Draco paces outside of the Great Hall, wishing for the first time ever he had been sorted into Gryffindor, if only to access just a bit of their famous bravery. Cunning and wit are rather useful when you’re cornering The Boy who Lived and offering him sexual favours but this—this is something completely different.
It shouldn’t be—wasn’t supposed to be—and yet a clever way to repay Potter somehow morphed into a fun, sexually satisfying competition. Before Draco was even aware of it himself, he was caught; trapped in Potter’s web, drawn to that eager tongue, addicted to those soft lips, utterly owned by those penetrative and ridiculously sincere eyes.
Draco’s lips still tingle from that all-consuming kiss yesterday. His fingers trace the outline of his mouth, recalling the hot, wet slide of Potter’s lips against his own. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he expected when he followed Potter to the Great Lake, except his intention to floor Potter with a superb kiss. He didn’t anticipate the way Potter would tremble against him, the way his heart would expand from the sheer passion of it all, the look of wonder on Potter’s face when they finally pulled apart. How could Draco have known Potter, with his damn bravery and sincerity, would ask the unspoken questions that burned between them? How could he predict his own heart would clench painfully with want when Potter offered a potential for more?
A fifth-year Ravenclaw, with her head in a book, clumsily walks into Draco—offering only a distracted wave for an apology—on her way to the Great Hall, effectively breaking Draco from his thoughts.
Draco is a Malfoy; strong and confident and he won’t hide any longer. Not from the sneers and dirty looks from students, nor the snide comments made by untarnished Pureblood families, and certainly not from himself. Draco takes a deep breath and enters the Great Hall, eyes quickly spotting Potter at the Gryffindor table. He’s surrounded by his friends but there is a small space open to his left and Draco walks over with his head held high before sliding onto the bench.
“Hello, Malfoy,” Granger greets calmly over a book, her eyes dancing with amusement.
Damn that witch, always far too clever for her own good. Weasley, however, just sputters on his pumpkin juice, resulting in an enthusiastic Finnigan clapping him on the back. Potter turns towards Draco in shock, eyes wide with confusion and the tiniest glimmer of hope.
“Hi.” Potter’s mouth spreads into a small smile, a faint blush staining his cheeks.
“Good morning,” Draco responds politely, stretching his legs out and trying not to grin as he feels Potter return the pressure along his thigh.
A plate of food pops up in front of Draco; steaming eggs, crispy bacon and toast dripping with butter. Draco pushes the food around with his fork, heart in his throat as he feels everyone’s eyes on him. His appetite abandons him, as does his courage, and he considers making a quick escape when he feels Potter’s hand move over his knee underneath the table. Draco exhales a shaky breath and slides his hand under the table to join Potter, grasping his hand and intertwining their fingers. Potter’s smile widens and he squeezes Draco’s hand back, a fluttering sensation filling Draco’s stomach at the gesture.
“Oi, Malfoy.” Weasley, mostly recovered, eyes Draco’s plate with great interest.“You gonna eat any of that?”
“It’s all yours,” Draco offers, wrinkling his nose in mild disgust as Weasley immediately shovels the food into his mouth.
Draco returns his attention to Potter; to the warmth of his hand, the pink in his cheeks, the full lips that curve into a broad smile.
“Thank you,” Draco says softly to Potter.
“For what?” Finnigan chimes in nosily, looking mildly abashed when Granger elbows him in the side.
“For everything,” Draco responds, eyes never leaving Potter. “Absolutely everything.”