To say that Connor Walsh fancied Oliver Hampton would be a severe understatement. He had practically been in love with his best mate since they were seven, secretly playing together in the Hamptons’ backyard pretty much every afternoon. Although Oliver’s mother had been a pureblood, she had chosen to marry a muggle man, marking herself as a blood traitor and earning her and her family a lifetime of exile in their predominantly pureblooded community (Mrs. Hampton refused to move out of her childhood home her parents had left her). The Walshes were a strictly pureblooded family, and Connor, of course, was forbidden to interact with the Hamptons next door, which spiked his curiosity that much more, leading him to peek his head over the fence one sunny afternoon to see Oliver sitting in the grass, tinkering with a broken computer his father had deemed beyond repair. Since then, they had been inseparable, even as they both entered Hogwarts together and were sorted into different houses. Many didn’t understand why Connor, the devilishly handsome Slytherin, was always seen with Oliver, the quiet, nerdy Hufflepuff, but they were a duo that was not to be reckoned with.
Connor didn’t know exactly when he had fallen for Oliver, but he knew it was a long time coming. The Slytherin had a reputation for dating (and sleeping) around with various guys in their school and being unable to stick with just one; he had no idea why until his older sister finally beat some sense into him when they were discussing his lack of relationships.
“Connor, you know why you can’t commit? Because no one can compare to your Oliver,” Gemma said matter-of-factly one night in the Slytherin Common Room.
“What? He’s not ‘my Oliver’, Gem. We’re just friends,” Connor said defensively, lounging about in one of the couches, his legs hanging over the armrest.
“You say so now, but look at the facts: any boy you’re even remotely interested in has to gain Oliver’s absolute approval, and any boy who gets in the way if you spending time with Oliver gets the immediate boot. Remember that Gryffindor you were seeing a month ago? Remember how he complained about all the time you spend with Oliver? You couldn’t kick him out of your life fast enough.”
Gemma had had a point; Oliver was the only guy Connor had never grown tired of being around, and the Slytherin honestly couldn’t see his life without his best mate. The next time he saw Oliver after that, his eyes opened to the possibility of them being more, and he could no longer shut them closed against it.
Now Connor couldn’t look at his best mate without going weak at the knees in his presence and wanting everything. After weeks of emotional torment, he had snuck into Hogsmeade one night, went directly to the Hog’s Head, chugged as many firewhiskeys as the bartender would serve him, and then back to the castle, heading straight for the Hufflepuff basement. He somehow managed to tap out the tune correctly (Oliver had taught it to him in their first year, so that he could sneak in) and went right on in, happy to see that the object of his affections was seated alone, quietly reading in one of the armchairs by the fire. The Hufflepuff looked up, surprised to see his best mate standing in front of him, probably looking like a hot mess, his wind-swept hair sticking up in all directions.
“Connor, what are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“No, Hampton, I’m not okay. I’ve had way too many pints of firewhiskey and there’s something I really need to do and I’d better do it now before I lose my nerve.”
Connor immediately took hold of Oliver’s face and kissed him, his lips moving sensually over the Hufflepuff’s, unable to control himself. Oliver initially froze at the touch, but soon kissed back with equal fervor, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle that made Connor moan with pleasure, his thumbs running gently over Oliver’s cheekbones before his hands slid into his thick, black hair. They stayed like that for several moments, losing themselves in the intoxicating feeling of their lips’ first meeting, until suddenly, Oliver pulled away, having finally realized what they were doing.
“Connor, what was that?!”
“That was a kiss, love, and I’d like to do it again, if I may,” Connor said softly, going back in for the kill, his hands back on Oliver’s cheeks as he leaned in, but was denied.
“Connor, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. Come on, I’ll take you back to the Slytherin dungeons.”
“No, Oliver, I know exactly what I’m doing,” the Slytherin said adamantly, his voice slightly slurring but determined. “ I’m kissing you, or I was until you stopped me. I like you, Oliver, I like you a lot. As more than a friend. And I want to kiss you. A lot. Please.”
The Hufflepuff let out an audible sigh, fixing his glasses that had gone askew before having to physically force Connor away from him by the shoulders before he could kiss him again. It took all of Oliver’s strength to deny his best mate what they both wanted so badly, but he knew he had to. Connor would regret this in the morning (if he even remembered it), and Oliver wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of anyone in that state, especially someone he was so close to, no matter how he felt about him.
Unfortunately, the inebriated Slytherin refused to return to his dorm, and Oliver was forced to direct him up the stairs to his own four-poster, helping him strip down to his boxers and get into bed. The Hufflepuff followed suite and was suddenly pulled under the sheets and spooned against by a very affectionate Connor who refused to let him go, sprouting more words about his feelings. Oliver wouldn’t let him kiss him, so the Slytherin had to settle for sleeping in the Hufflepuff’s arms, sighing contentedly before immediately falling asleep. As soon as Oliver heard the Slytherin’s soft snores, he extracted himself from his best mate’s embrace, as difficult as it was to do, but not before placing a gentle, lingering kiss against his forehead, silently wishing for this alcohol-induced dream to be true.
---
The next morning gave way to a massive hangover, Connor groaning painfully as he sat up in bed, his head pounding with the most unbearable pain he had ever known. Oliver was nowhere to be found, probably having gotten up hours ago, and had thoughtfully left a hangover potion sitting on the bedside table, which the Slytherin immediately downed before retrieving his clothes from the floor. As he got dressed, the events of last night began trickling back into his memory, causing him to quickly finish putting on his clothes so that he could find his best mate and...he didn’t know what he was going to say, but he had to find him.
He searched the rest of the dormitory and the Hufflepuff Common Room, but Oliver had already left, hopefully to the Great Hall where Connor was headed. He immediately went towards the Hufflepuff table, but failed to see him seated anywhere, even after checking several times. He tried the library next, scanning every area until he finally found him, sitting at a table in the very back, surrounded by books and parchment, fully engrossed in work, as usual.
“Oliver,” Connor breathed, taking the seat next to him. But Oliver refused to meet his eye, instead, continuing to focus on his schoolwork.
“Oliver, look at me. Please.”
Finally the Hufflepuff looked up, but only for a brief second before looking away once more.
“I am so, so sorry about last night. I had too much to drink and I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me?”
“It’s fine,” Oliver said, brushing it off and attempting to look completely unphased by it. Connor smiled slightly, before taking a deep breath and gathering his courage again.
“But...I did mean what I said, when I told you I fancied you. Because I do, Oliver. Somewhere along the way, I fell for you, and I know we’re just friends and maybe that’s all you want to be, but I just had to tell you. I just...needed you to know how I feel.”
Oliver was gaping at him, honestly not expecting a sober confession of that sort. Connor ran his hand through his hair nervously, not daring to look his best mate in the eye after those words, and taking the silence to mean the worst. “I’ll just, I’ll just go…”
He began to stand before he felt a hand close over his sleeve, tugging him to sit back down. He sat once more, and suddenly felt hands on the sides of his face before the softest pair of lips were being pressed against his in a heated kiss that he melted right into. Connor sighed contentedly, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s waist and pulling him close, not wanting to let go, just in case this was a dream he would soon be waking up from.
They kissed until they both had to part for air, their heavy breaths mingling, their faces still only centimeters apart. Connor placed a soft, chaste kiss against Oliver’s mouth, unable to keep from grinning. The Hufflepuff’s return smile was just as bright, and the Slytherin felt the need to continue holding on to him even more, his arms not moving from their place.
“Oliver, will you go to dinner with me?” he asked in a whisper, only wanting the two of them to hear.
“I’d love to.”