I bet that.

Harry's gaze remained locked with Draco's, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the dim hallway, the echo of the Ravenclaw girls' laughter, even the lingering disappointment from Cho's abrupt departure. All that existed was the space between him and Draco, a tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Draco didn't move, didn't say a word, but his presence was overwhelming, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Harry could feel the intensity of Draco's stare, and it sent a shiver down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold draft in the corridor.

Why did this feel different? Why did it feel like there was something more behind Draco's usual smirk, something Harry hadn't noticed before? There was a heat in Draco's gaze, something that made Harry's heart race and his stomach flip, something that left him feeling unsteady on his feet.

But it couldn't be... could it? Draco Malfoy was his enemy, always had been. They were supposed to hate each other, supposed to be on opposite sides of everything. And yet, here they were, standing in a silent corridor, locked in a gaze that felt like it was drawing them together instead of pushing them apart.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to shake off whatever this was. But the longer they stood there, the stronger the pull became. It was as if the universe had shifted, realigned somehow, placing them in each other's orbit with an undeniable force.

The air between them seemed to hum with something electric, something that neither of them wanted to acknowledge but couldn't quite ignore. Harry's breath hitched as Draco took a step forward, the movement subtle but charged with meaning. His eyes were darker than Harry had ever seen them, swirling with emotions that Harry couldn't decipher but felt all the same.

Draco was close now, too close. Harry's mind screamed at him to back away, to say something cutting and walking off, but his body refused to listen. He was rooted to the spot, trapped by the intensity of the moment. It was as if all the animosity between them had shifted, transformed into something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

And just when it seemed like the tension would snap like one of them might actually close the gap between them, Draco stopped, his expression unreadable.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Then, as if jolted back to reality, Draco's eyes flickered, and he turned on his heel, walking away without a word, leaving Harry standing there, breathless and utterly bewildered.

Harry watched him go, his heart pounding in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. What had just happened? And why did he suddenly feel like everything between them had just changed, forever?

As Draco's figure disappeared around the corner, Harry found himself wondering, not for the first time, what it was that truly lay behind those stormy, mercurial eyes.

Harry's heart raced as Draco turned to leave. The tension, thick and suffocating, was too much to bear. He couldn't just let Draco walk away, not after what had just passed between them. It was like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap. And Harry, for all his stubbornness, couldn't let that happen—not without knowing what would come of it.

Without thinking, he sprinted down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. "Malfoy!" he called out, his voice laced with urgency, but Draco didn't stop. He was still walking away, his back stiff, his pace quickening as if he could outrun whatever it was that hung in the air between them.

That only fueled Harry's determination. He wouldn't be ignored, not this time. Draco had been haunting his thoughts for too long—this strange, maddening mix of anger, frustration, and something else entirely. He needed to break it, whatever it was, before it consumed him whole.

Finally, he caught up, his hand grabbing Draco's arm and yanking him back. Draco turned, surprise flickering in his eyes, but before he could say anything, Harry pushed him into the nearest door—an empty broom closet.

"Potter, what the hell—" Draco started, but Harry was already closing the door behind them, the small space plunging them into darkness. It was cramped, barely enough room for the both of them, but Harry didn't care. He needed to do this. He needed to confront whatever it was between them, head-on.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, breathless, as he leaned against the door, blocking any escape. His mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other, making it impossible to focus. The only thing that was clear, crystal clear, was that this—whatever this was—couldn't continue.

Draco glared at him, eyes flashing in the dim light that seeped through the cracks in the door. "What is your problem, Potter?" he spat, but there was an edge to his voice, something brittle and strained.

Harry clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. "You," he said, the word coming out harsher than he intended. "You're my problem, Malfoy. This—" He gestured vaguely between them, even though the gesture was lost in the dark. "Whatever this is, it needs to stop. It's driving me mad."

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move, didn't try to push past Harry to leave. "You think I don't know that?" he hissed, his voice low, dangerous. "You think I haven't been dealing with this, too? Every day, Potter, every bloody day, I—" He cut himself off, breathing heavily as if the words had been ripped from him.

Harry stared at him, the confession hanging in the air between them. Draco was close, so close that Harry could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The tension that had been simmering between them for weeks, maybe even longer, was now a roaring fire, threatening to consume them both.

"Then why do you keep running away?" Harry demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and something else, something he wasn't ready to name. "Why don't you just—" He didn't even know what he wanted to say, what he wanted Draco to do. All he knew was that this tension needed to break, one way or another.

Draco didn't answer immediately. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing heavily in the confined space, the silence thick with unspoken words. Then, slowly, Draco's expression softened, the anger melting away to reveal something raw, something vulnerable.

"Because, Potter," Draco said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I'm afraid of what happens if it doesn't."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The confession was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He hadn't expected that—hadn't expected Draco to be just as lost, just as confused by whatever was happening between them.

And in that moment, Harry realized that this tension wasn't something they could just break. It wasn't something they could ignore or push away. It was something they had to face, together.

Harry didn't know if this would pull them apart or bring them closer, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to let Draco go without finding out. Not this time.

In the darkness of the broom closet, Harry took a deep breath and made a decision.

"Then let's find out," he whispered, barely audible, but he knew Draco heard him. And with those words, everything between them shifted, hanging on the edge of something unknown, something that could change everything.

Harry's breath hitched as he made his decision, the adrenaline coursing through him like wildfire. Without another thought, he stepped forward, closing the already small distance between them, and pinned Draco against the wall. His hands gripped Draco's shoulders, firm but not rough, holding him in place as their faces hovered inches apart.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, a sharp intake of breath escaping him as his back hit the wall. His usually cool, composed demeanour cracked for a brief moment, revealing a flash of vulnerability that made Harry's chest tighten.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Draco's voice was a low, shaky whisper, but there was no venom in it, just a hint of confusion and something else—something Harry couldn't quite name.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, his voice raw with honesty. His hands stayed on Draco's shoulders, and he could feel the rapid beat of Draco's pulse under his fingertips. "But I can't keep doing this—pretending like I don't feel it, like we're not... something."

Draco's eyes searched Harry's, the tension between them now almost unbearable. Harry could see the storm of emotions swirling in those mercury depths—anger, fear, desire, and something that mirrored his own confusion.

"We hate each other, remember?" Draco's words were strained, but his body betrayed him, leaning just slightly into Harry's touch as if he couldn't help it.

Harry's grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep Draco from slipping away. "Do we?" he challenged, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "Because it doesn't feel like hate anymore. It hasn't for a long time."

Draco's breath hitched again, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the charged space between them, the tension that had been pushing and pulling them together for so long.

"Harry..." Draco's voice was softer now, the use of his first name sending a jolt through Harry's system. He could see the battle waging behind Draco's eyes, the conflict between pride and something deeper, something that mirrored the turmoil in his own heart.

Harry didn't let Draco finish. He leaned in closer, so close that their foreheads nearly touched, his breath mingling with Draco's. "Just tell me," he whispered, desperation lacing his voice. "Tell me you don't feel it, and I'll walk away."

For a moment, Draco said nothing, his breath shaky, his body tense against Harry's. Then, slowly, Draco's hands came up to grip the front of Harry's robes, pulling him even closer. His eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

"I can't," Draco finally admitted, his voice trembling with the weight of the truth. "I can't tell you that."

And with those words, the last of the barriers between them crumbled, leaving them standing on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating.

"You don't need to use your words," Harry murmured, his voice rough with unspoken emotions, a mix of frustration and something deeper that neither of them had the courage to fully name.

Draco's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. For a moment, he was frozen, caught between the urge to push Harry away and the overwhelming desire to close the gap between them. The weight of Harry's words hung in the air, offering an escape from the suffocating tension—or the chance to dive headfirst into it.

But then, something in Draco snapped. Maybe it was the way Harry's eyes bored into his, searching, pleading, or maybe it was the raw honesty in Harry's voice that finally broke through Draco's defenses. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

Without another word, Draco surged forward, closing the last bit of space between them. He tugged Harry closer by the front of his robes, their lips crashing together in a fierce, desperate kiss that carried all the frustration, confusion, and longing they had both been suppressing for far too long.

It was rough, unrefined, a clash of teeth and tongues, but neither of them cared. Draco poured everything into that kiss—every unspoken word, every denied feeling, every ounce of tension that had been building between them for what felt like an eternity. And Harry matched him, the ferocity of the kiss reflecting his own tangled emotions.

They broke apart for just a moment, both of them breathless, eyes locked in a gaze that held the promise of something neither of them could fully comprehend. Draco's heart was racing, and he could see the same storm of emotions mirrored in Harry's eyes.

Harry smirked, breathless. "That's more like it, Malfoy."

Draco's lips curled into a smirk of his own, his usual composure returning, but there was a newfound heat behind it. "Shut up, Potter," he murmured before pulling Harry back into another searing kiss, this time with the understanding that there were no more walls between them—only the raw, undeniable connection that they could no longer ignore.

Just as the intensity between them reached its peak, the door to the broom closet suddenly burst open, flooding the small space with light.

Harry and Draco sprang apart, both of them flushed and dishevelled, hearts pounding as they turned to face the intruder. Standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, was none other than Ron Weasley, holding a broom in one hand and looking like he'd just walked in on the last thing he ever expected to see.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was full of disbelief, his eyes darting between Harry and Draco, taking in the scene with a mix of shock and confusion. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Harry's face flushed even deeper, his mind racing for an explanation, but no words came. Draco, on the other hand, quickly slipped back into his usual persona, straightening his robes and fixing Ron with a cool, haughty stare.

"Mind your own business, Weasel," Draco sneered, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice that hadn't been there before.

Ron looked between the two of them, still trying to process what he'd just seen. "Harry, are you—"

"Nothing happened," Harry interrupted quickly, his voice a bit too forceful. "We were just... talking."

Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but before he could say anything else, Draco pushed past him, his usual swagger returning as he exited the broom closet, leaving Harry and Ron alone in the awkward silence.

As Draco disappeared down the hallway, Harry could feel Ron's eyes burning into him, demanding answers that Harry wasn't ready to give. Not now, maybe not ever.

Harry quickly gathered his thoughts, forcing himself to look Ron in the eye. "We were fighting," he blurted out, trying to sound convincing. "It's Malfoy, you know how he is. We just... got into it, that's all."

Ron's expression softened, the disbelief fading as he accepted the explanation. "Figures. I mean, it's Malfoy. What did he do this time?"

Harry exhaled, relieved that Ron seemed to be buying the excuse. "Same old Malfoy stuff," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "He was mouthing off, and things got heated. You know how it is."

Ron nodded, his brow furrowing as he shot a glare down the corridor where Draco had disappeared. "Git probably deserved it. Next time, just hex him and be done with it, mate."

Harry forced a small smile, grateful that Ron wasn't pressing for details. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

Ron gave Harry a pat on the back, his usual easygoing demeanour returning. "Come on, let's get out of here. I don't want to think about that slimy Slytherin any longer than I have to."

"Right," Harry agreed, following Ron out of the closet and down the hallway, trying to push away the confusing mix of emotions that still churned inside him. He had narrowly avoided the truth for now, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over.

---------------------------------

Later that night, Harry lay in his bed, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster, the darkness of the room doing little to calm his racing thoughts. It wasn't nightmares keeping him awake this time. It was something far more bewildering, far more unsettling.

His first kiss.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? A kiss with Draco Malfoy, of all people. The memory of it replayed over and over in his mind—how their lips had crashed together, all anger and desperation, how Draco had kissed him back with just as much intensity. How, for a few moments, nothing else had mattered.

Harry sighed and turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut, but it didn't help. The feeling lingered—the taste of Draco still ghosting on his lips, the way his heart had pounded so fiercely, not out of fear or anger, but something else entirely.

He'd never really thought about his first kiss before. He'd always assumed it would be with someone like Cho, or someone he fancied, at least. It was supposed to be soft, romantic—something you'd tell your friends about, something that would make you smile whenever you thought about it.

But this... this had been nothing like that. It had been intense, confusing, and completely unexpected. And the worst part was that Harry didn't know how to feel about it. He wasn't angry that it had happened, not exactly. But he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his pillow, wishing he could just turn his brain off for a while. But every time he tried to think about something else, his mind would wander back to Draco—his cold grey eyes, his smirk, the way he'd looked so vulnerable for just a moment before they'd kissed.

And how, for some inexplicable reason, Harry wanted to do it again.

He cursed under his breath, frustrated with himself. How had things gotten so complicated? He didn't know how to deal with this, didn't know how to sort through the mess of emotions that were now tangled up inside him.

But one thing was certain—sleep wasn't going to come easily tonight. Not when the memory of that kiss, his first kiss, kept playing on a loop in his mind, leaving him restless and more confused than ever.

Harry flipped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the chaos in his head. Gross. I kissed Draco Malfoy. Yuck! The thought alone should have been enough to make him recoil in disgust, but instead, it made him feel... conflicted.

He scrunched his face, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of Draco's lips on his. It was Draco Malfoy, after all. The same Draco Malfoy who had tormented him and his friends for years. Kissing him should have been the last thing Harry ever wanted. But... it was so... good?

Harry groaned, rubbing his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away the confusing emotions that refused to leave him alone. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but there was no denying it—the kiss had been good. Really good. It had been intense, electric, and, worst of all, it had felt right in a way that made absolutely no sense.

Why did it have to feel so good? Harry thought, his frustration mounting. He should be repulsed, horrified even, but instead, he was lying there, replaying it over and over in his mind like some sort of masochist.

This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, he reminded himself. Malfoy. The git who had made his life miserable at every opportunity. The same person who had been part of that stupid bet to make him fall in love. And yet...

And yet, Harry couldn't deny the way his heart had pounded in his chest, the way his skin had tingled where Draco had touched him. The way, for a brief moment, he had wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them again.

"Ugh!" Harry groaned aloud, throwing his pillow across the room in frustration. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn't it just be simple, straightforward, like it was supposed to be?

But nothing about this was simple. Nothing about Draco Malfoy was simple.

I kissed Draco Malfoy, Harry thought again, the words echoing in his mind. And I liked it.

--------------------------

Draco paced back and forth in his dormitory, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of what had happened. I kissed Harry Potter. The thought alone was enough to make him want to hex something, anything, just to shake off the confusion that gripped him.

Disgusting, he told himself, trying to force the sneer back onto his face. It was Potter, for Merlin's sake. The Golden Boy. His sworn rival, the bane of his existence. Kissing him should have been revolting, a mistake to be forgotten as soon as possible. But... it was so... good?

Draco stopped pacing, his breath catching as he remembered the feel of Harry's lips against his, the way their bodies had pressed together, the intensity of the moment. It had been fiery, desperate, and completely unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Why did it have to feel so good? Draco thought, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He wanted to blame Potter, to pin all the blame on him for somehow making this more than just a heated argument. But deep down, Draco knew that he had been just as much a part of it.

He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the memory, to bury it somewhere deep where it couldn't haunt him anymore. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of Potter—flushed, determined, and maddeningly irresistible—kept creeping back into his mind.

This is Potter, Draco reminded himself, disgusted by the weakness he felt. Scarhead. The idiot who always got in the way, who always ruined everything. He was supposed to hate him, supposed to despise everything about him. And yet...

And yet, when their lips had met, something had clicked. Something that felt dangerously like attraction, like desire, and it made Draco's stomach twist in knots. How could something so wrong feel so... right?

"Damn it," Draco muttered under his breath, his mind whirling with the impossible realization. This was Potter, the last person in the world he should want. And yet, he couldn't deny the pull he felt, the way his heart had raced in those moments they were pressed together.

I kissed Harry Potter, Draco thought, the weight of the truth settling over him. And I liked it.

---------------------

The next morning in the Great Hall, the atmosphere was thick with tension, at least for Harry and Draco. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, his fork aimlessly pushing around the food on his plate. His mind was far from breakfast. Every time he glanced over at the Slytherin table, he felt a strange flutter in his stomach, followed by an urge to kick himself for feeling that way.

Why am I acting like this? Harry thought, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat every time he remembered the kiss. Last night, after everyone had gone to bed, he'd found himself lying there, grinning like an idiot, kicking his feet in excitement under the covers like some lovesick schoolgirl. He'd never felt anything like this before, and it was driving him mad.

But across the hall, Draco was far from giddy. He sat rigidly at the Slytherin table, his breakfast untouched as he stared blankly ahead. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened, about the kiss that had completely thrown him off balance. The kiss that made him question everything.

Do I... like boys? Draco's thoughts kept circling back to that question, a question he'd never allowed himself to consider before. He'd always thought his attraction to girls like Pansy was normal, expected even. But now, after that kiss with Potter, everything felt upside down. The emotions that had surged through him last night were unlike anything he'd felt before—intense, overwhelming, and utterly terrifying.

He stole a glance at the Gryffindor table, where Harry was sitting. Just the sight of him made Draco's chest tighten, a feeling he didn't know how to handle. He wanted to hate Potter, to dismiss what had happened as a fluke, a moment of madness. But deep down, Draco knew there was more to it than that. And that realization scared him.

The Great Hall was filled with the usual chatter and laughter, but for Harry and Draco, everything felt awkward and out of place. They were both lost in their thoughts, struggling to make sense of the feelings they'd been thrown into—feelings neither of them had expected, or even wanted.

As Harry caught another glimpse of Draco from across the room, he felt the tension between them like a physical force. They were both confused, both out of their depth, and both desperately trying to figure out what this all meant.

As Harry and Draco's eyes met from across the Great Hall, the unspoken tension crackled between them, and Harry's heart pounded with the realization that their secret might be on the verge of being exposed—just as Draco's hand subtly reached for the parchment in his pocket, trembling with a decision that could change everything.