Drarry Oneshots

27| Make Your Move

~Hey, just a minor warning— there is a brief mention of a slur in this chapter~

"That grimy git," Ron heaves his bag onto the breakfast table, causing a ruckus and making Hermione jump.

She sweeps her hair from her face and peers up at Ron with a look of pure venom in her eyes. The little pot of ink she was using to write has spilled and with a wave of her wand, it's back in the container.

"Ronald one of these days I will do something sinister to you," she growls.

"You won't be able to do anything as sinister as what that Malfoy did this morning," Ron grumbles.

As if she's forgotten her most recent threat, she leans forward eagerly, "what did he do this time?"

"He pointed out Harry in the hall and went, 'get a load of this fag',"

"Out of the blue?" Hermione tilts her head.

"Yeah!"

"That's awful," she says, "where's Harry now?"

"Said he had to use the bathroom," Ron murmured, already starting in on filling his plate.

He stops however, when he sees that Hermione looks ready to kill again.

"Fuck— what?" He asks.

"Harry just got attacked by Malfoy, says he has to go to the bathroom, and you just let him?" She raises her voice.

"I mean, yeah, I'm not the potty police!" Ron says indignantly.

"He's obviously in distress!"

"What am I supposed to do now? Snatch him off the toilet?" He huffs.

"If that's what it takes, yes," Hermione says.

"Good Gryffindor, you're being serious?" His voice hitches up to a shrill pitch.

"Ronald—," she raises her wand menacingly and in a fraction of a second, Ron is running down the aisle to the doors.

All the way to the bathroom he grumbles to himself, trying to come up with a passable excuse to get Harry out of the bathroom. If he was still there, for that matter.

As he turns into the hall of where the bathroom is, he hears voices coming from the echoey chamber.

He hangs back, listening.

"What do you want?" He hears a miserable voice say. Harry's miserable voice.

"To talk," comes a simple response.

Ron curls his hands into fists at the sharp sound of Malfoy's own voice.

"There's nothing left to talk about," Harry says.

There's something peculiar about this conversation happening, no longer does Ron want to storm in and save Harry from Malfoy's clutches. Something tells him to stay put.

"Of course there is," says Malfoy, "you're in the bathroom— presumably crying,"

"And who's fault is that?" Demands Harry.

There's a brief, uncomfortable silence and Ron imagines that Harry's awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Mine," Malfoy whispers softly.

Ron's ears become heated at this new tone from Malfoy.

To hell with Hermione, he wasn't sticking around for this.

Stealthily, he creeps away, back to where the food is.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, Harry is still in the stall with his legs tucked into his chest, held close by his arms.

Draco leans against the stall door, almost begging for Harry to come out.

"Fine," he gives in and unlatches the door.

Draco is taken aback by the redness of Harry's eyes. Then he is ashamed.

Why did he have to say that to him?

Why couldn't he just simply react to things like normal people do?

"I..." Draco struggles for words, "I'm sorry,"

"No need to apologize," Harry says bitterly, "you've made it abundantly clear that the feeling isn't mutual,"

"No," Draco says sharply, "it's not about that— well, I mean it is but also I'm sorry because I..."

"Dammit Draco why do you always have to do this to me? Why can't you stop playing with my feelings for once?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" Draco feels horrified.

"Yes!" Harry shouts, "Just- just leave me alone, there's no need to rub it in,"

Draco feels a wave of panic, if he doesn't do something, Harry's going to leave this bathroom and hate him forever.

Draco takes a deep breath and let's out the words he's kept so close for years now.
"Harry, I do like you, like that, like they way you do,"

Immediately, he feels bare, having spilled the contents of his conscience.

"What?" Harry doesn't believe what he's hearing.

"I said I like you,"

"No you don't," he shakes his head, albeit uncertainly.

"I'm sorry for what I did this morning I'm not very good at all these feelings," Draco explains in a rush.

"Why didn't you tell me last night after I..." Harry's voice trails off, he absentmindedly touches a hand to his own lips. Remembering.

"I don't know," Draco looks to the floor, imagining he was being swept up in the ocean of tiles below them, "I suppose I panicked,"

"Well so did I," Harry says.

"I don't think I'm panicking now," Draco murmurs, forcing his eyes back to Harry.

"That's... uh, that's good," Harry winces.

A shy smile creeps onto Draco's face as he thinks about what Harry said last night at the balcony outside the dorms of Gryffindor.

"I'm going to make a move now," he announces, just as Harry did.

At first neither of them moved.

"I think you're panicking again ," Harry remarked.

"I'm not good at this," Draco bit his lip.

"You said you were making the move, so why don't you?" There's a note of humor in this.

So Draco steps forward and hesitantly cups Harry's chin. Harry's dark eyebrows dance up in encouragement. Draco closes his eyes and presses his lips firmly against Harry's.

At first they're still, neither of them really quite believing that this was happening.

Reality sets in, though, and they move against each other, with each other.

They pull apart briefly, to catch their breath before diving back in.

* * *

"Where's Harry?" Hermione's hands are on her hips.

"I'm sure he's just fine," Ron cringes to himself, trying not to think about what's happening in that bathroom.