Chapter Forty-Four
The tension between Harry and Draco had reached an unbearable crescendo. It felt like every moment they spent together now was filled with a kind of electricity—charged and thick with unspoken words, unaddressed feelings. They hadn't spoken of their kiss again, but neither had they distanced themselves. If anything, things had only gotten worse.
Draco was everywhere Harry went, his presence like a weight on his shoulders, constantly reminding him of what had happened and what was still unresolved between them. Every glance, every word exchanged, seemed to carry an undercurrent of something far more dangerous. It was a kind of war between them now, but not the kind they were used to. This was different, more intimate, more vulnerable. It made Harry want to run, but also stay.
This morning, as Harry sat at his desk in his office at the Ministry, staring at paperwork he couldn't bring himself to care about, he could feel Draco's presence hovering just outside his door.
"Potter," Draco's voice was as smooth as silk, but there was a challenge there too, like a dare. "You look like you could use a distraction."
Harry didn't even look up from the papers. He was trying to focus, trying to pretend he wasn't on the edge of losing it completely.
"I don't need a distraction, Malfoy," he muttered, but the words came out more strained than he meant.
Draco didn't miss it. Of course, he didn't. Draco was always too observant, too damn perceptive for his own good. Harry could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he moved closer.
"No?" Draco's voice was almost too close now, and Harry could feel the heat of his body, even without looking. "You sure? Because you've been running around like a man on fire ever since our little... incident."
Harry stiffened at the mention of the kiss, the heat flooding his face despite himself. "I don't want to talk about it, Malfoy."
But Draco wasn't having it. He stepped into Harry's line of sight, and Harry had to force himself not to stare at the way Draco looked, standing there with that infuriating, maddening smirk.
"I don't think you get it, Potter," Draco said softly, his tone low but carrying a weight Harry couldn't ignore. "I'm not going anywhere. And I know you feel it too."
Harry's chest tightened, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to push this down, bury it. They were pretending, weren't they? Just pretending. That's all this was.
"I don't need you to remind me what I feel," Harry bit back, his words sharp, too sharp.
Draco's eyes glittered with that same knowing, that same challenge. "No? Then why don't you admit it? Admit that you want this. Admit that you've wanted me for years, even before we kissed."
Harry looked up at Draco finally, their eyes locking. There was something dangerous in that look—something that pushed all of Harry's careful control to the edge. The words that escaped his mouth were as much a surprise to him as they were to Draco.
"I don't want you," Harry snapped, but the words felt hollow, like a lie.
"Liar," Draco shot back, stepping closer still. "You think I don't know you by now, Potter? You think I don't know that you want to kiss me again? I can feel it. I can see it in the way you react when I'm near. You can't even keep your eyes off me."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry, and his breath hitched in his chest. Every muscle in his body screamed to get out of this situation, but he couldn't move. He couldn't leave. Not now. Not when Draco was so close.
Draco was close enough now that Harry could smell him—the scent of expensive cologne, the faint trace of something else. Something wild. Something that made his head spin.
Before Harry could stop himself, he found his hand gripping the back of Draco's neck, pulling him in. His mouth crashed against Draco's, desperate, fierce, and filled with something too complicated to understand.
The kiss was nothing like their first—this one was raw, heated, as if the very act of touching each other would be enough to extinguish the fire building between them. They were both desperate now, clawing at each other, as if they were both too afraid to stop. And yet, neither of them wanted to.
Draco responded immediately, his hands on Harry's waist, tugging him closer, his lips demanding more. Harry could feel the urgency, the heat, the way Draco pulled him in, needing this just as much.
It was all hands and mouths and bodies, too tangled to be anything but a mess of feelings and desires they couldn't contain anymore.
When they finally broke apart, both of them panting, breathless, Harry couldn't help but smirk, despite the storm of emotions raging inside him.
"See? Told you," Draco said, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it.
"You're impossible," Harry muttered, trying to gather his bearings. "You know that, right?"
Draco didn't even pretend to be contrite. "I know. But you love it."
Harry wasn't sure if he was willing to admit that just yet.
"No, I don't," Harry said, his voice rough, but his heart wasn't in it. They both knew better.
"Oh, Potter," Draco said, stepping back, his expression unreadable for a moment. "It's too late for that now."
And with those words, Harry knew—knew that this wasn't going to end. Not now. Not ever. He'd crossed a line he couldn't uncross, and now, they were both stuck with the consequences.