r his wine, but stopped when he noticed there were two drinks in front of him.

“I ordered you one as well,” Luna said, pointing at the purple drink. “But I didn’t want to cancel the wine, in case you wanted to scowl a little more. You seem to like doing that.”

Baffled, Draco looked at the drink, then at Luna. He couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him. She took her own glass and raised it.

“Cheers,” she said, smiling at him. Slowly, Draco mimicked her pose, finally clinking their glasses together. He peeked sideways as he drank, wrinkling his nose as he spotted the beer in front of Potter. The prat really had no taste. Figures.

He tried to fidget as little as possible, concentrating on the conversations, which was hard; Gryffindors are loud. The other thing that was rather distracting was Blaise, drumming his fingers against his glass while he was smiling lazily at Potter. The two of them were having their own conversation, with Blaise touching Potter’s arm every now and then. Draco wanted to hex them. He was pretty sure his cheeks were a flaming red again, but he could always blame it on the alcohol.

“Howe you’re still in training?” Blaise asked, shifting in his seat and moving closer to Potter. “You should be Head Auror by now.”

“Yeah, well…” Potter said, evasively. For a moment, Draco felt incredibly smug for knowing the truth.

“I bet the training is hard,” Blaise purred. “You must have quite the stamina.” A wicked grin was plastered on his face as he dragged a finger from Potter’s shoulder down his arm. Draco almost crushed the glass in his hand at the sight. Potter let out a hearty laugh but, to Draco’s relief, he leaned away from Blaise. Unfortunately, that led him to move closer to Draco. In one swift motion, that almost seemed absentminded, he even slung his arm around the back of Draco’s chair. Holy…shit.

Potter wasn’t touching him, but Draco’s back suddenly felt too warm. He restrained from squirming and emptied his glass instead. Blaise was still grinning; hell, the bastard looked far too pleased with himself as he continued bombarding Potter with questions. Draco tried to ignore them, balling his hands into fists under the table until he could feel his nails cutting into his skin.

“That is so fascinating,” Blaise said, dreamily. “I’ve always admired your wand-work. We all know how endowed you are with it.”

Something menacing and savage roared inside Draco’s chest. He didn’t realise he was literally shaking with rage, until Potter suddenly turned around to him. Draco felt a warm hand on his shoulder as Potter’s expression turned from amused to concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asked, squeezing Draco’s shoulder. Draco jumped, as if a stinging hex had just been flung at him. He leaned away from Potter’s touch, realising much too late that he had leaned into Potter’s body, as if he were trying to snuggle into his chest. Oh, damn it.

“I’m marvellous,” he said through gritted teeth. “No need to get handsy, Potter.”

Potter blinked, letting go of Draco’s shoulder immediately. But he didn’t remove his arm from the back of his chair. Draco wanted to shove it away, but refrained. He reminded himself not to give Potter so much power over him. But, Merlin, if a simple touch on the shoulder had that effect on him, what would happen if—No! Not now. Wait, no, not ever! He would never think about that.

As Potter reached for his drink, his arm was suddenly pressed against Draco’s back, making him jump yet again. Potter obviously chose to ignore it as he took a swig and, irritatingly, stayed in that position. Draco was this close to stomping on the prat’s foot, only distracted by the tingling that trickled down his spine. His heart was racing as if he had just been running from a hippogriff, his head spinning from the alcohol.

When Blaise started laughing at something Potter had just said, and nudged him, Draco finally had enough. He started to get up to go to the loo again, but a hand on his thigh startled him into plopping down. He looked at the little hand, the dark blue, glittery nails and pale skin, before his eyes snapped up to Luna’s face.

“Blaise,” she said, “maybe you and I should switch places. I don’t think Draco is too fond of you flirting with Harry.”

Draco froze, every muscle in his body clenching. He stared at Luna, incredulously, feeling like he had just been punched in the face. His cheeks had never felt so hot.

“Is that so?” Blaise said, evidently amused. “Well, we better keep our little dragon from spitting fire. We wouldn’t want anybody to get hurt, now would we?”

Draco heard Blaise pushing back his chair as he watched Luna rise from hers and step around him. When Blaise sat down next to him, he patted Draco’s knee with a toothy grin.

“There you go, Draco,” he said. “You can relax now.”

Oh, if only looks could kill. Unfortunately, Blaise seemed nowhere near threatened and simply sniggered while Draco glowered at him. He wanted to turn away from the bastard, but that would mean he would have to look at Potter, which really wasn’t an appealing alternative. At all. Fuck everything! What in Salazar’s name was he supposed to do now?

Potter shifted beside him, rubbing his arm against Draco’s back in the process. Oh, for the love of—

“Is that true?” Potter whispered, his hot breath tickling Draco’s ear. “Do you…” He let the rest of the sentence dangling between them, feeding the blazing fire in the pit of Draco’s stomach.

“What!” Draco snapped, finally turning around to him. He was momentarily taken aback by Potter’s expression, which was amused, but he also looked…curious? “You’re so full of yourself.”

“What? I didn’t—Luna was the one who said—I—”

“Merlin, Potter, don’t strain yourself. Your head is going to explode.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek as Potter regarded him with a strange expression. He leaned back in his seat and started drumming his fingers on Draco’s chair; it sent waves of shock through his body. It was almost too much, the anticipation of Potter’s fingers identally missing the chair and brushing against Draco instead…

“You do look tense,” Potter remarked.

“Well, you look like a chump!” Smooth, Draco, real smooth.

“Are we really back to petty insults?” Potter asked. “Man, you were a lot morepanionable when we were at lunch.”

Draco stiffened, especially when he saw Blaise’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Ooooh, really?” he smirked. “Tell us more! You guys had lunch together? When?”

“Two weeks ago,” Potter said.

“Well, well, well,” Blaise said, gazing at Draco. “You never said anything.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” Draco drawled, refusing to look at Potter.

“You were a lot nicer then, Malfoy,” Potter muttered.

“Hey, why don’t you start calling him Draco?” Blaise smirked. “Since, you know, you guys already went on a date and everything.”

“It wasn’t a date!”

“Oh, shush, you lucky bastard.”

Draco wanted to grab Blaise and shake him. What did he think he was doing?

“Um…I mean, I could—If you—”

Draco turned to face Potter, who was suddenly rather flustered.

“I wouldn’t mind calling you by your first name,” he said.

Instinctively, Draco rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I care?”

“Alright…Draco.”

It was as if fireworks had just gone off somewhere around his midriff and the heat was turning his insides into warm, molten chocolate.

Fuck.

“Whatever, Potter.”

“You…err—You can also call me Harry…if you want.”

Draco snorted, masking his nervousness. “Don’t count on it, Potter,” he said in his most superior voice, while he pressed his palms against his thighs to keep his hands from shaking.

“He’lle around,” Blaise said with a dismissive gesture. “He’s a bit timid.”

Potter snorted into his beer and started coughing. “Right,” he spluttered.

“I swear to Salazar, Potter, if you get beer on my trousers, I’ll make you regret ever setting foot into this bar,” Draco growled.

Potter looked him up and down for a moment before he turned to Blaise. “Yeah, he’s a delicate flower,” he said, keeping his face impassive.

Blaise chuckled and elbowed Draco in the ribs. “Lucky bastard,” he repeated.

“Stop calling me that,” Draco hissed. It didn’t escape his notice that the corners of Potter’s mouth curved upwards, even though he was trying to hide it. He resumed drumming his fingers on Draco’s chair, his thumb swiping over Draco’s shoulder blade, seemingly by ident. Draco couldn’t help but twitch at the contact. Shit, why had he decided to wear the light blue dress shirt? It was so thin, it practically felt like Potter’s thumb was touching his bare skin.

“Hey, by the way,” Potter said, leaning closer. “How was Christmas?”

“It was fine,” Draco said, a little breathless. The fewer words he used, the better.

“How’s your mother?”

“Fine.”

“How was the food?”

“Fine.”

“Any good presents?”

“Fine.”

“What?”

“Oh, um…Good—Good presents. The presents were good,” Draco stammered, reaching for his wine. Fuck Potter and his thumb! It was absolutely inexcusable to make a Malfoy stammer like this! Oh, and speaking of which, fuck Potter and his stupid, ravishing smile as well!

Draco gulped down his wine, hoping the alcohol would hit him quickly. His best chance to get through this evening without further embarrassment was to divert Potter. Let him talk, Draco thought.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked, avoiding his gaze.

“It was fine,” Potter grinned. Fortunately for him, before Draco could hex him on the spot, he decided to elaborate. “It was really great, actually. Christmas at the Burrow is always special. Mrs. Weasley got a bit cross, though. Ron and Ge spiked her Christmas punch without her knowing. But honestly,” he chuckled, “there’s nothing like Ron and Ge singing Christmas carols while they’repletely pissed.”

“I imagine it was quite the scene,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

“You have no idea,” Potter laughed. Merlin, it was so good to see him laugh. He leaned closer, whispering in Draco’s ear. “He took off his jumper and Ge drew baubles on his nipples and a reindeer on his stomach. His bellybutton was the nose. It was kind of disturbing.”

Draco tried really hard not to laugh, but the image Potter had just described was just too ridiculous. His eyes darted over to Weasley and within mere seconds, his entire body was shaking with laughter.

“Oh really?” he wheezed. “Merlin, I hope you took some pictures as future blackmail material.”

Potter sniggered beside him, his breath warm on Draco’s neck. Draco couldn’t decide if that was what was suddenly making him dizzy or the alcohol.

“Oi,” Weasley called from across the table. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“No, Weasley,” Draco spluttered. “We’re laughing at you.”

Weasley glowered at him, then at Potter. “What did you tell him?”

“Just some stuff that happened on Christmas,” Potter shrugged.

Weasley promptly jutted his chin forward and huffed. “Whatever, ferret,” he mumbled. Draco would have retaliated, if Potter hadn’t chosen this exact moment to start drawing circles on Draco’s shoulder with his finger. Fucking Mothe

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