sweetener; drarry

11; the one where they kiss

TRACK 11
We're Going To Be Friends
The Whitestripes

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Harry edged towards the finish line, climaxing in a dramatic moan with his eyes shut. It was as though he was drifting on clouds, not sitting at an incredibly uncomfortable angle on a seat that felt it would collapse underneath his weight. He let his head loll to the side and then flop onto the backrest of the chair, panting unevenly whilst covering half his face with his non-dominant hand. Anyone would've thought he had just run a marathon. Anyone except for Draco, who stood merely inches away.

"Not on my bloody chair!" The Slytherin spat, sending an ambush of dread over Harry, like his limbs were tangled in ivy — the more he squirmed the worse it got. His eyes flew open at the speed of light as he, in a similar fashion, heaved his jeans back on and fumbled to buckle the belt. He had been caught, and worst of all, by Draco-bleeding-Malfoy! Fear consumed him at the very prospect of what Draco would use this for. Harry had just given the perfect blackmail to someone who would most definitely hold it high above his head. Never would he be seen the same way again. Not as Harry; the Boy Who Lived, who saved the Philosopher's Stone, who killed the Basilisk and conquered the Triwizard Tournament. No, he would be Harry Potter; the public exposer who fancies Malfoy, who's a sick little pervert. Were they so wrong? The brunet with eyes as luminously green as the Slytherin serpent on Draco's robes wasn't quite sure.

"I—I...oh, my God..." Harry muttered to himself, fixing his gaze on anything but Draco. He tried to speak, to think quickly of an excuse, but there was none and a lump had formed in his throat that wouldn't budge. The other, with hair as white as freshly cleaned bedsheets, remained silent — though Harry could feel his smirk. He knew Draco was enjoying how humiliated he was, how red his face must've been.
"Aren't you going to clean it up? I hope you don't expect me to do it." Draco hissed, though not as maliciously as he once did when conversing with Harry. The blonde folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot like a mother would when addressing her child's misbehaviour. An image of Molly Weasley with furrowed eyebrows and the most disappointed expression filtered through Harry's mind, and the iron grip of guilt that had seized his being simultaneously tightened. Why had Draco's stance reminded him so much of Mrs Weasley? Harry couldn't tell if that made things better or worse.
"Oh, yeah, sorry." Harry spluttered, fishing his wand out of his pocket with shaky hands and charming the mess away. The green chair was as good as new, though he knew it would be some time before he could look at it the same way again. He lifted his head and Draco's smirk vanished, replaced with raised eyebrows and slightly pouted lips.

Harry opened his mouth to explain but Draco was faster.
"So, let me get this straight. You skived off Divination to wank," the pale boy began, "and instead of doing so in the security of your dorm room — where there are locks, might I add — you decide to toss off in a janitor's closet?" Harry could physically feel the smile curling Malfoy's lips into a catlike grin, as if the boy was fighting an inward battle not to laugh.
"Well...actually," Harry inhaled sharply, picking the nail of his thumb with his ring finger reflexively before closing his eyes and sighing, "you're completely right." When he opened those glassy orbs of his, Draco's grin had transformed into a honeysuckle chuckle that caused wrinkles to hug his hollow cheeks and creases to kiss his tired eyes — like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a beautiful butterfly.

"You have a nice laugh." Harry commented, and at that the butterflies wings had been clipped.

Draco's features fell, almost like a man jumping from a cliff, as his shoulders tensed and his eyebrows knitted themselves together. Harry knew he'd hit a nerve, as highlighted by the sudden coldness that clung to Malfoy's exterior. The brunet's eyes flickered down to the others hands, which were balled into fists so tight his knuckles turned an achromatic white.
"I think you should get back to class, Potter." Draco said flatly, staring intently into Harry's eyes with what the brunet could only describe as hatred.
"All I did was compliment you." Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Draco's eyes narrowed into thin slits.
"Well, I think you can imagine why I don't appreciate compliments from someone who's just had their pants down in a janitor's closet." Draco drawled, scoffing and rolling his eyes.
"I'm not the one who's getting pressed over someone saying my laugh is nice!" Harry barked, anger boiling and bubbling in his chest. He knew he shouldn't be getting so frustrated, but he truly had not said anything insulting.
"Why did you even come here?" Draco began with pungent venom in each word, "I don't want your greasy fingers on my books."
"Oh, get over yourself, Malfoy." A growl emanated deep within Harry's throat and the daydream of Draco he had thought so fondly of before tore itself to shreds. "This closet doesn't even belong to you! But I suppose that's a typical Malfoy thing, taking what isn't yours."
"Get the fuck out." The blonde spat, scrunching his face up just like Ron did when he was angry. And then Harry thought of the ginger, and of Hermione, and how crudely he had treated them. All because of Draco; a spoiled brat.
"Not until you tell me why every time I so much as look at you in a friendly way, you snap at me!" Harry snarled, copying Malfoy in balling up his fists.
"Because you're being fucking weird!" Draco exploded, cheeks pink and eyes livid. "We've hated each other all throughout Hogwarts and now all of a sudden you bum up to me. It's wrong."

It was then that Harry could no longer keep all of the emotions inside of him. He couldn't control the overwhelming anger that seized his thumping heart, or the undeniable hatred of Draco being right. He felt hot and his scar burned for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
"Oh, I'm so fucking sorry for trying to forget all the rancid things you've done to me — all the shit you've put me and my mates through. I deeply apologise for finding out that your dad abuses you and trying to help you out. I couldn't be more remorseful for taking pity on you and being friendly, because it's fairly pathetic that you're sixteen and have absolutely no mates at all!" Harry was not a nasty person, but when he bottled everything up, he could turn in an instant. "You're such a fucking Malfoy, you're cold and selfish and nobody wants you around — you're just there." He finalised, individually cracking each knuckle whilst grinding his teeth together. He lifted his fiery gaze to Draco's usually icy one, to find watery, red eyes.

His outspoken heart broke in an instant and reality crashed down on him. Of course Draco would be cold. Harry, too, would find it hard to trust anybody if he got beaten with a cane by the very person who should protect him. Had he been any younger than sixteen, Harry probably wouldn't have sympathised with such a body as Malfoy. But he was sixteen, and he did understand — to some extent.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean-" Perhaps he had misread Draco's expression, for the boy wiped his eyes in one swift motion and started.
"I didn't ask to be fucking born," Malfoy cried, "I didn't wish to be son to a perfectionist who thinks anything above a size small is fat and a narcissist who gets off on causing pain! 'Malfoy'...you say that so loosely, though I like your definition. It perfectly embodies how fucking destructive my family is. So, before I hex you, get the fuck out." His voice wavered on the final sentence as he hiccoughed and his hands shook.
"Draco...I-" Said boy rushed forwards, gripping Harry's robes in bruised handfuls with a very sad face. His creased forehead and angry eyebrows contrasted horribly with his wet eyes.
"I don't care for your meaningless sorry," The blonde's cracked, higher-pitched voice unsettled Harry and tugged at his heart strings, "I don't want your pity." Draco almost whispered, pulling Harry forward slightly as he buried his head into the brunet's chest.

Draco-bleeding-Malfoy was well and truly broken now.

All Harry could do was place a loose arm around Draco's shoulders (terrified he would break the delicate boy) and another around the small of the blonde's back. All anger had subsided, replaced with unmistakable sadness. Harry felt Draco's shoulders shudder and wet droplets seeping through his shirt. Lifting his head — which caused a slight chill to run down Harry's spine from surprise — Draco stared into the latter's eyes just as he had done at the start of their argument. This time, though, the hatred was gone and all that was left was raw, innocent affection. The pair locked eyes and in no less than a few seconds, their lips had connected too.

an: i forgot to mention this because i'm a BAD WRITER but this takes place in their sixth year even tho the boggart lesson happens in like their 2nd or smth so please just pretend that the boggart lesson never happened until 6th year and i might go back and change professor lupin to someone else yeah? okay chill xoxo