Hangover
Harry did sleep at Draco's, but only because he knew that it was utterly dumb to try and apparate back to his own place while pretty much shitfaced. A feeling of humiliation chased him through his dreams and all the way to the next morning, when he woke with a splitting headache at the crack of dawn. Of course, he apparated away immediately, not wanting to have to face Draco.
Instead of doing anything remotely productive when he got home, Harry tumbled into bed, grabbed his wand from where he'd left it on his bedside table, and mumbled a quick spell to close the curtains. It felt like he was going to throw up. Maybe it was the hangover, but honestly? It was more likely the fact that he had tried to kiss Draco goddamned Malfoy.
And that Draco had immediately run away.
The rejection stung, leaving Harry feeling like he'd covered himself in tiny paper cuts and then willingly flung himself into a vat of lemon juice. What the hell had made him think trying to kiss Malfoy was a good idea? There had always been some attraction there for him, ever since Hogwarts, but obviously Malfoy didn't return the sentiment. He couldn't have run away from Harry faster.
Harry decided to simply ignore the churning feelings inside of him and to take a nap. It was simpler than smashing something or spending the morning crying, neither of which sounded appealing (although the smashing did sound more likely and more satisfying). He pulled the covers over his head, shutting out all the light the curtains couldn't block out, and fell into a restless sleep.
His dreams were filled with screams and flashes from the Battle of Hogwarts, with oddly intermittent flashes of Ron and Hermione making out in between. It left him tossing and turning, sweat beading on his forehead, and then the dream shifted entirely.
He was in Malfoy's living room yet again, except now it was light out, and Draco himself was curled up in the biggest armchair, petting Shadow and looking even more miserable than Harry had been that morning. He wasn't doing much, simply petting the dog and holding something, some fabric. The dream solidified slightly and Harry recognized that fabric--it was his shirt, the one he'd been wearing when he fell into the river the day before.
"God fucking dammit," Malfoy muttered, and Harry woke with a start.
Well, that last dream had been strange. It felt solid, real... Like when he'd dreamt of Mr. Weasley being attacked by Nagini, or Voldemort torturing Sirius. Except nothing important had happened, and Harry knew for sure that Malfoy didn't have any part of his soul split, and none of it had ended up in Harry.
Brushing the dream aside, Harry got out of bed, trying to calm his raging emotions. At least his head wasn't hurting as badly, which was a plus.
Why couldn't Draco have just stayed on his side of the stupid forest? Everything had been so calm and tranquil before Harry saw his stupid blond hair and that cute stupid fluffy dog and fell in that stupid river.
Perhaps he should find an adjective other than "stupid" to describe things.
Harry began to make himself some tea, and tried to brush all thoughts of light haired, attractive wizards from his mind. It surely wasn't worth it to be pining away when he was supposed to be healing. Malfoy was probably homophobic or some shit anyways, considering he was extremely prejudiced against muggle born wizards. So it didn't matter.
Well, it didn't matter until Harry heard a knock at the door.
He couldn't help himself from rushing to answer it, heart beating a frantic pattern out in his chest. When he flung the door open he saw just what he'd been hoping for--Draco, standing with Shadow by his side, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
(Well, he hadn't been hoping for Draco to be vaguely uncomfortable, but he would take what he could get.)
"Hi," Harry said dumbly, trying to catch his breath.
"Hi," Draco replied, just as awkwardly, and there was an awkward beat of silence before he thrust out a clenched fist that was tightly holding a balled up piece of fabric. "You left your shirt at my house, and you're still wearing mine."
"Oh," Harry said, eyes widening, and glanced down. Sure enough, he was wearing Malfoy's shirt. Great. "Um, if you come in for a second I can change and give it back to you?"
Draco's eyes flickered to either side, and he looked hesitant, but he nodded and stepped over the threshold, Shadow following close behind. Harry couldn't help but reach down to pet the dog, his heart in his throat as he watched the blond wizard take in the decor of his house.
"Um, it's quite... homey," Draco said after a second, turning around and giving Harry a bit of a weird look. "Are you gonna change..?"
"Yeah," Harry said quickly, "of course. I'll just run upstairs, give me a second--" But Draco was shaking his head, cheeks bright pink.
"Just, um, Ifyoudoithereitllbequicker," he said all in a rush, face positively red. Harry had to ask him to repeat himself, and he cleared his throat, slowly saying "it's just that if you change here it'll be quicker, and I can, you know, leave?"
Harry raised an eyebrow but shrugged, complying with Malfoy's near-demand. It didn't take long to strip off Draco's shirt, and he held his hand out to get his own shirt back from the other man, but Draco took a step back.
"About last night," he started hesitantly, and Harry didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to Harry's abs as he spoke. "I didn't mean to be so blunt. I just got nervous, because you were really drunk, and I didn't know if you were just trying to mess with me or something."
"Why would I mess with you?" Harry asked, taken aback by the change in subject but rolling with it. He took a step towards Draco, who didn't back away for once.
"Because we hated each other at Hogwarts," Draco stuttered, letting Harry come closer with each step. "And you're Harry Potter, the Chosen One, and you could have any girl you wanted, and I just couldn't understand why you would want to kiss me in the middle of the night in my living room?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh, now close enough to Draco that he could reach out and touch his hair if he wanted. "If you haven't noticed, Draco, I'm into guys too. And a lot has changed since we hated each other. As for why I would want to kiss you..." He reached out and gently ran a finger down the side of the other man's face, earning him a shiver. Confidence was filling Harry that he hadn't ever felt with a girl. "Didn't you feel a connection last night? You're maybe the only person alive that knows how I feel, truly. You were put into a role you never wanted to play, you had to deal with an abusive family growing up, Voldemort was a huge influence in your life."
"Let's not talk about him," Draco mumbled, and Harry laughed again, looking into Draco's bright green eyes.
"Alright. The point is, I like you, a lot more than I did back then. But you seemed so taken aback by the whole situation, I thought you were disgusted by me."
"No," Draco said quietly, glancing down. "I was scared of what I'm feeling, and who I'm feeling it for. We could never work, our history, our parents, the way everyone would look at us. And yet I could never help but be insanely attracted to you."
The wording there made Harry pause--how long had Draco had feelings for him?--but he decided to focus on that at a later date. "You don't have to be scared of your feelings," he said, and then there was another, quieter pause, when both of them just looked at each other, cheeks flushed and hearts racing.
"I can kiss you now, if you want," Harry offered quietly.
Draco's eyes flashed upwards, and his hands came to Harry's collar, pulling the other down towards his lips with a quickly uttered "yes".