Oh, you love me anyway

Draco Malfoy had spent his entire life meticulously crafting his reputation.

He was Malfoy heir, Slytherin prince, untouchable, untouchable, untouchable.

And now?

Now, people were whispering about him and Potter.

Which was, objectively, a nightmare.

The rumors had started a few days ago, and Draco had no idea how. All he knew was that one moment, he had been perfectly content sneaking around the castle for stolen moments with Harry, and the next—people had started looking.

It was in the sideways glances from passing students, the not-so-subtle stares in the Great Hall, the too-knowing smirks from Theo and Pansy, and worst of all—

Blaise had raised an eyebrow at him.

Which was practically a declaration of war.

Draco had tried to ignore it, had convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, it was all in his head.

And then, yesterday, Pansy had slid into the seat beside him at breakfast, casually sipping her tea, and said, “So, when were you planning on telling me you’re secretly snogging Potter?”

Draco had choked on his pumpkin juice.

“I am not—” he had started, voice far too high-pitched, but Pansy had simply given him a look.

That was the moment Draco knew he was doomed.

Because Pansy knew things.

And once Pansy knew, everyone would know.

Which meant Draco had exactly one option:

Deny everything.

Lie. Deceive. Pretend Harry Potter was nothing more than an occasional inconvenience rather than the most frustratingly distracting person Draco had ever encountered in his life.

And so, for the past twenty-four hours, he had been on high alert.

Avoiding eye contact. Scoffing dramatically anytime someone so much as mentioned Potter’s name. Casually throwing around insults in the common room, just in case anyone suspected he secretly liked the way Harry’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

He was being so convincing.

So thorough.

So very, very discreet.

And then, tonight, Potter had sent him a note.

A note.

With actual, physical words.

As if Draco hadn’t already struggled enough today.

It had appeared out of nowhere—charmed directly onto the page of his Potions textbook, scrawled in Harry’s awful, messy handwriting:

Meet me. Secret passage near the North Tower. Midnight.

—H

Draco had stared at it for a full five minutes.

Then he had sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and started preparing himself for whatever disaster was about to unfold.

Which led him here.

Now.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway near the North Tower, arms crossed, pulse stupidly fast, waiting for Potter.

It had been weeks since their arrangement had turned into… whatever this was.

It had started with arguments. Then accidental truce. Then intentional meetings.

And then, one night—one stupid, reckless night—Potter had kissed him.

And Draco had let him.

And then, because Draco was a fool, he had kissed him back.

After that, everything had spiraled into narrow escapes, stolen glances, secret passageways, and far too much touching.

Which, of course, had led to this moment.

Standing in the shadows, trying very hard not to think about how ridiculous this all was—waiting for a midnight rendezvous with bloody Harry Potter, as if Draco’s entire identity hadn’t been built on the absolute opposite of this.

Before he could spiral further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

And then—

Harry appeared.

Draco immediately braced himself.

Because Harry looked… unreasonably good for someone who had just crawled out of bed to meet him in secret.

Hair a disaster, as always. Shirt slightly askew, like he had rushed to get here. A small, smug smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, because he knew Draco had been waiting.

Draco rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw the back of his own skull.

“You’re late,” he muttered, because God forbid he admit he had been standing here like an idiot, waiting.

Harry just grinned. “Miss me?”

Draco scoffed. “Not even slightly.”

Draco barely had time to process the way Harry was looking at him—like he was some sort of thrilling, unsolvable puzzle—before Harry, as usual, made a horribly Gryffindor decision. "Come on," he whispered, grabbing Draco’s wrist with that stupidly warm hand of his and tugging him toward the shadowed alcove beside them. Draco almost resisted, almostdemanded to know why they couldn't just stand there like normal people, but then Harry was pressing his wand to a section of wall and—oh, of course, a hidden entrance, because why not?—and then they were inside. The space was narrow, barely enough room to stand side by side without touching, and before Draco could open his mouth to complain about the appalling lack of personal space, the entrance sealed shut behind them with a sharp click. Silence stretched. Draco turned, slow and deliberate, to glare at Harry, who had the audacity to look surprised. "Potter," he said, voice dangerously calm. "Did you just—?" Harry blinked at the now solid wall, then back at Draco.

“...Okay, in my defense, I didn’t know that would happen.” Draco exhaled through his nose, staring at the ceiling like it might give him strength. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

Draco did not get out of bed this morning expecting to be trapped in a godforsaken secret passageway with Harry Potter.

But then again, Draco was starting to accept that most of his life choices lately—particularly the ones involving Potter—were disastrous at best.

Because Harry, for some reason, decided to use a completely unfamiliar secret corridor—one that had allegedly been there for centuries, untouched and totally reliable.

Draco had questions. Many questions. Most of them involving why Harry thought an unmarked passageway was a good idea.

But, regrettably, he had been too distracted by Harry’s grin (infuriating), his hand around Draco’s wrist (frustratingly distracting), and the prospect of five entire minutes of privacy (utterly disastrous for his sanity).

Which brought them here.

Draco exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead against the cold, damp stone wall of their very small, very inconvenientprison.

“Potter,” he said, voice dangerously calm.

Harry, sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

Draco turned very slowly. “Would you like to explain to me,” he drawled, “how, exactly, we have managed to get ourselves—and I do mean you—locked in a passageway that hasn’t been used since before the invention of plumbing?”

Harry huffed, leaning back on his palms. “Oh, excuse me, Malfoy. Next time I’ll let you pick the top-secret make-out location.”

Draco scowled, cheeks heating. “We are not—” He made a sharp, flustered motion with his hands. “—doing that right now.”

Harry smirked, and Draco immediately regretted everything.

“Right now?” Harry repeated, tilting his head. “So, what? Later?”

Draco groaned, resisting the urge to throw something. “That is not what I meant.”

Harry, obnoxiously unbothered, stretched his arms behind his head, looking disgustingly at ease for someone trapped indefinitely in a dusty crypt.

Draco, on the other hand, was rapidly losing his mind.

The passage was narrow—barely wide enough for them to stand side by side without bumping shoulders. The air was thick, musty with the scent of aged stone and forgotten magic, and the torches on the walls flickered eerily, casting elongated shadows that made everything feel smaller.

And then, of course, there was Harry.

Sitting there, completely unaffected, green eyes glinting with amusement, every ounce of his infuriating Gryffindor confidence radiating off him like heat.

It was honestly offensive.

Draco inhaled sharply. “Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Brilliant. So we’re stuck. In a sealed-off corridor. With no way out.” He gestured vaguely at the distinct lack of doors or obvious exit mechanisms. “Truly stellardecision-making, Potter. I so appreciate this adventure.”

Harry snorted. “You’re being dramatic.”

Draco leveled him with a glare. “Oh, am I?” He gestured around them. “Because from where I’m standing, we are trappedin what is essentially a stone coffin.”

Harry just shrugged, looking disgustingly casual for someone in an actual life-threatening situation. “Well, at least we’re trapped together.”

Draco froze.

Harry had said it lightly, almost absentmindedly, but something about the way he said it made Draco’s brain short-circuit.

For a second, Draco forgot how to be normal.

The moment stretched between them, and Draco was suddenly hyperaware of how small the space was.

And how close Harry was.

Close enough that if Draco moved even half an inch, their knees would brush. Close enough that Harry’s breath stirred the air between them, warm and distractingly intimate.

Draco swallowed. Bad. This was bad.

And then—Harry shifted, leaning forward slightly, and Draco’s entire body locked up.

He should move. He should move.

But then Harry’s gaze flickered—down to his mouth, then back up—and suddenly, Draco wasn’t thinking at all.

The kiss happened too fast and too slow all at once.

One second, they were just too close, and the next—

Harry’s hand was in his hair, tilting his face up, and Draco was kissing him back, heat coiling sharp and devastating in his chest.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate, frustrated, all teeth and breathless tension, because they had spent too much time pretending this wasn’t something they needed.

Harry’s fingers curled at the nape of Draco’s neck, pulling him in, and Draco—completely lost in the moment—bit at Harry’s bottom lip, just to see what would happen.

Harry groaned.

Draco died.

Somewhere, in the tiny part of his brain that still functioned, Draco knew this was dangerous.

They were secrets and whispers behind hands and something doomed before it began.

But right now?

Right now, they were heat and hands and barely-contained want, and nothing else mattered.

Except—

The wall behind them shifted.

They jerked apart just as the stones gave way, revealing—

A deeply unimpressed Hermione Granger.

And Pansy. Who looked delighted.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Hermione sighed. “We found them.”

Pansy smirked. “See? I told you they’d get themselves trapped in something stupid.”

Harry and Draco froze.

Then, at the same time, they both groaned.

Because of course they were caught.

And of course Pansy and Hermione were never going to let them live it down.