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It was official. Draco hated Halloween.
This is all Professor Darby’s fault, he thought bitterly.
Muggle Studies became a mandatory class after the war, with Professor Darby stepping in to thoroughly explain the Muggle world in a way wizards can understand, given that he’s a Squib and understands both worlds well. It certainly didn’t hurt that the new professor tried to ensure that classes were light, fun, and insightful in light of the war. Blaise and Pansy have even found themselves enjoying Muggle fashion and Muggle music, swaying to “No Scrubs” by TLC in the eighth year common room with the other former houses. It was odd, Draco thought, that somehow, the cause of the war was what brought them together. Whereas before, Pansy wouldn’t touch Hermione and Ron— yes, Hermione and Ron now, can you believe it?— with a ten-foot-pole, today, she regularly gossips to Hermione (despite the latter pretending not to care) and exchanges playful banter with Ron. Blaise is now always within close proximity of Ginny and Luna, talking about mundane things like Quidditich or Nargles. Draco himself even talks to Potter-- because yes, he’s still Potter to Draco—regularly, seeing that his group of Slytherins and band of Gryffindors (plus one lovely Ravenclaw) have formed a now larger, louder group together. He even sits next to him in the Great Hall on some occasions, when there’s no more space and no one can be bothered to scooch over. Those were his favorite moments, but Draco would rather volunteer to care for Hagrid’s odd creatures for a month than admit it.
Despite this newfound inter-house unity caused by the rather brilliant Professor, Draco couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but dislike for him. Because right now...
Right now, Draco was being harassed by what he hoped were fake skeletons falling from the ceiling. Because really, he knows Muggles have invented a lot of great things like eklocitry and cars, but they can’t possibly have developed the means to animate skeletons back from the dead… Right?
Slowly moving through the dimly lit corridor, surrounded by the rest of the gang, Draco wondered why he didn’t stay outside when Seamus called out “Last chance everyone! Anyone too chicken to walk through this can stay!” Then he remembered how he briefly caught Potter’s eye amongst the snickers and eye rolls of the group, watching a smirk form as if challenging him to back out. And of course, Draco would never say no to a challenge where Potter is involved.
However, the accompanying sounds of distant moans, frantic scratches, and the faint and occasional sound of hysterical whispering and laughing made the environment more terrifying than it should be. Making Draco curse himself for always launching at the chance to best Potter.
Oh it seemed like a great idea at first. Professor Darby had suggested the students go to a nearby amusement park to give themselves an idea as to how Muggles celebrate Halloween. The idea of a large, round thing called a “fair-is wheel” that could take Draco up in the sky without magic seemed appealing. He was also curious about how Muggles viewed witches, since he’d heard a couple of things from Dean and wanted to see it for himself. The rest of the gang were also excited about the carnival games and this stupid bloody haunted house that he now regretted walking into with every passing second. r
SLAM!
The sound of a slamming door sounded somewhere from Draco’s left. He squealed loudly, which, to be frank, was bloody fucking embarrassing, and clutched the closest arm he could reach. It was dark enough that he couldn’t immediately tell who it was, but he suspected it belonged to Blaise. He heard the screams and gasps of the rest of the gang from a distance, so he took comfort in knowing that nobody heard his embarrassing imitation of a guinea pig.
“I never knew your voice could go that high, Malfoy,” he heard a low-voice speak from his right.
Draco, not expecting any sound from that close of a proximity, squealed loudly yet again and jumped to his left, bumping into strange, creeping fingers, eager to grasp at him (an actor, but Draco didn’t know that)— leading to yet another embarrassing squeal and another jump, this time back towards the voice in question, clutching desperately for protection.
Holy fuck.
He wasn’t clutching at Blaise. It was fucking Potter.
He heard loud sounds of familiar joyous laughter, out of place in the darkness of the haunted house. Of course it was Potter, just his fucking luck.
“Fuck off, Potter. As if you weren’t terrified of the fake skeletons falling from the fucking ceiling out of fucking nowhere.”
Draco couldn’t help himself from excessively cursing. Not only was he nervous about being within close proximity of Potter, but he was downright terrified of the haunted house altogether. Fear and nervousness did not go well together, Draco decided.
“It’s okay, Malfoy. Do you need to hold my hand?” Potter asked teasingly. Draco’s eyes adjusted enough to the darkness that he could just make out Potter holding out his hand.
Not need, Draco thought, but want. Just not because of this bloody haunted house.
Maybe now was his chance. Maybe, just a for a little while, Draco could hold Potter’s hand under the guise of needing... what? Guidance? This haunted house wasn’t that large enough to really get lost in. Comfort? Then Draco would have to lower his pride, and that was not what Malfoy’s did. What possible excuse could Draco have to hold Potter’s stupid hand?
None. None at all. Not without admitting the real reason why, or lowering his pride—which again, was so not on.
“And contract disgusting germs? Don’t think I didn’t notice you devouring the food from that questionable hotdog stand,” Draco snapped. “Just— just sod off! I’m not a child.”
He watched as Potter lowered his hand, snickering all the while. Well, there goes my chance, Draco thought sadly.
“Pretty sure you already contracted those ‘disgusting germs’ when you held onto my arm for dear life a while ago,” Potter shot back.
“I mistook you for Blaise. I should have realized it wasn’t him. His arms aren’t that muscled.” The words were out before Draco could stop them. Holy shit, did he just inadvertently call Potter fit?
“You think I have muscled arms?” Draco could almost see the smirk he knew was forming on Potter’s face.
Just how could Draco get out of this now? He contemplated walking ahead of Potter to the safety of Pansy’s proximity, but when he looked away from him, he realized they were all alone in a creepy hallway of the haunted house.
“Where are the others?” Draco demanded. He hoped Potter didn’t notice the abrupt change of subject.
Potter looked around, immediately realizing that they were, indeed, alone in this grim haunted house.
“I have no idea,” he murmured, scanning the empty hallway. Draco noticed his eyes briefly pause somewhere before looking back at Draco. “Oh well, I suppose all we can do is go on.”
The pair walked forward, with Draco taking particular care to silence his potential squeals and keeping a safe distance from Potter.
They hadn’t walked that far before Potter said “Hold on,” pausing in front of a set of doors to his right. “This must be the way.”
Draco wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t exactly want to examine his surroundings, and wasn’t Potter the Saviour of the Wizarding World? He defeated Voldemort. Surely he could guide Draco through a measly haunted house. He was tempted to Apparate on the spot—he had his license after all, despite being restricted. He could Apparate to Hogwarts. But the fear of Muggles being nearby and breaking the Statute of Secrecy stopped him.
They walked through the terrifying halls of the haunted house for longer than Draco thought they should. Were they lost? Could one even get lost here? Draco was tired of the moans and laughter surrounding him. They reminded him of the time when Voldemort took up residence in Manor, torturing Muggles, Muggleborns, and his own Death Eaters for entertainment. He can almost hear Voldemort cackling loudly, his Aunt Bellatrix at his side casting Crucio after Crucio. He could almost feel the pain of his body twisting to unnatural angles when he had the misfortune of being Voldemort’s target, his arms and legs twisting and breaking—
“Malfoy?”
“Malfoy!”
“Malfoy! Are you alright?” he felt arms on his shoulders, shaking him into reality. He hadn’t noticed he’d ceased his walking, leaving Potter in front of him. As his focus came back, he found brilliant green eyes boring into his own, filled with worry. He forced himself to calm down, not wanting to have a mental breakdown in front of Potter.
“Stop manhandling me Potter,” putting on his best Malfoy sneer. “I’m fine.”
Instead of backing off, he felt Potter’s grip on his shoulders tighten. He stared back at Potter, piercing green eyes looking at him with what looked like genuine worry.
“You didn’t look alright,” Potter said quietly.
“Yes, well—I’m fine now, alright?” Draco replied, trying to shrug off Potter’s grip. He failed, of course. Potter has always been physically stronger than him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Draco replied sharply. “Let’s just get out of here.” He proceeded to try and walk past Potter, despite knowing that he’d be bat-shit terrified by the rest of the house if he had to walk ahead alone. He felt a hand curl around his wrist, pulling him back until he found himself enfolded in the warm embrace of Harry fucking Potter.
Draco felt mortified.
This was the wrong time—not to mention wrong place—for his heart to start beating wildly. He was surrounded by everything that reminded him of the war, his friends were missing, and yet he was in Harry fucking Potter’s arms.
His whole body tensed up, despite the itch in his arms and the voice in his head—and heart!—screaming at him to hug Potter back. He felt strong hands around his waist, and Potter, being slightly shorter than him by half an inch, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you might’ve felt this way, given what happened to you with your house and all that.” Potter said softly. Because of course Potter would blame himself for Draco being reminded of the war and living in his own personal haunted house when they were supposed to be having fun. Of course. Draco could feel himself falling a little bit more in love with the soft-hearted git.
“Shut up, Potter. It’s not your fault.” He muttered, still not putting his hands around his stupid crush. He was idiot. So much for being a Slytherin and taking advantage of the situation.
As he felt the arms loosen around his waist, he quickly wrapped his arms around Potter’s back, not wanting to lose contact.
They stayed that way for a few moments, Potter silent about Draco’s abrupt movements. Eventually, he gently pulled back to look at Draco’s face. Their faces close enough that Draco could feel Potter’s slow, gentle breaths on his lips. He couldn’t help it, his eyes flicked down to Potter’s lips—wondering what it would be like to feel those soft lips on his, to taste his kiss, to run his hands through Potter—Harry’s hair while getting lost in his emotions. Harry, who made him laugh when he was having a tantrum. Harry, who makes sure to pile more food on Draco’s plate when he noticed he wasn’t eating—and consequently stays there to ensure he finishes it. Harry, who still carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even after he defeated the Dark Lord. Harry, who Draco wanted to make so, so happy.
“Draco…” Harry whispered—quietly, breathlessly, like he was marveling at something—someone, beautiful. His whisper held so much emotion. Draco gazed at Potter’s eyes, finding something he thought was longing, but didn’t want to hope.
“Yes, Potter?” he replied weakly. His heart was violently beating in his chest. He wouldn’t be surprised if Harry heard it.
“May I…?” Harry asked softly, his mouth slowly coming closer to Draco’s until it covered it fully, not giving him a chance to reply.
“Yes,” Draco gasped into his mouth. It was soft and warm and inviting and everything that he ever imagined. Better than he ever imagined. He was drowning and his surroundings disappeared into nonexistence until there was nothing but Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry.
God, Draco thought, I want this forever.
The kiss was soft, slow, and steady. And Draco poured out all his emotions into it, feeling Harry’s reply in return. Both of their hands entangled in the other’s hair, tugging and sliding. It felt like hours—but it was most likely just minutes—before Harry pulled back slowly, resting his head against Draco’s.
“God,” Harry mumbled, “I want that forever.”
Draco’s heart stuttered in his chest. Had he heard correctly? Not only had he been kissed by Harry Potter, but he’d heard—and felt—his declamation of equal longing. Was he dreaming? Was this real? If this is a dream, Draco thought dazedly, I don’t ever want to wake up.
“Harry…” he whispered.
“Draco,” Harry said tenderly, feeling his breath against Draco’s. Draco’s heart skipped a beat at Harry’s use of his name. “I’m not sorry, I’ve wanted that forever. I… I…” he trailed off helplessly, losing the words.
“I’ve wanted that forever too,” Draco replied quietly.
Harry pulled back until he was looking at Draco’s whole face, searching for a sign of something Draco didn’t know, until he beamed in delight.
“Really?” he asked delightedly, until he turned nervous, running a hand through his hair. Was there something wrong?
“I just… I… So if—I mean—Do you think—I want—“ Harry stuttered, which Draco thought was adorable. “Would you go out with me?” he blurted.
Draco sure as hell wouldn’t say no to that. Fear and nervousness be damned.
“Harry, I’d love to.”
It was official, Draco loved Halloween.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Where could they possibly be?” a panicked Pansy half-shouted and half-hysterically sobbed.
“Just calm down,” Hermione said gently and soothingly, although she did admit she was worried for her friend as well. The minute they stepped through the haunted house, she instantly realized the potential danger Draco was in of falling into a mindless hole. Despite her not being at the Manor long enough to be familiar with it, even she realized how eerily similar the environment felt. She could only imagine how Draco himself, who lived there, felt. After all, despite them all getting along, the war was not far behind them. It could still be considered fresh in their minds—she herself flinched slightly whenever a spell starting with the word “C” was said. She would know how easily triggering some things could be.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, ‘Mione! You know Draco, you know how sensitive he can be! You know—“
“There they are!” Ron shouted, pointing at the exit of the haunted house. The whole gang had waited impatiently for the pair, growing more agitated by Pansy’s panicking.
Hermione and the rest of the gang watched as both Harry and Draco walked out of the exit slowly. She instantly picked up on Draco’s flushed face and Harry’s blinding smile—not to mention Draco’s less-neat-than-usual hair. The distance between their bodies was smaller than it used to be, and their hands brushed whenever possible—whereas before Draco would subtly (but not subtle enough for Hermione) move away to keep his distance. But the most obvious tell of all was the massive hickey on Draco’s neck, just below his ear.
Something happened between those two, she thought. Finally.