Maybe inviting Draco over for a movie night wasn't the best idea. Harry had thought it was a gesture of goodwill, a step towards breaking down the barriers that had defined their years at Hogwarts. But now, as he sat in the dimly lit living room of his modest house, surrounded by his closest friends—and Draco Malfoy—he was beginning to regret it.
Ron and Hermione were sprawled comfortably on the floor, sharing a blanket and passing a bowl of popcorn between them. Luna had curled up in an armchair, her eyes dreamy as she watched the movie with mild interest. Even Ginny was there, sitting cross-legged on the couch, not far from Harry and Draco.
And then there was Draco. Always impeccably dressed, even for something as simple as a movie night. While everyone else had shown up in comfortable clothes—sweatpants, oversized jumpers, and thick socks—Draco had arrived in a tailored button-down shirt, dark trousers, and an expensive-looking sweater that made him look like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. The faint scent of his aftershave filled the room, a mix of something woodsy and sharp that was somehow both familiar and entirely Draco.
Harry had chosen the seat next to Draco without thinking much of it. But now, as Draco's thigh pressed against his own, the casual contact sent a wave of awareness through Harry. He tried to focus on the movie, but every time Draco shifted slightly, or their legs brushed, Harry's heart raced a little faster.
The darkness of the room was his only saving grace, hiding the flush that had crept up his neck and settled on his cheeks. He told himself that it was ridiculous to be so flustered. Draco was just... Draco. But that didn't stop the way his skin tingled where they touched or the shivers that ran down his spine every time Draco moved closer.
He was just beginning to think that maybe he could get through the evening without making a fool of himself when Draco leaned over, his breath warm against Harry's ear.
"You look cute when you blush, Harry," Draco whispered, his voice low and teasing.
Harry's heart stuttered in his chest, and he turned his head slightly, barely daring to breathe. Draco's lips were so close that if he just tilted his head a little more...
The thought made his face burn even hotter, and he quickly looked away, his eyes fixed on the screen as if the movie could somehow save him from the intensity of the moment. But the images blurred in front of him, the dialogue a meaningless buzz as his mind raced.
Why had Draco said that? Was he just teasing, trying to get under Harry's skin as usual? Or was there something more? The idea made Harry's stomach flip in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.
Draco leaned back, but the space between them felt even smaller now, charged with an unspoken tension that was impossible to ignore. Harry could still feel the ghost of Draco's breath against his ear, the warmth of his thigh pressed against his own. And that aftershave—Merlin, it was intoxicating.
For the rest of the movie, Harry sat in a haze, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and desire. He was hyper-aware of Draco's every movement, every glance, and every time their bodies brushed. He knew he should be paying attention to the film, or at least to his friends who seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside him. But he couldn't. All he could think about was Draco—how close he was, how good he smelled, how his voice had sent shivers down Harry's spine.
When the movie finally ended, and the lights flickered back on, Harry was almost relieved. Almost. The awkwardness of the moment hadn't gone away, but at least now he didn't have to pretend to watch the movie.
Draco stretched languidly beside him, his movements graceful and deliberate. He caught Harry's eye and smirked, as if he knew exactly what he'd done, exactly how much he'd affected Harry.
Harry quickly looked away, busying himself with collecting the empty cups and bowls scattered around the room. But the heat in his cheeks was undeniable, and he could still feel Draco's gaze on him, piercing and amused.
"Thanks for inviting me, Potter," Draco said, his tone casual but with a hint of something deeper. "We should do this again sometime."
Harry's hands faltered for a moment, and he glanced at Draco, searching for any sign of sarcasm or malice. But there was none. Just Draco, looking at him with those intense grey eyes that Harry could never quite read.
"Yeah... maybe," Harry managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse.
As his friends began to gather their things and prepare to leave, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between him and Draco. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than he'd realized.
Draco was the last to leave, lingering by the door as if waiting for something. Harry stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. But before he could figure it out, Draco stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against Harry's as he passed.
"Goodnight, Harry," Draco said softly, his voice just for Harry.
Harry swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he watched Draco walk out into the night. The cool air from the open door did nothing to calm the heat that still lingered on his skin.
As he closed the door behind him, Harry leaned back against it, his mind racing. Maybe inviting Draco over for a movie night hadn't been the best idea. But as he replayed the evening in his mind—the teasing words, the stolen glances, the tension that had crackled between them—Harry couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not even a little bit.
