It's three in the morning in the eighth year dormitory, and most everyone is up in bed. Except for Parkinson, Malfoy, and Harry. The last of which is lazing on the couch as though he too were asleep. In fact, just moments ago he was, before being awoken by the Slytherins clumping down the stairs, gossiping and generally being a nuisance. As chairs were scraped back across the floor and they sat down, their voices drifted across the room to where he was, by the fireplace, it became apparent that they were talking about him.
"So, Potter," Parkinson paused, and there was the telltale noise of a bottle (likely firewhiskey) being set back onto a table after a swig. "Drake, would you snog him for, like, a thousand galleons?"
Harry's face flushed a scarlet red. It was well known amongst the eighth years that he was bi, after he'd allowed himself to be tugged into an embrace by an attractive fanboy on an outing to Hogsmeade. It had been the favorite gossip in the Prophet, but eventually it had died down with no new suitors to fuel it. He and Ginny had broken up ages ago, over the summer.
"Pansy, honey, I'd pay that much to kiss him. More, even. He's attractive as hell, I've been in love with him since third year, and I'm as gay as… what's something really gay?"
"For Merlin's sake Draco, I heard you say 'yas queen' the other day, I know you're gay. You don't exactly hide it from anyone."
Wait. Elitist, snubbing, everything-ist, pure-blooded, death eater, evil Draco Malfoy was gay? Harry was confounded. Was he really just that non-observant? Did Hermione know? Draco fucking Malfoy wanted to kiss him. He said he loved him. Did he want to kiss Malfoy? Harry didn't know. He supposed he was an attractive bloke, now that he thought about it. All sharp angles and bones and pointy and stuff. That was kinda hot, but it just made Harry want to shove a chocolate frog down his throat so he wasn't so scrawny. He had really nice hair, but, like, waayyyy too much gel. If Harry tried to run his hand through Malfoy's hair, it would be all sticky and gross. He had pretty grey eyes, but they were alway so narrowed and guarded.
Harry's thoughts stopped as Draco replied.
"Fair enough. If only we could do something about that hair of his. It's insane. I mean it's cute, don't get me wrong, but wow. I wonder how he'd look without glasses."
"Oooh, good idea! Should we steal his glasses and see? He could always try a temporary eyesight charm," Pansy mused. "I bet Granger would do it for him."
The two voices trailed off into what Harry could only assume was a comfortable silence. His mind raced. Maybe there was something more to all the years he spent stalking after Malfoy. He supposed there were definite pros to kissing Malfoy. Should he just do it? Play it off like he just wanted the galleons? Maybe. It may not be smart, it was impulsive, and not thought through, but he was a Gryffindor. He wasn't known for his great decision making.
And then his glasses were summoned. By Parkinson. They flew off of his face and across the room. There was a moment of stunned silence at the fact that Harry must have been in the room the whole time. Harry cringed and pretended to be asleep as chairs were scraped back and he heard footsteps coming towards his couch.
"Shit, Pansy, do you think he's actually asleep?" Malfoy's voice sounded panicked. And loud.
Harry opened his eyes slowly to see the two Slytherins hovering over him, both with flushed cheeks from the alcohol they'd obviously been consuming.
"Uh, 'ello," Harry croaked out, his voice soft from six hours of disuse. He sat up, and Draco- no, Malfoy, met his gaze, embarrassed. Harry cast a tempus. Three thirty in the morning. Parkinson snickered before backing out of the room and running up the stairs to her dorm.
"Potter," Malfoy breathed, before regaining his grip on himself. His eyes became cold. It would be kind of disconcerting, had Harry been able to see. "Exactly how much of that did you hear?"
Harry refused to blush. He absolutely wouldn't let his face go red. No way in hell. He would just evade the question and continue as if nothing had ever happened. But part of him wanted to kiss Malfoy, just so he could see what it would be like. He skeptically answered the question.
Malfoy flushed, and spun to retreat out of the room, obviously flustered. Harry clambered off of the couch to go after him, falling in his haste. He managed to catch up.
"Mal- Draco. Wait, please." Harry reached out and grabbed Draco, whose arm froze under his touch. The Slytherin turned around, putting on a brave face. He looked at Harry expectantly.
"Well it's just that you said you would pay a thousand galleons to kiss me and I would kiss you for a thousand galleons because, well, you're quite dashing and um. Were you serious?"
Draco smiled, rolling his eyes before tugging Harry into a soft kiss, and Harry couldn't help but notice that he tasted like firewhiskey. Harry was wrong before. This was a kiss better than firewhiskey. And he loved it. He broke it, though, because he had to say something important.
"I think I like you," Harry whispered, and was tugged in again. Bliss.