“Malfoy, don’t drink that, it’s got cinnamon in it.” Harry hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even know he was going to say anything at all until the words had already left his lips. By then, it was too late to censor himself.
Malfoy paused, the bottle at his lips, and regarded Harry with a curious expression. The rest of the circle watched on, their game of truth or dare, hardly begun, and already interrupted.
“So?” Ron broke the silence. “What does it matter if it’s got cinnamon?”
Malfoy’s eyes never left Harry. “How did you know?” He asked.
Harry thought quickly. “It’s spiced firewhisky. Seamus and I found– ”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Malfoy interrupted. He spoke to Harry as if there was no one else in the room. In reality, they were surrounded by eighth years from every house, all squeezed together on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room for a game Hermione had initiated. And to Harry’s surprise – she had secretly invited the Slytherins.
“Can someone please explain what’s going on here?” Ron asked loudly.
“Draco has a cinnamon allergy,” explained Pansy, clapping her hands together excitedly.
“How did you know?” Malfoy asked Harry again, ignoring their audience.
“I don’t know. I just do.” The same way he knew the exact gel Malfoy used on his hair every morning (Merlin’s Magic), the same way he knew how Malfoy liked his eggs (poached), and the same way he knew Malfoy’s favourite colour (red).
Ron, although slow on the uptake, came to Harry’s rescue as usual. “Malfoy must have mentioned it before.”
Of course, Pansy wasn’t about let Harry off the hook so easily. “When would Draco have ever told– ”
Malfoy stood up abruptly, the spiced firewhisky discarded on the floor. Everyone turned to him and Harry was grateful for the reprieve from probing eyes. “I’m not staying sober while the rest of you get plastered. I’ll grab some regular firewhisky from my dorm.”
“Do you need someone to come with you?” Pansy asked sweetly.
Harry saw the trap before Malfoy did, but he had no way of warning him. “Yeah,” Malfoy said, “that’d be– ”
“Excellent,” Pansy interrupted. She turned to Harry. “Potter, you should go with him.”
Malfoy realised his mistake too late. “Wait, I thought– ”
This time it was Hermione who interrupted. “It’s Harry’s fault for only bringing spiced firewhisky anyway. He should help,” she said, sharing a smile with Pansy.
Harry looked back up at Malfoy, waiting for his reaction. Sure, they’d been tricked into it but Malfoy could always storm off without him. It’s not as if their show of being civil to each other throughout the year had fooled anyone.
“Fine,” Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms impatiently. He addressed Harry without looking at him. “Potter, you coming?”
Harry stood up, avoiding the eyes that returned to him once more. “Um, yeah, sure.”
The walk down to the Slytherin dungeons started quietly. Harry was grateful for some time to think. He needed to land on a reasonable explanation for knowing about Malfoy’s cinnamon allergy in case Malfoy asked him again. He figured “I don’t know” wouldn’t cut it a second time.
Malfoy broke the silence as they waited for the final moving staircase down to the ground floor to swing into position. “You have mild hay fever and you’re allergic to shellfish.”
Harry snapped his head to Malfoy. “How– ”
Malfoy stared back blankly. “I don’t know.”
The staircase locked into place and they kept walking
“You don’t like pineapple on pizza,” Harry returned.
“Of course not. I’m not a barbarian,” Malfoy countered. He paused for a second and then fired back. “Your favourite dessert is treacle tart with– ” Malfoy grimaced– “strawberry and peanut butter ice-cream.”
“Yours is peppermint slice.”
“You like the rain.”
“You hate the sun.”
“That’s a fairly obvious one, Potter. Anyone who's seen my skin would know that.” They reached the Dungeons and Malfoy whispered a password to what looked like an ordinary wall but immediately sprung open at Malfoy’s words. “Your hair gets messier the madder you are,” Malfoy said over his shoulder as he led Harry into the Slytherin Common Room.
Harry automatically lifted a hand to his head. “That can’t be true.”
Malfoy shrugged. He disappeared down a spiral staircase by what looked to be a floor to ceiling aquarium, but Harry suspected was the middle of the Great Lake. Harry followed to find Malfoy bending over a trunk. His hair had fallen forward revealing the pale skin at the back of his neck and the pink edges around his ears.
“You have a sensitive spot beneath your left ear,” Harry said, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“How could you possibly– ” Malfoy swivelled around, a light pinkness growing at the edge of his cheeks. “I have no such spot. Perhaps you’re not as clever as you thought.”
Harry watched Malfoy’s blush grow. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Malfoy said, but his face had now turned a dark shade of red.
“Prove it,” Harry suggested recklessly.
“How do you expect– ” Malfoy’s eyes widened– “Don’t even think about it, Potter.”
Harry looked around the room, suddenly feeling out of his depth. “So, where’s this firewhisky?”
“There is none. I just wanted to find a way to lure you into my dormitory.”
Harry whipped his head back around to Malfoy. “You– I– “ He started.
Malfoy held up his arm and dangled the bottle at Harry’s eye level.
“Oh.” Harry wiped his hands on his jeans. They’d suddenly become very sweaty. “Very funny.”
Malfoy dropped onto a bed – was it his? – and twisted the cap of the bottle open.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked.
“I’m not nearly drunk enough to go back into that deathtrap.” Malfoy took a large gulp and swallowed with a grimace. “Let me catch up to you.”
“I’m feeling pretty sober actually,” Harry said, staring at Malfoy’s throat.
Malfoy held out the bottle. “Have a drink then, Potter.”
Harry hesitated and then accepted the bottle. He took a swig and dropped down next to Malfoy. On Malfoy’s bed. He passed the bottle back.
“Thanks,” Malfoy said after a while.
“For what?”
“Warning me about the cinnamon.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have brought– ”
“And why would you expect your arch-enemy to show up to your little Gryffindor party? I get it, Potter. It’s fine.”
“You’re not my arch-enemy.”
Malfoy snorted and took a large swig of the firewhisky. “Granger’s less uptight than I thought.”
“Well, you don’t know her.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Potter.”
“Oh.”
“You’re more uptight than I thought,” Malfoy added.
“Hey!”
“I’m serious,” Malfoy said. He passed the firewhisky back to Harry. They’d almost drunk half the bottle. “Sometimes it’s like there’s a ten-foot wand shoved right up your– ”
“Hang on, look who’s talking!”
“Potter, I may be adventurous, but I can assure you I’d be quite content with ten inches at most.”
The firewhisky Harry had only just swigged came dribbling out of his mouth. He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows and snatched the bottle back. “I’m clearly wasting my material here. That was a joke. You know what a joke is right?”
“Um, yeah.”
Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry as he took a small sip of firewhisky. “Then next time, laugh, Potter. It’s polite.”
It might have been the firewhisky talking – who was Harry kidding? – but Malfoy’s gaze was hypnotic. Harry chuckled weakly.
Malfoy smirked. “Not now, you daft idiot.” He pushed his hair back behind his ear. Harry’s eyes followed.
And then – and this was certainly not just the firewhisky’s influence – Harry was leaning forward and gliding his hand up Malfoy’s neck, letting his thumb brush over that spot just below Malfoy’s left ear. Malfoy shivered and leaned into Harry’s touch.
“I knew you were lying,” Harry said.
Malfoy pulled back, Harry’s hand dropping between them. “That doesn’t prove anything. You could touch me anywhere and I’d– ” Malfoy stopped himself.
“You’d what?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy said, looking down. “Another joke that would go over your head I suspect.”
“Try me.”
“You’ll laugh,” Malfoy said to his knees.
“Unless it’s a bad joke.”
Malfoy laughed, but it was hollow. “Well, it is bad. Tragic, really. But you’ll laugh anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Malfoy looked up into Harry’s eyes, his voice a whisper, “how could I think I’d ever have a chance with you?”
Harry stared back, ignoring the roaring in his ears. “Do you see me laughing?”
“I know that face,” Malfoy said slowly, his face breaking into a disbelieving smile. “You’re going to kiss me.”
When they returned to the party much later, with an almost empty bottle of firewhisky, all eyes were on them. Well, on Malfoy actually.
Harry knew Malfoy had a particularly charming face – he had spent the better part of an hour worshipping it with kisses – but it didn’t make sense for the whole room to suddenly find the same appreciation. Harry turned to Malfoy in confusion and all became clear.
“Your lips,” Harry whispered. The swelling must have started on the walk back.
It was too late. The room of eighth years were already making the obvious connection.
“Malfoy didn’t have any of the spiced firewhisky,” Hermione said.
Cassius Renwick will be online for the first time tonight! He will be answering whatever questions you have, be it about himself, Hogwarts, or anything else you would like to ask! The ask box is now open for your questions, Cas will be answering as soon as he gets back from his classes ^-^
Finley loves reading, although he keeps falling asleep when he starts reading. Finley also tells me "I can't turn the pages, cuz I got no hands, I got paws!"
