Draco’s stomach dropped as the bottle stopped spinning.
No. It couldn’t be. There were thirty people in the room. At least. HOW could it have landed on him? And on the first spin?! It had to be more than a coincidence! Someone must have rigged the game! Especially as his partner was him too! This just couldn’t be happening. But as the crowd giggled, laughed, taunted, and whispered animatedly around them, the harsh reality became undeniable.
Draco swallowed. Icy cold flooding through his body as his stomach clenched, millions of horror scenes swirling through his mind as the excitement level in the room rose around him. No-one seemed to notice that the world had stopped turning, or that suddenly there was a frantic thumping in his ears. Even his counterpart, who was apparently under the impression that he didn’t have to pay attention to the game at all! As Draco watched, the idiot lazily slugged back gulps of his drink, blissfully unaware of the life changing event currently speeding towards them.
“Potter and Malfoy!” Dean Thomas crowed to Draco’s left, the sudden and disgraceful display of jubilance rattling his already frayed nerves so badly he almost threw up there and then. As he took in a deep, supposedly settling breath, comforting himself with the idea of throwing a Bat Bogey Hex at the abomination of a man, Potter finally blinked blearily at the group. Fucking twat.
“Huh?” he grunted, sounding as educated and coherent as a bloody mountain troll.
“You’re up for your Seven Minutes in Heaven, Harry! With Malfoy!” Finnegan cackled. “Can’t wait to see how this goes!”
“Remember, you’re meant to be kissing, not killing!” the Weasel chimed in.
I’ll kill you in a minute, Weasel, Draco thought to himself through the waves of dizziness. Why had he agreed to go to the party with Pansy? Nothing the bint ever suggested was a good idea!
“Oh har bloody har,” Potter took another swig of his Butterbeer. “What does that mean again?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Harry! Do you ever pay attention?” Granger huffed, her exasperated tone almost matching Draco’s feelings. How could the dolt not know?! How could he sit through party games without committing every rule of the game to memory? How did the new ways to embarrass yourself becoming a legal requirement not send with terror flooding through his veins? Didn’t the ignoramus have secrets for Merlin’s sake?! But of course, the saviour of the bloody world wouldn’t worry about that! Just like he didn’t seem to worry about anything nowadays, coasting through life on his fame from defeating You-Know Who.
Ever since the beginning of the year, Potter had been entirely insufferable, making his past years of self-assuredness and blatant disregard for the rules look almost pleasant to endure! Now, the pillock barely took notes in lessons, swanned around the castle as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and brooded quietly in what Draco presumed to be an attempt to master the ‘sultry sulky’ look Pansy was always rabbiting on about (which, judging by the number of sickening fan girls and boys that flocked to coo over him every time he so much as blinked, was working).
It was revolting. It was unfair. And it was downright annoying. Everyone knew Potter wasn’t ever going to have to lift a finger again, but he didn’t have to flaunt it in everyone’s faces! Not when some people were barely able to walk 100 metres without having hexes thrown at them, or when their parents were rotting in Azkaban, or moving to fucking France to escape hate crimes. Every time he saw that frown on the stupid Scarhead’s scarred head, the urge to slap the glasses right off his pathetic face surged through him. Though, right now, the longer the prick stared at their classmates, utterly ignorant, the longer Draco got to stay on this side of the cupboard door…
“You and Malfoy have been chosen to go into the cupboard over there, which will be locked from the outside for seven minutes. During that time, if you fail to snog, you will have to forfeit.” Alas, Granger was intent on educating him all too fast. Draco swallowed as cheers and whoops erupted from his classmates again, a chill running down his spine.
“You’re expecting me to kiss Malfoy for seven minutes?”
Potter’s voice was flat, disbelieving, and entirely unimpressed, like anything besides defeating a maniacal evil overlord wasn’t worth his precious time anymore. Still, for the briefest of moments, a glimmer of hope sparked in Draco’s stomach. Maybe Potter would refuse to play, recount their years of hatred, play the saviour card, force them to take the forfeit, and save Draco the humiliation and anxiety of suffering through the entire ordeal.
He held his breath, hope fluttering ridiculously in his stomach as he watched Potter’s every move, trying to keep his expression neutral. But as everyone nodded, wolf-whistled, and yelled their approval, and Potter merely sighed, downed the last of his drink and stood, that glimmer of hope drowned in a deluge of despair.
“Coming Malfoy?” How did the idiot sound so calm?! Bored even?! Why didn’t he care that he was forced to do horrifically embarrassing acts just because some vulgar idiots decided it would be fun?! How was this not giving him palpitations? Or at least sparking his stupid Gryffindor sense of adventure?! And why was he, Draco, wondering all of this whilst sitting there like a dumb flobberworm with everyone staring at him expectantly?!
“Just waiting for you to catch up, Potter,” he quipped, trying to stand up with as much poise and elegance as possible, though he felt like a flustered chicken about to be plucked. A few titters of laughter hit the air. But as The Boy Who Lived rolled his eyes and began sauntering towards the cupboard, completely at ease, leaving Draco no choice but to follow. He didn’t have time to fantasise about torturing them. He had a cupboard to sit in.
With every step towards it, instinct screamed vehement protests. His heart rate soared even higher, his pulse hammered harder, and horror scenes of every possible thing that could go wrong plagued his mind. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t spend seven minutes in a dark, tight, enclosed space, kissing with Potter. He just couldn’t! It was too risky, too close to too many secrets that would entirely decimate his entire future more than the Ministry already had! Yet here he was, walking into his fate, apparently willingly! All the work he’d done to hide the truth, pass through life without drawing attention to himself, just to have a semi-normal existence, all of it would be made obsolete in seconds! Who knew what would happen once the truth was out?! Just the thought of it made his stomach churn!
He had to say something. Stop walking. Refuse. Feign an excuse. But if he did, there would be questions, jokes, taunts, and he couldn’t risk anyone figuring it out - even if he thought that no one but Granger realistically had the brain power to do it. So when, barely a second later, Potter stepped into the cupboard, Draco didn’t even hesitate before following suit, hands clenched into fists in a futile attempt to stop them shaking.
With a final, knowing grin directed at Potter from Longbottom, which Potter missed entirely, too busy staring broodily at his worn trainers, the door closed and locked ominously, and darkness enveloped them. There was no doubt about it; he was fucked.