Harry hasn't seen Malfoy in nearly two years, not since they both left Hogwarts.
He remembers how surprised he had been to discover Malfoy had returned for their Eighth year. Malfoy had been subdued and kept mostly to himself, but by the holidays he slowly started to reach out to other students. After a rather awkward and stilted apology to Ron, Hermione and himself, Harry began to make an effort to be warmer to Malfoy. Civility turned into friendship. By the time the Eighth years threw a holiday party before winter break, Harry and Malfoy were laughing and drinking, sitting closely together by the common room fireplace.
They stayed up far past the time everyone else finally retreated to their rooms, chatting about anything and everything. It was strange how well they got along without the War, misguided family loyalties and tragic prophecies looming over their heads.
Malfoy stood up, drunkenly stumbling against Harry as he made his way towards the door. Malfoy’s body was warm against his, his fingers firm as they curled around Harry's bicep.
Harry can't remember who spotted it first but with a burst of laughter they both pointed to the mistletoe that floated above their heads. The laughter soon died on their lips and Harry's heart pounded at the heated look in Malfoy’s eyes.
Harry nervously licked his lips, his eyes trained on Malfoy's full, pink ones before leaning in. Malfoy tasted like butterbeer, sweet and sharp. Harry's pulse quickened, hands trembling as Malfoy opened his mouth and slid his tongue against Harry's. The curl of desire in Harry's stomach was intense, bright and hot as it swept through the rest of his body. Malfoy's hand tangled into Harry's hair, gripping tightly before abruptly letting go. He pulled back, eyes wide in shock and pale face beautifully flushed.
“Oh,” Malfoy murmured softly. “That—”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“We must be drunker than we thought,” Malfoy chuckled, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“Right,” Harry replied dumbly, his lips still tingling from the kiss.
“I should go.” Malfoy stumbled backwards, all but running as he left the room.
Harry touched his lips in stunned wonderment before slowly walking to his dorm and climbing into his bed. The next day neither of them brought up the kiss and Harry merely dismissed it as a drunken mistake. Still, he couldn’t look at Malfoy the same after that night and the blond often featured in his dreams. Their delicate and growing friendship, however, turned rather awkward. They still remained cordial but the closeness that was building between the two vanished overnight.
Last Harry had heard, Malfoy was traveling and no one had seen him in England for a long time. Not until now that is.
“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice is mildly exasperated and it shakes Harry free from his memories. “How can I help you today?”