couldn't make the snake do anything short of listen to him if it didn't want to, but he saw the empty cup beside the Slytherin and thought better of it. Maybe Pansy would have listened when she was sober, but definitely not when she was tipsy. Instead, he just turned to the snake.
"Hello, my name is Harry. Would you like to come closer and introduce yourself?" Instantly, the little snake's head snapped up to stare at him, and the group ah'ed at it. Poor thing, Harry couldn't help thinking. How long had Pansy kept it under her bed like that, just waiting for this moment?
"We all know you, Mr. Potter. My name is Selik." Harry gave the little snake a smile and offered his hand, which Selik leisurely coiled himself around as if to take a nap. Pansy was in awe, and both Luna and Hermione—who, Harry realized, had never actually seen him interact with a snake before—looked stunned. Even Blaise seemed impressed, but Harry's focus was on Draco. The blond looked less than amazed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was because he was bored, unimpressed, or if it was because another emotion was covering it.
"Nice to meet you, Selik. Tell me, where did Pansy find you?" Selik huffed at the mention of his captor, but settled his head back into the crook of Harry's palm before Pansy could catch on to their topic of choice. Draco was watching, silver eyes wide, but Harry couldn't read his expression. Why were his cheeks so flushed, suddenly?
"A pet store, I believe. She told the owner that she was going to feed me to her owl." Harry frowned, but the entire group was transfixed now, hanging on his every breath, so he didn't interrogate further. He would later, though.
"I'm sorry about her. Would you like to stay with me until we can figure out a home for you?" Selik did not reply, but his little head relaxed into Harry's palm and he seemed to be asleep. That was a yes, right? Regardless, Harry didn't get long to ponder the little snake's response because Draco was on his feet, muttering about refills or ice, and then he was gone.
"What's with him?" Pansy shrugged, even when Luna shot her a look that seemed pretty close to the visual equivalent of 'bullshit,' but of course Ron was willing to comment.
"Well he is a Slytherin. There was always a running bet that Parseltongue was one of his kinks." Pansy snorted so hard she choked on her drink, and the rest of the room laughed, but Blaise was silent. Harry tried to focus on making his blush go away by zeroing in on the blond's best friend.
"Blaise? What's with Draco?" If anyone else noticed the first name, they didn't comment. Blaise, however, looked up at its use and seemed to consider Harry for a moment. Was he deciding if Harry deserved to know? He could see, even now, that Blaise and Pansy were both very protective of the blond but that didn't make this particular situation any easier to understand. Slowly, Blaise seemed to decide.
"You should know better, Pans…" Pansy frowned, but clearly didn't know why. "The Dark Lord lived with the Malfoys for almost three years. I imagine that He is the only person Drake's ever heard speak in Parseltongue and, needless to say, there aren't a lot of good memories there." Harry felt his stomach flip. It was just Parseltongue, and talking to Selik was harmless, but he hadn't even considered the fact that Voldemort had also been a Parselmouth. He knew it, of course, but the fact that Draco had lived with the man for almost three years still didn't seem possible. Of course Draco had horrible memories associated with that language. Merlin, Harry was so stupid!
"Um, 'Mione you can ask my question. I forgot to put a locking charm on our room, I'll be right back." Ron and Neville groaned at him, clearly not understanding, but Hermione nodded. Harry vaguely heard her choose Luna before he was out the door and in the eighth year common room, trying to figure out where the hell Draco would go if he was upset. Only one place seemed to fit…
The eighth year common room was about as far away from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as one could possibly get. Sometimes, Harry wondered if the professors had done that on purpose, given how many of them had gotten into some kind of trouble in that bathroom over the years. However, it was the only place Harry could think of so he set off. A small invisibility charm hid him from Mrs. Norris, thankfully, but Harry rushed because he knew it wouldn't work on Filch or Snape if either of them decided to wander the halls at this time of night. He cursed himself for not bringing his cloak or, at the very least, the map.
None of that mattered, though, the second that Harry slid into the bathroom. It was silent, aside from the echo of Harry closing the door, but he knew instantly that it wasn't empty. Someone was there, and he was willing to bet a thousand galleons that it was Draco. Still, he couldn't help remembering the last time he'd snuck up on the blond when he was emotional and the consequences that had come as result, so he decided to announce his presence.
"Draco? I know you're in here." There was no reply, but Harry was content that he wouldn't startle the blond so he stepped further into the room. Sure enough, Draco was there. He was not, however, bent over the sink and hyperventilating like he'd been last time.
"Hey." It felt weird to hear such a casual greeting from the blond, after all this time, but it felt even weirder to see him sitting on the tile floor in a long sleeve T-shirt, arms wrapped around his knees. Draco wasn't shaking, or even crying, but honestly Harry would have felt better if he had been. At least, then, he would have been familiar with the situation. This Draco… This one he had absolutely no idea what to do with.
"Hey, mind if I join you?" The blond just shrugged, but motioned to the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think—"
"You didn't know." Harry blinked. He'd been expecting Draco to deny that anything was even wrong, or to argue and say that it was all his fault, but he hadn't been expecting something so… forgiving. Was this even the same boy he'd gone to school with? Slowly, Harry lowered himself onto the tile and leaned back against the wall, mirroring Draco's position but keeping a good six inches between them. Draco may have been different, now, but that didn't make them friends. Not yet, at least.
"You okay?" Harry couldn't help it. The words just slipped out, fast enough to be drugged out of him, but Draco didn't even flinch. After a beat or two of silence, Draco nodded.
"Yeah, I was never not okay I just… wanted some air." Right. Air. Because running away the second Harry spoke in the language that Draco associated with Voldemort was definitely the kind of thing that required oxygen and open spaces. It was understandable, but Harry felt like it wasn't the whole truth.
"Sorry, do you want me to leave?" At that, Draco hesitated. Harry had been expecting an immediate yes—actually, he'd been ready for Draco to curse him for even daring to follow him—but Draco merely looked him up and down. Was it some kind of threat assessment?
"No, you can stay." Well, that was certainly a turn of events. He would have been lying if he'd said that he was ready for Draco to ask him to stay—thought he wasn't really asking, so much as tolerating. Still, it managed to stun him speechless for a moment. Or many moments. Long enough, apparently, that Draco got tired of the silence and opened his mouth again.
"It was trained to his voice, you know," Harry looked over to the blond, who was staring at the floor. "Or at least that's what we were told. He could call us with just a few hisses, and he could make it burn like acid if he was displeased. It wasn't hard, either. Two little sounds and he could bring someone to their knees with pain. He could keep you there for as long as he wanted, too, without using up any of his energy or his strength. Useful, for someone like him. Terrifying to anyone who had it, though." This was a dangerous subject. Harry could feel it, heavy in the air like fog, and he knew he shouldn't pry but he was curious. This was the first time Draco had ever openly shared anything with him—ever—and, after all, he had come with a list of questions.
"What do you mean?" Those silver eyes flicked up, and immediately Harry wanted to run. There was something incredibly visceral about the emotion in Draco's face and it made his stomach churn just looking at it. What in Merlin's name could make someone as stoic as Draco Malfoy look like that? But he got his answer. Very, very slowly Draco uncurled himself to sit cross legged again and pushed up his left sleeve.
Even now, the Dark Mark never failed to surprise Harry. He'd seen it at least a hundred times—on others, if not on Draco himself—but somehow the way the black smeared against that pale skin was so much worse than any of the others. Here, in the light, Harry could clearly see the self-harm scars. Why was Draco showing him this, though? Was it because he'd already seen it so it didn't matter anymore? Technically everyone in the group had seen it, but the blond still wore long sleeves.
"He controlled it with his voice. None of us ever knew what he was saying, but we knew right away if we were the target of his rage and Merlin help you if you were…" Draco trailed off, running his thumb halfheartedly over the Mark as if he could wipe it off. "I don't care that you can speak Parseltongue. I knew you could." Maybe that was what was bothering Harry so much. Draco had been there in the Great Hall with Snape when he'd talked the snake down; Draco had heard him speak Parseltongue and he hadn't cared. True, that was before Voldemort but still…
"Why did it bother you, then?" Beside him, Draco let out a long sigh. Harry knew he was probably pushing this issue too hard and he knew that they should get back to the group before someone came looking for them but he was intoxicated—not by the firewhiskey, but by Draco. He'd never seen the blond so raw, so real, before, and he wanted to know everything.
"It wasn't the Parseltongue that bothered me, it was that I felt it." Wait, what? For a solid ten seconds, Harry was sure that he had to have heard wrong because there was no way in hell that Draco had just said those words in that order. He'd… felt it? What was that supposed to mean? How did you feel words?
"You… what?" Harry wanted to look up, to examined Draco's face and find some kind of proof that he was lying or at least kidding somehow, but his eyes were locked on Draco's arm. Every slow, gentle pass of the blond's thumb over the Mark was hypnotizing. The way it caught and jumped over each ridge of scar tissue was beautiful in a horrible, twisted way—not because it was good, but because it was real. This Draco was real. No posturing, no fancy displays of wealth, no attitude, just a human being. This was the Draco that Harry was quickly developing a crush on.
"I felt it. Not the same way, obviously, but I doubt you were telling that little snake commands that would cause pain or call your followers. I just… I wasn't expecting that." Understandably so! Harry was having trouble processing and he wasn't even the one with the magic snake tattoo on his arm. Draco had felt his words… But that still raised the question: how the hell do you feel words?
"What does it feel like?" Again those silver rings snapped up to stare at him, but Harry wasn't scared anymore. This Draco wasn't a threat. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Draco never really had been a threat—at least not to him. He'd been annoying, and he'd been a little shit over the years, but he'd never been a physical threat the way Harry was used to. Not like Dudley or Uncle Vernon.
"I… don't know how to describe it. It was weird, and faint, but I was trying not to listen so that probably affected it. Warm, I guess?" Draco's voice was remarkably steady given the situation. Personally, Harry felt like he might pass out or scream at any given moment because he was struggling to comprehend the fact that he'd just made the Dark Mark do something. Merlin knows he didn't need another connection to that psycho. Still, he found himself focusing on the blond beside him rather than on his own anxiety and it was kind of nice to have a distraction.
"I'm sorry." But Draco was already shaking his head, eyes back on the floor.
"No, don't be. You didn't know and it's not like you hurt me. I just didn't think I would ever feel anything in the Mark again and I know it was you but, just for a split second, I thought…"
"That he was back?" Draco nodded. "Yeah, I'm the same way when my scar hurts, even if I just have a headache." It didn't occur to Harry that he was sharing way too much, or that he'd strayed pretty damn far from his list of pre-prepared questions during this little conversation. The only thing that managed to get through his haze of whatever the hell drug he was currently experiencing—dopamine, what have you—was the thought of the rest of their group searching for them.
"We should get back." Draco took the words right out of his mouth, but Harry didn't comment. It didn't feel as strange as it should have, and it didn't have that shock value that it normally did when someone unpredictably finished his sentences or his thoughts. Why not, though?
"Yeah, don't want Blaise to sick Pansy on me anytime soon." He earned a small chuckle for his efforts. But, suddenly, that was the single best sound that he'd ever heard and he ached to hear it again. It would be too awkward and too soon, though, to make another joke so he just offered the blond a hand up. At no point did his mind realize what he was doing. Draco hated to be touched—he knew that, everyone knew that—and Harry was definitely not one of the exceptions but, before he could even apologize, Draco took the hand.
God he was warm. That was the only thought that Harry could process until their hands separated and they began to walk. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why he'd expected Draco's hands to be cold, but he had and he was so, so wrong. Touching Draco was like touching the air around a furnace. Dangerous, yet so alive it was almost worth it. Almost.
"If you ever want to talk," What the hell was he doing!? "You know, about the Mark or test it for your own peace of mind, just let me know." Harry had officially lost control of his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure that someone hadn't dosed him with Veritaserum before he'd left and he braced for a hex or a punch to the face but Draco just hesitated. Then, he smiled.
Harry was so in over his head.
"Yeah, that might be nice sometime. Thanks, Potter." The last name stung, Harry couldn't lie, but he caught the little smirk that Draco put behind it. Almost like it was a joke, rather than an insult. Were they joking with each other now? Merlin, that felt dangerously close to flirting and there was no way that Harry's hormonally charged brain could handle that sort of thing right now.
"Welcome, Malfoy." He smiled, too, and then they were inside and returning to the group as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. Harry wasn't really sure what it was or how he'd managed to get himself into that situation but he was also ninety percent sure that he and the blond were on their way to becoming friends, if not more. No! Not more, because Harry didn't know enough to make that decision yet. It didn't matter, though, because his mind had already made the decision for him and Merlin he had a crush on Draco Malfoy.
Dammit.
"Welcome back, boys, have a little fun on the way back?" Pansy was clearly drunk now, but Harry still flushed bright red at the insinuation. With a roll of his eyes, Draco plopped back down beside her.
"Watch yourself, Pans, or next time it's my turn I'll bring up the peanut butter incident." Instantly, the entire group was intrigued. Pansy glared and blushed but Harry was just so glad to have the attention off of them. He knew that walking in with Draco was a bad idea. It made the whole situation look much worse, and yet, he'd done it anyways. Even with the commotion, Draco managed to catch his eye across the circle. Harry tried his hardest to shoot a look of appreciation, but Draco just gave him a tiny smile and a nod before turning back to Pansy, who was now draped dramatically across his lap in a plea for forgiveness. Laughing, they got back on track.
"I believe it was Ron's turn." Of-fucking-course it was Ron's turn. As if their little game didn't have enough drama already, they had to jump right back into whatever rivalry was going on between the blond and the redhead.
"Draco," No surprise there. "I have an honest question for you. Genuinely, why did you throw Harry your wand during the final battle?" Clearly, that question blindsided their entire group. For a second, everyone just stared at the redhead, but he was serious so the eyes slowly turned to Draco. That… was actually a really good question. Harry had never even stopped to consider why Draco had thrown him his wand, he'd just assumed that there had been no other choice. He'd assumed that Narcissa and Lucius were both dead at that point—Draco's only reason for fighting—but they'd both lived. And Draco knew that they'd both lived. So why had he changed sides so suddenly?
"I don't know, honestly. I mean, fuck, I pretty much doomed everyone I'd ever cared about in that one choice. But I don't know why…" Ron opened his mouth to call Verita, but Draco wasn't done and suddenly those silver rings were on him, hot as molten mercury. "Maybe I believed in the Savior for a few seconds, too; maybe I hoped it would save me." There was absolutely no question, now, how their little game had become so dark so quickly. The room moved on, and Draco asked something of Luna that Harry didn't catch because his mind was reeling.
Just for a second, a tiny fraction of a moment, he could have sworn that he saw Draco's lips make a sound that wasn't heard: maybe I believed in the Savior, maybe I hoped he would save me. Had Draco really thought that? Or even said that? It seemed too good to be true but it certainly wouldn't have been the strangest thing to happen that night. Merlin… Harry shook his head and forced himself to focus on the game.
"Pansy, what's in the box you keep hidden under your bed?" It was Luna who was dishing out the dirt, now, but Pansy had had far more to drink than the rest of them and she erupted into a fit of giggles before she could even answer.
"A different- hicc! Kind of snake." Blaise smacked her on the arm and Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry still found himself laughing. If only Selik had known. He wasn't surprised, really, but there was something about being in a tipsy group that made everything funnier. Pansy, however, was taking back her role as interrogator.
"Eenie, meenie, minie… moe. Neville, oh Neville, my brave snake slayer. Tell us: if you had to date someone in this room—no, scratch that, a guy in this room—who would you pick and why?" Every single one of them watched Neville's eyes pan around the room. Harry knew better than anyone that Neville was completely straight, and he could also guess at the crush that Neville had had on Luna since their third year. He would pick either Ron or Har—
"Draco." The group audibly gasped. Pansy feigned a dramatic spit take and nudged Draco, but all eyes were on Neville still.
"And why, sweet Neville?" By now, the Gryffindor was beat red. Harry felt a stab of pity because he could imagine himself in that situation—that exact situation, actually—but it wasn't enough for him to step in. The rules were the rules, he had to answer.
"Because... I don't know, I feel like Slytherins are this bitchy assholes but, if you somehow make it into their inner circle, I feel like they'd be really loyal. And since Draco is the bitchiest of the two guys, I feel like he'd also be the most loyal." Various hums and nods from the rest of the group, but Harry was thinking. He'd never imagined Draco that way—or any of them, really—but he'd also never really imagined them any other way. Maybe it was the Slytherin in him coming out. Some part of him just innately understood that Draco was the kind of person who demanded that you earn his trust, who was picky about who he let into his life, but who was diehard devoted to anyone who passed. Was Harry that way?
"Uh… Luna, if you weren't with Ginny would you ever date a guy?" Ah, so Neville was not one for subtly. Thankfully, the only Ravenclaw in their midst didn't seem to catch on and she responded cooly that she loved people, regardless of gender. Hopefully Neville didn't take that to mean that there was hope for them.
"Blaise, rank everyone here on a scale of one to seven from best to worst." Whoa! Luna was coming out with the big guns, blatantly dividing the group, but Blaise took it in good humor. He grinned and down his drink.
"Based on what? Like attractiveness? As a person? What am I ranking?" Luna shrugged, but Pansy jumped in before the decision could be left up to Blaise.
"As a person." Well, that settled that. There was no way that this was going to be a fun, lighthearted round—friendships were going to end, potentially.
"Well one I'd have to say Drake; he's my best friend, we've grown up together, and if I didn't hate my family I'd call you my brother. Two for you Pans, because you're my second best friend and we've slept together like twenty times. As for the rest of you…" Blaise paused, now, as if meeting the rest of the group for the first time and having to make snap decisions.
"Three for you Luna, because you seem pretty genuinely cool. Four for you, Harry, because you're one hell of a seeker. Five for Hermione, because you're the reason I passed Potions last year, six for Neville, because that thing with the snake was pretty cool. And seven for you, Ron, no hard feelings." Ron huffed, but Hermione shoved him hard enough to get him to stop before a fight ensued. It was really only fair. Out of everyone, Ron was the main opponent of Slytherin and, somehow, had become even more of their rival than Harry was. When had that happened?
"Harry, what to ask, what to ask…" As if on cue, Pansy leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Perfect! Harry, tell me, I was wondering, in your opinion—ow! Pans, Merlin fine. What's the sexiest thing about a guy?" Harry was sure that he'd heard wrong. He definitely had. There was no way in hell that Blaise had just asked him what he found sexiest about guys in front of all these people. Right?
"You mean a girl?" Blaise grinned, though, and Pansy clicked her tongue at him.
"Question has been said, you have to answer it. Unless you're scared, Potter." It was joke, he knew that now, but he was much more focused on the question. The sexiest thing about a guy? God, Harry was suddenly hyper aware of Draco sitting across the circle from him, watching and waiting for his answer, and he couldn't make his mouth form words. Were guys even sexy? Wait, scratch that, Draco was sexy so what was the best part about him?
"The eyes." Blaise oo-ed and Pansy giggled but thankfully no one seemed to notice the flash of eye contact between him and Draco. Just a second, but Harry was already reading way too far into it. Had Draco winked? Or was it just a twitch? Had his eyes softened when he'd looked at Harry or had Harry imagined that? There was no way that anything could happen between them and yet…
"Neville, what was your first impression of Ron, 'Mione, and me?" Dumb question, Harry thought, but he couldn't get over the fact that Draco was still looking at him. Neville, at least, seemed relieved that it was a nice question and not something worse; Harry had just given him another opportunity to go for Draco's jugular, though, and he cursed himself for it. It was bad enough that Draco was already getting singled out, he didn't need to add to it.
"Uh, just remember that we're all great friends now, yeah? 'Mione, no offense, but I kind of thought you were annoying and bossy. Harry, I was kind of disappointed when I met you because I'd grown up hearing stories about you and you were just a normal kid like me but I'm glad, now. I like you better this way. And Ron… Ron, I'm sorry, but when I first met you I thought you were dumb. But you're not! None of you are any of those things."
Neville tried to cover his tracks, but the damage had been done. Ron and Hermione looked on the angry side of annoyed, but Harry was still focused on the blond. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the feeling of those silver eyes on him. It was like before. Their gaze felt more protective, like Draco was watching him to check on him not to find a weakness, and Harry caught himself actually starting to like it. What was wrong with him!?
"Draco," Of course—fuck, it was going to be a disaster all over again. "You never faced the boggart in our third year with the class, but I know that you did it after because you still got a good grade. What was your boggart?" Draco was calm—Harry was beginning to learn that Draco was always calm when he was the one put under pressure—but Pansy and Blaise both shifted closer to the blond. It was them that Harry had to watch for a reaction, he'd learned. Blaise swallowed hard, but Draco merely took a breath.
"My father." Harry could tell that everyone in the circle wanted to ask why. Hell, even he wanted to ask why and listen to the entire story so long as Draco talked to him like he had in the bathroom. No anger, no lying, just honesty. That was the kind of thing that Harry could fall in love with. Not that he wanted to, of course. Falling in love with Draco Malfoy would be a disaster in and of itself, without adding in the drama of everyone else's reactions. Dammit, he was already talking as if it was inevitable.
"It's getting late. A group question to close out the night, Pans?" Pansy nodded her consent, as unofficial game director, so Draco continued. "To the group, then: who here has had sex?" All three Slytherins raised their hands—no surprise there, considering they'd slept with each other—but everyone turned in absolute shock when both Luna and Hermione raised their hands.
Harry wanted to splutter and demand to know the whole story from both of them, but his focus, as always, was on Draco. The way that the blond confidently held up his hand, completely unashamed and unembarrassed when Harry couldn't even think the word without flushing. God, he was intoxicating… Worse yet, it was clear that he was starting to realize the effect he had on Harry.
"That's all for tonight, folks." They stood, even as Draco practically carried Pansy to her bed. She hiccupped and giggled, wiggling just to make it difficult for the blond, but Harry got the impression that he'd carried a drunk Pansy before. He was good at it, regardless. Once she was safely in bed, though, she bid them farewell.
"See you tomorrow for round three!"
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it and please, please, PLEASE review! It seriously means the world to me!