author's note: Characters aren't mine! Chapter includes gay.

Harry

It took a long while before everyone had let that horrific Potions lesson go. Girls had been begging Harry for days to just tell them who'd been his fantasy – 'you can always be honest with me, Harry', 'you can trust me, Harry,' 'for all you know your fantasies could be the same as mine' – and guys had started laughing whenever Harry'd flush with embarrassment remembering that his virgin status was common knowledge nowadays.

And after a week it seemed as if everything slowly returned to normal. The harassment lessened when the girls noticed he wasn't interested. The laughter died down.

But there was one person who just couldn't let that class go, repeating everything that happened in a loop over and over in his head.

And no matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't, wouldn't, let it go.

"'morning," Ron said a week after the incident, waving his toast at Harry when he stepped into the Great Hall. Hermione was sitting next to him, reading the Daily Prophet with her usual scowl, but she smiled warmly when Harry sat across from them.

"Hi, Harry. Everything all right?"

He shrugged, grabbing some toast, his eyes scooting over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was already at his table, looking bored from listening to his best friend talking cheerfully.

"He's obsessing again," Ron said simply, grinning when Harry glared at him. "Don't give me that look, you know I'm right." He turned to Hermione, pointing his finger at Harry accusingly. "He spend almost an hour pining about the fact the ferret had tried to help him a week ago."

Hermione's eyebrows shot upwards, and she lowered her paper slowly. "He helped you? The way I figured it, judging by the story you and Ron told me a week ago, he was the one who'd ended up getting you to blab your most intimate secrets to the whole class? He's the reason why people have been bothering you for a whole week!"

"Yes," Harry admitted reluctantly, breaking a toast in tiny little pieces, "but, without him, they'd be blabbing about my death, instead of my virgin status. And embarrassing as it is, I'd rather be a victim of the latter."

Hermione had paled at the casual mention of his death, but she brushed it off quickly. "Kind enough as that is, it doesn't justify the other things he's embarrassed you about all these years. And quit playing with your food, Harry, you're not a child."

"And you're not his mom," Ron pointed out, grinning, which earned him a friendly shove from his girlfriend.

Just when Harry wanted to take a sip of his Pumpkin Juice, Seamus jumped in next to him, beaming from ear to ear.

"'Morning!" He said, grabbing Harry's juice, and he chucked it backwards. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

"It's a Monday," Ron reminded him carefully, staring at Seamus who had started devouring Harry's breakfast right in front of the baffled boy. "Are you on any meds?"

If possible, Seamus' smile turned even wider. "Didn't you see the pamphlet hanging in the common room this morning?" He asked instead of answering, leaning in closer to the trio, and they all leaned in as an instinct. He continued, his voice almost a whisper; "The Slytherins are holding a party next Friday. At their common room! They even gave away their password!"

If Harry had been holding anything, he'd dropped it.

If he'd been drinking or eating something, he would've choked.

"What?" Harry spluttered, his eyes immediately searching the Slytherin table for his blonde nemesis. "A party? For all houses? Who arranged it? Who's idea is it? Are we going? What kind of party is it? Do the professors know? Are –"

"Merlin, Harry," Seamus laughed, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder to push him down on the bench. (He'd unconsciously lifted, as if he'd wanted to run somewhere. Totally not towards Draco Malfoy to demand an explanation for this nonsense, absolutely not, what are you talking about?) "You're talking faster than Hermione does in class – which is saying something."

"Hey! I'm right here!"

Seamus ignored her. "As for your questions; I have no idea what kind of party it is. Dean said that there are rumors of alcohol being involved – and knowing the quality of Slytherins, there probably is. Yes, it's a party for all houses. Blaise Zabini, the one who signed the pamphlet, said it was a way of getting more tolerance for the other houses, a sort of start for us all working together."

"Working together?" Ron repeated slowly, his voice dark. "With the Slytherins? Fat chance."

Seamus sighed, and he pushed his – Harry's, actually, but whatever – plate away. "Maybe they'd surprise you, you know. I guess it's the whole point of this." He turned to Harry again. "As for your other question, whether we're going or not... listen. You're Harry Potter."

Harry blinked, ignoring Ron's bellowing laughter in the background. "Um, yes, I am aware."

"The Gryffindors..." Seamus continued, "Well, they look up to you. To Ron, Hermione, Neville – us, too. So if we go, they all go. That may even set off the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to do the same."

"And why, my dear Seamus," Ron said, waving his toast around, "would we ever want to be in the Slytherin' dungeons? Voluntarily? Without any good moral reason?"

Harry's eyes traveled, for the thousandth time that morning, back to the Slytherin table. Malfoy however looked up at the same time, and both the boys stilled, suddenly caught in 'the act.'

Whatever it was, whatever you wanted to call 'it', they both didn't seem to be able to move.

It wasn't until Blaise Zabini nudged Malfoy that the connection broke, and Harry quickly looked away before it'd happen again.

Ron and Hermione were both staring at him, Ron in total confusion and Hermione with a big grin. Seamus, who hadn't noticed anything, kept on talking to Ron agitatedly.

"- because it's good, Ron, because Slytherins are people, too, and why wouldn't we want to see what they have planned for us?"

Harry cleared his throat, his eyes scooting over the Slytherin table one more time, a blush he quite possibly couldn't even being to explain flowering on his cheeks.

Why ever not, indeed?

Harry

It was Friday evening, six o'clock, and Harry Potter was panicking.

"I didn't have this many clothes yesterday," he groaned to Ron, who was just lying on his bed lazily, his feet dangling in the air.

Every bit of clothing Harry possessed was either laying on the ground – after being thrown there in an anger fit – or hanging loose in his closet, most T-shirts not even folded, the jeans just folded together in a big pile of unclean clothes.

"Yes, you did." Ron retorted, throwing a tiny red ball up and down. "Though I don't get why you're bothering to redress at all."

"I can't just wear my school clothes." Harry threw away the twentieth jumper that had suddenly appeared in his closet, and he groaned again. Everything in his closet was either for school – and no matter what Ron said, he would not wear his uniform to a party – or too big for him. He held up a baby-blue T-shirt, one he'd worn thousands of times, and he threw it away again after reevaluation that 'well, it kind of doesn't fall from my shoulders like the others do' wasn't good enough.

Ron sighed. "You're acting like a girl trying to impress a boy, mate."

"Shut up." Harry snapped back, and threw one pair of his second-hand jeans at him as an emphasis. He hoped it hurt. (Okay, not really, but maybe just a little bit.)

"Hey!" Ron quickly got up, his mouth open to retort something, until he stilled, staring at the pants in his hands. "These are humongous, dude. Why do you even have these? You've never been larger than size 28."

"They're Dudley's." Harry said, his tone light, and he turned to the closet again. Time to change the subject. "The only thing I have that's even close to 'fancy' is the... well, thing I wore to the Yule Ball in Fourth year."

"No offense, but that thing was hideous." Ron dropped the pants, and joined Harry at the entrance of his closet. Instantly, he started groaning, too, and picked up one of Harry's T-shirts. "Why do you have so many blue clothes? It doesn't even match your eyes."

"That is the gayest thing that has ever been said in this room, and I'm the only gay one here."

Harry and Ron quickly turned around, to see Seamus staring at them both with his eyebrows raised.

The other (gay, apparently) boy was wearing a new and ironed black blouse with equally black trousers, with his Gryffindor tie perfectly made around his neck. His hair was gelled backwards, and he even seemed to have washed his face and brushed his teeth.

This was so unusual for the boy, that Harry had trouble focusing on the other shocking thing he'd said. Ron, however, had no such trouble.

"Wait a minute," Ron said, slowly, "you're gay? Since when?"

"Since always, actually," Seamus laughed, "but don't change the subject. Why were you talking about Harry's eyes?"

Harry cleared his throat, trying to ignore the blush creeping up his cheeks. "I need a good outfit for tonight, and not just my outfit for school, like Ron suggested. But I don't have any good clothes for tonight. Where did you buy those?"

"I ordered them as soon as I knew about the party. Why didn't you?"

Ron groaned again, his hands in his hair this time. "Why is every guy suddenly trying to dress nice? It's just a party!"

"Yes." Seamus rolled his eyes, and jumped on his bed, his books flying off and bouncing on the already messy floor. "It's just a party, you're right. A party with only every student in this school. Including all the – well, for you two, girls. Single girls. Surrounded by booze. It's the first interhouse party in Hogwarts history, and it's located in the Slytherin dungeons. How on earth, Ron, are you the only one who doesn't want to dress to impress?"

It stayed quiet for several seconds.

Then – "Merlin, I need to change!"

Draco

The party was about to start, and Draco Malfoy knew he looked absolutely ravishing.

Yes, of course, he knew as no other that vanity was supposedly a bad trait to have. You were supposed to be modest, to act surprised whenever someone called you handsome, and you were to just smile and say 'thank you'.

But he couldn't help but smirk and say 'yes, I know', when Blaise's mouth had dropped open the moment Draco stepped from his room.

Draco turned away from his still shocked best friend to look at the black and polished marble decorating the common room's wall – which was so clean, it could basically be used as a mirror. He was wearing tight black leather trousers, ones that his mother at first had refused to buy him for it was, as they were, according to her, 'indecent', but at last she had succumbed and bought them anyway. Draco was infinitely grateful for it, for without them, his outfit simply wouldn't have been perfect. His blouse was so white it was almost glowing, and the top three buttons were opened to show off his marble skin. His hair was hanging loose around his face, differently from its usual slickness, and he hadn't brushed it, either. He'd refused to wear his Slytherin tie – which had been an order from Blaise, unfortunately – so he'd instead draped his Slytherin tie across his neck loosely.

Draco turned around again, and his smirk still hadn't disappeared. "Do please close your mouth, Blaise, you're not a fish."

Blaise glared at him (but did close his mouth.) "So, you're ready, then?"

Draco just gestured to himself, and raised an eyebrow.

"Of course," Blaise sighed, rolling his eyes, "I shouldn't even have asked."

Blaise himself, of course, was just as on point as Draco was. They both knew how important it was to impress all the other houses – especially since the war, with all the (maybe rightful) prejudiced views against the Slytherin house – and so they couldn't afford to look anything less than perfect.

Blaise was wearing black trousers, black polished shoes, a black blouse and his Slytherin tie. (He'd said he'd matched his outfit with someone, probably for some dumb noble reason, but Merlin only knew who, since Blaise refused to tell him.)

"Draco!" A fourth year came running towards him, his hands full of square un-moving pictures made of out of carton.

Muggle.

Draco shivered, before sighing and turning to the small boy. He was at least two feet shorter than he was. "Yes?"

"We're not sure what kind of music we're supposed to be playing." The boy looked absolutely frightened, and Draco couldn't help but enjoy it. (Just a little! It wasn't as if he liked tormenting children... Fine, maybe a bit.) "We have songs like 'you're still the one', by a, a man... no, woman, called Shania Twain... And we have one from a muggle named Will Smith –"

"Listen." Draco said, holding up one hand. The other boy immediately fell silent. "I honestly don't care, as long as it's classy, has a beat, and sounds distinctively like music. So take your weird looking black round things with you, and be gone."

The boy nodded vigorously, before he scattered, his black robe flying behind him.

Blaise sighed. "You know he didn't do anything wrong, right?"

"And you know I'm not the Slytherin prince without a reason, right?"

His dark-skinned friend chuckled. "Fine, fine. You enjoy your little moments of power. Just know that those 'black round things', as you called them, have an actual name; records."

"Records?" Draco turned to look at him. "Records of who winning what?"

Blaise just started laughing.

Loudly.

And Draco had trouble resisting the urge to hiss at him. "Stop laughing! We're supposed to take care of the incoming guests, Blaise, not giggle like schoolgirls –"

"Oh, I know, I know, I'm sorry." Blaise didn't stop laughing, though, and he waved his arm around helplessly. "It's just that you're so... adorably oblivious to muggle stuff."

I'm not going to blush. I am not. "Blaise," Draco started, slowly, his voice even and dead-serious. "I'm the Malfoy heir, Slytherin prince," at this point, he purposely ignored Blaise rolling his eyes at him, "former Death-Eater and ex-convict. How am I, according to you, adorable?"

"The big grey puppy-eyes certainly help in that aspect."

Something in Draco's chest fluttered helplessly when he turned around and saw a green-eyed, lightning-scarred, bespectacled boy grinning up at him.

Yes, up.

Up, and up, and up.

It was as if Draco had never realized their differences in height.

(Why did that difference make him so happy?)

Instead, Draco sneered at him, and chided; "Been staring at my eyes a long time, have you, Potter? Never knew you for a queer one." Without waiting for the other boy to retort something, he glanced at the clock and added, almost angrily; "You're too early."

Potter shrugged, still smiling too big. His Gryffindor friends were all standing beside him, staring at the room in either disgust or curiosity – though the latter was more common among them, especially for the Granger girl – but Potter's focus was all on Draco.

And Draco had no idea how to feel about that.

"We were curious," Potter said, "wanted to see the Slytherin dungeon before it got packed."

Ron, who was standing next to him snorted. (Was the Weasel seriously wearing a white blouse? With a red bowtie? How disastrous.)

Potter nudged his friend, and his eyes traveled back to Draco. "So, what were your..." suddenly, his jaw slacked, and breath stuck in his throat as if he'd choked on something. Potter's gaze was stuck just below Draco's chest – and if that didn't make Draco feel flushed already, it was the gorgeous blush playing on Potter's cheeks.

Wait a second.. gorgeous?

Draco resisted the urge to turn, flee, and jump into the lake. (And hopefully drown in the process.) This was the millionth time – that day – that he'd thought about the Savior in an unsavory way, and it really ought to stop before things happened. Things that his family would gladly kill him for.

But instead of doing anything that might stop the other boy from staring at his trousers, he kept silent. Surely dragging out Potter's misery, he'd later admit to Blaise, but in reality he tried to drown in as much as Potter's awe as he could. It wasn't exactly common, a look without either hatred of disgust from the other boy, and he had to savor every exception he got.

"Cat got your tongue?" Blaise suddenly said, smirking, and Potter jumped up, his face flushed red.

"No – no, it's just... Malfoy." Potter ignored his red-headed friend groaning loudly in annoyance. "You're wearing leather."

"Yes, I am aware."

"But... you... leather..."

Granger finally (pitifully) intervened, locked her arm around Potter's, and smiled broadly at Draco and Blaise. "Thank you both, for inviting us to your house. And Harry," she turned to her best friend, supposedly scolding – though Draco could see the smirk tugging at her lips – "it's time to go and settle down."

After the Gryffindors had all gone and searched for a spot near the fireplace to sit, Blaise turned to Draco with a mischievous glance in his eyes, and a million questions on his lips.

Draco just sighed, and said, "Don't."

Blaise grinned even wider. "I wasn't even saying anything."

"You wanted to."

"Well, I can't exactly blame myself for being curious about the definite sex look Potter was giving you just now –"

"Shut. Up."

Draco was absolutely positive that Blaise's laughter was loud enough to be heard throughout the entire school. (And his blush clear enough to be seen from outer space.)

Harry

No matter how many times Hermione insisted and assured him in the next three hours, he had not been flirting with Malfoy. (He really hadn't. He'd just been surprised, that's all, because how often did you get to see someone like Draco Malfoy wear leather?)

To prove Hermione wrong - and maybe himself - he'd purposely avoided even looking at the blonde boy.

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were sitting around the black leather couches at the fireplace, lazily watching the Slytherins trying to get everyone to dance on the muggle music. (Though why the Slytherins had chosen to play that kind of music, was a mystery to Harry.) Even Zabini was dancing, twirling Lisa Turpin around, grinning like a maniac.

"We should dance," Hermione huffed, her feet tapping on the ground in sync with the rhythm of the music. "It's a party. We should just..."

"Go play footsie with the Slytherins on the dance floor?" Ron suggested, and he snorted. His fifth butterbeer glass was nearly empty, and he chugged the last bit down in one go. "I don't think so."

She scowled at him. "This is the precise reason why they organized this party to begin with, Ronald! To get along! And your attitude is, honestly, worse than how any of the Slytherins have been behaving tonight. They have been kind hosts, and no bad comments, nor slurs, have been made yet. Even Harry and Draco seem to have made a truce!"

Harry jumped up, suddenly jerked awake from his sleepy trance. "Um, what?"

Ron groaned loudly, his head falling down on the couch in defeat. "One mention of 'Draco', and he's all ears. Unbelievable."

"Oh, sod off, will you -"

"Evening." Blaise Zabini jumped on the couch next to Harry's, grinning at them all. Terry Boot quickly scooted to make way for Malfoy – who had followed his best friend. (Not that Harry was watching him. Honestly.)

Both the Slytherins were breathing heavily, as if they'd danced for hours - which they had - but they both still looked perfect, as if their hair and outfit had been done by magic. (They probably had, now that Harry thought about it.)

"Evening," Ron said carefully, straightening his back immediately.

"The party's turned out nicely, didn't it?" Zabini asked, looking around at the room proudly.

And really, he'd ought to be proud.

As Hermione had said earlier, everyone was decent. Kind. Normal. No wands had been drawn - though it had been a close call when Zacharias Smith had accidentally dropped his Firewhiskey on Ginny's dress. (She'd just punched him, instead, which had earned her a big round of applause from Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike.) The lights were slowly changing from green to blue to yellow to red - it had only taken Harry about 1,5 hours and some hints from Hermione to figure out they were the colors of all the different houses - which illuminated the black marble walls. The Slytherin common room, which had scared and impressed him so much almost six years ago, looked absolutely stunning.

"I love it," Hermione said, leaning in closer to Zabini. "I don't know how you've done it, but everyone is behaving nicely to one another..."

Zabini sighed heavily. "Sure. No fighting yet. Still, every house sticks together, there's no mingling. I'd hoped the dancing would help, but alas, only the Slytherins dared to. You Gryffindors are just sitting around, drinking alcohol-free booze, the Ravenclaws are gossiping and the Hufflepuffs don't even dare sit anywhere. It's a nice party, but it's still not the party I wanted."

"Because you'd skin every single Slytherin if they didn't," Malfoy said, his voice a drawl, but he was smirking at his friend.

"True enough," Zabini admitted, and he laughed.

Ron and Hermione were just staring at the two boys, as if they were seeing them for the first time. (And in a way, they were.) Zabini and Malfoy were acting like, well.. teenagers. Normal teenagers joking around and laughing, not at all the rigid ice prince they'd seen for all those years. Maybe they were faking it to fool the Gryffindors, but something told Harry that Malfoy's smirk (and Zabini's laugh) had been genuine.

Harry tossed an empty butterbeer bottle from his left hand to his right, and he cleared his throat, purposely not looking at the Slytherin boys. "Maybe you need something to get the party started."

Malfoy gave a short laugh. "In case you haven't noticed, which in my guess you didn't, seeing as you haven't left your butt all night long, the party has already started. Two hours ago. Honestly, Potter, you really ought to have your eyes checked out if you plan on having any sort of career."

The urge to look up and see if Malfoy had indeed been smiling – he sounded that way, anyway – was almost too great to resist, but Harry kept his eyes on his bottle. He quickened his pace with the throwing. "That's not what I meant. I meant something like... a game."

"Oh!" Hermione clapped her hands suddenly, almost disrupting Harry's game. She quickly scooted away so he could continue throwing the bottle. "Oh, Harry, that's a wonderful idea! We could play Never Have I Ever, or Truth or Dare –"

Malfoy coughed. "Which are both muggle games, and made for small children, Granger."

Harry's bottle was moving so fast now, it was as if the bottle was flying rather than being thrown. (Harry himself had no idea how or why he was doing it, but it was in any case better than looking at Malfoy wearing leather.) "How many children do you know who play drinking games, Malfoy? I don't know much about your childhood, but –"

"Then don't assume anything," the blonde boy snapped, and Harry looked up for the first time.

The bottle slipped from his hands, flying to his right and smacking against the wall.

"Bugger," Harry cursed, turning around to see if he hit anyone. "Sorry!"

"It's okay," Seamus yelled back, rubbing his shoulder with a painful grimace. "Though why you're throwing bottles at me, no clue."

"Sorry," Harry repeated, softer this time, and he turned back.

This was the second time he'd lost focus after seeing Dra – Malfoy. Maybe he should look at the boy constantly instead, because ignoring him hadn't helped, clearly.

"Merlin, Potter," Malfoy lifted a perfect arched eyebrow, "You're even more clumsy than normal. Been drinking already?"

"Sod off, Malfoy, it was an accident."

"Don't start, you two," Hermione quickly intervened, and she turned to Zabini. "But? Shall we do it?"

"Which game do you suggest?" He asked. "We can't really expect everyone to be honest in Never Have I Ever, and Truth or Dare takes Veritaserum, which I don't have."

Harry's head snapped to Zabini's. "Veritaserum? You need a truth serum for this game?"

"To assure everyone's speaking the truth?" Zabini started grinning. "Of course."

"I have it," Malfoy equipped, and every head turned to look at him. His ashen-white cheeks suddenly darkened – was Malfoy actually blushing? Was he even capable of it? – and he quickly cleared his throat. "For experimental reasons, of course, I wasn't planning on using it."

Ron snorted. "Sure you weren't."

Malfoy glared at him. "Never you mind my reasons, just know that I have it in my possession. We can use it for that stupid muggle game if you'd all like, so Zabini can go to bed thinking he's made a difference with this party."

"Great. Thank you. Who's in?" Hermione asked, turning to look at everyone who was either sitting around the couches with them, or standing behind them.

"I'm in," Harry said when no one had answered, and he lifted his hand.

As soon as Harry had put up his hand, everyone lifted his or hers, too. Harry tried to think it wasn't because of him, but judging by the annoyed scowl Malfoy was wearing, it was.

"I'll get the Veritaserum, then," Malfoy said after an awkward silence. "Blaise, save my seat."

It took a while, but at last everyone had found a seat. Harry was squashed between Hermione and Seamus, with Ron and Dean at either end of the couch. On the couch across from him were the Eight-Year Slytherins (with Malfoy in the middle, who was purposely Not-Looking at him, just as much as he was Not-Looking at Malfoy), on the right were the Hufflepuffs and on his left were the Ravenclaws. Seventeen-year-old Seventh-Years (who were legally adults) were propped between the couches, or sitting at the far end of them, and the ones who weren't allowed to drink we're enjoying themselves on the now Slytherin-free dancefloor.

"Right," Zabini began, lifting a bottle of Firewhiskey and a small vial of Veritaserum. "This is how it works. I'm going to spike this with the truth serum, and everyone takes a sip. It'll probably –"

"Probably?" Parvati whispered to her neighbor worriedly.

"- work for an hour or so. Everyone will also get a glass of non-spiked whiskey," he nudged Malfoy, who lazily lifted another bottle, "to take a sip whenever the bottle lands on you. If you're the one asking someone Truth or Dare, and you give out a dare, you take a sip, too. Are the rules clear?"

Everyone nodded.

The two Slytherins took a sip first, filled their glasses, and passed the bottles.

When it was time for Harry to take a sip, he was more worried that he'd get infected by someone else rather than the potion Malfoy had made. And if that wasn't worrying, he didn't know what was.

"I'll start," Zabini said loudly when the bottles had arrived back at him again. He leaned forward, spun the bottle who was laying in the middle, and watched it slowly turn towards... Ron.

Zabini grinned. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," Ron said quickly, "absolutely dare."

Zabini slowly took a sip of his non-spiked Firewhiskey, waited until Ron did the same, before he said: "I dare you to give Seamus a lap dance."

Everyone started laughing, and even Seamus was clapping his hands enthusiastically.

"No way," Ron protested, his ears as red as his hair. "I am not giving Seamus a lap dance. I don't swing that way."

"My dear Weasel," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes, "no one even suggested you were. Though if you'd rather I transfigure him into, I don't know, a certain Bulgarian Quidditch player.."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron snapped, his eyes darting between his girlfriend and Malfoy. "Not a word."

Malfoy grinned.

It was a slow and teasing grin, a grin one would normally give to one of your best friends.

To see it on Malfoy's face, and to see it directed in Ron's direction?

Well, Harry was sure this evening would change things. And he had no idea how to feel about it yet.

Malfoy's hands were in the air, and he said with a drawling voice; "I have not said anything yet, Bilius."

Ron groaned. "I really do hate you."

"Oh, I know." Malfoy's grin turned even wider, and something twirled in Harry's stomach. "But you still have to give Seamus a lap dance."

"Fine!" Ron threw his hands in the air – and barely missed his girlfriend's face. "Fine, I'll bloody well give him a lap dance, you perverted little snakes!"

About two minutes and a whole lot of giggling – the girls – hollering – the Slytherins and Gryffindors – and gags – cue Hermione and Harry – later, Ron was back in his seat with a surely permanent blush coloring his features. Seamus was still grinning like an idiot, his hands in his hair as if he'd just had the nicest treat ever, and he made fake kissing motions with his lips.

"Thank you, Ron," Seamus said teasingly, which made Ron blush even more. "If I'd known you could dance like that, Hermione would've had some serious competition."

Hermione, blushing almost as much as Ron, quickly said: "Ron, it's your turn."

Ron was happy to oblige, and he spun the bottle.

It landed on Lisa Turpin, and before Ron could even say a word, she said: "Dare."

They both took a sip, and Ron said, grinning, "I dare you to kiss Terry Boot, without touching anything."

The game quickly escalated after that. Parvati had been dared to write a love letter to Slughorn, her sister was dared to deliver said letter to him wearing nothing but a robe and underwear, Zabini had been dared to confess his undying love for Daphne Greengrass – who'd had to slap him multiple times to keep him away – and Hermione had had to sing the Hogwarts School Song with a drunkenly built replica of the Sorting Hat balancing on her hair.

The more the night progressed, the more daring, and more gay, the game turned. Girls were dared to kiss other girls, boys were dared to admit their wanking fantasies.

But it wasn't until the bottle, who had been turned by Blaise Zabini, landed on Harry that everyone fell quiet in anticipation.

Because so far, Harry had not been asked yet. Ron had been dared twice, Hermione had been dared once and forced to say the truth twice now. Everyone has had their turn, even Malfoy – who was asked whether he'd ever crushed on a teacher before – but not Harry.

And judging by Zabini's grin, it was as if all his dreams had come true.

"Harry Potter!" Zabini called, "You already know the drill. Truth, or Dare?"

Harry sighed, and said, "Truth."

(The last thing he wanted to do was a gay dare, especially now, at the time his feelings were already all over the place. Especially with Ginny watching closely – her eyes had never left his spot the entire evening – and Dra – Malfoy, grinning at him constantly.)

"All right." Zabini cleared his throat, and asked: "You admitted during Potions the other day that you'd fantasized about sleeping with someone in your class. Who was the subject of said fantasies?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, his eyes quickly scooting toward the blonde boy sitting next to Zabini before returning. "I – Dare."

"What?"

Harry coughed, trying to keep his voice even. "I take Dare, instead. That's possible, right?"

Zabini blinked a couple times too many. "Yes," he said reluctantly, "but, why? Is it that embarrassing?"

I am not blushing. "Just give me a dare."

"Oh, my," Malfoy started laughing, pointing a finger at Harry accusingly. The Slytherin was positively drunk, but he wasn't slurring yet. "This is interesting. Even Hermione admitted she's thought Blaise over here," he clasped his best friend's shoulder, "wouldn't be too bad in bed. Everyone here has been embarrassed thoroughly tonight. So who could you possibly be fantasizing about that is so embarrassing?"

Harry grimaced. You really don't want to know. "Give. Me. The. Dare."

Zabini put up his hands quickly. "Right, right, no need to get testy. I'll give you a dare, but if you refuse to do it, you have to answer the question, all right?"

Harry nodded, thinking he'd rather shag the whole lot of them than admit who'd been on his mind lately.

"Well," Zabini started, taking a sip from his nearly-empty glass, "Then I dare you to kiss whoever you've fantasized about."

Harry opened his mouth... and closed it again. "Hey!" he protested finally, and he tried to ignore the whole group laughing around him. (Didn't work, but he still tried.) "That's not fair, I'm sure it's against the rules!"

Even Ginny was laughing at his expense. "There aren't any rules, other than that you have to go through with this dare."

"I – just..." Harry groaned. "Fine. Just know you're all going to hell for this. Including you, Ron," he added, almost punching his best friend laughing his ass off. "You're supposed to be supportive!"

Ron wiped his eyes, still grinning. "This is pay-back for that Potion class, mate. Enjoy snogging the girl of your dreams."

Something in Harry's stomach dropped, and all his insides turned ice-cold with disappointment and fear. "Yeah," he said softly, his eyes scooting away to look at the other side of the circle. "Thanks."

"Harry, wait," Hermione leaned in closer, and she whispered in his ear, her hand gripped around his arm, "just go kiss him. It's okay."

He jumped from her touch, as if burned. "Hermione.."

"I know." She tried to smile for him, but it looked as if it cost a lot of effort.

He needn't ask what she knew. (Even if he barely knew it, himself.)

He turned away from her, cleared his throat, and started to walk around the circle. "Just know," he said, ignoring all the girls looking at him in anticipation, "that it isn't anything special."

"Isn't it?" Zabini called, laughing, "I figured it'd be an honor to be the subject of the Golden Boy's sex dreams!"

"Fuck off, Blaise," Harry found himself saying, before he stopped right in front of him and his best friend. "You're already in deep trouble enough as it is."

The dark-skinned Slytherin suddenly cursed, realizing why Harry had stopped right in front of their couch. "Holy shit," he said, his eyes widening comically. "Holy shit," he repeated as Harry got down on his knees in front of Malfoy. "Holy –"

"Shut up, Blaise," Harry snapped, his eyes on the blonde boy before him. Malfoy's hands were shaking slightly, and he looked like he wanted to run for his damn life.

"Potter," Malfoy began, his voice soft. The only reason he could be heard was that no one in the room was breathing, let alone dared to make a sound that could interrupt them. "What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?"

Draco

Potter had been cursed.

Threatened.

Maybe his friends had been threatened.

Because there could not be another explanation as to why the Savior of the wizarding world was sitting on his knees, hands on either side of Draco's legs, and his green, green, green eyes focused only on Draco's lips.

Potter needed to leave.

Potter needed to go before Draco did something stupid.

Before Draco would lose all self-control and kiss the infuriating boy first.

Harry

Harry exhaled softly, watching Malfoy's eyelashes flutter against his eyelids.

(Why were Malfoy's eyelashes so white? He'd probably painted them that way just to spite him, Harry thought, his insides turning to jelly.)

Malfoy really needed to stop blushing, needed to stop shaking, needed to just stop being so infuriatingly and undoubtedly beautiful before Harry'd do something they'd all regret.

But, Harry thought, leaning forward, there really was no turning back now.

Draco

When Harry – because of course he was Harry, he had always been Harry, from his soft vanilla smelling hair to his worn-out and ugly trainers – leaned forward, his lips perched and his eyes closing slowly Draco was sure he'd died and gone to heaven.

Draco just had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, like when you're swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid but you're deeper than you think and there's nothing there.

That feeling was probably a side-effect of waiting for Harry Potter to finally, finally, finally move and kiss him.

So Draco leaned forward and kissed him instead.

Harry

Draco was soft.

Were all boys this soft?

Had his arch-nemesis always felt this way?

This soft, this excruciatingly perfect, hidden behind all the snarks, insults and smirks?

I really should have kissed him first.

Draco

He was the Slytherin Ice Prince, heir of the Malfoy fortune, ex-convict and sure Death Eater in everyone's eyes.

And he was absolutely, undoubtedly and completely in love with Harry Potter.

A/N: Three things. 1) check out my poll! 2) review if you liked it? pls? 3) Have a nice day.