All was quite around the 8th year common room. Most people had collapsed where they were after the celebrations, too filled with firewhiskey to move anymore.
Draco opened his eyes, slowly, painfully. He took in the scene around him: empty bottles, streamers, cups laying around, and of course, something soft and warm behind him. He froze, then, slowly, tried to slip off the couch, but was caught by a strong arm.
“Hmmm don’t go.”
Draco, against his better judgment (and he’ll blame the pounding in his head for drowning out everything else) slipped back against the body. The arms wrapped around him, he felt a soft breath on the back of his neck. Draco froze again.
He shut his eyes, because now he was sure he was dreaming. It couldn’t possibly be. No.
“You can look at me you know,” the person said with a soft laugh.
Draco squeezed open one eye, then another, and yes, it was definitely a dream, because two green eyes, beautiful green eyes, were looking back at him. We’re smiling back at him. There was scruffy black hair, and a scar that Draco hadn’t realised he was running his fingers over till it was too late to stop himself.
“That’s me,” Harry answered, amused. Harry bent forward his lips moving softly over Draco’s. He pulled back, frowning.
“You don’t remember, do you?” The hurt edged it’s was through Harry’s voice. Draco shook his head, which was not a good move because now the pounding was second to none.
He shut his eyes again, “maybe… you could remind me?” He didn’t mean to say it. He meant to tell Potter to shove off, because Draco wouldn’t be caught with the boy wonder in his wildest dreams. But that wasn’t true, was it. Because Harry featured quite a lot in Draco’s dreams, wild or not. And so maybe he did mean to say it.
When Draco opened his eyes again, there was a sly smile on Harry’s face. “I can do that,” he said before leaning forward and kissing him again.