Because Harry and Draco’s first kiss was under the stars. It was February and it was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and turned everything about you a depressing shade of blue. But Draco’s lips were too red to resist and they melted into each other, creating the most brilliant purples. It felt like summer.
Because their first kiss was heated and angry in a secret corridor off of one of the Hogwarts hallways just after midnight. Draco had had enough and Harry’s arms were pinned helplessly to the wall by Draco’s hands. There was biting and sighing and clashing of tongues. Harry could never let go of the way Draco’s breath felt, hot against the crook of his neck.
Because their first kiss was in a muggle bar sometime after the war, drunken and loud, surrounded by the hollering and whooping of their friends who had all seen it coming for far too long. Harry’s eyes were lazy and half-closed when they pulled apart. Draco looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Because their first kiss was over a petty, rigged game of spin-the-bottle in the eighth-year common room. Pansy tampered with it because she was far too bored of the events of that evening and they were all a little tipsy. There was nothing but silence as their lips met curtly across the bottle, neither one of them acknowledging the distinct spark that ignited something in the both of them that night.
Because their first kiss felt like a mistake. They were both vastly unprepared. Neither of them had healed properly. Neither of them felt completely forgiven. The kiss was tender and slow and warm and Draco wanted to make Harry’s mouth into an Every Flavour Bean. He wanted so badly not to fall in love with Harry that day. He was about ten years too late.
Because in the world of a fanfiction reader, there are infinite first kisses. Infinite happy endings. A fresh start with each click of a key, tap of a screen, push of a button. We always give them an opportunity to start over.