re quick to engage him in conversation. Draco did his best to laugh at their jokes and to seem interested in their wittering, but ultimately excused himself again when one of the witches startedplaining about how exhausting redecorating her parlour was.

Where the hell was Pansy, Draco asked himself for the umpteenth time. She’d probably be able to keep Potter away with just a glance. But, unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen. What was even more unfortunate was the fact that Draco was so lost in thought, he didn’t realise who was standing in front of him until it was too late.

“Hey,” Potter simply said.

Didn’t he have any other words in his repertoire? He said it in such a nonchalant way, too. As if they were old friends. It was too casual. It was infuriating. Draco kept his face neutral while his insides boiled.

“You know, I was wondering if—”

“Oh, look at that,” Draco said, gesturing to Potter’s empty hands. “You don’t have a drink. I’ll get you one.”

Before Potter could say anything else, Draco strutted away, his chin held high. He’d rather be dead than let Potter know what he was doing to him. He told one of the waiters to get Harry freaking Potter a drink, who, in turn, looked mortified at having neglected the unofficial guest of honour.

Draco grabbed yet another glass of wine himself before he spotted Blaise near the balcony.

“Are we behaving tonight, or are we getting pissed?” Blaise asked in a seemingly innocent tone.

“We’re behaving,” Draco said, emphatically.

“Really? Because you look like you’re already halfway there.” Blaise nodded at his face, making Draco frown. “You’re flushed. It’s quite dinky.”

“Shut up,” Draco snapped, almost gulping down the whole glass. But Blaise was right. His face was too warm and his tongue felt a little heavy. He quickly scanned the room for Potter, who was now wedged between two wizards. They almost looked like they were trying to convince him to apany them home after the gala. One of them was playing with the hair near his ear, while the other had his elbow on his shoulder and touched a finger to his chin every now and then. Draco inadvertently wondered what it would feel like to touch Potter like that; his index finger under his chin, while his thumb stroked his bottom lip…

Inwardly groaning, Draco downed the rest of his wine and shook his head. His gaze roamed Potter’s body, heat rising in his chest. Even though his robes didn’t give away much, Draco knew from the pictures he had seen in the Prophet that Potter had filled out. It suited him. Draco liked the fact that Potter didn’t look so delicate anymore. He also liked the fact that Potter was still shorter than him, even if it only was by a few inches.

Before he knew it, his eyes were glued to Potter’s lips again, unable to shake the sudden urge to touch them. For the longest time he had wanted to touch them. It was the most frustrating thing. Draco’s gaze momentarily flickered to Potter’s glass, which he had raised to his mouth. But before his lips touched it, his tongue darted out and he slowly licked the rim. Draco felt a violent shudder go through him, not only because this was far more sensual than should be allowed, but mainly, because he realised Potter was looking at him. Had he done that on purpose? Had he seen Draco staring at him? Fuck!

Panic washed over him as he watched Potter mumble something to the two wizards who were still stroking him, and march over to where Draco and Blaise were standing. Draco wanted to bolt but found himself rooted to the spot.

“I feel like you’re avoiding me,” Potter said point-blank. Draco wasn’t sure if he should brush it off with a laugh or deny it. Before he could decide, Blaise sniggered beside him.

“Take it as apliment,” he said, touching his glass to Potter’s. Draco’s mouth dropped open and it took everything in him not to shout at his friend to shut the fuck up.

“Take—What?” Potter looked confused. Good. He’d always been too dense to pick up on things like that.

“Does the great Harry Potter not feel pampered enough?” Draco drawled, his head swimming. As soon as the words left his mouth, however, he inwardly cringed. This was another reason why he had avoided Potter. He’d been afraid something stupid like that might tumble out of his mouth. But what the hell was he supposed to say to him? Potter had saved him and his mother from Azkaban, showing them more sympathy than they probably deserved. That in itself was problematic enough. The real problem, though? It wasn’t in Draco’s nature to simply reciprocate such sympathy.

“Don’t be a dick, Malfoy,” Potter muttered, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I just wanted to talk to you. Is that so bad?”

Yes, Draco wanted to blurt. Instead, he stupidly asked, “Why?”

Potter just shrugged, prompting Draco to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“You know what, I don’t want to keep you guys from catching up,” Blaise said cheerfully. “Ta-ta!” Within seconds, Draco lost sight of him, leaving him helpless and dizzy.

“Okay, um—” Potter looked unsure, tapping a finger on his glass. “How about we get another drink first?”

Draco thought he probably already had enough at this point, but something about Potter’s expression made him agree with a nod. He was smiling…almost shyly.

“Alright then,” Potter said, and gestured for Draco to lead the way. As soon as he started walking, he felt a hand on the small of his back and almost choked. His head whipped around to Potter, who gave him an innocent look and then…another smile. Draco’s eyes darted down to his lips and then back to his eyes.

Oh Merlin, he waspletely fucked.

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