An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
🌟 Summary:
“She ate him?” Ron’s the only one brave enough to say what they’re all thinking. He goes to lean against the wall, a fist above his mouth, before he registers the flaking blood on the paint and jerks away. He rasps, “I’m gonna be sick.”
As if life wasn’t already hard enough, Harry begins investigating a series of questionable deaths through new relationships and increasingly trying times.
Harry’s room was dim, the flickering glow from the fireplace casting golden light along the rough stone walls. Draco lounged on Harry’s bed like he owned the place, one leg bent at the knee, the other lazily hanging off the side.
A thin stream of smoke curled toward the ceiling from the cigarette between his pale fingers. His silver-blonde hair gleamed in the low light, and his half-lidded gaze pinned Harry to the spot.
"I found them under Ron’s bed," Draco said, his voice low and smooth. He took a slow drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth before exhaling with deliberate ease.
Harry’s eyes darkened. His jaw tightened. "I’m not surprised. You find them all the time."
Draco smirked. "Muggle fun." His gaze flicked over Harry lazily, trailing down his chest. "Wouldn’t be surprised if he stole them from his father."
Harry’s eyes narrowed. He crossed the room in two swift strides. "I asked you not to smoke in here." His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of smoke. "And not to touch the things in here anymore."
Draco’s smirk twitched. He shrank back slightly, tension flickering across his face—but only for a moment. For the first time, he wanted to kiss Harry first.
Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing Draco’s wrist and yanking him upright. Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling. Draco’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly. His breath hitched. Harry’s grip tightened.
Draco’s mouth hovered close enough to kiss—close enough for Harry to feel the heat of his breath. For a split second, Draco leaned in, ready to give in, ready to let Harry take what he wanted.
But Harry’s hand slid to the back of Draco’s neck, and in one swift motion, he spun Draco around and bent him over the wooden table by the window. Draco’s palms hit the surface with a sharp sound. His breath shuddered out of him. His hand slid down Draco’s side, fingertips grazing the edge of his hip.
"Still afraid someone will find out I’ve been seeing you?" Draco’s breath hitched. "Harry…"
"One more cigarette here, my moon," Harry whispered, lips brushing just behind Draco’s ear, "and your mouth will be… No offense? Okay?"
Draco’s hands curled against the table’s edge. His breath was shallow, his back arching instinctively toward Harry’s touch.
"Oh, show me, liar," Draco murmured, his voice breathless, trembling. "You didn't do anything to me last time."
Harry’s hand slid along the line of Draco’s jaw, tipping his chin up. His thumb brushed over Draco’s bottom lip.
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