Chapter 22
The return to Hogwarts was less traumatic than they had expected. After days immersed in the almost dreamlike magic of the realm of Harry’s parents, coming back to the castle walls should have felt suffocating. And yet, the return to routine brought with it a certain relief.
«Finally, a bit of normality.» muttered the redhead, tossing his bag onto his desk with a resigned sigh.
«If by normality you mean hours of lessons and homework, then yes, absolutely.» commented Draco sarcastically, gracefully seating himself next to his boyfriend.
«That’s what you say, coming from someone who spends hours perfecting potions as if his life depended on it.» his best friend retorted with an amused smile.
«It’s not my fault I have standards higher than the average.» replied the blonde, raising an eyebrow, which made Harry chuckle.
Classes resumed with the usual intensity. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration… every professor seemed determined to remind them that the academic world didn’t stop for any celebration—not even for a ball hosted by millennial beings.
«I bet Snape will be in an even worse mood than usual.» mumbled Zabini as they took their seats in the dungeon for Potions class.
«Oh, wonderful.» snorted Ron.
Breakfast had only just begun, and Draco was sipping a cup of tea with all the grace in the world when Blaise decided to chime in.
«You know, Draco, I was wondering why you stopped playing as Seeker.» Blaise said, leaning on the table with a mischievous little smile on his lips.
«Then I realized. It’s because you know Harry is better than you.»
The blonde froze for a fraction of a second before calmly setting his cup down. He crossed his arms and turned toward Blaise with the look of someone about to impart a life lesson.
«Oh, Blaise, Blaise, Blaise…» he sighed with exaggerated theatricality.
«What you don’t know is that I let him win.»
The dark‑haired guy raised an eyebrow skeptically.
«Hmm?»
«Obviously.» the Slytherin retorted without hesitation.
«I thought it was a nice gesture on my part.»
Blaise just stared at him for a long moment before returning to his meal, shaking his head with an amused little smile.
Later, the stands at Hogwarts were packed with excited students as they waited for the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match..
Draco, Blaise, Hermione, and Ron had taken seats high above, in the perfect position to watch the match.
«You know, Malfoy…» Blaise began in a smug tone. «You could always go back to playing just to prove that you were letting him win.»
Draco ignored him, too focused on the figure on the pitch.
He watched, unable to take his eyes off him, as the wind of the match enveloped him, tousling his raven hair into a disheveled style that, on anyone else, would have looked unkempt. On him, though, it was perfect. He looked almost like a god of the wind—a free spirit that no rule, no law, no chain could ever hold down.
The crimson and gold Quidditch uniform clung to his body with natural elegance, following his every move with an almost obscene precision. The lightweight fabric caressed his broad shoulders, traced the slender line of his waist, and his strong legs gripped the broom confidently as he sliced through the air with dangerous grace. Every gesture was both calculated and instinctive—a perfect balance between strategy and instinct, between intelligence and raw talent.
He saw him dive in headlong without a moment’s hesitation, his body bending in the air with an almost cruel naturalness, defying gravity and common sense. He held his breath as Harry neared the ground in a flash of red and gold, a shiver running down his spine. Then, with a flick of the wrist and a breathtaking ascent, Harry rose again, the Golden Snitch clutched between his fingers.
It was magnificent.
And he knew it.
When Harry landed at the center of the pitch, his uniform slightly tousled by the wind and a faint smile on his lips, Draco felt his heart skip a beat.
Harry raised his gaze to the stands and met his eyes. His green eyes shone under the sunlight—incandescent, magnetic—and then—there it was, that tongue. Just a hint, barely the tip—a fleeting gesture that was both a provocation and a promise.
Draco ran a hand over his face, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear.
«I think I’ve fallen in love all over again.» he murmured, his voice almost lost in the wind.
Hermione giggled beside him. «Again? Malfoy, I’m beginning to think you never stopped.»
Draco snorted as he made his way toward his room, already knowing he would find Harry there.
As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by the familiar sound of running water. The Gryffindor had taken the liberty of showering—as usual—and, just as predictably, had decided to help himself to some of his own clothes to get dressed.
When he emerged from the bathroom, his raven hair still damp and disheveled in its usual perfect chaos, he was wearing one of his shirts. It was too large on him, the fabric sliding over his bare shoulders while the sleeves nearly completely covered his hands, leaving only his fingers to peek out at the ends. He hadn’t even bothered to button it all the way, revealing the line of his collarbone and a hint of skin that was far too tempting for the nerves already tested by the blonde.
He swallowed, but didn’t think much about it. Or maybe he did. But he didn’t admit it.
«Was that… that tongue necessary?» he asked instead, his tone seemingly neutral.
Harry gave him an innocent look, tilting his head slightly. «Why? Did it distract you?»
He grimaced, though Harry already knew the answer.
«So, who was letting whom win?» continued the shorter one, that half-smug smile always making it seem as if he knew exactly how to drive him crazy.
Draco snorted and brushed off the question as if it were the least of his concerns. And it was—the chaos of thoughts racing through his mind—about the shirt, the smile, the damned way Harry always managed to take up all the space without even trying—suddenly one detail clicked.
He watched him with a raised eyebrow and a smile that betrayed his amusement all too well.
«You’re far more competitive than I thought.»
The dark‑haired guy merely tilted his head, a trace of a smile on his lips.
The Slytherin moved closer, letting his hand slide along Harry’s side, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt—his shirt.
«But you know what?» he whispered, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
«I like seeing you win.»
And without giving him a chance to respond, he closed the gap between them and kissed him.
Harry reciprocated without hesitation, but the kiss lasted only a moment before they separated. Then, with a swift and sure movement, he grabbed Harry by the shoulders, turned him, and pushed him down onto the bed with an almost lethal grace.
Draco found himself staring at the ceiling for a second before he settled beneath him, straddling him, with that damn satisfied little smile on his lips.
«Oh, is that so, hmm?» he whispered, running his fingers along his chest, tracing the line of the fabric with an exasperating slowness.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Harry silenced him with a deep, sure kiss while his hands trailed up along Draco’s hips.
And Draco? Well, if Harry wanted the victory... perhaps, for that time, he could let him have it.