It was nearly midnight when Harry found himself wandering the quiet halls of Hogwarts, the soles of his trainers whispering against the stone floor. The castle was half-asleep, all shadows and candlelight. He should've been in bed—he had double Potions tomorrow, and Snape had already made it clear that tardiness would be met with “unspeakable suffering.”
But Harry wasn’t sleepy.
He wasn’t even sure why he’d left the common room, except that he couldn’t stop thinking about Draco Malfoy’s smirk earlier that day in the library. Something about the way Draco had leaned across the table, tie loosened, fingers tapping idly at the edge of his Transfiguration textbook, had stuck with Harry longer than it should have.
“You know, Potter,” Draco had said, lazily spinning his quill between his fingers, “if you stare at me any harder, I’ll be forced to assume you’re planning my untimely demise. Or something far more scandalous.”
Harry had flushed so fast he thought Madam Pince might've kicked him out just for the sheer heat radiating off his face.
Now, here he was, sneaking down toward the Astronomy Tower because… well, he wasn't going to admit even to himself that he hoped to run into Draco. That would be ridiculous.
Which was exactly why, when he turned the corner and nearly walked straight into a slim figure leaning against the window ledge, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Potter,” Draco drawled, clearly not surprised in the slightest.
Harry blinked. “You again?”
Draco tilted his head, the moonlight glinting off his pale hair. “You make it sound like fate. How romantic.”
Harry rolled his eyes, walking past him to lean on the opposite side of the window. “You’re full of yourself.”
Draco smirked. “And you keep showing up wherever I am. Coincidence?”
“Poor luck,” Harry said, but his lips betrayed him with the faintest hint of a smile.
They stood in silence for a moment, the night stretching comfortably between them. Then Draco spoke, voice soft and uncharacteristically sincere.
“You ever wonder what this place would be like without all the… posturing?”
Harry glanced at him. “You mean us?”
“I mean you and me,” Draco said, and his eyes didn’t leave Harry’s this time. “Without all the pretending we can’t stand each other.”
Something twisted in Harry’s chest. “I think we stopped pretending a while ago.”
Draco’s smile turned slow, almost shy. “Good.”
Harry stepped closer. “Good?”
“Because I really want to kiss you.”
There was a pause—just long enough to count to three—and then Harry kissed him.
