The dorm room was quiet, save for the soft breathing of its two occupants. Harry stirred first, the warmth of Draco’s arms draped over him a comfort he’d grown used to in their months of sharing a bed—and a relationship. Memories of the previous night came rushing back as he blinked his eyes open, the golden morning light filtering through the curtains.
It had been nothing more than a heated makeout session—intense, yes, but no further than the press of lips, the tangling of tongues, and hands that skimmed but didn’t wander. Draco had teased him mercilessly for how breathless he’d been, how his cheeks had burned red under the dim light, but Harry knew Draco felt it too: that electric pull that left them both gasping when they finally pulled apart.
But there was no time to reminisce. Harry’s eyes darted to the clock on the bedside table, and his stomach dropped.
“Draco! We’re late!”
Draco groaned behind him, burying his face in the pillow. “No, you’re late. I could sleep through Transfiguration and be fine.”
Harry huffed, throwing the blankets off and scrambling out of bed. “Not all of us can charm our way through McGonagall’s lectures,” he grumbled, yanking open the wardrobe.
Draco propped himself up on one elbow, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched Harry move around the room in a panic. “It’s adorable how stressed you get, you know that?”
Harry glared at him over his shoulder, pulling on trousers that felt a little tighter than usual. “Maybe if you weren’t such a bad influence—”
Draco chuckled, finally sitting up and stretching. “You weren’t complaining last night.”
Harry’s face flushed. He turned back to the wardrobe, grabbing the first shirt he could find. It wasn’t until he slipped it over his head that he realized it wasn’t his. The sleeves were too long, the fabric too soft, and the faint, familiar scent of Draco’s cologne clung to it.
But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Harry tugged the shirt into place, oblivious to how it hung on his smaller frame, the oversized fit making him look impossibly delicate. He grabbed a tie from the pile of belongings on the desk without thinking, looping it around his neck as he moved toward the door.
Draco finally swung his legs out of bed, his movements slower, more deliberate. He wasn’t in a rush; he never was. But something about the way Harry moved—frantic, cheeks still tinged pink from last night, swimming in Draco’s shirt—had him feeling a little more awake than usual.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Draco pointed out, his voice low and teasing as he began buttoning his own.
Harry froze mid-step. “What? No, I’m not.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, pulling his tie from the desk. “You are. But it’s fine. It suits you.”
Harry frowned but didn’t have the time to argue. He bolted for the door, and Draco followed, his smirk widening as his gaze lingered on the way his shirt hung off Harry’s shoulders.
---
By the time they reached the classroom, Harry was winded, his hair sticking up even more than usual from the mad dash across the castle. Draco, of course, looked unbothered, his tie only slightly askew as he sauntered in behind Harry.
The classroom was already buzzing with the low hum of conversation, but Harry felt a flicker of relief when he realized they weren’t the last to arrive. He slid into his seat quickly, pulling his books from his bag in an attempt to appear composed.
But then he felt it.
Draco’s eyes on him.
Harry glanced sideways, catching the faintest smirk tugging at Draco’s lips. It wasn’t unusual—Draco always looked smug—but there was something different about it today. Something almost... predatory.
“What?” Harry whispered, trying to keep his voice low.
Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over Harry in a way that made his skin prickle. It wasn’t until Harry glanced down, following Draco’s line of sight, that he realized what it was.
The tie around his neck wasn’t Gryffindor red and gold. It was green and silver.
Slytherin.
Draco’s.
Harry’s stomach dropped. Thank Merlin his friends weren’t in this class.
His head whipped toward Draco, who was now grinning openly, his expression one of pure, unadulterated amusement.
“Something wrong, love?” Draco murmured, his voice low enough that only Harry could hear.
“You—why didn’t you say anything?” Harry hissed, his face flushing as he tugged at the tie, as if that would somehow make it less obvious.
“I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice,” Draco replied, his tone dripping with smugness. “And now that you have...”
Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, the weight of Draco’s gaze making it impossible to think straight.
“You look good in my colors,” Draco added, leaning in closer. “But then again, you look good in anything—or nothing, for that matter.”
“Draco!” Harry’s voice came out as a strangled whisper, and he quickly glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention.
Draco’s smirk widened, his hand brushing against Harry’s under the desk. “Relax, Potter. No one else noticed. But I did. And I think we should... discuss it further. Privately.”
Harry swallowed hard, his heart pounding as Draco’s fingers curled around his wrist, tugging him gently.
---
Draco didn’t wait until class was over. As soon as McGonagall turned her back, he was on his feet, pulling Harry along with him.
“Draco, what are you doing?” Harry whispered urgently, but Draco didn’t answer, his grip firm as he led Harry down the corridor and into an empty classroom.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Harry barely had time to catch his breath before Draco turned, his eyes dark with something unreadable.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Draco murmured, his voice low as he stepped closer. His hand reached out, tugging lightly on the tie around Harry’s neck. “Wearing this... wearing my shirt. Do you even know how you look right now?”
Harry’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His heart was pounding, his face flushed as Draco leaned in, his breath warm against Harry’s ear.
“You look like mine,” Draco whispered, his fingers trailing down the front of the shirt, brushing against the fabric that hung loosely on Harry’s frame. “And I’m not letting you walk out of here until you know.”
Draco’s voice was low, smooth as silk, as he reached out to tug lightly on the tie still looped around Harry’s neck. “Sitting there in my tie. My shirt. Merlin, Potter, you’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of there sooner.”
Harry flushed, his fingers automatically clutching at the tie as if he could somehow hide it. “I didn’t— I didn’t realize—”
“Exactly,” Draco interrupted, his tone teasing as he leaned in, his nose brushing against Harry’s temple. “You didn’t realize, and you walked into class looking like my walking wet dream.”
Harry made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, but Draco didn’t stop. His hands slid down to the hem of the oversized shirt Harry was wearing, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin as he toyed with the buttons on the shirt, undoing one... then another.
Harry’s breath hitched as Draco pressed him back against the desk, his lips ghosting over the shell of Harry’s ear. “Draco, we can’t—what if someone comes—”
“Then they’ll know you’re mine,” Draco cut him off, his tone laced with smugness. “Not that there’s any doubt.”
Draco’s hands moved slowly, deliberately, sliding under the fabric of the shirt to settle on Harry’s waist. His thumbs brushed against the bare skin there, and Harry shivered, his hands gripping the edge of the desk for support.
“You’re shaking,” Draco said, his lips curving into a wicked grin as he leaned in to press a kiss just below Harry’s jaw. “Is it the cold, or is it me?”
Harry didn’t answer, his head tilting back instinctively as Draco’s lips moved lower, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses down his neck.
“Draco...” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to spur Draco on. His hands tightened on Harry’s waist, pulling him closer as his lips found Harry’s in a kiss that was anything but soft.
It was all heat and urgency, Draco’s teeth catching on Harry’s bottom lip as he tilted Harry’s head back further, deepening the kiss until Harry was gasping against him. Draco’s hands moved again, sliding up Harry’s sides and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.
The tie was next. Draco tugged on it gently, pulling Harry even closer until their chests were pressed together. “You look good in green, you know that?” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips.
Harry’s cheeks burned, but he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. Not when Draco was looking at him like that, his grey eyes dark and hungry, his hands exploring every inch of Harry’s body like he was trying to memorize it.
Draco’s lips curved into a smirk. “I’m going to ruin you,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with intent.