Chapter 15
The Christmas holidays had arrived early, bringing with them an atmosphere of excitement and uncertainty. Harry’s revelation at the Ministry had shaken the entire magical world, forcing the Ministry to act swiftly and decisively. With his help, they had taken charge of the situation—stabilizing Hogwarts and ensuring that the school year resumed without further interruption.
When the holidays ended, everyone returned to Hogwarts, now under the leadership of the new headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. The castle looked the same, yet there was an air of change in the corridors, a balance yet to be established. Still, the students immersed themselves in their studies as they prepared for their O.W.L.s, played Quidditch matches, and went on the usual trips to Hogsmeade.
For the first time in years, the dark‐haired guy seemed more relaxed. It was a subtle change, visible only to those watching closely. His eyes remained alert, his mind never entirely at ease, but there was a lightness in his movements—a freer way of breathing.
In an effort to unite the houses and improve cooperation among the students, Hermione had proposed a mixed study group. At first, the initiative was met with enthusiasm, even though most of the students seemed more interested in being in the same room as Harry Potter than actually studying.
Fortunately, Draco made sure that no one disturbed him. With a natural arrogance bordering on insolence, he always occupied the seat next to Harry—so much so that no one dared to challenge him. And if someone got too close or tried to capture the Gryffindor’s attention with trivial questions, a single look from Malfoy was enough to discourage them.
Despite everything, they no longer had even a moment to speak. Harry was always seen surrounded by people or being summoned to the Ministry every couple of days. Talking with him was difficult enough on its own, but now it was practically impossible. And so he resigned himself to studying alongside him—more often than studying, he ended up watching him secretly behind an open book.
And so the school year slipped away, marked by exams, meetings, and Quidditch.
Harry signed, closing his eyes for a moment as Draco mumbled in front of him, swaying slightly. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Draco Malfoy—the proud, impeccable, haughty Malfoy—completely drunk, his eyes glossy and cheeks flushed, declaring his feelings in the middle of his own living room at three in the morning.
It was a surreal scene.
«Wow, I can’t believe it—it’s really you!» exclaimed the blonde with a crooked smile, taking an uncertain step toward him.
«Nowadays I only see your face in the newspapers. I think my father sees you more at the Ministry than I do.»
The host in his own home, raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.
«How much have you had to drink?»
«I?» hi's eyes widened, as if the very idea were absurd.
«Nothing! Or rather… a little. Just a bit.» Draco gestured vaguely with his hand.
«Okay, maybe too much. But that’s beside the point.»
The dark‐haired guy suppressed a laugh, but before he could say anything, Draco went on.
«Anyway, the point is… Harry, why won’t you be with me?»
Draco fixed him with those grey eyes that seemed to see too much, sparkling with a raw, undeniable emotion.
«And you might say that I never asked you, yes—but you never gave me the chance to do so.» his voice trembled, and suddenly, without any warning, his eyes filled with tears.
Harry was dumbfounded. Draco Malfoy was crying. Right there, before him.
«But I like you.» the Slytherin’s voice broke as tears slid down his cheeks.
«I like you too much. You’re the only thing that lights up this grey world. The only real thing—the only one that breaks—»
Harry didn’t let him finish. He moved without thinking, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against Harry’s.
The taller one jerked; his body tensed for an instant before melting completely into him. He smelled of mint and aged whisky—the kiss was soft, sweeter than Harry had expected, yet intense, almost desperate.
When they separated, Draco blinked several times, as if trying to refocus. Then he sighed and ran a hand over his face, laughing softly.
«I think I’m too drunk.»
The dark‐haired guy shook his head, a small smile on his lips. The blonde looked at him seriously and raised a trembling finger toward him.
«I… you, tomorrow you have to kiss me again.»
Harry watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
«Alright. But now I’m taking you to bed.»
Draco woke up with a bump on his head that looked like the result of a half-cast Avada Kedavra. The sun barely filtered through the heavy curtains of the room assigned to him at Grimmauld Place, and as his still-hazy mind began to reconstruct the events of the previous night, he felt a chill.
He had been drinking.
He had said things.
Harry had kissed him.
He had kissed him—right?
«Crap.»
He sat up abruptly, only to immediately regret it as a wave of nausea and pain hit him like a train. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath and forced himself to move. He headed to the bathroom and turned the cold water on full blast, standing under the icy jet without even completely removing his clothes.
«You idiot, Malfoy.» he muttered, pressing his forehead against the wall and smacking it gently against the tiles.
Ten minutes later, with his hair still damp and his face tense, he left the room and descended the stairs. He found Harry sitting in the lounge on an armchair, a book in his hands, his expression calm and focused. Harry looked perfectly at ease—as if everything were normal, as if the previous evening had never happened.
«In the kitchen there’s a hangover potion.» Harry said without even looking up from his page.
Draco hesitated for a second, then without a word turned and went to fetch it. He felt a bit disappointed. He had expected… what? He wasn’t even sure himself.
He downed the vial in one breath, feeling relief spread immediately through his head and stomach, and just as he was about to set the bottle on the table, he heard a voice behind him.
«What’s with that miserable look?»
He spun around, coming face-to-face with Harry, who was watching him with an almost amused expression.
Draco opened his mouth to reply—to say something sarcastic, to hide his embarrassment—but he didn’t have time.
Harry grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, lowering him enough so that he could kiss him.
It was slow.
Not the impetuous kiss of the previous night, but something different. It was a warm, assured touch that held him in place while still allowing him the option to pull away. But he didn’t want to pull away.
Draco closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, letting himself be carried away by the way the dark‐haired guy’s lips moved against his.
Then, with the same calm with which it had begun, the kiss ended. Harry let him go and returned to the lounge without a word, as if nothing had happened.
Draco stood still for a moment, then felt something uncontrollable spread across his own lips: a smile.
«So, can I say I’m dating the great Harry Potter?»
There was no answer—only a slight, amused snort, muffled by the rustle of pages from his book.