Draco Malfoy was a senseless, tactless, idiotic little prat and if anyone ever thought otherwise, Harry Potter would be quick to remind them differently. They’d been coupled together throughout grade school for the most part and one of Harry’s earliest memories was of Draco stealing his pudding cup and pushing him down in the sandbox. If that didn’t solidify Harry’s unabashed loathing towards the uppity blond, the day Draco stole his very first kiss in their first year did. It wasn’t exactly Draco’s fault that their teacher found their pairing beyond adorable and had Harry cast as the princess in their mock play of Cinderella, but Harry still hated her and still despised the chubby cheeked boy until this very day. His parents didn’t stop it either or even bat an eyelash as Draco cupped his pale, plush cheeks and planted a wet kiss against his lower lip. Whenever Harry thought back to it, which was rarely, he realized that Draco was probably still as shitty a kisser as he was back then.
But you know the saying ‘it all goes downhill after the first kiss?’ That surely applied in this situation because Harry soon realized that Draco thought he owned him. The little rich bugger wouldn’t leave him the bloody hell alone. First grade was torture having to put up with one Malfoy bossing him around and taking his legos without permission and oh, right, trying to kiss him again even when Harry obviously wanted nothing to do with him. It was positively dreadful to find one’s self in a middle life crisis at the bloody age of 5 and 3 quarters. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if Harry gained anything out of it, such as affection of some sort, maybe a compliment or two, but Draco was beyond daft and couldn’t even pronounce Harry’s name right during those first years. Hence, it led to the creation of the ‘Potter’ situation. Draco became the reason Harry could barely tolerate his last name, even if it was to take roll. He tried to stay out of trouble with his parents so they wouldn’t have to shout out his full name to have him settle down. At playtime or naptime, he was the perfectly complacent child, not wanting the teacher to have to pull him aside at any cost to give him a stern talking to or send him to the dreaded corner. Of course, Draco still called him Potter over his first name and left him feeling quite upset and altogether deranged for a 5 year old, and eventually 6 when they reached grade 2 and were stuck in class together once more.
“Potter, move your fat arse.” He learned the word from his mum and dad and Harry didn’t have the heart to tattle because there would be more of a hassle then it was worth. Then again, he should’ve. He would’ve loved to see Malfoy put in a corner for all of the rubbish that left his pretty little mouth and by pretty he meant ugly. Of course he did. There was nothing pretty about Malfoy, even if his hair looked positively radiant once the sun hit it at any given angle. And maybe, when he wasn’t sneering at some poor child and taking their place on the swings and then forcing them to push him, Draco Malfoy could be nice. Once, he told Harry that he looked less fat in a brand new jumper his mum had bought him the weekend prior. As a clever little boy, Harry could tell that it was still an insult, but the compliment was still sort of there. Only when Harry squinted though. Other than that, Malfoy was still as rude as ever. He still bullied his way into getting whatever he pleased and after recruiting Crab and Goyle, two not too bright little boys, Harry was sure that his world would never be the same.
“We meet again, Potter. Hurry up, I’m thirsty and it’s not like you really need the water anyway.” Draco was still as bossy as ever in grade 3, even over something as trivial as drinking from the water fountain. Harry had had to deal with it for 3 long years now and even he was wondering how in the world he hadn’t throttled the other child yet because he wanted to. Sometimes he’d glare at Malfoy when the blonde wasn’t paying attention and picture smashing a teddy bear into his face. Maybe that would teach him some manners. Then there were those stupid little instances where he would picture that kiss back in grade 1 and he’d think that maybe Draco had gotten better at that thing with his mouth. Maybe his mouth wouldn’t feel so bad against his a second time. Then the little dark haired boy would see a brand new set of untouched legos and he’d forget about the icky act of kissing altogether, especially kissing one Draco Malfoy, the prince of prats.
“Potter. Give me that crayon. Now.” It wasn’t a question or even a statement; it was a demand that Draco executed a moment later, snatching away Harry’s favorite aqua blue crayon from him and plopping back down in his desk located conveniently right next to Harry’s. It was starting to become a joke, right? Harry realized that maybe he was doing something wrong and God was punishing him because for some reason Draco Malfoy was always around him or beside him somehow and every time, Malfoy would stake his claim and act repulsive and Harry would try to ask to be moved, but Malfoy would quickly throw a tantrum of some sort until the order was switched back. He manipulated everyone really, except Harry. Harry could see right through him and he refused to play along or a be a part of anything the pale blonde was involved in. There was another play, Sleeping Beauty, and Harry kindly screamed and cried until his parents tore up his application for the spot. Oddly enough, he came to regret being so hasty with his decision when Draco was cast the lead and the princess was one Pansy Parkinson. Harry didn’t have class with her, but watching Draco quickly touch her lips with his made him feel icky and hurt and… he wasn’t really sure why his stomach dropped and he felt sick about it, but he was too nervous to tell his mum or dad about it because it was weird and Harry didn’t like weird; he didn’t deal with weird.
“Potter, you look atrocious with those glasses.” 5th year was probably the worst after Harry’s parents found out he had astigmatism in both eyes and needed glasses as soon as possible, but instead of the nice, regular square frames, they bought him the circular frames that made almost every child in his grade poke fun at him with Malfoy as the ring leader. The only upside was meeting Ron Weasley, a nice, funny boy with flaming locks and way too many elder siblings, and Hermione Granger, the smartest girl in their grade, also called ‘brainiac,’ ‘einstein,’ and ‘teacher’s pet.’ It was easy for the three to meld and grow into a trio, and suddenly, Malfoy no longer wanted to own Harry Potter, oh no, he wanted to destroy him and his new friends. It was different from the way they used to behave towards one another, and the fact that Harry wasn’t sure which he actually preferred went far beyond unsettling. He almost missed the days where Malfoy toyed with him and paid attention to him and maybe the days where he’d pull him aside and try to crush their mouths together because apparently his dad had explained that it was within his rights because Harry was property and not an actual person. Harry wondered how many other backwards sentiments Malfoy’s equally stuck up and posh parents were teaching him but decided it was better not to know at all.
Middle school was awful, dreadful really. There was no more main teacher to keep Malfoy out of trouble and protect Harry while Crab and Goyle had skyrocketed and bloated at the same bloody time. Malfoy’s parents easily paid for every single bad thing Malfoy did to be scrubbed from his record so he was free to be as mad as he wanted to be, having Crab and Goyle muscle lunch money out of poor students even though he probably had more than enough money to buy the school if he felt like it. With this newfound freedom, Harry was no longer safe while Malfoy’s Potter syndrome only worsened. And to top off the worst time of his life, all of the girls were suddenly different and somehow became gigglier and girlier and began to notice boys in different ways while all of the boys tried to play sports to grow muscles and show off to them. Harry didn’t understand or really want to for that matter. He was naturally lanky and he was sure that a sports team would leave him worse for wear and what was the point even? Why was everyone suddenly so boy crazy and girl crazy while all Harry focused on was staying out of Draco Malfoy’s sight? It baffled him more than anything else, honestly. Harry would swear on his mum.
“Hand over you lunch money, Potter. Or else you’ll need new glasses.” With a seething glare, Harry would hand over his lunch money and be met with a punch or a push against the lockers before Malfoy and his cronies found a new toy to pick on. Yes, 6th year had been more or less spent this way, and Harry begged God to stop with the torment because in every single class, there was Draco. For every little project, Draco was his partner and he was stuck with being tormented for however long the project took. They would bicker back and forth quietly, throwing out insults before Harry grew much too annoyed and left. Draco had to be doing something, maybe blackmail or coercion, to be stuck with Harry all the time, right? There had to be some conspiracy theory because fuck it, this was too weird and irritating and why the hell did Harry suddenly think that now was the time to find Draco’s sneer the slightest bit attractive? He sneered at practically everyone with his nose in the air and his rich clothes ironed to perfection and his blonde locks swept back and sometimes Harry would picture himself brushing his hair through the silky strands and-- Harry shook his head and promptly slapped himself against the face. no. No. NO.
“Did you finish my homework, Potter? I don’t have all fucking day here.” 7th year, much the same as 6th year, was only different because suddenly, Harry was roped into doing Draco’s homework because the little nitwit had decided that becoming a part of different sports teams and neglecting his work went hand in hand. Why did Harry agree to it? It was stupid to think that this would make them even and Draco could be nice to him occasionally, Harry would’ve been content with that, but it was mostly caused by him feeling sorry for the rich little gimp. Harry Potter felt sorry for Draco Malfoy; he couldn’t admit that though, or else Draco would have Crab or Goyle or both give him a swirly in the boy’s bathroom. Harry quite liked his hair without the added factor of toilet water. Hermione and Ron would silently judge him for it, but would never speak up over it. Harry was grateful; he didn’t need to hear that what he was doing was stupid for someone that Draco bullied constantly day in and day out since the age of 5. But the pair knew something that Harry still had yet to grasp. Maybe he subconsciously had a crush on his tormentor.
“For fucks’ sake, Potter, how stupid could you be!” He was reprimanded for answering a question wrong from their math test that was just handed back, Malfoy hissing in his ear from the seat beside him because he had copied off of the smaller. If Hermione or Ron had ever told Harry what they thought, he’d call them mad. There was no way he could ever have any sort of positive feelings for a bloke who bullied everyone, stole, cheated, lied, had his goons pick on the smaller and weak, his lanky self included, and could buy his way out of absolutely anything without having to take responsibility for his actions. No, that was silly, crazy! Harry would’ve shaken his head and laughed it off because it sounded silly to him. Him, the boy with circular glasses and a scar on his forehead from his accident with broken glass as a baby liking the asshole who stole his first kiss because that shitty kiss to his lower lip counted and found every way possible to tick him off. No, Harry did not like that baby, the one who began to hit puberty in grade 8. He shot up like a beanstalk and his voice had dropped a single octave and Harry was afraid because he could tell the difference. Having to stare up at Malfoy made him feel strangely small and he didn’t like it. Then Draco would do this thing, this little thing that would make Harry feel weird in his stomach and he hated him for it. He’d arch a single brow with his lips curling up into a smirk full of mischief and all hell would break loose in Harry’s body because no one should have the fucking right to look so good when they were the spawn of Satan because Harry was sure that Draco was born and bred from the fiery bowels of hell.
8th year was kind of weird in a way? The school was throwing some type of formal that made it necessary to have a date or else you’d been remember as the loser that didn’t and Harry didn’t even want to go but his parents were adamant and wanted him to ‘spread his horizons’ or something sentimental and preachy like that. He would’ve asked Hermione for obvious reasons such as their great friendship, only to be one upped by Weasley in that department; that left him dateless and a bit depressed because neither of them had even told him. It was a bit mean, but he did let it go. Harry had no business in staying upset at his two best friend’s over something silly, and decided it would be better to be panicking for his impending doom that would take place in the next few days. He knew of plenty of people who were dateless, but each time he asked them again, they would grin and clap him on the back while talking about their luck at having found someone to go with. The dark haired boy almost gave up, really, until the choice was stolen right out of his hands.
Harry remembered being in his advisement classroom, busy reading a book, when a single yellow daisy was set down on his desk, followed by another. He looked up to see Crab and Goyle and almost flinched because the only reason the pair ever sought out someone was to beat the shit out of them. What could Harry had possibly done now? His partially chapped lips parted to speak and he was about to make up some piss poor excuse to get out of a beating when Goyle spoke.
“Draco said dress nicely for the formal. He wouldn’t want his date to look like rubbish in front of everyone, yeah.” Wait, huh?
“What are you talking about?” It was a fairly justifiable question considering Harry was getting confused.
“Oh, Draco sure picked a clever one, didn’t he? He’s taking you to the formal. Don’t wear anything ugly.” With that being said, tweedledum and tweedledummer turned to leave, successful in making Harry Potter squirm in his seat with a stomach full of undecided feelings and a mind clouded with confusion. First Draco fucks up his life and now he was planning to ruin his first formal of any sort, way to fucking go Potter. He could pretend to be sick and have his parents keep him from going, but the following Monday would probably be full of bruises, stolen lunch money and homework, and one Draco Malfoy angry at not being listened to. It was easier just to go along with it, Harry had enough years of experience to know that, but it didn’t mean he had to like it because he didn’t. And no he didn’t go to bed feeling exceptionally giddy and almost looking forward to it. Of course not, nope.
Okay, a little bit, but that’s all he’s going to say.
His parents forced him into a suite and tie and combed his usually unruly locks and called him handsome and adorable and embarrassed him up until the point where Draco’s limousine pulled into their cramped driveway. Why in the bloody hell Draco needed a limo to pick him up, Harry didn’t want to know. He was already embarrassed enough and this just made it so much worse. Why did that blonde idiot have to be such a show off? He stepped out of the stretched vehicle and walked up the driveway. Harry could tell he was repressing the urge to vomit or look like he smelled something putrid, the little jerk. But, points to Draco for being civil with his parents and even more points for not making fun of him the entire way to the limousine. In fact, Draco didn’t speak a word until they were settled close in the back seat of the car with a small bouquet of peonies nestled between Harry’s thighs, the car easily cruising down the street towards their school.
“You don’t look half bad, Potter. It would’ve been better if your tie was green to match those blinkers. You should invest in contacts, by the way, those glasses are never going to be attractive.” Okay, all of the points are erased and Harry gives a small shake of his head, a light smile on his face because for some odd reason, he had been expecting more. He had hoped that maybe Draco could be nice, sweet even, but this was normal to him. It was a lot better than making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Somewhere along the way, he realized that his hand had grown warm and looked down; their fingers were tangled together, his bony, soft pair locked together with Draco’s slightly worked fingers. It was probably from all the sports and exercise he took part in, but Harry kept quiet to drink in the moment. Who knows the next time the blonde decided to do something outside of the norm.
The dance was, naturally, awful. Harry forgot to mention a little tidbit of information; he had two left feet and dancing in front of people made him nervous. He nearly poked out poor Parvati Patil’s eye with his elbow and tripped Dean Thomas while trying to execute a poor excuse of a dance move. Draco called him a safety hazard and judged his poor dancing skills while making him miserable at the same time. It was going exactly as he pictured it but not the way he hoped it would be. He could see Ron and Hermione getting on just fine with Hermione pressing her face against Ron’s chest as they danced to a slow song. He felt glad that they were having a good time whereas he had the date from h e double hockey sticks. His brows shot up once Draco held out his hand and took his without asking to pull him back out onto the dance floor for the slow song that had begun to thrum throughout the gym.
It took Harry forever and a day to realize why people were staring at him and even longer to understand that he didn’t care. He and Draco were the only two boys dancing together and sometimes there were whispers over it, but Harry had never cared about being this way with Draco. They kissed when they were five and Draco stole a few when they were six, although Harry did try to avoid them at all cost. To Harry, being this way with Draco felt natural-- wait. Hold on, back up. Butterflies swamped his stomach as he hid his face in Draco’s Armani covered shoulder to hide his flushed cheeks as he kept his arms looped around around the platinum blonde’s neck. Oh, he felt daft now, a down right git. No wonder he was more than okay hanging off of the other boy’s shoulder and alright with most of the harassment. No wonder it filled his chest with a sweet bitterness whenever Draco smiled and laughed with a girl but only scowled or sneered his way before brushing past him.
Harry Potter admits that he’s an idiot at some points in time, but this time he knows that he really is stupid. He’d been denying it forever and that’s his only excuse for not coming to the realization that he just might fancy the little Malfoy in his arms. When the dance ends, he’s taken by the arm out of the gym and out of sight down a different hall. He was still dazed by his epiphany that he went along with the movement and even allowed himself to be gently pressed against the pale blue lockers.
“D-Draco..?” He murmured, his voice shy in the dim hallway light that gave him just enough sight to make out Draco’s pale, perfect countenance. His black suit had really worked wonders in Harry’s opinion while his gray eyes were dark and expressionless. The smaller couldn’t tell what he was thinking and that worried him, but he didn’t think Draco would hurt him. He usually had Crab and Goyle do that for him and the both of them were probably getting ready to go.
“Harry.” It’s softly spoken, as ethereal as the air surrounding them in the silence that follows the ending of the formal, but Harry can feel Draco’s voice sinking into his bones, delving down deep into his core and twisting it together until it no longer made sense. He swallowed dryly as his heart thumped harshly against his chest, his lips slightly quivering with nerves as Draco leaned in. This was different from that first kiss at five or the stolen pecks at 6. Draco’s mouth covered his slowly, at first a teasing brush of lip against lip before his mouth covered Harry’s in it’s entirety. Time seemed to slow as Harry shyly returned the pressure against his mouth, soon creating a slow motion of lips moving together in a synchronized pace, the only thing stopping Harry falling being the hands curling along his frail hips and his grasp on Draco’s tie. He wasn’t sure how much he could take before a tongue slowly lapped against the partially open seam of his lips as if begging for entry and Harry was in no position to decline. Thus began to slow onslaught of Draco’s tongue as it delved past his parted lips and lapped along each and every crevice of his mouth. It felt awkward and delicious all at once, but before Harry had the opportunity to try it for himself, Draco was pulling his warm mouth away and pinning Harry to the lockers with a breathless smile and a storm brewing in his grey eyes. He remained silent as he pulled his warmth away, a whine building up in the back of Harry’s throat from the loss of contact, and took Harry’s hand to guide him back outside. No words were exchanged and even if there were, Harry didn’t have the brain capacity at the moment to respond to whatever snide remark Draco could conjure up. He slid into the limo after the other boy and sat beside him, his stomach a rush of bubbles and butterflies and other extremely girly adjectives that he felt embarrassed to think of. His hand was still held and he swore he heard a mumbled “You’re beautiful” before the driver began to pull out of the parking lot and began to drive Harry home.
Okay, year 8 wasn’t the worst. It was the ending of middle school and another chapter in Harry Potter’s life and he had suddenly begun to hope that Malfoy would be in his class yet again. He wanted to be pestered and bothered and kissed, oh God, he wanted to be kissed again by those sinful lips.
Year 9 sprayed Harry down with a watering hose and left him wet and cold. Draco Malfoy was no longer on the same roster as his own, at least in the first semester. In fact, it took a few weeks to even see the petulant blonde a single time and when he had, Harry swore he was going blind. He was snogging that filthy little bimbo Pansy Parkinson right in the middle of the bloody hall during class change! What the fuck. When the fuck. And how the fuck.
“Hermione, be a pal and check that my glasses aren’t broken?” Harry asked absentmindedly as his stomach sank to the bottom of a metaphorical ocean and quickly died. Hermione’s brows furrowed as she followed his gaze to the open show of affection between two high classed arseholes and cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid I may have gone blind from that disgusting sight Harry. You’d think they’d have a little more tact.” You’d think they’d be a bit more sensitive to everyone’s stomach. Harry could make out Draco’s tongue ravishing Pansy’s mouth and he suddenly felt ill. He pushed off his red locker and blinked a few times before looking away and at his two friends, both of them quickly covering up their concerned expressions.
“I’ll see you both in advisement.”
Being arse over tits for such a little bitch was Harry Potter’s biggest regret. He didn’t regret letting himself be pushed around for years or having Malfoy as his date for the formal or the kiss that tripped him up, but he regretted this so much. He felt stupid. He may have finally hit puberty and grown taller, his voice not as squeaky, his hair a longer mess of dark locks, and maybe he’d even bothered working out over the summer to not be so thin, but it all felt like a waste now. Somewhere along the line, Draco Malfoy didn’t seem to want him anymore and Harry was too sensitive to not be hurt by that fact. He’d tried not to like Draco for a long time and now, just as he had opened himself up to the possibilities, it was slapping him in the face. Maybe that had been the long lasting plan of Draco Malfoy, to make him fall in love and then stomp on his heart with his overly priced shoes? Harry had to admit, it was a good plan, even for that addlebrained, simple minded, little piece of--
“Potter.” Harry’s head snapped up and he focused in on the face he admits he wanted to see the entire summer he was visiting family elsewhere. And as much as it caused a fissure in his chest, hearing Draco and his ‘Potter situation’ was enlightening. Some things had yet to change at that point. The smaller could feel a smile beginning to form on his lips but he stifled it with a frown. The second semester was another story entirely. He and Malfoy were once more intertwined and for some strange reason, his teacher, a small man named Mr. Flitwick, pulled him aside for a little chat, stating something along the lines of ‘It took us quite some time to figure out the mishap, Potter. But now you and your boyfriend can be together again. Don’t mind anyone at all. I’ve assigned you to sit together and everything.’ It took Harry Potter, the boy with the outrageous lightning shaped scar on his forehead to realize that his teacher had verbally called Draco Malfoy his boyfriend. And who knows how long that had been going on. It horrified him and made him feel giddy all the same, but he still didn’t want to see that sniveling little wanker.
“Fuck off, Malfoy.” That was his go to reply as of late. It didn’t take much effort on his part and he didn’t bother to see Draco’s reaction. It was about time that he left behind the stupid memories of long gone days where Draco would parade around with Harry waddling after him because the blonde devil had taken his favorite stuffed owl Hedwig.
Harry Potter’s 9th year was stifling to say the least and annoying. Every time he glanced up or to the left or the right, down a corridor, into an empty classroom, his eyes would conveniently find one Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy sucking face and it was highly unattractive. He opted for joining clubs that would leave him less free time, even opting for football of all things, and stuck to his studies. There were only a few instances where he was stuck with Draco Malfoy and in those hours, he would ignore his existence while counting down the seconds until he was free. To toss a handful of salt in his wounds, Draco never tried to speak to him.
And 9th year ended that way, unsatisfying and full of unannounced, repressed, and confused feelings.
He could still feel his lips tingle if he thought too hard, could still feel a twist in his chest from the way Draco held his hand that night. It was silly and he was younger and vulnerable and Malfoy didn’t deserve to know that he left him that way, but dammit, he did. He was still in love with the little bugger and he was sure that it wouldn’t go away, even if it went unrequited. How’s that for a high school romance? Harry felt like his life was being written by a pratty little teenage girl who wanted to see him suffer. He rose his head up from his desk and glanced around suspiciously, eyeing a girl in the next row as she scribbled along her paper. She was probably a witch hexing his life to hell.
“Mr. Potter,” A strict, elderly female snapped from her desk, “Eyes on your own paper or else detention.” Harry flinched and lower his head back down to his timed paper. Professor McGonagall was probably the best Language Arts teacher at the academy, and not to mention that she scared Harry shitless. He frowned and tried to focus in on his paper when he heard a snicker off to his other side. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself before he considered giving Malfoy a black eye. Alright, alright, even if Draco was suddenly interested in the female sex and had neglected to tell Harry that and had unknowingly let the emerald eyed boy fall in love him, he wouldn’t punch him in the face, simply because he liked Draco’s face. It was the only thing really going for him, but he would kick him in the balls in a heartbeat.
But, you should know, before we continue on, that they did talk once. Before the end of the school year ceremony, as the hordes of students flooded the halls to the auditorium to halfway fall asleep during the ending speech the principal gave every year, Harry was quickly piling notes and textbooks and other little gadgets into his backpack to take home for the summer holidays. Plenty of students were passing him by that he failed to notice that one had not. When he did raise his head up, he was unpleasantly surprised to see Draco standing before him, no Pansy to snog in sight.
“Malfoy, what do you want? I don’t have time for you right now or ever actually.” His attempt at dismissal went unheard of or ignored and he sighed as he closed his locker and Draco had yet to vacate the premises. If they were going to talk, really talk, he didn’t want to hear it.
“Potter, will you just listen? I’m actually trying to apologize to you for--” Draco stopped, his brows pinching together as his lips pursed, his eyes growing distant as if he were strolling down memory lane.
“Sorry for what? That piss poor excuse of a kiss you gave me that one time? Or the fact that your public displays of affection with your girlfriend are a nuisance to everyone? Take your pick.” Harry had learned sass and learned it well. Draco’s lips tugged down at the corners, forming a frown that Harry took pleasure and pain in seeing all at once. He hated this. He hated Draco Malfoy.
“Pansy, she and I-- it just happened. I never meant for- you know- fuck! You have no idea how hard this is for me, Potter. I don’t say sorry, I don’t usually care. But you.. we’ve known each other for a long time and I never meant to hurt you.”
“You? Hurt me? You can keep walking around with that stick up your arse. As if I would ever let you hurt me, Draco. And you know what, thank you for this. You’ve reminded me of something that I always knew; you’re horrible. You bullied me enough, took up enough of my time and I can’t keep wasting it on you. Bye Malfoy. Have a wonderful vacation. I hope I never have to waste this much energy and breath on you again.” He pushed off of his locker and strutted past Draco quickly, almost faltering in his steps as his eyes grew blurry behind his glasses. He felt a lump slowly forming in his throat, the corner of his eyes stinging as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment to hold it all in. He could wait until after the ceremony. He could wait until he was home in the safety of his room to cry over the cracked up pieces of his heart. He was probably saving himself more disappointment, but for the first time, Harry Potter understood just how bad a broken heart could be. And to think, he would’ve done anything for that idiot.
Grade 10 and 11 were oddly the same but there were a few definite changes that Harry himself underwent that morphed everything and the way people saw him. For as long as anyone knew him, he was the awkward boy with the emerald eyes, circular glasses, and unruly hair. He dressed rather ordinary and never truly stood out in a good sort of way. But Grade 10 saw growth, physically and mentally, and the moment he was chosen as the quarterback, Harry Potter was in the spotlight. And with this instant stardom came friends that he never thought he’d ever make, girls who didn’t notice him were suddenly all over him in the hallway and during class, asking to be tutored even if they could’ve easily asked Hermione, wanting to spend extra special alone time with him. Popularity changed things for him and put him on par with everyone else who used to belittle him and his thoughts. Well, now he could tell them to go fuck themselves up the arse while he enjoyed being doted on constantly.
And with grade 10 came something new and unexpected. Year 10 was the year of Cho Chang. She was on the road to becoming head cheerleader and an extremely brilliant asian, not too tall and not too short, with bone straight black locks and a smile to die for. Besides Draco Malfoy, Cho Chang was the first person Harry had ever been attracted to. That was the first shocking part, but the second was even more bizarre. Cho Chang liked him back, basically dumping her current boyfriend Cedric Diggory to be with him. It was shocking to all, but to Harry, it felt like maybe he wouldn’t be so lonely after all. She was nice, extremely pretty, and her laugh made him feel rather light inside, although it did nothing for the weight still very present on his shoulders. Still, they were seen as the ultimate couple for various reasons and she practically forced him into a new wardrobe. For one, he got a haircut to frame his distinct features perfectly and she had him replace his glasses with contacts. Then came the partial hipster, partial douche attire and Harry Potter was suddenly a part of the ‘in crowd.’
“Did you see Harry today?”
“Cho better hang onto that or else I’m stealing.”
“Oh my God, when did he get so hot?”
“Still a whiny little prat, aren’t you Potter. You think that just because you have the girl and some popularity that it changes things? It doesn’t.” Of course, there was Malfoy. His teachers still fused them together in their messed up attempts at fixing fate and it wasn’t long that they equally despised each other. Draco had grown from his bullying days, worked out to perfection and even Harry could feel a slither of want, need even, whenever he saw the muscle tightly pressed to Draco’s work shirts. Most of the clubs he took part in had to deal with government, after his father, and he was working his way towards student body president. It was odd to see them on such different planes now when they used to be closer, even when it was mostly Draco just pushing him around or using him as a scapegoat. But it was communication and talking and bickering and fuck, Cho may have been good to him, so, so good, but she wasn’t Draco. Deep down, Harry knew that; he knew that maybe this was all a ploy to make himself think that he was okay with the way things ended the year before and he wasn’t still pining or hoping or anything, but there were moments when the veil over his eyes was brushed away and he’d remember that his heart hurt.
Draco’s face was everywhere; running for student government tend to does that, but it was getting annoying how much he saw of him when he simply wanted to live in his little pretend bubble with the sweet Cho Chang and play straight. Ron and Hermione were still dating, still such a wonderful inspiration to Harry, but he never told them about what happened. If he had someone to talk to, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so shitty all of the time or like a scorned female. Draco won the election easily, without the need for pressure or buying votes or anything Harry knew he was very capable of, and Harry brought the team to the state championships. He felt like he was on a high as the crowd cheered and screamed his name and the football captain Oliver Wood clapped him on the back and told him that he was the most honorable person on the team.
Grade 10 was a mixture of warmth and cold and emptiness and too much and not enough and Cho’s kisses weren’t warm enough. Her lips were thin when compared to the pair that stole his first kiss and her body was frail and thin and holding onto her made him feel guilty because he had stolen her and he wasn’t even sure he wanted her anymore. Relationships were so complicated for no reason and Harry didn’t want to date anyone; in fact, he wasn’t even sure why he asked Cho Chang to be his girlfriend in the first place when he couldn’t stop staring at Draco when they were together. Sometimes his eyes would meet thundering grey and Draco’s lips would curl up into that Malfoy smirk of his, playful and taunting and absolutely breathtaking. He never did notice how Cho would watch the exchange with a small scowl on her bow shaped lips or the arch of her brow as she slowly put two and two together.
Breaking up with Cho Chang didn’t hurt. It didn’t leave him breathless and gasping or even terrible like walking away from Draco did. Instead, Harry felt sad at losing someone he used to have fun with, someone he found so easy being with. Ultimately, he was happy though, happy to be free of a relationship he couldn’t truly commit himself to.
The school year ended that way, Draco and Harry catching each other’s eyes with silence and searching. But grade 11, oh, that was new. Blaize Zabini was new in town, dreadfully bad, dangerous even, and Harry couldn’t get enough. They met at a pep rally to bring in the start of the new school year, Blaize busy smoking behind the bleachers after it was all said and done. And maybe it was still his high from winning the game or from returning to such a welcoming crowd but, one way or another, he found his mouth filled with smoke and hips snapping against his until he came against his jockstrap and boxers and dug his teeth into Blaize’s lower lip to bite back the scream that pounded on the back of his throat. Yeah, Blaize was brilliant and stunning and so different from everyone else. And in some fucked up way, he made Harry happy-- in a purely objective way. Before they began a twisted game of don’t kiss and tell, Harry confessed his feelings over Draco; he told Blaize every single little thing that happened between the two and Blaize didn’t judge him. He didn’t care enough to be jealous or have strong feelings for Harry at all. They were two teenagers having fun and Harry didn’t have to put in too much emotionally or even physically. Sure, dry humping to climax wasn’t ideal, but Harry didn’t feel ready enough to take that step with just anyone. And sure, fapping late into the night had suddenly become the norm for his hormone rattled body, but that didn’t mean he was willing to jump in the sack with just anyone-- he just wanted the one.
Too many girls were trying to hang off of his arm after they learned about his split with Cho Chang and it was beyond bloody irritating. He didn’t really like girls anymore and realized that Cho wa a fluke, honestly. He got hard whenever Blaise’s tongue was down his throat or his mouth was busy sucking bruises into his too pale skin, but he didn’t want to be naked in front of him and Blaize understood that. The first few months were fine, dandy, and suddenly they were not. Blaize wanted more than he could give, suddenly. He confessed that he may have slipped up and grown feelings and he wanted Harry… in every sense of the word want. And before he could get pressured into it, because Blaize could do that to him so easily, Draco arrived with all of his pratty sentiment and child like rage and Harry didn’t have a choice anymore. The pair had been talking calmly outside of the entrance to the main building. Their surroundings were bare and their voices hushed so that no one else could hear the intimate details they shared. That was when Blaize stuck a needle into his little bubble, and pop! Harry could feel his palms growing sweaty as he dug his teeth into his lower lip and looked away, his entire body turning as if to shield himself. What they were doing, he was fine with it, honestly, but to date? Harry didn’t think he was ready for it.
“Blaize.. I-” The words were heavy on his pink tongue and he wasn’t even sure he was going to accept or decline when someone suddenly drew him back by his shirt and forced him to stand. His books fell along the steps and Blaize turned his head to stare up at who disrupted their conversation, his eyes hard and devoid of emotion.
“I’ll be taking Potter now.”
Grade 11 was complicated, and no, not in a good way. Draco harshly pulled Harry along into the building, not giving him a chance to even right himself before he was shoved into a vacant classroom, the door shutting behind them with an audible ‘click.’ What in the bloody hell did Draco want now? Harry righted himself and turned to shoot a glare at his captor.
“What the fuck, Draco! I don’t need you coming to ruin everything all over again. I thought maybe this year you’d realize that I-”
“Shut up.” Harry’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenched as he bit down on his tongue. Draco towered over him, still, and his grey eyes grew cloudy and dangerous with thunder and lightning and Harry didn’t know whether or not to be afraid or aroused. He’d never seen Draco this upset, not in all of the years they had been in close proximity to each other. His stomach clenched and he lowered his gaze to his vans, submissive without a reason.
“I think I’ve had enough. I’ve let you make me feel like a real arsehole and I know I am, but that doesn’t mean you’re innocent, Potter. I give you the space that you so obviously want only to find out you’ve been with that slut Cho? And then to lower yourself to Blaize’s status? There is no way in bloody fucking hell that-”
“That what? That you’ll let me? If you didn’t want me with those people, then maybe you should’ve taken their place. Maybe you should’ve been with me instead of finding closure in that airhead Parkinson. Maybe we wouldn’t even be having a conversation like this if you weren’t such a fucking asshole.” Harry’s voice came out small, vulnerable, hushed. He had to say it; he needed Draco to know that he had been waiting. Maybe he had been waiting the entire time.
“Potter.” With his gaze lowered, Harry could see Draco’s designer shoes stepping closer, could feel the air settle heavy between them and it made him feel breathless and he needed- he just wanted-
He should’ve rejected Draco and his warm, muscular arms and the hug that came too late. He should have spoken up about their differences because they were obvious and profound and why in the world did he love the blonde idiot so much? Why didn’t he date Cho longer and maybe marry her and have children and do all of the things a straight male did? Or maybe he could’ve had a blast with Blaize by his side and he’d spend the night having sex only God knows where and he’d hold the taller close while they rode on the back of the dark haired male’s motorcycle. But no, Harry wanted Draco Malfoy. He tried not to and failed.
Pressing into Draco’s chest, Harry buried his face into the crook of his neck and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the moment he’d dreamed of so many different times. He curled his football scraped fingers into Draco’s suit and drew him in closer, closer, because he needed him or else he might let himself shatter. He took in a deep, much needed breath of Draco’s scent and smiled shakily. This was terrifying. There was no love for Cho and no love for Blaize, only love that spewed and hissed and sought after Draco Malfoy.
“I hate you, you s-stupid fucking prat,” Harry grumbled, cursing his emotions for getting the best of him.
“Yeah, yeah Cinderella. I hate you too. Watching you with them was torture and even I have my limits. You have no idea how irritating those poor people are.” Draco spat with a voice still full of contempt as he slid an arm around Harry’s waist, his other hand soon shifting between them to slightly raise up Harry’s chin. Harry let it happen, let his mouth grow close as his lips parted a bit while the blonde lowered his head to lightly press their mouths together. The fire was instantaneous, boiling him and branding him and leaving him burnt to the touch as a quiet groan escaped his lips from the simple contact. It felt as if he’d been left out in the desert to die for so long before happening upon a sheltered oasis he had sought out to find originally. It felt good, so good, fucking wonderful, fuck, fuck, fuck. His thoughts swirled together as his lips pressed back against Draco’s harshly, his tongue quick to pry it’s way into Draco’s mouth. He refused to go another day without knowing the taste of his mouth on his tongue- he tasted like mint and evil and darkness and maybe a little sex too. Hands shifted to grapple at smooth skin as their kiss drowned out the sound of their harsh breathing and Harry’s desperate moans. Before hips could collide and Harry’s fingers could tear away at Draco’s stupid overly priced suit to do something he would most likely regret in the future, Draco was tearing him away and holding him at arms length.
“Holy fuck- Do I have to put you in a box, Potter?” Harry’s brows furrowed as he let the hormones calm down, noticing the playful twitch of Draco’s mouth before he began to smile.
“You’re still a shitty kisser, Malfoy.”
Grade 11 was still odd. He and Draco didn’t talk anymore about what kept them apart, but they also didn’t talk of a future together. They stole time outside of class and school to be together, doing absolutely anything to use the time, whether it be dates that Draco refused to call dates or kissing (Draco refused to go further and Harry was grateful because there was no way he would be able to contain himself otherwise) under 1000 thread count Egyptian sheets. It wasn’t ideal, but it was just the two of them and that was what mattered the most, really. The year fostered the beginning of their secretly budding relationship and Harry couldn’t help the nerves that still shot through him every time Draco shot him a look from the desk beside him.
Grade 12 was like a breath of fresh air and Harry was souring. He had been given the title captain of the football team to add on his flawless record of quarterback and his secret relationship with Draco was surely growing. He ignored the pressures to be perfect from all sides and did his very best at what he knew. Applying to college was one thing, as bloody difficult as it was, and football did take up a bunch of his time, but Harry had to admit that Draco knew things with his tongue and mouth that left him quivering and breathless and his mind blank and calm. Their relationship had progressed passed the making out and dry humping to blow jobs in the middle of an empty hall and Draco having absolutely no qualms with lavishing Harry’s arsehole with kisses and sucks and tongefucking him to high heaven.
But Harry Potter was a young man with needs and Draco Malfoy was being a tease.
He tried bringing up the lack of physical contact on plenty of occasion, sometimes when they were snuggled close and Draco’s fingers absentmindedly brushed over his dark locks, other times while they chose to walk home instead of Draco shoving Harry into his limo (oh, the acts they did in there). Every time, Draco would overlook the question and go back to what he was doing before, pressing kisses down Harry’s bare chest or moments from--
“Potter.” It was not the voice he wanted to hear. Harry flinched as he quickly passed the papers forward to the child in front of him before raising his head to stare into the dark eyes of Severus Snape.
“P-Professor Snape.” Harry coughed to cover up his cracked voice, trying not to visibly flinch.
“Do keep in mind that this is not a class on daydreaming. Pay attention or else I’ll give you detention for a month.” It sounded bad, but Harry had transcended to thinking of how easy it would be to lose his virginity by being fucked up against a desk. It wasn’t ideal to some, but he didn’t mind. He just- was it normal to be this sexually charged when the thought of sex used to repulse him?
“Yes, Professor.” He could feel the smirk shot his way from the desk beside him, always beside him or with him in some way, and it was making him feel hot under his collar.
Becoming popular should have opened up the floodgates to copious opportunities to have sex and yet, Draco wouldn’t even shove a finger or his- or- you know what I mean!
Telling Ron or Hermione had been a mistake too; the look on their faces when he shared that little piece of info was priceless. Ron sputtered about being bloody blind to the fact that Harry played for the other team while Hermione flicked his forehead for keeping it a secret for so long. The pair was fine with it besides not understanding why exactly Harry liked Draco Malfoy after all of the emotional and physical abuse inflicted on him over the years. Yeah, Draco was a little shit, but he was Harry’s and that’s just the way it was and always would be. Harry didn’t exactly label them as boyfriends, but they were exclusive enough for him to be content.
And Draco proved that to him when Prom season came around. In fact, Draco Malfoy proved that he could be trusted not to break a heart again. Harry had never thought of going to prom. It’s not that he didn’t want to, but he never did fare well when it came to parties or formal functions that required him to wear a suit and tie. As the signs for prom were blown up and hung all over the halls, Harry couldn’t help but flashback to that night in grade 8 where he nearly broke Parvati’s nose. He always flinched at the thought, and now there were so many different promposals happening that it left him feeling quite nauseous. If you have no idea what a promposal is-- it’s when a boy or girl asks someone to prom very ostentatiously with lots of roses or people or simply a big gesture. As sweet as it was, Harry wasn’t expecting one. If Draco tried to ask him to prom that way it would open up another door for them and he wanted it, of course he did, but he wasn’t sure if Draco was ready for that. He never brought it up, even as the date drew closer and his chest pinched together at the thought of not going at all or Draco just seeming not to care. He was the head of the planning committee and it cut their time substantially, but even then, Harry patiently waited to see him and hold his hand. They’d share kisses and bad remarks and snog in front of Draco’s uppity parents even though it embarrassed Harry more than anything else.
Prom was one week away and Harry had yet to hear a word of it from Draco. Plenty of others had asked him, Cho Chang and Blaize Zabini included, but Harry turned them all down in favor of waiting for his almost-sorta-kinda boyfriend to ask him. He was setting a paper down on Professor Mcgonagall’s desk when it happened. His thoughts were busy calculating the math in his head to see if he had passed the exam when the door flung open and a petite girl, probably a freshman, came in with a massive bouquet of white roses in hand. Every student, even those who weren’t finished with the test, rose their heads to watch. Moments passed before another student, a lanky sophomore named Colin Creevey, strutted inside with his camera hanging from his neck and an armful of pink roses. The next boy was a fellow senior and a part of the drama club, Neville Longbottom, and he smiled shyly at everyone before eyeing Harry and walking right over to him, ignoring Professor Mcgonagall’s affronted look as he handed the quarterback a few of the red roses in his arms. Harry’s brows furrowed and he got that look on his face that Draco called his ‘cutely stupid Potter face’ as he looked towards the door where more students were already filing in, each holding either roses or a new type of flower. Harry’s face began to flush as realization dawned on him.
Oh, but he would.
Draco seemed to materialize out of the human garden of flowers with a single pink peony in his grasp; damn him for remembering Harry’s favorite flower. Harry unconsciously turned to face him, fiddling with the red rose in his grasp as his cheeks burned brightly. Draco shot him one of his famous smirks, but his grey eyes were darting all over the place. It was rather endearing to know that Draco was as nervous as he was about this.
“Harry Potter,” Draco started, all business as he strutted over and unceremoniously sank down on one knee. If Harry weren’t so embarrassed, he’d be annoyed at being gendered as the female in the relationship, “We’ve known each other for a very long time and you know I mean business if I’m on one knee on one of the filthiest floors I’ve ever seen in my new Gucci suit. You know that I… I have no bloody clue what exactly I’m doing right now and this is moronic and-” Draco inhaled slowly before reaching to slip the pink peony into Harry’s hand already grasping onto the crimson rose. He covered Harry’s hand with his own before continuing to speak.
“I have the cruelest ways of expressing myself don’t I? I remember the days I used to annoy you (Harry cracked a smile at that)- and don’t you dare say I still do or else so help me, Potter. I remember feeling absolutely terrified of the thought of you paying attention to anyone else. I admit, I’ve made mistakes and I’ve regretted them for a long time and I’ve been thinking of how I could possibly make it up to you. You hate the dreadfully scripted rich kid dates or taking a drive in my limo or even me spending so much money on you. I bet you’ve already thought of how much I spent on the stupid flowers (Harry blushed more. He had). But this is my attempt at toning it down for your sake and maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that it’s been you the whole time. You’re it for me. I’m a prat and I love to have my way, but this is simply for you. I love you, Harry Potter. Yes, me, Draco Malfoy, loves you. Now feel honored and say yes to prom with me so I can get off of this vile floor.”
It was sweet. Harry repressed the urge to throttle Draco or suffocate him with flowers towards the ending, but all that mattered was that it was everything Harry had ever wanted to hear.
“Oh, and let me just add on. You’re my boyfriend, twit.” Draco ended with a gleam in his eyes as he caught Harry’s dazzling emerald pair. He wondered if Harry even knew that his eyes had watered over or that the hand grasping the flowers was shaking. Harry always was a sensitive one, even when they were 5.
“I--” Harry could feel the entire classroom leaning in closer from where they sat or stood, Professor Mcgonagall arching a brow as she too waited. Was it okay that he felt like melting into a puddle of blood and bones and skin? He honestly felt his throat clenching up with feelings but he spat it out anyway.
“Kiss me, stupid.” Draco shot up instantly, his free hand wiping at his pants leg as he grinned down at his boyfriend ruefully. Excellent. Just excellent.
They’re mouths came together amidst the cheering of the classroom as well as the people gathered outside the door, but the noise had shifted to background music as he let himself be swept away in the kiss, a warm hand pressed to the small of his back being the only thing keeping him grounded.
Prom was, to be expected, awful. Harry’s feet had not grown better with time and by the middle portion of the dance, he’d mortally injured Seamus Finnigan where the sun doesn’t shine and tore out one of Hannah Abbott’s tracks while trying to twist away from a swaying body. Draco did call him a moron, but it didn’t hurt as much when his lover was smiling at him like that. Bodily harm aside, Harry did enjoy the night, especially the last part.
Draco stopped being a tease that night.