The Line Crossed (Harry and Draco’s POV)
For a moment, time stood still. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as he stood there, so close to Draco that he could feel the warmth of his breath. The air between them was charged, heavy with unspoken words and emotions neither of them knew how to handle.
Draco’s expression was a mix of confusion and tension, his grey eyes searching Harry’s as if trying to make sense of what was happening. It was as if the world around them had disappeared, leaving only the two of them standing there in the quiet corridor, caught between what they knew and what they couldn’t deny any longer.
Draco didn’t move. He stood there, frozen, as if unsure whether to step back or lean forward. His jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting some internal battle.
"Potter…" Draco’s voice was low, hesitant, almost a warning. But there was something in it—something uncertain and conflicted, the same thing Harry had been feeling for days.
Harry’s breath hitched as he stared into Draco’s eyes. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the realization that if they crossed this line, there would be no going back. But for once, Harry didn’t care. He didn’t want to keep pretending, didn’t want to keep running from whatever this was.
Without thinking, Harry reached up and placed a hand on Draco’s arm, his fingers trembling slightly. "We don’t have to fight this anymore," Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Harry thought Draco might pull away, might retreat behind the walls he’d spent years building. But then, something shifted in Draco’s gaze. The tension in his body seemed to ease, and for the first time, Draco didn’t look angry or defensive.
He just looked… tired.
"Why now?" Draco muttered, his voice barely audible. "Why are you doing this now, Potter?"
Harry swallowed hard, searching for the right words. "Because I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t mean anything," he admitted. "I don’t know what this is, Malfoy. But I know it’s not hate."
Draco’s eyes flashed with something—surprise, maybe, or relief. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but instead, he just let out a quiet breath and shook his head.
"I don’t know what this is either," Draco said finally, his voice softer than Harry had ever heard it. "But it’s dangerous, Potter. You realize that, don’t you?"
Harry nodded, his heart still racing. He knew Draco was right—whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t something they could easily explain or even understand. It was messy, confusing, and completely unexpected. But Harry didn’t care. He couldn’t keep lying to himself about the way he felt, not when it was staring him in the face like this.
"I know," Harry said, his voice steady. "But I’m not running from it anymore. Are you?"
Draco’s expression shifted again, his grey eyes narrowing as he considered Harry’s words. The silence stretched between them, thick and tense, until finally, Draco let out a frustrated sigh.
"God, you’re insufferable," Draco muttered, but there was no venom in his voice this time. It sounded more like resignation.
Before Harry could respond, Draco did something completely unexpected. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them in one smooth motion, and grabbed the front of Harry’s robes. In one swift, decisive move, Draco pulled Harry toward him and crashed their lips together.
Harry’s mind went blank.
The kiss was rough, urgent, and filled with every ounce of pent-up frustration that had been building between them for weeks. Draco’s hands were firm on Harry’s robes, pulling him closer as if he couldn’t get enough, and Harry responded in kind, his hands gripping the back of Draco’s neck as they stumbled slightly, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both foreign and electric.
It was messy and intense, their lips clashing in a way that felt more like a fight than anything romantic. But it was real, raw, and for the first time, Harry didn’t feel like he had to hold back. He didn’t have to keep pretending.
Draco pulled back suddenly, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stared at Harry, his eyes wide and filled with something Harry had never seen before—something like vulnerability.
"Bloody hell," Draco muttered, his voice hoarse. "What are we doing?"
Harry didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know what they were doing, or what this meant for the future. But at that moment, he didn’t care. He reached up and cupped Draco’s face, his thumb brushing lightly against his cheek.
"I don’t know," Harry admitted, his voice soft. "But I’m not sorry."
Draco’s expression flickered, a mixture of surprise and something else Harry couldn’t quite place. For a moment, Draco just stared at him, as if trying to process what had just happened.
Then, before Harry could say anything else, Draco stepped back, putting distance between them. His face was a mask of conflict, the usual sharpness in his eyes replaced by something softer, more uncertain.
"I can’t do this," Draco said, shaking his head. "Not here. Not like this."
Harry’s heart sank. He could feel the shift in the air, the way Draco was pulling back, retreating behind his defenses again. But Harry didn’t want to let him go, not now.
"Malfoy—" Harry began, but Draco cut him off.
"I need to think," Draco said quickly, his voice tight. "I need to figure this out before… before we do something we can’t take back."
With that, Draco turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. Harry stood there, watching him go, his heart heavy with a mixture of frustration and longing.
He had crossed the line. They both had.
But now, Harry was left standing alone, unsure of where they went from here.
Draco’s POV
Draco’s mind was spinning as he stormed down the corridor, his heart racing and his thoughts in turmoil. He couldn’t believe what had just happened—couldn’t believe that he had actually kissed Potter.
What was he thinking?
Draco’s emotions were a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and something else—something deeper that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had spent so long hating Potter, so long telling himself that everything he felt toward Harry was rooted in rivalry and bitterness. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.
He could still feel the heat of Harry’s lips on his, the way their bodies had collided with a force that felt almost inevitable. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. It wasn’t supposed to feel… right.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven as he tried to collect himself. He needed space, needed time to figure out what the hell he was doing. Kissing Potter—kissing him—had crossed a line Draco hadn’t even realized existed. And now that they had crossed it, Draco didn’t know how to go back.
He needed to think. He needed to understand what this meant before he made another mistake.
But as he walked through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, one thought kept running through his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.
He wasn’t sorry, either.