Harry overslept.
His eyes snapped open and he tumbled out of bed, knowing instantly that he was late. Stumbling into the shower, he bruised his knee on the porcelain and banged his head as he fumbled for the soap. He tripped and bruised his other knee attempting to struggle into jeans and was cursing profusely by the time he finally clambered out of the portrait hole. His nerves felt frayed and his stomach was jumping unpleasantly.
Would Draco be at breakfast? Would he look at Harry with the same reverent expression he had worn the previous night? Or would he ignore him in the same cold, indifferent manner he had adopted towards Harry all term?
The instant Harry pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, his eyes went automatically to the Slytherin table, scanning it in growing disappointment. Malfoy wasn't there. Where was he? Had he come down early, before most of the castle? Had he been trying to avoid Harry? Or maybe Malfoy had slept in as well. Maybe between the potion and last night's activities, he had been far too exhausted to wake at his normal early hour; maybe he was still in his dorm at that very moment.
Harry ripped open his bag, tearing through it until he found the Map and began scanning it anxiously for the dot that up until so recently Harry had been convinced was evil. Would it still be evil? Had last night's honesty cured Malfoy of any lingering traces of corruption?
As he eyed Malfoy's dot in thought, the corners of Harry's lips tugged up into a fond smile. The dot was running around the Slytherin dorms frantically from one end of the room to the other, as though in a giant hurry and yet constantly having to dart back for something he had forgotten.
Folding the Map and shoving it back into his bag, Harry whirled around and jogged quickly down the familiar steps to the Slytherin dungeon corridor. Ducking into a narrow alcove, he willed his heart to slow as he waited for Malfoy, hidden in the shadows of the sunless dungeons. Quick footsteps rang sharply along the corridor and Harry tensed, waiting.
As a pale figure darted past, his hand sprang out to snatch at the front of Malfoy's robes and drag him into the tiny space. Their chests were nearly touching and Malfoy stared at him in utter shock and, for the briefest of seconds, a sudden flash of panic. Both emotions quickly melted away, however, to be replaced by a cool disregard.
"Potter?" he asked with disdain, sounding as though Harry had accidentally bumped his shoulder as opposed to ambushing him and dragging him bodily into a hidden alcove.
"I, um…" Harry started, suddenly lost for words. He wasn't sure what to say, how to handle this Malfoy—because this was quite clearly Malfoy. Draco had once again vanished and Harry felt a stinging bereavement. Had last night truly been just the potion?
"I…are you…" Harry cleared his throat nervously and tried again, "are you feeling okay?"
Malfoy's cheeks colored slightly, but his voice was steady when he answered. "I am quite well, thank you. Other than a growing hunger at being denied breakfast." The words were accompanied by a pointed stare.
"Oh, er, all right," Harry said awkwardly, shuffling backward to allow Malfoy room to leave. Had last night been nothing but a mistake? Had Draco really forgotten their time together so easily? Or worse, repressed it? Had he woken up with the memories of being with Harry turning his stomach in disgust? Harry's eyes prickled uncomfortably—they felt far too hot and he blinked furiously for several moments. Malfoy kept his gaze on the floor as he stepped back into the corridor.
And seeing him turn his back on Harry, about to just walk away without so much as a single word, tore something inside the brunet. "I just…" he called desperately. The blond paused mid-stride, shoulders a stiff line as he waited. "I just thought…I dunno…" What had Harry thought? What had he actually been expecting? That one night with him would change Malfoy forever? This was Draco Malfoy. The boy who had tormented Harry for years, ridiculed him mercilessly, publically humiliated him more times than he could count, and done it all with a fucking smile.
But he was also the boy who had called Harry pretty and whispered that he would never forget him. The boy who had lied to his family and his mad aunt to keep him from Voldemort's clutches. He was the boy who had made Harry feel like no one else ever had and Harry wanted that back. He wanted Draco.
"I just thought, after last night…" The words froze on his lips as Malfoy finally turned, pinning Harry into place with an icy stare, cold fury etched into the furrow of his eyebrows and the thinning of his lips.
"Nothing happened last night, Potter," he said in a low voice, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. Nothing happened? Nothing happened? "You would do well to remember that." And with that he turned and swept away, leaving Harry with a burning in his throat and a hot tingling in his eyes.
Harry didn't make it to a single class that day.
As he sank slowly down onto the stone floor of the dungeon alcove, Harry knew there was no way he would be able to sit through classes normally, especially the classes he shared with Malfoy. The thought of the blond twisted his insides into pained knots. Harry had never felt more confused or heartbroken in his life.
Turns out his dot really is evil, he decided morosely as he picked himself up off the floor and headed outside. He spent the day wandering the forest in a morbid daze, his mind replaying the last twelve hours in a constant depressing reel—replaying every word, every touch, every flash of emotion that Harry had witnessed in Malfoy.
At least Harry had gotten his answer about the potion's side effects. Turned out the whole thing had been both a mistake and a lie—it had been entirely the potion after all. Malfoy had never wanted him. He had only thought he did long enough for Harry to realize the depths of his own feelings before leaving him unloved and alone yet again. It had become a pattern in his life long before Malfoy.
In fact, Harry was beginning to think that the only reason people entered his life was so they could leave it. Well, if Malfoy didn't want him, then fine. His name would be added to the growing list.
Sighing, Harry cracked his neck and headed back to the school, noting that the sky was now streaked with orange and pink as dusk settled over the castle. As he entered the large building, he carefully avoided looking toward the entrance to the dungeons, gaze remaining fixed firmly ahead as he climbed the stairs with determination. He would find his friends, they would cheer him up, and he could forget all about Malfoy. If the Slytherin could repress everything that had happened between them that easily, then so could Harry.
For a brief moment, he considered checking the Map for Ron and Hermione's dots, but rejected it almost immediately out of the certainty that he would be unable to stop himself from also scanning for Malfoy's dot. The dot that Harry was still reminding himself was evil. His theory had been correct after all. Ten points to Gryffindor, he thought wryly. At least he knew his instincts were trustworthy.
Deciding on the library first, his instincts were rewarded once again with the sight of his friends sitting at Hermione's usual table, surrounded by her usual frightening amount of books spread open across the wooden surface. Hurrying along the aisles, he flung his bag onto the floor and dropped heavily into the seat across from Ron. Both Ron and Hermione jumped at his sudden appearance.
"Oi! Mate, are you all right?" Ron asked instantly, shoving his drying parchment aside to peer closely at Harry's face.
"Where have you been all day, Harry?" Hermione inquired, concern lacing her question.
"I just…" Harry shrugged. "I just…needed a break." The sentence hung awkwardly in the air between them. Would he tell them about what happened? How could he, after everything he had said to Ron just the previous night? But maybe he needed to tell them, maybe he needed to say it out loud and hope it made sense. Maybe Ron would surprise him by being comforting and maybe Hermione could give him advice.
He opened his mouth to confess everything, every detail about the previous night, every aspect of both his Evil Dot Theory and new confusing feelings regarding Malfoy, but at the last second changed his mind.
"What's Retention Potion?" he asked instead, directing his question to Hermione. Both she and Ron exchanged a look, appearing confused by the sudden change of topic.
"It's a potion to aid in remembrance," Hermione responded automatically. "You take it before reading or studying something and it helps you to retain the information much better."
"It's difficult to brew, though, yeah?" Harry continued, hoping for a casual tone. "And there are side effects if you mess up, right?" He wanted to—no, he had to know what exactly it was that the potion had done to Malfoy.
"Well, yes," Hermione answered, nonplussed. "It's quite advanced, and of course there will be consequences to brewing or handling it incorrectly."
"What, er, would those consequences be, exactly?" His voice was calm, but his heart was racing. How much would Hermione suspect or be able to deduce from his questions? She was far too clever and knew him too well for Harry to feel safe getting away with anything.
"I'm not exactly sure," she confessed, frowning. "I've never made it before." Her frown deepened in displeasure at the admission. "I can find out, though, if it's important."
Harry nodded, carefully averting his eyes as he studied the table in front of him. All he needed were answers, and then he would be able to put Malfoy forever from his mind. The school year would be over in just a few short months and he would never have to see the heinous blond or force his unwanted presence on Malfoy ever again.
But until then, no one could blame him for simply wanting to satisfy his curiosity. Hermione was always lecturing him about expanding his interests and taking a more active role in learning—the advice had finally sunk in, that was all. He wanted an answer purely for the sake of knowledge, that was it.
"All right, Harry," Hermione said, and he could tell by her tone of voice that she would let it pass for now but would demand answers upon offering up whatever information she found.
"Thank you," he said quietly, pulling several books toward him at random and attempting to start his homework.
An hour later and he was bored out of his bloody mind. Having given up attempting to focus long ago after finding it impossible to concentrate on school work, he instead passed the time by doodling idly on a tattered corner of a spare piece of parchment. His glasses had been removed and his body was slumped over the table with one cheek resting heavily against the cool wood of the tabletop.
He drew a cauldron bubbling and overflowing, tapping the parchment with his wand and performing a tricky spell to make the ink move, charming the cauldron to explode in stages before replaying itself—first it was calm, then the bubbles appeared, then it began overflowing furiously, then there was a massive explosion.
The parchment was quickly tucked away the moment he noticed Hermione's gaze following the moving pictures from upside down—it was far too telling and Harry did not miss the way her eyes narrowed. Bidding a quick goodnight, he stuffed the rest of his belongings into his bag and fled the claustrophobic presence of the stuffy library, breathing easier upon escaping the tall bookshelves looming over him at every turn, casting everything in menacing shadows, and the swooping proximity of Madam Pince, ready to pounce upon any soul fool enough to even glance at her precious books.
His fingers itched as he walked along the echoing corridor, longing to pull the Map from his bag and check for Malfoy. Maybe he was out committing more acts of evil tonight, right now even. Maybe it was something that Harry should check on…
But he sighed and shook his head, squaring his shoulders as firmly as he was able. If he began stalking Malfoy again, especially after what had happened between them the previous night, it would be far too pathetic a move to ever be able to call himself a Gryffindor again. After all, Harry still had his pride, damn it. Just because Malfoy had been able to affect him in a way that nobody else ever had didn't mean that Harry would beg and plead toward the evil git the way Malfoy clearly wanted him to; he would obviously get a kick out of watching Harry grovel for his affections. And Harry had just allowed it. He had already handed Malfoy power by allowing him to scare the brunet away from his classes. Every single one of them.
Wasn't he Harry Potter? Didn't he regularly get told how brave and courageous he was? He had a bloody Order of Merlin for Christ's sake, which was nothing if not tangible proof of his fearlessness. Right? Draco Malfoy had never scared him in the past—he certainly wasn't going to start fearing the blond now.
With that decided and a fierce resolve now firmly planted, Harry marched the rest of the way to the Tower and fell asleep with a resolute expression fixed to his face.
The next morning Harry woke early, dressing quickly and rushing Ron and Hermione down to breakfast. He was determined to get to the Great Hall first so he could immediately begin showing Malfoy how unaffected Harry was by his rejection—something that would be much easier once other people actually started showing up to eat, but the Hall soon began to gradually fill up around him. Neville and Ginny came to sit with them and Harry was determined to laugh and joke as if nothing had happened and he was still the exact same Harry he had been two days ago.
But he wasn't.
The moment Malfoy walked into the Great Hall, Harry felt it and had to instantly fight the urge to glance in the Slytherin's direction. The grin Harry had planted so defiantly on his face had melted into more of a grimace and he sipped at his tea with his eyes closed for an excuse to look away from everything.
How had this happened? How had he fallen for Malfoy, of all people, and how did he make the feelings go away?
Hasty goodbyes were being said around him and Harry was snapped out of his woeful daze just as Ginny stood.
"I'll walk with you," he volunteered, desperate to escape both the Great Hall and the knowledge that if he was only to look up, just for a second, he could see Malfoy.
Ginny nodded cheerfully and they set off toward the exit together, Harry half-listening to Ginny's story about Quidditch or classes or centaurs for all he knew. He shook her presence as quickly as he could, deciding to head down to the Quidditch pitch before class.
It wasn't until Harry got to the broomshed, however, that he remembered the new time locks that had been placed on the gear at the start of term. The shed refused to unlock until first break, something he had never had cause to test until now, seeing as how he was late most mornings.
Kicking the door in frustration and achieving nothing but bruised toes, he turned around, only to stop short at the sight of Draco Malfoy observing him coolly from several yards away. He was standing casually and appeared relaxed, but there was something slightly too careless about the way he held himself, almost as if it was a posture he had practiced.
Harry said nothing, just watched him silently, waiting for the other boy to speak first.
"Potter," Malfoy said finally, his voice laced with the same grey tone of indifference it had held the previous day.
Harry remained silent, cocking one eyebrow in inquiry. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to speak. Not after the promise he had made himself not even twelve hours ago that Malfoy would not know how deeply affected Harry was just by the other teen's proximity, and that he would not beg or plead to the Slytherin, no matter how evilly good-looking the vile prat appeared.
The two boys gazed at each other in mute contemplation for long minutes, until Malfoy finally relented and opened his mouth.
"Look, Potter, I'm here to…" For the first time, Malfoy both sounded and appeared uncertain. "You aren't going to…tell anyone…are you?" His words were hesitant and there was a pink flush creeping across his sharp cheekbones. His eyes were hooded but Harry thought he saw something close to panic underneath as if this was really something Malfoy had been desperately worried about. And now that Harry was looking closely, the other boy did look exhausted. The grey eyes gazing nervously into Harry's own were framed by dark circles.
At the sight, just for a moment, Harry softened. Maybe he hadn't been rejected the previous day out of disgust, but maybe out of fear instead. Maybe Malfoy really was more human than monster—maybe he wasn't evil, he was just scared. And maybe he was there to confess his real feelings for Harry and maybe he would even kiss him. And then maybe we could get married beneath the clock tower, Harry thought wryly as Malfoy folded his arms with a sneer. The anger and hurt over the Slytherin's rejection of Harry just twenty-four hours ago reared up within him with frightening force.
"What would I tell anyone?" Harry responded coldly. "After all, nothing happened, right? Someone warned me to remember that."
The words seemed to cause Malfoy to nearly cringe, but the next second he was stiff and glaring and Harry decided he had imagined the uncharacteristic reaction.
"Good," Malfoy replied in the same icy tones. "Then next time I am in the middle of brewing an extremely difficult and temperamental potion, kindly do me the favor of thinking before barging in and endangering my well-being."
"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry spat, seething. Maybe he shouldn't have followed the blond or attempted to spy on him. But he hadn't asked for Malfoy to seduce him like that, hadn't asked for the feelings and desire he could still feel thrumming through his veins at the sight of the slender teen. And he definitely hadn't asked to be rejected only hours after realizing it all.
Fists clenched, he spun around, intent on stalking back to the castle, anything to get away from the infuriating boy he wanted so desperately to kiss.
But he had only taken two steps when he paused and twisted back to face Malfoy, who hadn't moved a centimeter. "Sorry you fucking regret what happened so much." Sorry you regret it was me so much. "I'll be sure to leave you alone in the future." And with that Harry whirled around and walked back to the castle at a brisk pace.
The rest of the morning was spent silently fuming, pretending to listen to professors' lectures whilst in reality, he passed the time avoiding Hermione's eye and pretending that Malfoy didn't exist and that Harry had no idea where the Slytherin's regular seat was located in every class they shared together.
By the time classes were over, Harry felt exhausted. He had floated through the day unaware of his surroundings, yet somehow he felt worn out and drained. All he wanted was to head outside, into the warm sunlight away from everybody else, maybe transfigure a quill into something comfortable to lie down on and try to forget any other members of humanity existed. Especially a certain tall, nefarious blond, one with flashing grey eyes and silvery blond hair and lovely pink lips and long pale limbs and oh sweet Merlin how was Harry ever going to be able to forget about Malfoy?
But his brooding was interrupted just as he reached the yellowed grass of the early spring grounds—still not quite as warm outside as he would have liked—by the arrival of red hair in the form of Ginny Weasley, nearly hidden behind two large crates and a broomstick all balanced precariously in her arms.
Hurrying forward, Harry took the top crate and the broomstick from her grasp. She chuckled and thanked him as they fell into step together.
"So what's in the boxes, Gin?" he wondered aloud. Shaking her head, she laughed again.
"Erm, it's for Hagrid, actually," she told him. "McGonagall gave me detention and has been having me collect a bunch of shit for him for his classes, or something, I'm not sure. I'm taking it to his cabin right now."
"Why did she give you detention?" he asked curiously.
"Well, it's possible I didn't turn in my last homework assignment," she admitted, still grinning. "But only as a direct result of my fierce dedication to my role as Quidditch Captain—something clearly in McGonagall's better interests, mind you. I told her for the sake of her House pride as a Gryffindor and former Head of she should let it slide, but she did not find the suggestion as inspiring as I would have liked."
Harry laughed and shifted the crate in his arms. "I can't imagine she would," he agreed, lips twitching at the thought of McGonagall's reaction to Ginny's suggestion.
"Hence the detention," she smirked in agreement. "I just have to drop this shit off and I'm free once more."
"Is that why you brought your broomstick with you?" Harry asked. "So you could head straight to the pitch afterward?"
Ginny nodded and sniggered. "The walk from Hagrid's hut is too damn far."
The more they walked, the more Harry silently agreed with her that it really was too damn far. Finally, they reached the cabin and he lowered the crate to the grass gratefully as Ginny pounded on the door.
"Hagrid!" she called. "Oi! Open up!"
The door remained shut and Harry shrugged. "He must be out in the forest or planning his next lesson or something."
Hopping down the wooden steps, Ginny nodded. "Yeah, point is I delivered them. I even have Harry Potter as a witness so there's no way McGonagall could doubt my word or my honor." Taking her broom back from Harry and swinging a thin leg over the handle, she glanced back at him with one eyebrow raised. "Want a ride to at least the pitch?"
Nodding gratefully Harry clambered on, fitting himself comfortably along behind her, their bodies close but not actually touching, as he gripped an empty part of the handle near her own tight grasp. They flew low over the ground toward the pitch and Ginny half-turned her head to shout back to him, "You want to stay and help out at practice?"
Considering it for a moment, Harry yelled back an affirmative. He missed coaching and he missed Quidditch. He missed flying and dodging bludgers. As an eighth year, he had felt weird about rejoining the House team. It had been an unspoken agreement between the returning students and not even Ron had put up a fuss about it. But it didn't mean that Harry couldn't ever play again. The wind was cool and light and felt pleasant against the warmth of his jumper. He and Ginny flew well together, after years of summer holidays spent practicing together in the paddock at the Burrow. They ran the team through several of the old drills and Harry pulled the new Seeker, a fourth-year girl named Hollins, aside to work with her one-on-one.
Hollins was dark-skinned and slim, with long ebony hair that she kept pulled tightly back at all times, allowing for no distractions as she scanned the skies for the Snitch. Harry admired her intense focus and inability to be shaken—both he and Ginny had approved of her immediately at tryouts.
They ran the team through maneuvers and exercises until the sun was a sinking ball of burning orange along the edge of the horizon and the team was beginning to complain about missing dinner. After the grumbling players had finally been dismissed, Harry remained behind to help Ginny wrestle the bludgers back into the crates, grinning widely. That had been much better for him than moping around on his own. In fact, he was impressed with the amount of time that had passed since he had last thought of Malfoy or wondered where the Slytherin's evil dot would be located on the Map. Once the balls were back in their crates, Harry helped haul the Quidditch gear back into the sheds with Ginny before they headed back up to the castle together. They entered the Great Hall windblown and unkempt but in good spirits, laughing and trading jokes. Ginny could always make him laugh. They sat with Ron and Hermione and were quickly joined by Neville, taking the seat on Ron's right, as well as a faraway-looking Luna, who drifted over from the Ravenclaw table to sit next to Neville.
All throughout dinner Harry joked and smiled and was reminded of why he loved his friends so much, vowing to never again become involved with any more evil sodding dots—only dots he could trust. Dots without soft hair and perfect skin and the ability to make Harry see stars. Those dots were clearly trouble and Harry refused to even think about them. Mostly. At least more than was absolutely necessary.
He left the Hall grinning and relaxed for the first time since the incident, pace slow and unhurried as he turned down a narrow side corridor. As he walked past a hidden alcove tucked into a dark corner, a pale hand shot out to tug him sharply into the confined space and up against the stone wall.
Drawing upon the razor-sharp reflexes honed during the war, Harry's wand was in his hand and pressed against a slender throat before he was even aware of his actions. Blinking in shock, he lowered his wand quickly at the sight of startled grey eyes. "Fucking hell, Malfoy," Harry swore in a shaky voice. "I could have hurt you."
Malfoy said nothing, only took a step further back, out of the firm grasp Harry had on his starched collar without realizing it. Dropping his hand hastily, Harry folded his arms across his chest, feeling better with some sort of defense between their bodies. The silence stretched and he tensed with every passing minute until he could no longer bear the quiet.
"Well?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Was Malfoy going to get to the point or was he just going to stare all night? Harry was finally in a good mood and was not about to allow Malfoy or his mind games to mess with it again.
Heavy silence continued to blare through the corridor, a silence so loud that Harry was convinced it was nearly its own presence.
"Right. Well, then," Harry shifted his weight to step forward and Malfoy's palms flew up to halt him.
"Did you mean it?" he blurted, staring unblinkingly at Harry. The question made the brunet pause as he thought about its meaning.
"Mean what?" he asked in confusion.
"What you said earlier…" Malfoy fidgeted for a moment before glancing at himself and straightening. "Your apology at my regret over the situation."
It took Harry a moment to understand what he was talking about and recall his exact words. Sorry you fucking regret what happened so much. Words he had spoken in anger, but Harry had meant every single one of them. Not that he was about to confess that to Malfoy. As he had proved to Harry for the final time, his dot was well and truly evil.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked wearily. If it was to play more mind games, then he really was not in the mood and would definitely not be sticking around to become ensnared in them. If it was to remind Harry, yet again, to leave the blond the fuck alone, then it was a warning completely unnecessary—he had already got the message loud and clear. Malfoy was repulsed by him and so Harry would stay out of his life—although Malfoy seemed determined to make that difficult, as he did every decision the brunet made.
"Did you mean it?" Malfoy repeated, silver eyes large and close and framed by a face so beautiful that Harry could scarcely believe it to be real. Was Malfoy truly this ethereal or was Harry simply biased by his (admittedly foolish) feelings toward the teen?
"Are you just here to humiliate me or something?" Harry asked loudly, attempting to drown out the little voice in his head screaming for Harry to confess to everything, every last pathetic, sappy declaration of affection. Silencing the annoying voice with an internal shake of his head, he looked Malfoy in the eye with the best glare he could summon under his rising panic.
"Did you mean it?" Malfoy asked again, frustration leaking into his expression and coloring his tone.
"Why do you even care?" Harry demanded. After everything that Malfoy had said to him, he was not about to embarrass himself further by admitting to anything as vulnerable as feelings.
Huffing, he attempted to storm from the corridor, only to be blocked by a single thin arm flung out to press one pale palm flat against the stone wall, blocking him and halting all of Harry's progress at his brilliant—and belated—escape plan.
"Just…" Malfoy murmured, sounding uncertain. "Tell me. Did you mean it? Were you sorry? Was that what you were upset about?"
Taking a step back, Harry ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. "Fine," he relented. "Fine, you want confessions? Yes. All right? Yes, I fucking meant it. I meant what I said earlier and I meant what I said that night when I told you not to forget me. I realized that I had feelings for you and I was afraid that it was the side effects of the potion that made you want me. Clearly, I was right." By the end of his speech, his voice was icy and bitter, but there was a slight undercurrent of panic lacing his tone as he finished speaking. Why had he admitted to all that? Malfoy would be sure to sneer and humiliate him, possibly yell it to the entire student body or sell it to the Daily Prophet.
Gritting his teeth, he continued speaking, "And I really don't care to hear any mocking or any more fucking lies from you, Malfoy. Go fuck with someone else." And with that, he shoved his way past the blond and hurried from the corridor at a quick pace that would most definitely not be considered running, all traces of his earlier good mood vanished as he stormed up to the Tower.
Throwing himself into the good armchair by the fire always left open for him—another unspoken agreement of the younger Gryffindors—Harry attempted to read, study, do homework, anything to distract him from the many persistent thoughts regarding infuriating blonds and the astounding depths of their maliciousness.
But the schoolwork was tedious and Harry found his thoughts straying back to the evil, vicious—beautiful, gorgeous—Slytherin far more often than he would have liked; thoughts involving pale limbs and grey eyes, long fingers and a lean torso, sharp cheekbones and a sexy smirk. Stupid pretty wanker, Harry thought angrily, settling himself more comfortably in the chair and attempting to focus his mind on anything other than the way Malfoy had felt pressed against him.
The next thing he knew, blue eyes and freckles were peering closely down at him, a finger poking him sharply awake into the dull light of a grey morning. Ron shook his head at Harry's confusion as he blinked sleepy green eyes and glanced around. Why had he fallen asleep in the Common Room?
As Harry stretched, he spied an open textbook that had fallen onto its pages on the ground at his feet. Ah, of course, he must have been out here dutifully doing homework late into the night and dedicating himself to his studies as the devoted student he so clearly was. It seemed like something he might do. Maybe. Hermione encouraged it in him, at least. And one day he would seriously consider following that advice.
But in the meantime, he would shower, hurrying through his morning routine and arriving at the Common Room just as Ron started grumbling about being weak and wasting away and needing sustenance, and why was he such a good friend waiting when Harry was purposefully making the redhead suffer by starving him? They hurried to the Great Hall and Harry sipped at his tea with indifference, already resigned to an unenthusiastic day of tedious agony, proven more and more correct about his never-failing instincts with every passing century-long minute to creep past. The hours crawled by, every tick of the clock jarring Harry's frayed senses. Was this torture? Was he trapped in some sort of curse? Had Voldemort really survived and won the battle after all, cursing him to some remote corner of hell in which he was currently being tormented to death through excruciating boredom?
Pinching his arm painfully, Harry shook his head and dismissed the theory, even though he wasn't quite sure what pinched arms and hell dimensions had to do with each other.
By the time classes were finished, Harry was nearly out of his mind with constrained boredom. His limbs and digits felt jumpy and far too anxious for anything involving sitting still and listening closely. He rushed outside the second he was free, wanting to feel the warmth of the early spring sun, wanting to walk, jog, run, anything that involved moving. His body felt twitchy and jerky, as though he had been caged in a tiny cramped enclosure for too long and was just now finally released.
Allowing his feet to carry him forward, Harry headed for the pitch, spotting a figure already diving and rolling midair, a figure with long, flaming red hair. Harry grinned to himself as he reached the stands and Ginny waved down to him. No wonder she was getting detention from the Headmistress if this was how often she was out practicing. He knew full well about her dreams to go professional and that, given the choice between Quidditch and schoolwork, it was forever going to be no contest.
Jogging to the broomshed, he yanked open the door and grabbed the first school broom he could find, desperate to be up in the air. When he was flying, he didn't have to think. All he had to do was feel—feel the wind rush through his hair and ruffle his clothes; feel the tingle in his gut and swoop in his stomach every time he dropped into a steep dive; feel the competitive edge that accompanied scanning for the Snitch, the yearning to catch it first, be the best, trumping every other sensation. Harry trusted his instincts and relied on himself and his teammates—it was a feeling he could not compare to any other.
But although he loved Quidditch, he would never be as dedicated to it as Ginny or as maniacal about it as Oliver Wood. Many people expected him to play professionally, but he wasn't sure that was a path he actually wanted to go down. Was more fame really something he desired? How would he ever be sure they were choosing him for his talent and not his name? No, professional Quidditch held much less appeal now than it had when he was younger.
Even with that awareness, he was determined to have as good a time flying as he had the day before. It was just him and Ginny and they were able to practice the riskier moves, getting bolder and more reckless until finally Ginny nearly fell from her broom and Harry had to dart forward in order to steady her. They decided to go in after that, Ginny rubbing the bruised spot on her upper arm that Harry had seized tightly to prevent her from falling.
Placing the borrowed broom back in the shed, he waved Ginny off and glanced around before ambling back toward the castle. Dusk was falling, a deep heavy blue beginning to touch the horizon as the lambent orange of the sunset sank slowly out of sight. It was still and peaceful and lovely and he wanted to enjoy the silence.
As he wandered along the well-worn path leading back to the steps of the castle, he became aware that he was being followed. Slipping his wand from his sleeve into his palm, he gripped it firmly and slowed his pace. Approaching footsteps had him whirling around to come face-to-face—well, several yards apart, actually—with Malfoy.
Harry stared at him for a moment, willing his heartbeat to slow, which had only picked up at the sight of the blond instead of relaxing at the certainty there was no danger.
"What is it, Malfoy?" Harry asked tightly. Not again. He had worked so hard to get into a good mood, Malfoy could not come along again and just ruin it, just send him back without any trouble to that place in his mind that Harry tried so hard to avoid; the obsessive Malfoy corner—the Evil Dot corner.
At the sharp tone in Harry's voice, Malfoy's lips thinned and his grey eyes narrowed. "I thought you said you fucking meant it," he spat, folding his arms defensively as though expecting Harry to attack.
"Meant what? My question?" Harry asked, bewildered. What was Malfoy on about this time?
"No," Malfoy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The fucking idiot was heard quite loudly by Harry. "What you said last night…about not wanting me to forget you." He blushed and averted his gaze, but his stance, if anything, grew even more tense.
Surprised, Harry could only stare. Was Malfoy really asking that again?
"I already answered that, Malfoy," Harry responded carefully. Was the blond trying to get him to admit to it again? Were there reporters in the trees? Slytherins in the bushes? Were hidden people listening right now to their every exchange? But Malfoy started speaking and Harry stopped scanning the landscape for spies.
"Then why are you spending every minute of your free time in the company of that horrid ginger monstrosity?" Malfoy demanded, taking a step forward and flexing one hand as though tightening his grip on a wand not currently being held.
"Um, because she's my friend?" Harry answered in confusion. Why did Malfoy care who he spent his time with? He had made it clear—perfectly, unmistakably, undeniably crystal clear about his feelings toward Harry. If he didn't want Harry, then fine. But cornering him and interrogating him about personal things and accusing him of things that weren't even true just wasn't fair. Throwing himself at Harry and making Harry realize his feelings, then rejecting him just hours after making him feel so incredible, invincible, surreal, just wasn't fair.
"But I thought…" Malfoy hesitated, the same confusion Harry felt in his gut seeping through the Slytherin's words.
"What, Malfoy?" Harry felt tired. He was tired of feeling so mercurial, working so hard to put Malfoy from his mind, only to be forcibly confronted with the blond again. He was tired of being asked his feelings on a subject that made his insides ache, he was tired of being around Malfoy and not being allowed to kiss him because Harry was unwanted, unloved, disgusting, a freak, just as he had been told since childhood. Why had he ever fooled himself into believing that somebody would one day see him any differently?
Malfoy was clever and beautiful, witty, funny, elegant, refined. What would he ever see in Harry? Harry had literally been raised in a cupboard—he was hardly what anyone would call cultured. Malfoy had grown up in the very midst of high society, learning manners and manipulations at the robes of his father—he had been raised as Lucius Malfoy's son, heir to a fucking estate. Harry had spent most of his childhood before Hogwarts blinking against the darkness of a dusty cupboard in Muggle Surrey, naming and befriending spiders in attempts to ignore the gnawing hunger and mind-numbing boredom.
Someone such as Draco Malfoy would never fall for anybody as common and uninteresting as Harry Potter. Even their names suggested their difference in status—Draco was named after stars. Or maybe the stars had named themselves after him, neither would surprise Harry.
Harry. Such a common name. Aunt Petunia used to comment frequently about the vulgarity of such an ordinary name. Every time the subject had been broached she took immense delight in arriving at the conclusion that the name simply reflects the wearer and Harry was born to be plain, trivial, and overlooked—a mundane name for a mundane child. Nothing had changed; he had never been special.
The sound of Malfoy speaking shook Harry from his desolate thoughts. He had been beginning to think they were going to remain that way, silently assessing one another, for the rest of the night.
"I thought…" Malfoy started again, tone sounding petulant. "I thought what you said was true." His silver gaze flicked down to stare at the grass, now a dark sea spread across the still grounds covered in a violet curtain of deepening twilight. "I thought maybe you wanted to be with me. I thought you didn't want me to forget."
"Well, yeah," Harry agreed blankly. Where was he going with this? "But that was before you made it more than clear that you wanted to forget."
"Only because I thought you wanted us both to," Malfoy muttered, wrapping his arms around himself even more tightly and glaring at the grass.
"Wait, what?" He thought that Harry had wanted to forget? He stupidly thought that Harry actually wanted to forget the best night of his entire life? Had the potion affected Malfoy's intelligence? Was it affecting him still? Should Harry drag him to the Hospital Wing immediately and demand that Madam Pomfrey take a look at him?
At his words, Malfoy's gaze shot up to fix him with the same steely glare he had been burning a hole in the ground with. "Do you have any fucking idea how mortified I was the morning after?" he demanded hotly. "I had practically forced myself on you. I threw myself at you and called you pretty and confessed that I had been mad for you for fucking ages! Does that sound humiliating enough to you yet?"
Wait, what? Malfoy was embarrassed? He wasn't disgusted? He wasn't repulsed by the thought of having been with Harry? But how could Harry dare trust his words? After all, it had been firmly established that Draco Malfoy was, in fact, the owner of an Evil Dot.
"I wouldn't exactly say forced," Harry disagreed dryly, heart hammering a painful rhythm despite the steady tones of his sarcasm. "I don't seem to recall putting up much of a struggle."
Malfoy glanced away again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Well, when a free shag throws itself at you like that…"
The words were mumbled and barely heard, but a burgeoning hope was quickly building in Harry's chest. Was Malfoy attempting to say what Harry thought he might be trying to say?
"No, that's not what that was," Harry said cautiously. He wanted to be perfectly, unarguably clear with the other boy—no more misunderstandings. He had already revealed an embarrassing amount the previous day, it couldn't hurt his pride any more to try to see this through. As a Gryffindor, Harry was left with no choice but to square his jaw and face this the same way he faced everything else in his life—head-on.
"I wouldn't shag just anyone, Malfoy," Harry continued in a determined voice. "That really had been my first time with anyone. And I meant what I said yesterday, about having genuine feelings for you. It just took me a while to notice them, but I think maybe I've always had them. There's always been something between us, at least, and I—"
Whatever else he had been about to say was cut off as Malfoy strode forward and kissed him, finally relaxing his hands from the fists clenched so furiously at his sides in order to slide them into Harry's hair and tug him closer, holding his face tightly between two warm palms as though terrified if he let go, Harry would vanish without a trace, blow away in the cool breeze like a puff of green-eyed smoke.
After a brief moment of shock, Harry melted into the kiss and returned it with a moan as he clutched fistfuls of Malfoy's robes in an effort to bring them closer. A muffled whimper escaped Malfoy and Harry strengthened his hold on the blond, angry and frustrated with the layers of clothing and unnecessary fabric separating them. He had dreamt about Malfoy and waited for him for far too long for something as trivial as cloth to get in his way now.
"Come back to my dorm, Harry," Malfoy whispered, clutching Harry's waist and pressing their hips together, sending a hot surge of want racing through the brunet.
"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed breathlessly, kissing the smirk from Malfoy's mouth.
Easing back, Malfoy gently broke the kiss and tugged Harry quickly into the school, smirking as he pulled him down the steps leading to the dungeons before whispering to him to put on his Invisibility Cloak. Harry released the pale hand to comply, following closely behind Malfoy as he spoke the password and led Harry into the Slytherin Common Room. He briefly considered the fact that it had been years since he had last been inside, but he barely glanced around as he followed Malfoy's quick pace across the dimly lit room and down a stone passageway, at the end of which was Malfoy's dorm. He entered and held the door open long enough for Harry to slip inside before turning to the room and staring hard at the other occupant.
Theodore Nott was the only other male Slytherin to return in their year—Goyle had vanished into his grief over Crabbe's death, and Blaise Zabini had miraculously passed his N.E.W.T.'s the previous year, despite the darkness and the terror of the term, not to mention the horror of the Carrows. Harry had never been more grateful for the small number of returning Slytherins—it gave them fewer people to kick out of the room.
As though plucking the thoughts straight from Harry's brain, Malfoy spoke one word to Nott. "Out," he ordered simply.
Nott stared up at him from his book.
"Out," Malfoy repeated, a dangerous edge to the softly-spoken word. Nott immediately slammed the book shut in compliance, tucking it under one arm and shuffling quickly from the room. The door was shut, locked, and silenced behind him as Harry tugged the Cloak over his head in time to drop it to the floor before his arms were suddenly full of Malfoy, as was his mouth. The blond tasted rich and bittersweet, like dark chocolate swirling across Harry's taste buds. All the desire that Harry had felt just a few nights ago returned full-force; he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted the boy in his arms, but for some reason that made him want to groan Malfoy was pulling away once again to stare at him with a serious gaze.
"What about you and Ginevra? Aren't the two of you together?" he asked solemnly, wrapping his long fingers around Harry's wrist in order to still his efforts to tug the blond back towards him, but the questions were more than enough to make Harry pause.
"Urgh," he wrinkled his nose at the thought. Him and Ginny? Why would Malfoy say something like that? Now the image would be seared into his brain. "She's like my little sister." His nose wrinkled further at the words. "That would be like dating Ron."
At the obvious disgust etched across Harry's face, Malfoy laughed quietly and shook his head. "My apologies, then," he murmured, leaning forward for another kiss. "It appears I mistakenly thought the two of you involved."
"It's all right," Harry grinned, shrugging and speaking around kisses. "I thought your dot was evil."
The light pressure of lips against his own disappeared as Malfoy pulled back to stare him. "What?" he asked in confusion.
"I'll explain later," Harry laughed. There would be time to explain and time to laugh about it. There would be time to talk about so many things. But now was the time to be with Malfoy—no potions or wild accusations. Just the two of them together in the moment, no evil dots allowed.
As Malfoy began kissing a trail down Harry's neck, he quickly lost all train of thought and decided to focus on the present. Malfoy's mouth was hot on his skin and Harry wondered if maybe he was using some sort of spell to make everything feel so brilliant. All he wanted was to lose himself in the feel of the other boy, but there was worry wiggling a squirming path through his brain, pulling his focus away from the blond in his embrace.
Sliding his hands up Malfoy's forearms, he gripped the lean biceps and gently pushed, but Malfoy refused to detach himself. Breath hitching, Harry lost himself in the sensation for several moments before the worry wormed its way back into the forefront of his mind and, with a wrench, was able to tear himself from Malfoy's clinging grasp.
"Wait," he panted, shaking his head in order to clear it. Malfoy froze instantly, standing perfectly still within his grip, but Harry could see shadows in his eyes and uncertainty in the way he held himself so stiffly. His face was blank and lips thinned as though expecting Harry to shove him away at any moment and laugh.
At the remembrance of the question he needed to ask, Harry very nearly did laugh but was able to swallow it before it burst hysterically from his throat. Now was undeniably the worst time for laughter.
"Draco," he murmured, releasing the other boy's arms in order to tangle his fingers lightly in Malfoy's silky hair. "I just…" he hesitated. How would his worries be received? Would Malfoy scoff? Laugh in his face? Confirm them and hurt him even more? Maybe this had been his real evil plan all along—seduce Harry into realizing his feelings for the Slytherin, leave him hurting and alone, then convince him to lower his guard once more before shattering him forever. It was an undeniably evil plan. Harry wanted to trust Malfoy, he really did, but would he be able to? Would he ever be able to truly trust Draco Malfoy?
Shaking off the lesser concerns, he pulled himself back into the moment, back into Malfoy's hooded grey eyes. "This isn't going to be like last time, is it?" He had to know, now, before this went any further. If this went as far as Harry wanted it to, if Malfoy pulled away from him again, it wasn't something he was sure he could recover from. Not this time.
As Malfoy grew even more still, Harry hastened to explain, "I just…it's not going to be like last time, right? You're not going to…disappear, or resent me in the morning or anything, are you?" By the time Harry finished speaking, his voice had become nearly pleading and his heart was thudding painfully in his chest, certain that with every pounding beat Malfoy would look at him and laugh coldly before throwing him from the dorm and leaving him to the mercy of the entire Slytherin house. His palms felt clammy as he waited for the harsh words to come.
But they never did. Instead, Malfoy's eyes softened and the tense lines around his mouth straightened out. "No, Harry," he vowed in a low voice. "It won't be anything like last time. I shall be in my right state of mind, for one." His tone was relaxed and teasing, but the words made Harry's gut clench. He still had no idea what the side effects of the potion had been, maybe the only reason Malfoy had wanted him was that he hadn't been in his right state of mind. Maybe this was something that the blond thought he wanted now but would change his mind about quickly enough.
Shaking his head slowly at Harry's sudden tensing, Draco began speaking hesitantly. "I meant…everything I said that night," he confessed, his entire upper body flushing bright pink. He didn't move away from Harry but refused to look at him, instead keeping his eyes fixed on either the wall behind Harry's head or flicking down to rest on their shoes, Harry's scruffy old trainers and Malfoy's immaculate leather—most likely Italian and handcrafted and nauseatingly expensive—loafers.
"Everything?" Harry wasn't sure if he would be able to believe that. Malfoy had really meant everything? How could he have meant everything? He had said so much, so many pretty words that had made Harry melt. But Malfoy hadn't been in his right state of mind then, as he himself had admitted only moments ago. Could he really have meant everything? "You've always thought I was pretty? You've been mad for me for ages?" Harry asked, nonplussed. Surely those words had been the effect of the potion. Or maybe just of the moment. Had Malfoy really meant them? How could he have? How could Harry trust him now? What was really the truth and how could Harry differentiate it from everything the blond had said to him over the years? They had so much bad history; could the slate really be wiped clean just like that? Was it really such a simple thing?
Harry wasn't entirely sure, but the way that Malfoy was looking, so flustered and endearingly shy, made Harry want to try. It reminded him of the way Malfoy had behaved the other night—when he had been Draco. Was Draco not as lost as Harry had thought? The silence stretched and Malfoy's eyes flashed.
"Yes, all right?" he snapped, the defensive tone a sharp contrast to his earlier moment of shyness. "Everything, damn it."
But Harry had been ready for his anger, known exactly what his reaction would be. Hell, Harry knew Malfoy. The way he had watched the blond over the years, it would be impossible not to know him. He had been in Harry's life since the very beginning of his introduction into the wizarding world—he was the first wizard Harry had met who had met just Harry and not the Boy Who Lived. How had he never realized this attraction earlier? Thinking back on it, how had he never before noticed how much time he actually spent thinking about Malfoy? The answer was far more than enough to make him feel like an oblivious idiot.
And how had he never recognized the fact that, even when angry and flushed, Malfoy was beautiful? His lips were the same soft pink they had always been, his cheekbones still sharp, jawline and nose still perfectly straight, but it was like Harry was seeing him differently, like a filter had been removed from his vision. He no longer saw Malfoy, the skinny prat with slicked back hair from Harry's childhood, threatening peers and making snide remarks. That Malfoy was hopefully gone forever. Was Draco back? Should Harry start thinking of him as Draco instead? It was Draco that Harry wanted; he had missed him terribly the last few days.
As Harry pondered how best to respond, Malfoy's expression grew warier and his stance loosened somewhat—he appeared to be readying himself for defeat, as though rejection was the only outcome he thought possible for such a declaration.
But Harry was at a loss, and instead of the profound words he had been searching for, all he could respond with was a simple, "Good," before leaning forward to kiss the other boy.
Pale hands shot up to wrap around Harry's neck, holding him in place. Malfoy sighed as he finally relaxed, melting into Harry in a way that had the brunet panting and tugging desperately at Slytherin robes, sliding them from Malfoy's narrow shoulders, Harry's robes quickly joining them on the floor. School ties were yanked off to be tossed blindly aside before Harry was fumbling with the buttons of Malfoy's shirt, but the buttons proved to be viciously numerous and cruelly uncooperative and nearly just as evil as Malfoy had always seemed, and Harry made a whining sound in the back of his throat as his clumsy fingers failed to slip them free of the cloth. Chuckling softly, Malfoy swatted his hands away and swiftly undid his own remaining buttons before grabbing Harry's shirt near the collar and tearing sharply, sending buttons popping from their threads to bounce and scatter across the room.
"Hey!" Harry yelped, startled at the sudden cool air on his chest. Why did Malfoy have to ruin his shirt after his own had been successfully removed? But even at his meager protest, he felt a flash of heat at Malfoy's impatience and obvious desire.
"Wizards, Harry," he murmured, sliding his palms along the smooth planes of Harry's chest. "Fuck the fucking buttons."
"Right. Magic," Harry agreed absently, already forgetting about the ruined shirt lying crumpled on the floor at their feet. His breath hitched as Malfoy backed him against the wall, his hands never pausing in their exploration as they roamed over the bare skin of Harry's chest and back, ghosting over his ribs and abdomen. They slid down to tease lightly along the skin above Harry's waistband.
"Yes," he said automatically, lost in a haze, unsure of just what exactly he was agreeing to. All he knew was that he needed Malfoy's hands on him, he needed the pale skin against his own, he needed to hear the tiny whimpers that Malfoy made as Harry kissed him deeply and raked his fingers through the other boy's blond hair.
Malfoy seemed to understand and was eager to comply. His mouth left Harry's to trail down his throat and chest, licking a burning path down his abdomen until Malfoy was on his knees, mouth hot against the skin of Harry's hip, nimble fingers slipping open the fastenings on Harry's trousers. Without warning, Harry felt his remaining clothing tugged down to his ankles before Draco's mouth was suddenly on him.
With a moan Harry bucked his hips wildly, lost in the sensation of the wet warmth enveloping his straining cock, swallowing him down and encasing him in velvety heat. It felt brilliant; Draco was brilliant. Everything about him was brilliant and beautiful and amazing and how had Harry lived eighteen years without him? How had he ever thought Malfoy to have an Evil Dot? He was most definitely not evil, unless his dastardly scheme was to shatter Harry into a thousand trembling pieces with the sheer force of his own pleasure, in which case it was the most delicious form of evil that Harry had ever encountered. He could be okay with that kind of evil existing in the world—in fact, he encouraged it.
Several moments of intense heat later, he could feel himself cracking into those thousand pieces as pale fingers gripped his hips tighter. Harry stuttered out a warning, one that Malfoy ignored, stroking the skin of Harry's hip in encouragement and at the approval, Harry's back arched against the wall as he cried out and came hard. He could feel Draco swallowing around him and moaned at the sensation.
Soft kisses were pressed against the insides of his trembling thighs before Draco stood, eyeing Harry cautiously as though expecting him to come to his senses at any moment and run. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry tugged the blond in close for a kiss, noting with bemused arousal that he could taste himself on Malfoy's tongue. There was a distinct hardness pressing into his hip, reminding him that Draco still hadn't come, and he wondered what it would be like to return the favor. If anyone would have asked Harry several days ago, the thought of putting another boy's cock in his mouth would have been, maybe not repulsive, but not something Harry had ever thought about or would ever consider. But now…the thought made him curiously flushed.
Gripping two pale shoulders tightly, Harry turned the two of them until their positions were reversed, with Malfoy pressed into the wall and Harry on his knees before him, tugging the teen's trousers and pants down his pale, hairless thighs. Reaching out to wrap a hand around the base of Malfoy's cock, Harry eyed it with interest for a moment. Two trembling hands slid into his thick hair to settle gently on his scalp, caressing it softly. Harry's eyes slid closed for several seconds, enjoying the sensation, before leaning forward to press a brief kiss to Draco's pale hipbone. He sucked on the spot for a minute, grazing over it with teeth and tongue before dragging his lips through the crisp, blond curls surrounding the other boy's erection before finally wrapping his mouth around the cock still clutched in one hand.
There was a sharp intake of breath from above him as Harry swirled his tongue around the tip before slowly attempting to swallow as much of the shaft as he could. He was forced to concede defeat to his gag reflex after not too long, however, and pulled back, not wanting to embarrass himself by choking. Sucking back to the tip, he repeated the action, bobbing his head in what he hoped was a satisfactory pace.
Above him, Malfoy was moaning and whimpering as his fingers tightened in Harry's hair. He could tell that Draco was close by the breaths becoming stuttered and broken, Malfoy groaning out a warning amidst a stream of profanities. Remembering the way Malfoy had refused to move his mouth when sucking Harry off, he did the same, pulling his lips back to the tip just as Draco came. It was an interesting taste—bitter and familiar, like his own he had tasted on Malfoy's tongue, but also different, something more unique to the blond, maybe. Or maybe Harry was just sentimental after such excellent orgasms.
Standing slowly, he winced at the throb in his knees, joints creaking as he straightened up to kiss the other boy gently before resting his forehead against Malfoy's.
"That was definitely not evil," Harry chuckled. His Evil Dot Theory seemed utterly ridiculous now and he silently laughed at himself for ever thinking it could be true.
Malfoy looked for a moment as if he would like to say something but thought better of it, a sly look crossing his face instead. "I really don't mind you thinking of me as evil, Harry," he murmured, pressing barely-there kisses across Harry's cheeks and jaw. "In fact," he pulled back slightly with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, "who's to say I'm not?"
Snorting, Harry shook his head. "You're not evil, Draco. I was wrong."
"You caught me breaking into locked offices after hours, Potter," he argued softly, eyes glittering with amusement, "brewing dangerous potions. It could have been anything. I could very well be scheming as we speak."
"That potion was hardly dangerous, all it did was make you sweet and adorable," Harry grinned, smile widening at the affronted expression that crossed Malfoy's face at the words.
"Sweet and adorable?" he scoffed. "Hardly. As if I am capable of being either sweet or adorable. More like inebriated and idiotic."
"Oh, I dunno, Malfoy," Harry disagreed cheerfully. "I seem to recall some very sweet things being said about me and my eyes. Like wild ivy, I believe I was told."
Flushing bright pink, Malfoy glanced away before responding, "Yes, well, as I've said, I was not in my right state of mind." Fidgeting, he shifted his weight between feet. "I can hardly be blamed for any foolishness uttered."
Despite how adorable Harry was finding a flustered Draco to be, he decided to take pity on the other boy. "I thought it was very sweet," he promised, capturing Malfoy's pouting mouth in a gentle kiss.
Malfoy huffed but responded, and as the kiss deepened and Harry felt the rest of his body start to respond, he silently laughed at himself once more for his entire Evil Dot Theory.
oOo
A/N: On to the epilogue we go!