Gorgeous

“Malfoy?”

Harry glanced over to said boy, who was sitting next to him and writing hurriedly with his quill, focused on the ink seeping into the parchment; he glowered whenever the ink smudged as his left hand glided over it. His white blonde hair was a good-looking kind of messy, and the coat to his uniform was draped over his seat. The classroom was quiet and empty; except for them.

“Yes, Potter?” Malfoy replied in his usual annoyed manner, not even stopping to look at Harry, which infuriated him.

‘Pay attention to me, Merlin’s sake.’ He thought.

Harry plucked the quill right from his hand and threw it, finally getting his attention.

“What do you want, Potter? What is so important?”

“I want you.” Harry said firmly.

Wait, what?

Malfoy stared Harry down with those damned stormy eyes, irritation and something unnameable but magnetic swirling in them. Something tugging him closer. He stared and Harry stared back, before Malfoy pounced and grabbed his collar, smashing their lips together—

Then Harry woke up, panting hard.

What the absolute fuck.

…

“What’s with you?”

Draco muttered, raising an eyebrow at Potter, who was tripping over air and dropping his things. He didn’t respond or even look Draco’s way as he dropped down to pick up his stuff from the floor, murmuring expletives under his breath and pushing his glasses up with his wrist.

“Shove off.” Potter stood after gathering his things and awkwardly sat beside to Draco, scooting away slightly, earning a suspicious look.

His dark hair was messier than usual, his tie slightly askew—and, fuck, he still looked good.

“Just asking.”

“Well, don’t. Don’t even speak to me.” His words were harsh—biting at Draco and chewing off a piece of him.

Draco stared at Potter, eyes widened slightly and jaw tightened. There was a flash of remorse on the other’s face for the half-second that they looked at each other. It seemed as if he was about to apologize, but ultimately kept silent.

A sharp exhale left Draco’s lips as he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill to write, looping ink across the thin sheet; his mood dampening even further when the ink smudged as he wrote—

Snap.

Draco quickly turned his head to the sound, and he found that Potter had managed to break his quill. Ink splattered over Potter’s parchment and a few other students were glancing over.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you? You have a fight with your girlfriend—“

He was cut off when Potter slammed half of the quill down on the table,

“Malfoy, I swear, you better shut your mouth before I curse you!”

Draco flinched at the volume of his words, and the memories they brought back. It seemed that Potter realised after a long second the weight of his threat. Empty as it may be, they both knew it wasn’t impossible.

“Mr. Potter!”

The professor shouted as he marched towards their desk, and Potter sighed as he steeled himself for a lecture. His eyes avoided Draco and his general vicinity.

“It’s always you two, isn’t it?”

…

“What’d he do this time?”

Ron asked, mouth full. Harry had gotten off easy with a warning, apologizing to the professor for the disturbance. He didn’t tell Harry to apologise to Malfoy, though; simply gave the boy an unreadable look and walked back to his desk.

“It actually wasn’t his fault this time. Not much, anyway,” the image of the fear that flashed across Malfoy’s face as he flinched popped up in Harry’s mind, “I might have threatened to hex him.”

Hermione looked at him chidingly, “Harry.”

“Well I feel bad about it now! He honestly looked scared for a moment. Really, I didn’t mean to say it—especially since I actually did curse him.”

“Still think you were right for that, mate.”

Hermione shot Ron a look.

“It’s weird though, isn’t it? Malfoy, being scared of me.”

Hermione shrugged as she chewed off a piece of meat from her fork, “I think it’s understandable. You were always his rival, you saved the whole Wizarding World, saved him multiple times, defended him in court, and basically made him indebted to you for life. You have every right to hurt him. Again, anyway.”

Harry let the thoughts wash over him. Did Malfoy really think of him that way?

“But,” Ron started then swallowed a chunk of his toast, “why’d you snap at him, anyway? If he didn’t do anything.”

Harry’s face warmed slightly, memories of the dream—nightmare—that started the whole affair.

“I was already on edge and I accidentally broke my quill and he asked if I had a fight with Ginny—“

“Wait, why were you on edge?” Hermione asked.

“You broke your quill?” Ron chimed in.

“Yes—I..had a strange dream last night. More like a nightmare.”

“Another one about the war?” Both his friends leaned in with interest, eager to listen; while Harry held back a shudder at the memory of it. He tried to think of how to tell the story without it sounding weird—or, well, weirder.

“No, it was different. I was in my dream, and he was too…”

“Oh God, Harry, are you having sex dreams about Malfoy?”

Harry gaped at Ron, looking around to see if anyone else heard him—thankfully, nobody.

“I am nothaving sex dreams about Malfoy.” He managed to say through gritted teeth.

“But it was weird,” he continued, “it was just us in the classroom. And did any of you know he was left-handed? I didn’t, but somehow I knew in my dream.”

Hermione nodded, “that’s your subconscious. You’ve probably noticed it before many times but never payed much attention to it.”

“Yeah, well, he was writing with his left hand today in class and that’s when I broke my quill.”

“That’s it? Just because he was writing like in your dream?”

There was a moment of silence, a pause before Harry spoke again to decide whether to tell them.

“That wasn’t the whole dream. He kind of…kissed me.”

Ron dropped his spoon onto his plate and Hermione’s eyebrows raised curiously at him.

“In the dream! It was only a dream, it doesn’t mean anything. Right?”

“It could very well be meaningless, doesn’t necessarily mean you actually want him to kiss you.”

Ron was still wide-eyed, and Hermione nudged his shoulder.

“You kissed Malfoy?!”

“He kissed me—It was just a dream!”

…

“And he just yelled at me! I barely did anything, anyway.”

Draco stabbed his steak with his fork, aggressively cutting a chunk off with his knife. He huffed as he bit off his fork, already cutting off another slice. Intent on avoiding looking at Potter, his steak was the victim of Draco’s cutting glare.

“You sure you didn’t do anything?” Pansy muttered, scooping from her dome mashed potatoes.

“Truly, I didn’t. He was snappy right when he walked into class. Tripping, dropping all his things; he broke his quill for some reason. Thought he had a fight with his girlfriend or something.”

“D’you ask him that?” Pansy asked.

“…yeah.”

“Then that’s probably why.”

He wondered what he saw in her, Ginny Weasley. Jealousy burned in him as he thought of her kissing Potter, touching him, holding his hand. All red hair and brown eyes and female. Nothing like Draco. Maybe that was why he liked her so much. Maybe he thought Ginny was gorgeous, like Draco did him.

He pushed the thoughts back, “then he threatened to curse me.”

Blaise sighed and Pansy chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“I’ll curse him.”

“I’ll help you, Pans.”

Draco gave them a small, appreciative smile.

“Thanks you both. But if you do anything to him, I will be locking you in the common room.”

…

“I want you.”

Harry lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with the red sheets pulled up to his chest. The dream replayed in his mind no matter how hard he tried to forget. It didn’t mean anything…right? He didn’t actually want Malfoy. Didn’t want to kiss him.

At least it wasn’t like the usual nightmares.

He thought, then appeared an image of Malfoy grabbing Harry’s collar to pull him in for a burning hot kiss so vivid he could almost feel it.

It was worse.