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"We can be friends, if you like," he says instead, nonchalant and careless.

"What I'd like," Potter says seriously, "is to kiss you."

Draco feels his jaw drop, feels the way his hair tumbles into his eyes when he whips around to stare at Potter. "What?" he breathes.

"I think I'd like to kiss you," Potter repeats sombrely, no hint of mirth evident.

"You think?" Draco says steadily, proud of himself for holding himself together.

Potter's eyebrows slide up briefly but then Draco can't think or act or speak or breathe because Potter is leaning in and cupping his cheek gently. "I know," Potter says simply, and kisses Draco.