It Started With A Closet. . . A Drarry Fic (No Smut!!!)

The Quidditch Match (I know, my titles suck)

Draco's POV

Draco had decided to keep his distance from Harry as much as he possibly could in those two weeks, avoiding him at all costs. He spent all of his free time in the Slytherin common room or his dorm, or sometimes in the library if he knew for certain Harry wouldn't be there due to Quidditch practice and whatnot. In the classes they shared together, Draco would sit as far away as he could and ignored him.

The only thing visibly different about the Quidditch field was the new jumbo-screen, magically protected from, well, pretty much anything.

Draco stared quizzically up at it. Potter walked up next to him, already in his Quidditch robes and Firebolt in hand, just like Draco. The latter was so dumbfounded by the giant screen to remember that he was trying to avoid him.

"What," he said, "is that?"

"The muggles call it a 'Kiss Cam,'" Harry explained gleefully, joyed by the fact that Draco was now talking to him. "It'll focus in on two people, and the whole crowd watches them on the screen as the two are sort of forced to kiss. McGonagall told me there's a charm on it to only focus on people with a lot of history together."

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about that . . . right?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Well, the Headmistress never said that Quidditch players couldn't be brought up on the screen. But," Harry rushed, "we're not in any relationships. That wasn't actually part of the charm, though, having to be in a relationship. . ."

"Potter," Draco said through clenched teeth. "Not. Helping."

"Harry, Draco," Harry reminded him. "Call me Harry."

"Whatever."

(It's still Draco's POV)

Fifteen minutes later, the game was in motion.

Draco and Harry sat on their broomsticks above it all, looking for the sly little dot that was the golden snitch, which was flying around somewhere, avoiding the seekers.

Every once in awhile, Draco would glance at the "Kiss Cam," still intrigued and irked by its presence. Every time a goal was scored, the game would briefly seize while a surprised couple, and pairs who weren't, would pop up on the screen and kiss, and then it would continue.

Ron and Hermione were one of the first couples, and Pansy and Blaise also showed up, along with many other miscellaneous pairs.

"Why do you keep looking at the screen?" Harry asked curiously, causing Draco to pull himself from his thoughts of loathe for the screen. "Hoping to see someone?"

"No, I just don't see why it's necessary to have; it only gets in the way of flying, not to mention stalling the game."

"But you look at it more nervously than bitterly," Harry pressed.

Draco had hoped he wouldn't notice that. He kept his facade up, though, and rolled his eyes. "If you say so, Potter."

"Harry," the other boy pouted. Draco had never seen the Chosen One put before, and oh, God, did he look adorable when he pouted.

Draco leaned closer to him, a bit off his broomstick.

"Stop correcting me, Potter."

"Why, Draco?" the other boy said, also leaning off his broom. The way he'd said the words wasn't with animosity, but rather playfully.

Draco leaned further towards Harry, retorting. "Because I don't need you going around always pointing out my flaws!"

Neither of them noticed the chiming of another goal, this one scored by Slytherin.

"I thought you wanted to by my friend, Potter!" Draco continued, his voice starting to rise.

"I do!" They're faces were inches from each other, Harry with a twinkle in his eyes and Draco trying to settle down the butterflies.

Then they noticed the silence; the crowd was completely silent, as if they'd all been murdered with a gust of wind and the two of them hadn't noticed. The Quidditch players hovered in the air. They were all staring at the large kissing screen . . .

. . . where the two boys saw themselves, still less than a foot away from the other.

"What?!" they both yelled. Everyone heard them, but remained silent. They looked back at each other.

"WHAT?!" they said again, twice as loudly. Still, the crowd was silent. Until. . .

"What are you waiting for?" Pansy shouted from the stands at the top of her lungs. "Don't you want to kiss him Draco? Com on! Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. . ."

The whole stadium started to join the chant: "Kiss, kiss kiss. . ."

Damn fucking Parkinson! Draco cursed. What the bloody hell!?

"Well, it doesn't look as though we can get out of this, does it?" Harry asked, mulling over the crowd and noticing that Hermione and Draco seemed to be the only ones not chanting.

"I suppose not." Draco grimaced. He had not wanted their first kiss to be like this, if they'd ever have had one otherwise––forced, both under pressure, literally everyone watching the two of them, and them only doing it because of a stupid god-damned screen that had realized they had a lot of history, but couldn't tell that it wasn't the good kind, choosing them, of all the people squished next to one another in the stands, to kiss for no fucking reason.

"But we. . . Aren't you straight?" he asked, trying to stall.

"Bi, actually . . ." Harry trialed. "You?"

"I'm gay," he muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Oh. . . I always thought that. . . You and Parkinson. . . Before her and Blaise. . . Oh. . ."

"Shut up, Potter. The game does have to keep going." Draco leaned forward, more hesitant this time.

"Call me Harry," Harry mumbled before pressing his lips gently against Draco's.

Draco hated to admit it, but he had thought and dreamed of kissing the great Harry Potter before. It was better than he had imagined, even if he and Harry both refused to slip their tongue into the other's mouth, and the kiss only lasted a few seconds.

Who knew that his lips were so soft? Draco wondered light headedly.

They pulled back.

Potter grinned devilishly, having spotted the snitch just as he had pulled back from Malfoy.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you at the Gryffindor's celebratory party this evening. By, Draco!" he called as he whooshed past the Slytherin seeker, laughing.