Chapter Forty-Seven
The aftermath of their night together lingered in the air, thick with unspoken words and a quiet understanding neither of them was ready to confront just yet. Harry sat on the edge of Draco's bed, one leg propped up, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the edge of the sheet, as though it would somehow unravel the mess of emotions swirling inside him.
Draco had already gotten dressed, his back to Harry as he stood by the window, looking out at the darkened skyline of London. There was something about the silence, the stillness between them, that felt heavier than the words neither of them was brave enough to speak.
"I didn't think it would be like this," Harry said quietly, his voice rough from the lack of sleep and the lingering passion from the night before. His gaze never left Draco, watching his profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the low light.
Draco's voice was cool, detached, like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't affected by the same storm that was clearly raging in Harry's chest. "You mean you didn't think I could be good enough?" He turned his head slightly, just enough for Harry to catch the glint of something dark in his eyes.
That stung more than Harry wanted to admit. "That's not what I meant." He stood up, stepping closer to Draco, his body instinctively drawn toward him. "I meant... I didn't think it would feel like this. Like it was something... real."
Draco's lips twisted into a knowing smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped away from the window, putting the distance between them again, but Harry could feel the tension in the air, thick and undeniable. "What, you're not ready to admit it yet?" Draco said, his tone tinged with challenge.
"Admit what?" Harry asked, his frustration flaring. "That I'm falling for you? That I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life?" His voice was rising now, every word more heated than the last. "Is that what you want to hear?"
"Don't act like you're the only one who's confused," Draco shot back, his own temper flaring. "You think I don't know how you feel, Potter? How I feel? I'm not an idiot." His voice was low, rough, and it sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "But you're still pretending like this is some fucking game. Like I'm just a... distraction or something. And it's fucking irritating."
"I'm not pretending anything," Harry snapped, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. "I'm trying to figure out what the hell this is. What you are. What we are."
Draco's eyes darkened with a sudden intensity. "What we are?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "What we are is two people who can't keep their hands off each other, who can't stop fighting, but can't stop wanting each other either. You know it. I know it. But if you're really asking for what's next, I don't know what to tell you, Potter."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. The raw truth of Draco's words stung, but they also hit too close to home. The need for Draco, the undeniable attraction, the pull between them—it was real. But it terrified Harry. Because if he gave in fully to it, then what? Would it be a messy disaster, like everything else in his life? Would it be worth it?
Draco stepped closer, closing the distance between them, his hand reaching out, brushing against Harry's cheek in the gentlest of gestures. "Stop fighting it," Draco murmured, his voice raw, his eyes intense. "Stop pretending we're not exactly what the other needs."
Before Harry could respond, Draco kissed him again, and this time, there was no hesitance. There was no fighting it. It was fierce, desperate, full of all the emotions they had been holding back, and neither of them could stop. Harry's hands tangled in Draco's hair, pulling him closer, as if he couldn't get enough, as if he needed more of him—of them.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard, eyes locked. There was no more pretending, no more holding back. It was raw. It was real. And as Harry stood there, face flushed and heart racing, he realized just how deep this was going to go.
"You want this," Draco said quietly, his voice thick with something like possession. "You want me. And I want you. So what the hell are we doing, Potter? What's the point of pretending anymore?"
Harry met Draco's gaze, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel the need to shield himself, to keep up walls that had been built for years. He was tired of pretending. Tired of fighting what he couldn't change.
"I want this," Harry finally admitted, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I want you."
Draco's smirk returned, but this time, it was softer, more genuine. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Harry swallowed hard. This wasn't going to be easy. He knew that. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn't afraid of what was coming next.