I live for Harry flirting with Malfoy to fluster him. For him getting more and more cocky about it. To the point it’s a joke to everyone else, but he can’t stop, because the ability to throw Malfoy off-balance has his heart racing. It’s like flying.
Until one day, Malfoy has had enough. With barely any words, he turns it back around. Steps close, lowers his tone, softens his expression. Suddenly, he’s speaking to Harry the way Harry had been talking to him. And Harry wants to deny it, he tries, but Malfoy’s standing too close, and he’s looking at him like that, and those words he’s saying sound familiar.
And Malfoy smirks, claims victory, and saunters off.
But Harry is still standing there, leaning against the wall off a corridor that’s out of the way. Breathless. Heart racing. And why had he followed Malfoy into that corridor anyway?
And he realises, he’s turned on. And disappointed. Disappointed that Malfoy walked away.
For weeks, Malfoy ignores him. Not a glance, not a word. Harry can’t catch his eye. He can’t tease and taunt him. He becomes bored. Restless. He’s being mocked for it, and he get’s angry, but he realises now that they’re right.
And he can’t stop thinking about how close they were standing, when Malfoy turned it around on him. And he can’t stop staring at him. All the time.
Christmas break happens, and when he comes back, he does something stupid, drastic. He manages to get Malfoy’s attention again. Only this time, this time, the flirting is deliberate. He catches Malfoy’s gaze, he holds it, and he makes sure Malfoy knows that he’s absolutely aware of what he’s doing.
And his heart is in his throat. Because it’s Malfoy, and there are so many reasons to not do this. But it’s Malfoy, and he never feels more alive than when he’s looking at him, and Malfoy is looking back.
And Malfoy is looking back.