Their first kiss was violent.
Returning to Hogwarts to finish his education after the war was supposed to be simple. Harry had held onto some vain hope that now, with the threat of Voldemort banished forever, school would be an easy affair. He didn’t count on the difficult course load, the struggle to adjust to a “regular” schedule again, nor the air of anguish that fell over the 8th year class due to so many lost lives. He certainly didn’t count on Malfoy continuing to be a spoiled, pompous brat despite all that everyone had been through.
Malfoy generally kept to himself, often sitting alone, face tired and eyes haunted. Yet, whenever he found himself near Harry, the familiar taunts and venom would spew from his arrogant mouth. It was as if Malfoy just couldn’t help himself, as if the pent up anger and frustration needed an outlet and Harry was the most fitting target. Harry couldn’t deny he knew the feeling all too well.
That was how they found themselves arguing in a deserted hallway after classes; Harry shoved against a wall with Malfoy inches from his face, seething in anger. Harry gripped Malfoy’s shoulders, ready to push him off and maybe throw a well deserved punch when Malfoy’s lips crashed against his.
Harry did the only thing that seemed natural; he kissed back. Perhaps kiss wasn’t quite the right word. There was more teeth than lips and, when Malfoy’s mouth opened in a frustrated groan, both their tongues clashed aggressively, fighting for dominance.
They finally broke apart, panting and sweating, both their lips swollen and Harry could taste blood (though whether it was his or Malfoy’s he wasn’t quite sure).
“I hate you, Potter,” Draco sneered as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and haughtily walked away.
“The feeling is mutual,” Harry called after him as he adjusted the growing hardness in his trousers and made his way back to his dorm.
Soon their kisses became passionate.
They would meet in dark corners, after hours, any place they could find where they could be alone and uninterrupted. Malfoy would usually already be waiting, smug smirk painted on his pretty lips. Harry would waste no time in removing that expression, pressing his lips and body against Malfoy, causing the other boy to groan and gasp into his mouth.
Their couplings were often intense and rushed, fumbling as they both frantically ran their hands over each other. Malfoy’s eyes would always search Harry’s face, pupils blown wide, as Harry quickened his strokes. He would tilt his head back and moan quietly when he came, his white-blond hair glowing in the moonlight that crept through the tall windows of the castle.
Draco would then drop to his knees, eyes mischievous and full of desire as he pulled down Harry’s trousers.
“Merlin, I want you Potter.”
Harry knew the feeling.
After six months of secret meetings, their kisses became soft and tender.
It was a Saturday afternoon and everyone was mostly out of the castle and off enjoying a warm, spring day in Hogsmeade. Harry, however, was laying on his bed, in his empty dorm, head resting against Draco’s bare chest. Draco’s fingers ran through Harry’s untidy hair, his other hand resting on Harry’s hip, thumb tracing patterns into his skin.
“That was…” Harry began.
“Yes, that was, indeed…” Draco muttered into Harry’s hair.
Harry sighed happily in the warm afterglow and lifted his head off Draco to look up into those piercing eyes.
Draco smiled back warmly, meeting his gaze, before he captured Harry’s eager mouth into a kiss.
“I love you, Harry,” Draco whispered against his lips.
“The feeling is mutual,” Harry replied contentedly.