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It had been a rather shitty day so far.

Of course, that was much to be expected. After all, it was a Tuesday morning, and the only class he'd had so far was Potions. Harry found potions a horrendously awful experience during the best of times; forcing that hateful class on him first thing in the morning was simply cruel. At least he had History of Magic next, and even if he didn't find it nearly as exciting as Hermione seemed to find it, it was at least tolerable. History of Magic. Crap.

Harry stopped walking and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Bloody hell."

Ron and Hermione stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Left my book in Snape's class," Harry muttered. He could easily picture the stupid Charms textbook. He'd been rummaging for a spare quill after his had snapped, and he could picture taking his Charms textbook out and sliding it aside beneath his seat so he could more easily access the bottom of his bag. Then, the bloody stupid git he was, he'd been so eager to escape Snape's domain that he'd simply grabbed up his bag and run from the room. "I've got to go back for it."

Hermione looked aghast. "But we'll be late!"

Harry sighed. "Go on ahead, no point in all of us being late."

"Rotton luck," Ron said. "Here's hoping at least Snape's not there."

Harry couldn't suppress a groan. "Yeah, here's hoping," he repeated.

He turned and hurried down the corridor back in the direction of the dungeons. Stupid stupid stupid! For an instant, Harry considered just leaving the damned book, but knowing Snape he'd probably toss it out or something, just to spite him. He could picture the vile man looking down his hooked nose at Harry, sneering, "Why, Mister Potter, I'd simply assumed that if you'd valued the book, you wouldn't have carelessly left it here."

The bastard.

Harry was almost at the stairs now, so close that he could almost feel the chill air wafting up from the lower levels of the castle. He wrinkled his nose. Musty and slightly damp. No wonder Slytherins were such an unpleasant bunch, imagine living down there... He thought fondly of Gryffindor Tower, and scowled at the narrow, twisting staircase before him. He took them at a run, two at a time, muttering "Stupid, stupid!" in time with every footfall. He reached the bottom and his momentum carried him around the corner--

--and smack into someone else.

They went down in a tangle of limbs and an explosion of books and parchment and quills.

"Fucking hell, Potter!"

God, just when he'd thought his day couldn't get worse.

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy, it's not as if I did it on purpose."

Harry disentangled himself from about Malfoy's person as quickly as he could and began to gather up his dropped possessions. Malfoy lay sprawled on his back, robes open and his sweater riding up his abdomen. Harry couldn't resist flicking his gaze over that little strip of exposed skin. Just as pale and perfect as the rest of him, with a dusting of fine gold hairs leading lower and disappearing beneath his trousers. Harry snapped his eyes back to the task of gathering up his parchment. Best not to follow that little train of thought to it's obvious conclusion.

Not that it was an altogether bad conclusion. Harry was able to admit that Malfoy was an attractive boy. At eighteen he'd finally grown into his pointy features and filled out into something as close to perfect as any mere mortal could hope to achieve. The expressive eyes beneath exquisitely arched brows, that fine blond hair, sharp cheekbones flanking a very straight nose, lean limbs and flawless pale skin that made Harry think of the cold perfection of marble statues. God, he'd have to be absolutely blind to not realize just how stunningly beautiful Malfoy had become.

Or at least, he mused to himself, not gay.

"Oh, of course you didn't do it on purpose," Malfoy snarled at him as he slowly shoved himself to a crouch and began to gather up his own things. "You're the Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die. You'd never deliberately do anything to hurt even a fly, would you?"

And how ironic it was that the only thing that stopped Harry from tumbling headlong into a massive lust-fueled crush on the stupid tosser was Malfoy himself. It seemed incredibly unfair that Draco Malfoy could be so peerlessly beautiful on the outside and still be so disgustingly hideous on the inside. Harry couldn't even have a proper fantasy about him without wanting to punch him.

Not that he'd tried, or anything. Of course not.

"Leave off, I'm not interested in a fight."

"Wouldn't have run me down, in that case."

Harry sighed and glared at him. "It was an accident and you know it. And if I really wanted to get at you, all I'd have to do is wait for the match on Saturday."

Malfoy glared back at him. "Careful there, Potter, wouldn't want your ego to swell up any more or you might not be able to fit through doorways."

"It's not being conceited if it's true," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to win because I'm the better Seeker. You know it, I know it, the whole bloody school knows it."

Malfoy sat back on his heels, head cocked ever so slightly to one side, and the calculating look on his face made his eyes gleam. "You sound pretty confident about that." He paused a beat. "Care to make a little wager on it?"

Even though he knew better to be making any sort of deal with a Slytherin, Harry asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Malfoy smirked at him. "Nothing too much. If you win, I grant you one demand of me. Anything you want."

"And if you win?"

The smirk became more intense, and Malfoy's grey eyes sparked with a sort of eagerness that made Harry's stomach twist. "Than I'd get one demand of you. Anything I want. Anything at all."

Harry grabbed the last of his papers and stuffed them into his bag. "No deal. I'm not stupid." He stood and turned to leave."

"No, you're not," Malfoy's voice floated up from behind him. "But you're a coward."

He whirled around before he could stop himself. "That's funny, coming from you of all people."

Malfoy grinned and stood slowly, carelessly flaunting his grace with the way he unfurled his stupid perfect long limbs from the crouch. "You said yourself, you're the better Seeker. But you're afraid that maybe, just maybe, I'll win."

Harry stalked back up to him. "There have to be rules."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Nothing illegal. Nothing that will hurt me or anyone else. Nothing that will require me to leave school grounds. Or get me into trouble with the Professors. Or—"

"Right, right. Nothing to get the Golden Boy into any sort of trouble with the authorities, because Merlin knows you don't need my help with that."

Harry glared. God, how someone could looks so attractive rolling his eyes was beyond him. Luckily Draco's snotty little voice squashed any feeling of attraction before they could begin.

"And how long will I have to decide?"

Draco smiled at him. It was a rather nasty smile, cocksure with a hard edge to it. It made Harry's spine tingle.

"I'm feeling generous. How about right before the match, when we meet on the field."

Harry nodded. "Fine."

"See you then, Potty."

***

"Sweet Merlin's saggy drawers, Harry, this is great!"

"Shhh!"

Harry spared Hermione an apologetic glance but Ron didn't even pause. He tipped his chair back and tucked his hands behind his head.

"We've got to come up with something really great. Really really great. Something that will really embarrass him."

"For heaven's sake, Ron, will you at least pretend you're paying attention?" Hermione snapped without looking up from her notes while Binns droned on, oblivious.

Ron gave Harry a 'what can you do?' shrug, but lowered his voice. "So what are you thinking of so far?"

"Well..." Harry paused, grinning. "You know how vain he is. I thought maybe I'd make him wear something embarrassing."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Like a dress!"

"Something along those lines."

"Ooh, you ought to make it a condition that he has to wear it on a day we've got Potions. Can you imagine Snape's reaction."

Harry could, and the thought made him smile. "Exactly. Now we just have to figure out what..."

***

"Captains, you will meet."

Harry stalked forward across the pitch to stop in the middle. Malfoy strode toward him, stopping a few feet away.

"Well, Potter? Have you decided yet?"

Harry tried to keep the smirk off his face, failed, then decided he didn't really care. "When I win the game, you'll have to wear an outfit of my choosing. You'll have to wear it on a Tuesday, you'll have to keep it on the entire day, and you must go about your schedule as usual. No hiding in your room or anything. And if anyone asks you why you're wearing it, you'll have to tell them that you're finally embracing your inner girl."

It'd been difficult picking out the response, because he and Ron had come up with some really good candidates. The outfit was all picked out, though. They'd expanded Ron's horrid dress robes from that unfortunate Yule Ball, and charmed them a fetching shade of pink. Hermione had rolled her eyes at their elaborate plotting, but she had volunteered a spell that created extra ruffles. The resulting robes were something even a six year old girl would be afraid to wear.

"Fair enough."

Damn it, Malfoy just looked amused.

"Out with it, then."

"Out with what?" Malfoy drawled. "Oh, you mean what do I get if I win instead?" He stepped closer to Harry and his voice dropped. "If I win the match." He paused. "I get." Another pause as he leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. "You."

Harry blinked at him. "Me?"

Malfoy's grin went feral. "You," he repeated. "I get one night with you."

"One night," he repeated dumbly. "You mean like..." God, he was blushing. He could feel the heat of it creeping up his face, and the sudden widening of Malfoy's grin confirmed it. "You can't mean."

"Oh, I do mean. I do indeed."

One night with Malfoy. Harry felt his stomach twist even as a lower bit of his anatomy gave an excited twitch at the idea. How had the bastard even found out that he was gay? He'd been so careful. Even Ron and Hermione didn't know.

"I'm not gay." Somehow, Harry managed to keep his voice steady through the lie.

"Of course you are, Potter," Malfoy said with a roll of his eyes. "It's perfectly obvious. Well, to anyone who bothers to look. I see how you watch me when you think I'm not looking."

Well, he thought he'd been careful. He felt his lower lip jut out. "Deal's off. I'm not doing it."

That damnable mocking smirk was back. "Scared you'll lose."

"I'm not scared of you."

"I didn't say you were. I said you were scared of losing." Malfoy shrugged with exaggerated casualness and looked as if he'd won something important. "The great Harry Potter backing down from a challenge. Never thought I'd see the day."

For a moment Harry wanted to hit him. Hard. And repeatedly. Slowly, he managed to wrestle the urge under control. He thought of Malfoy in those pink robes. He thought of Snape's face when he saw Malfoy in those pink robes. He thought of Ron's face when he saw Snape's reaction. Harry sucked in a breath. It'd be worth it, wouldn't it? And besides, he hadn't lost a match yet, and here they were at the second-to-last game of the year.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

Damn his eyes, Malfoy was going to make him say it. "Fine. I accept your terms."

Malfoy laughed, and Harry's stomach did a not-altogether-unpleasant flip at the sound. "Don't sound so formal, Potter, it's just a little wager." He stuck out his hand.

Harry glared at him again and turned on his heel, striding away back to his teammates.

"Players, mount your brooms!" Hooch bellowed.

"Well, Harry, what'd he bet you?" Ron asked as Harry swung a leg over his broom.

Harry's stomach twisted, but he managed to force his lips into careless grin. "Doesn't matter, does it? Not like he'll be winning!"

Ron laughed. "That's for sure! I suppose I don't really need to tell you to kick his arse, but good luck anyhow!"

And then the whistle blew and the game began. Harry dug his feet into the grass and shoved away. His stomach turned again, this time in the sickening delight at the earth falling away. The chilly spring wind bit at his cheeks as it whipped past. The chaos of the game faded away as Harry blocked it out and turned his attention to searching for the Snitch. No telltale flash of gold flickered against the perfect blue of the sky, but the game had only just started. It could be much longer before the snitch made an appearance. Harry drifted higher over the pitch and watched as Ron dodged a bludger aimed at him, then blocked the quaffle that came hurtling after it. The announcer's voice was a distant squawking that Harry easily tuned out. Much harder to ignore was Malfoy, sitting on his broom halfway down the pitch. For an instant Harry allowed his mind to wander into the possibility of losing the bet. Surely it wouldn't be so bad to have to give Malfoy what he asked for. Sitting on his broom, eyes fastened on the sky, hair mussed by the wind, god he looked incredible.

It was a real a shame that he was such an ass. Harry shook his head to clear out the distracting thoughts. It certainly would be that bad to give into Malfoy! He'd probably make Harry do all sorts of really embarrassing things and then tell the whole school over breakfast the next morning. Harry would never be able to live that down, especially once the papers caught wind of it. Bloody Malfoy would probably owl them himself, complete with photos. He risked another glance at his rival. It simply wasn't fair that Malfoy had to be so damned pretty. Skin so smooth and pale, hair shining in the late afternoon sunlight, glistening like gold--

Harry's heart leapt. That wasn't Malfoy's poncy hair glistening, it was the snitch! It hovered just behind his head, but Malfoy, intent on searching the sky, didn't see it. Harry chewed on his bottom lip. Dare he risk a rush at Malfoy to catch it? Or just hope it flew somewhere else? But then Malfoy might catch sight of it as it moved.

"See something you like, Potter?" Malfoy shouted at him.

"Yes, actually, I do!" Harry yelled back, steering his broom a little closer.

For an instant, something like disbelief flitted over Malfoy's features, then the snitch, damn it all to hell, shot over Malfoy's shoulder. Harry dove for it, with Malfoy close behind. The snitch plummeted toward the pitch, and Harry let out a howl of pure adrenaline as he dodged a bludger and one of the hulking Slytherin beaters in pursuit of his goal. Somehow, in the midst of his maneuvering, Malfoy managed to catch up to him and they flew neck and neck, shoulders and knees jostling against each other. Harry risked taking his eyes of the snitch for the barest instant to glance at his rival. Malfoy was hunched over his broom, knuckles white where his hands kept a death grip on the handle. The wind blew his hair back from his face and his teeth were bared in a snarl of determination. Harry focused his eyes on the snitch and put on a burst of speed. Malfoy matched it and bumped his broom roughly against Harry. Harry elbowed him as the ground rushed up, looming closer and closer as the snitch leveled out just a few feet from the ground. The toes of Harry's trainers brushed the close cropped grass of the pitch and he tucked his legs up beneath him. He reached out as Malfoy did, their hands just inches apart as they both strained for the little gold snitch that danced just out of reach. Malfoy leaned even further forward, and his hand brushed the snitch's madly fluttering wings.

"No!" Harry growled and, against all his better sense, lunged forward.

His fingers bumped smooth metal just before he overbalanced and he fell off his broom. His flailing limbs caught Malfoy and knocked him off his broom as well, and they went down in a jumble of flapping robes, thrashing limbs, and splintering wood. Harry's head knocked painfully against some hard and overly pointy bit of Malfoy's anatomy and bright points of light danced before his eyes as he came to a stop, sprawled out on the grass just a few feet from his rival. He lay still, panting as he waited for his vision to return. Nothing seemed to be broken, that was good. He wiggled his fingers and toes before he chanced sitting up. Malfoy's broom had broken on impact, but miraculously Harry's Firebolt lay undamaged nearby. The snitch was nowhere in sight.

Harry shoved to his feet, eyes already scanning the sky for that little glint of gold. He wobbled a bit and pressed a hand to his head as his balance nearly deserted him. He staggered a few steps toward his room before jerking to a halt as the pitch tilted alarmingly.

"Oh Merlin."

Malfoy's quiet, trembling voice cut through the air, and Harry whirled to face him, nearly toppling over. God, he'd forgotten about Malfoy. Sure he was a stupid git, but Harry didn't want him injured. He blinked, staring at the other seeker. Malfoy was pale, yeah, but he didn't seem to be bleeding or anything. He was just sitting there, staring down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, with an expression on his face frozen somewhere between shock and panic.

Harry's stomach knotted as he wrenched his gaze down to Malfoy's hand. There, curled in his palm, was the snitch. Its wings gave a feeble flutter. Malfoy jerked his head up and his eyes met Harry's. The shock was gone, edged out by the panic. His mouth dropped open, but before he could say a word, the rest of his team descended around him and the mass of silver and green uniforms obscured the other boy from view briefly before they hauled him up on their shoulders and carried him away to the thunderous applause pouring from the Slytherin section of bleachers. Malfoy cast one last desperate look at Harry as he was borne away, desperately trying to say something with his eyes.

Harry sat down hard. He'd lost. He'd lost to Malfoy. He'd lost the bet. The knot in his stomach clenched and his dinner threatened to revisit him. One night with Malfoy. Oh god.

There was thump behind him as someone landed, but Harry didn't turn. A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Rotton luck, there," Ron said, then frowned. "Hey, are you hurt at all?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no. I'm alright. Let's just go."

***

The Gryffindor common room later that night was abnormally quiet. Harry was slumped on the rug before the fireplace, propped against the sofa. He kept his knees tucked up beneath his chin with his arms loosely clasped around his shins. He'd lost the bet. How could he have lost the bloody bet? To bloody Malfoy?

Maybe it won't be so bad. He's certainly fit enough.

Harry groaned and pressed his eyes against his knees. The brief mental picture of himself tangled with Malfoy as they panted together in ecstasy dissolved only to be replaced by an image of himself bent over a bed with Malfoy taking him roughly from behind, sneering all the while. Harry's cock gave a twitch of interest at that. Ugh, what was wrong with him?

"Cheer up, Harry, it's not so bad," Ginny said as she plopped down on the sofa behind him. "Today's match puts Slytherin ahead of Hufflepuff, so you'll have another chance to beat them for the cup."

"I'm sure today's match was just a fluke," Hermione added. She sat on the sofa beside Ginny and Ron sprawled on the rug beside Harry. "You've beaten Malfoy every other time. You took quite a tumble, there."

Ron waved his hands in a shooing motion. "Harry knows all that. I'm sure he could live without the pair of you sitting there rehashing the match for him."

Harry tilted his head to the side and gave his friend a wan smile. "Thanks, Ron."

"Well excuse us, we were only trying to make Harry feel better," Ginny sniped at her brother, and Harry could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "C'mon, Hermione. You promised you'd look over my Transfiguration essays."

In an astounding show of self control, Ron waited until they'd disappeared into the girls' dorms before he leaned closer to Harry. "So, Malfoy won the bet."

"I'm trying to forget."

Ron waited a few beats before prodding Harry in the ribs. "And?"

"And nothing," Harry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Come on, you're my best mate. Just tell me."

Harry raised his head and looked at Ron before letting it drop back to loll against the sofa cushions. "You won't like it."

"If the look on your face is any clue, I'd say I couldn't like it any less than you do."

Harry sighed. "One night."

Ron looked baffled. "One night," he repeated.

"With him," he added significantly.

Ron only looked more perplexed. "With him?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and stared at Ron, waiting...

He could tell the exact instant it sank in. Ron actually recoiled, and a dark blush swept over his face to swallow his freckles.

"With Malfoy?" he demanded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I wouldn't lose," Harry said, amazed at how calm his voice sounded.

"You can't seriously consider going through with it."

Harry shrugged. "A bet's a bet. And I lost."

***

It had been exactly week since that fateful Quidditch match. One week with the unpaid bet still looming over Harry's head. He'd been sure that Malfoy would want to collect right away. But he hadn't heard a word from him all weekend. And then in classes on Monday, Malfoy had appeared to actually go out of his way to avoid him. Not a word, not a glance, not anything. In the Great Hall for meals, he kept his head bowed over his plate. In the few classes they shared, Malfoy was the last to arrive and the first to leave. Their paths had crossed unexpectedly on Wednesday, when Malfoy had been leaving the boy's restroom on the third floor just as Harry was ducking into it. Malfoy's eyes had widened briefly before he dropped his gaze to the tiles. He'd muttered a quick "Scuse me," as he pushed past Harry and then practically ran down the hall.

At first Harry had been thoroughly baffled by Malfoy's odd behavior. And then it sank in. Of course he didn't want to collect his winnings now, not when it was so much better to torment Harry by putting it off. Why get it over with quickly when postponing it would drive Harry mad. Right good job of it, too, Harry admitted to himself as he stormed down the stairway. He'd been having nightmares every night. He couldn't focus in classes. Damn it, he wanted his life back.

Harry came to a stop outside the door to the Slytherin Dungeons. As luck would have it, a pair of second year girls were just going inside. He caught the door before it could close all the way. The girls gaped at him.

"You can't come in here!" one of them said, moving to block his way.

"Don't want to. I need to you to give a message to Malfoy."

The girl frowned. "Well..."

"Why should we?" the other one demanded.

"Because I'd imagine he'll be quite angry if you don't." Harry folded his arms over his chest and fixed the pair of them with his best glare. "Tell him eight o'clock, old charms classroom on the fourth floor. Come alone. It's time to get this the bloody hell over and done with. He'll know what I'm talking about."

He turned and stalked away without waiting for a response.

***

Harry arrived at ten to eight. He wanted to get there ahead of Malfoy, since the rest of the situation was so utterly out of his control and as small as it was, arriving before Malfoy was one stupid thing that he could still do. Eight o'clock came and went, and at ten past Harry felt sure Malfoy wasn't going to show, but then the door creaked open just enough for Malfoy to slip through.

"About time. I thought you weren't going to show up," Harry snapped.

"Nearly didn't," Malfoy said quietly. He didn't look at Harry.

Harry's nerves had been on edge all evening, and Malfoy's soft words sent him tumbling over. "Right. Just like you've been avoiding me for the last week."

"I—"

"I know what you're doing."

Malfoy started and his gaze finally snapped up to meet Harry's. "You do?"

"Of course I do. You're trying to drive me mad, just like you always do. You're putting off collecting on the bet so that I've got to walk around with it hanging over my head. Well that's not going to work. We're going to finish this right here and right now so that I can get on with my fucking life." Harry shucked off his robe and dropped it to the floor, then yanked his jumper over his head.

Malfoy's eyes went wide. "Potter, stop."

"You want me to stop?" Harry demanded, his voice sharper and uglier than he'd ever remembered Malfoy driving him to before in his life. "Why on earth would you want me to do that? This is what you wanted, yeah?" He reached for his belt buckle.

Malfoy gaped for a split second, then lurched forward and grabbed Harry's wrists. "No!" he said, jerking Harry's hands away from his belt. "I mean, yes, but no. Not like this." He yanked his hands away as if Harry's skin burned him. "Look, I-- It's complicated." He drew in a deep breath and visibly composed himself. "I want to propose a change to our arrangement.

"Oh?" Harry folded his arms over his chest and fixed Malfoy with his best glare.

Rather than wilt in the face of Harry's ire, oddly it seemed to shore him up. Malfoy stood a bit taller and glared right back. "I'm willing to let you off the hook for our bet, if you'll trade me three very small favors instead."

A harsh laugh forced its way out of Harry's mouth. "You're mad if you'll think I'll trade you three things for one thing."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I think you'll trade me three very small things for one very large thing."

"Alright then, what are these three very small things?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "One: you tell no one what happens here tonight. I mean no one, not even your sidekicks." He waited for Harry's curt nod before he continued. "Two: you close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?" Harry stared at Malfoy, and Malfoy just stared right back. "Fine."

He slipped one hand into his pocket to take a firm grip on his wand before shutting his eyes. He heard a slight rustle of robes as Malfoy shifted a bit, coming closer? He strained his ears but couldn't tell. God, this was even more awkward than it had been before, which he hadn't thought possible but now he couldn't blood see and the silence just kept stretching out between them.

"Well, what's the third thing?" he said, more to get this thing finished up than of any real desire to find out.

"Third," Malfoy said softly, and he had moved much closer than Harry thought. "Third, you don't hex me for what I'm going to do now."

There was another rustle of robes and the floorboards creaked just in front of Harry. He resisted the urge to take a step back, and instead squeezed his eyes shut that much tighter and put his chin up.

"Do what?"

"This," Malfoy whispered.

He was so close that Harry could feel, actually feel, the word ghosting across his mouth, and then Malfoy kissed him and Harry froze. Malfoy's lips were soft and dry and so warm as they met his own in what was little more than a chaste brush, and then disappeared almost before Harry could really register that they were there at all. His eyes flew open and Malfoy was already halfway to the door. He should say something, shouldn't he? He should call out to Malfoy, make him stop and come back here and bloody well talk about this, because you don't just kiss a bloke and then run off without another word, but that was exactly what Malfoy did and the door bumped gently shut behind him before Harry could remember how to make his throat work.

Malfoy had just kissed him. He'd just been kissed by Malfoy.

"Well," Harry said to the empty classroom. "What the fuck."

***

Harry didn’t see Malfoy at all for the rest of the weekend, and when classes started up again the following week, Malfoy was back to avoiding him. Harry tried to catch him in the Great Hall, tried to talk to him between classes, but Malfoy always slipped away and it was beginning to make Harry angry.

Because he still didn’t have an answer for what the hell had happened between them in that old charms classroom and Malfoy bloody well needed to explain himself because Harry was completely at a loss. At first Harry had been sure Malfoy had just been trying to piss him off, but after that gentle, chaste kiss, he didn’t know what to think.

After Potions on Thursday, Harry was desperate enough to aim a Slashing Hex at Malfoy’s bag as he fled down the hall. The bottom of the bag tore open and all of Malfoy’s books and papers fell onto the floor. Malfoy froze as his classmates diverted around him, and Harry caught up.

“Malfoy,” he said.

Malfoy glared at him. “Fuck off, Potter.”

He knelt down and began to gather his books. As Harry came close, he saw that his Slashing Hex had also caught the soft felt bag that Malfoy kept his rune set in, and the polished white stones lay strewn amongst the scattered school papers. Harry knelt down and nudged Malfoy’s Transfiguration textbook closer to him, then picked up one of the stones.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” he said, rubbing the smooth stone between his thumb and forefinger.

“I see that,” Malfoy muttered. He cast a Reparo on his bag and shoved his books inside before casting another Reparo on the little felt bag and gathering up his runes.

“I was hoping you’d explain what the hell happened on Saturday,” Harry prompted.

Malfoy glared at him. “Nothing happened, Potter.”

“That’s not true,” Harry said, and felt his cheeks warm. “You kissed me.”

Malfoy’s cheeks went pink. “A momentary lapse in judgment, I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“But why?” Harry asked. “I just… I don’t understand why.”

Malfoy went silent, then wordlessly held out his hand. Harry blinked at it for a moment, then remembered the rune he was holding. He dropped it into Malfoy’s waiting palm. The smooth stone had a sign like a very pointy P carved into it, and Malfoy rubbed his thumb over the shape and sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“I wasn’t supposed to win,” he said.

“What?” Harry asked.

“The bet we made. I wasn’t supposed to win,” Malfoy said. He dropped his rune into the felt bag and tied it loosely shut. He hesitated and wouldn’t look at Harry. “When I bet you what I did, I only wanted to put the idea in your head that I wanted to… well. I thought maybe if you thought that I thought of you that way, then we could…” His mouth twisted up like he’d bitten into something sour. “It was a stupid idea anyhow, and clearly it didn’t work.”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked as his mind scrambled to catch up with Malfoy’s words. “I mean, what’s the point?”

Malfoy glared at him. “Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”

He shoved the felt bag of runes into his schoolbag and fled down the hall without looking back.

Harry let him.

***

“Captains! You will meet!” Hooch bellowed.

Harry strode eagerly across the pitch and had to wait as Malfoy reluctantly made his way to meet him. Even though this game would decide the House Cup, the butterflies in his belly had nothing to do with the upcoming match.

“Best of luck,” Malfoy muttered when he got there. He kept his gaze pinned firmly to his feet.

“Oh, I don’t need luck, Malfoy,” Harry said cheerfully. “I’m going to win.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy said with a scowl and started to turn away.

“In fact, I’m so confident that I’m going to win that I’d like to make a bet on it,” Harry said.

Malfoy froze and then slowly turned back around. “That’s not funny,” he said. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny,” Harry told him easily. “So, what do you say, Malfoy? Want to bet?”

“Fuck you,” Malfoy spat, face twisted up into a sneer, grip tightening on his broom so that his knuckles stood out white from his hand. He turned away again.

“If I win,” Harry said. “You let me take you to Hogsmeade.”

Malfoy froze again, then whirled to face Harry. “What did you say?”

Harry smiled. “You heard me. If I win, you let me take you to Hogsmeade. To dinner. As a date.”

For a long moment, Malfoy stared blankly at him and then a slow, hesitant smile curved his lips. “And what happens if I win,” he asked.

Harry grinned. “If you win, I’ll let you pick the restaurant.” He put out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Smiling, Malfoy shook his hand, and Harry knew that no matter which way the game went, this time he couldn’t lose.