Crossing the Line (Harry and Draco’s POV)
The classroom felt smaller, more suffocating, as Harry stared at Draco. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The weight of everything that had been building between them pressed down on him, making it impossible to think straight. Draco was so close now—too close. His eyes burned into Harry’s, and Harry could feel the tension in the air crackling between them like electricity.
Draco’s breath was steady, but there was a fire in his eyes. He didn’t look angry—at least not in the way Harry was used to seeing. There was something else there, something dangerous and unspoken, and it made Harry’s pulse race. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to say something—anything—that would break the spell they were both under.
But he couldn’t. Because as much as he wanted to deny it, Draco was right. He felt it. He had felt it for longer than he wanted to admit. And the terrifying truth was that he couldn’t pretend any longer.
Draco was still watching him, waiting. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, though Harry could hear the edge of frustration in it. "Why are you so scared, Potter?"
Harry swallowed hard. Scared? He wasn’t scared of Draco, at least not in the way Draco meant. He had faced far worse than this—Voldemort, Death Eaters, dark magic. But this? This was different. This wasn’t something he could fight or run from. This was something happening inside him, something he didn’t understand, and it terrified him.
"I’m not scared," Harry finally muttered, though even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.
Draco’s eyes narrowed, as though he could see right through the lie. "Liar."
The word hung in the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his palms sweating as Draco’s gaze held his. He hated this—hated how vulnerable he felt, how out of control everything seemed. But at the same time, there was something about it, something about Draco standing so close, challenging him, that sent a thrill through him he didn’t want to acknowledge.
"What do you want from me, Malfoy?" Harry finally asked, his voice harsher than he intended. "What is it you think I’m going to say?"
Draco didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just stared at Harry with that same intense, unreadable expression. "I don’t want you to say anything, Potter. I want you to admit it. Admit that you feel it too."
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Admit it? What did Draco expect him to say? That he was confused? That he didn’t understand what was happening between them any more than Draco did? That every time Draco got close, it felt like the world was tilting on its axis, and Harry didn’t know how to stop it?
He couldn’t say any of that. Because if he did, it would mean everything had changed. And he wasn’t ready for that.
"I don’t feel anything," Harry lied, his voice strained. "You’re imagining things."
Draco’s expression darkened, and for a moment, Harry thought he might back off. But instead, Draco stepped closer—so close that Harry could feel his breath on his skin. "You’re a terrible liar, Potter," Draco whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "You can’t fool me."
Before Harry could respond, Draco’s hand shot out, grabbing the front of his robes and pulling him even closer. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as the space between them disappeared entirely. Draco’s face was inches from his, their noses almost touching, and Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
"Tell me I’m wrong," Draco whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a challenge. "Tell me you don’t feel it."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His mind was a blur of confusion, of fear, of something else—something he didn’t want to name. And the truth was, he couldn’t tell Draco he was wrong. Not when the evidence was right there, in the way his heart raced, in the way his body reacted to Draco’s touch.
Draco’s eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips for just a second, and Harry felt a surge of panic. Was Draco going to—
And then, without thinking, Harry stepped a little forward, closing the gap between them. Their lips met in a rush of heat and urgency, a soft gasp escaping Harry’s mouth as Draco’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. It felt like everything Harry had been holding back crashed down around them, and he melted against Draco, losing himself in the moment.
Draco tasted like peppermint and something intoxicatingly warm, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Harry’s hands found their way to Draco’s waist, pulling him closer as their lips moved in a desperate rhythm, the world outside the classroom disappearing entirely.
But just as Harry felt himself surrendering completely, the door creaked open.
Both boys froze, hearts pounding in their chests, the shock of reality crashing down upon them. Draco instantly pulled back, his eyes wide, as if he’d been burned. Harry’s breath caught, and he quickly glanced towards the entrance.
Standing in the doorway was Professor McGonagall, her sharp eyes narrowing suspiciously as she took in the sight of Harry and Draco standing so close, their breathing heavy and cheeks flushed. “Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy,” she said crisply, her voice filled with disapproval. “What exactly is going on here?”
Both boys froze, and Draco immediately let go of Harry’s robes, stepping back so quickly it was as if he’d been burned. Harry’s heart was still pounding in his chest as he turned to see who had interrupted them.
Standing in the doorway was Professor McGonagall, her sharp eyes narrowing suspiciously as she took in the sight of Harry and Draco standing so close. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy," she said crisply, her voice filled with disapproval. "What exactly is going on here?"
Harry’s mind raced. He couldn’t tell McGonagall the truth—not that he even understood what the truth was. "Nothing, Professor," he said quickly, straightening his robes and trying to keep his voice steady. "We were just… talking."
McGonagall’s lips thinned, and she glanced between them, clearly not convinced. "I see," she said, her tone flat. "Well, whatever you were talking about can wait. You both have classes to attend."
"Yes, Professor," Draco said quietly, his voice unusually subdued. He shot one last unreadable glance at Harry before slipping past McGonagall and disappearing down the corridor.
Harry stood frozen for a moment, still trying to process everything that had just happened. The tension in the air between them, the closeness, the almost-kiss… and now McGonagall had walked in, snapping them both back to reality.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. "I trust there won’t be any more… disruptions like this."
Harry flushed, embarrassed, and nodded quickly. "No, Professor."
"Good. Off to class, then."
Harry grabbed his bag and hurried out of the room, his mind still spinning. As he made his way to Charms, he couldn’t help but replay the events of the last few minutes over and over in his mind.
What had just happened? Had Draco and him really just kissed? Had Harry actually liked it??
He didn’t know why he even considered going even further, and that was the scariest part of all.
Draco’s POV
Draco stormed down the corridor, his mind in turmoil. His hands were shaking, his heart still racing from how close he’d come to… what? Kissing Potter? For Merlin’s sake, what had he been thinking?
But the truth was, he hadn’t been thinking. Not clearly, anyway. All he knew was that when he looked at Potter—when he saw the confusion and desire in those green eyes—something inside him snapped. He had wanted to pull Potter even closer to him, to force him to admit what they both knew was happening between them. But in that moment, the line between hatred and desire had blurred so completely that Draco didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
But then McGonagall had walked in, and reality had come crashing down around him.
Draco cursed under his breath as he made his way to the Slytherin common room. What was he doing? Why was he letting Potter get under his skin like this? He should hate him—he did hate him. But there was something else, something more that made everything so much more complicated.
It was infuriating. Potter was infuriating.
Yet… Draco couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way Potter had looked at him, the way his breath had hitched when Draco got too close. About the way his own heart had pounded in his chest when he had grabbed Potter’s robes and even pulled him closer.
He needed to get control of himself. He needed to stop this before it went any further. Because if it didn’t… Draco wasn’t sure what would happen.