The Chosen One's Unchosen Heart

The corridor outside the Great Hall smelled like roast potatoes and treacle tart, but Harry wasn't thinking about food. He was trying to focus on Quidditch roster stuff, but Ron wouldn't shut up.

"So, mate," Ron said, elbowing him. "Holiday plans? Gonna finally get a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Whatever. Just... someone."

Harry sighed. They'd had this conversation before. "I'm fine. Not everyone needs a relationship."

Hermione, tucked under Ron's arm, rolled her eyes. "Ronald, leave him alone. He'll find someone when he's ready." She kissed Ron's cheek, and he grinned like an idiot.

Ron ignored her, leaning closer. "I'm just sayin'. You're seventeen. Basically ancient. And you've never properly snogged anyone, have you? Cho was a disaster years ago. Bet you don't even know how to—you know." He waggled his eyebrows.

Heat crept up Harry's neck. "I know how to snog."

"Really? 'Cause from what I've seen, you're all awkward hands and no rhythm. Reckon you'd be rubbish in bed too."

Hermione smacked his arm. "Ronald!"

"It's a little funny," Ron snorted. "Harry 'the Chosen One' Potter, brilliant on a broom, hopeless with his lips."

Harry's jaw tightened. He wasn't letting Ron win. "Actually," he said, words tumbling out, "I do have someone."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "What? Who? Hermione, you know about this?"

She looked surprised. "No. Harry, since when?"

Since about ten seconds ago, Harry thought. But he was committed. He shrugged. "It's new. Secret. You know how it is."

Ron's face twisted. "A secret lover? Bollocks. Prove it."

"Prove it?"

"Yeah. Bring them here. Now. Or is your 'lover' too shy?" He made air quotes, grin insufferable.

Harry's mind raced. The corridor was emptying. He scanned frantically, eyes landing on the grand staircase. There, sitting on the bottom step, a book open in pale hands, was Draco Malfoy.

His hair was sleek, robes immaculate, alone, nose buried in a Potions text. He hadn't noticed Harry.

It was insane. Possibly the dumbest idea ever—and he'd faced a basilisk. But Ron's smug face was right there, and the alternative was admitting he'd lied.

"Fine," Harry said, voice steady. "I'll get them. Wait here."

He walked toward the staircase, heart hammering. Draco looked up as his shadow fell. His silver eyes narrowed.

"Potter? What do you want?" Clipped, guarded.

Harry swallowed. "Malfoy. I need a favor. A huge, ridiculous favor. I'll owe you one. Big time."

Draco's lips curled. "In what world would I owe you a favor? Lost your mind? Gryffindors are so dramatic."

"Ron's been teasing me about being single," Harry said quickly. "I lied and said I had a secret lover. He challenged me to prove it. I need someone to play along for two minutes. Until Ron leaves. Then you can go back to your book and never speak to me again."

Draco stared. For a long moment, his expression was unreadable. Then—a slow, wicked smile.

"You want me to pretend to be your lover? In front of Weasley?" His voice was low, almost purring. "That's rich, Potter. Why should I help you?"

"Because you hate Ron," Harry said. "And seeing him squirm would be worth it. Please. I'm desperate."

Draco closed his book with a soft thud. "Desperate. I like that." He stood, brushing imaginary dust. "Fine. But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

Harry sagged with relief. "Thanks. Okay, follow my lead."

He turned back toward Ron, who was watching with curiosity. Harry looped his arm around Draco's waist, feeling the other boy stiffen for a second before relaxing.

"Ron," Harry called out, loud and clear. "I'd like you to meet my secret lover."

Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione's mouth formed a small 'O'. Draco, playing perfectly, leaned into Harry's side and looked up with a gaze so soft it made Harry's breath catch.

"Hello, Weasley," Draco said sweetly. "Miss Granger."

"Malfoy?!" Ron sputtered. "Your secret lover is Malfoy?"

"We've been seeing each other for a few weeks," Harry said, arm tightening around Draco. He leaned down and kissed Draco's cheek, lips brushing skin. "Isn't that right, love?"

Draco's smirk was barely hidden. He turned his head and caught Harry's lips instead—a quick, warm press that sent a jolt through Harry's whole body. "That's right, sweetheart."

Then Draco went for it. He threw his arms around Harry's neck and peppered his face with kisses—cheek, jaw, corner of mouth—leaving faint smudges of something that looked suspiciously like lipstick. Harry realized with a start that Draco must have had some enchanted balm, because the marks were pink and obvious.

"Oh, darling," Draco cooed, loud enough for Ron to hear, "last night was divine. You were so good to me."

Harry's face flamed. He had no idea what Draco was doing, but it worked. Ron looked horrified. Hermione was trying not to laugh.

"You two are disgusting," Ron said, stepping back. "I'm going to dinner. Alone."

"Don't be jealous, Weasley," Draco called after him, dripping theatrical sweetness. "If you're nice, maybe Harry will let you watch next time."

Ron made a gagging noise and practically ran toward the Great Hall. Hermione gave Harry a knowing look and a tiny wink before following, shaking her head.

The moment they were out of sight, Draco shoved Harry away so hard he stumbled into the stone wall.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked, rubbing his shoulder.

Draco's eyes were blazing, but with amusement. "You said play along. I played along. Don't act surprised, Potter. You asked for it."

Harry stared. The lipstick marks on his own face felt warm. He could still feel the ghost of Draco's lips. "Thanks," he said, voice rougher than intended. "That was... convincing."

Draco's expression softened, just a fraction. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "You're welcome, Potter."

An awkward pause. The air crackled with something unfamiliar. Harry's heart was still racing.

"So," Harry said, "that was... not bad."

"Not bad?" Draco's eyebrow arched. "I was brilliant. You, on the other hand, were stiff as a board. Need to relax."

"I was perfectly relaxed."

"You were as tense as a first-year before exams." Draco's eyes flickered down to Harry's lips, then away. "You do know how to kiss, don't you? Or was that a courtesy peck?"

Harry's pulse quickened. "I know how to kiss."

"Prove it."

The words hung in the air. Harry should have laughed it off, walked away. But something in Draco's tone—a challenge, but also a hint of vulnerability—made him hesitate.

"Fine," Harry said. "Meet me in the second-floor bathroom. In ten minutes."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked away, legs like jelly. What was he doing? This was Malfoy. His rival. His enemy. But the way Draco had looked at him—the way his lips had felt—it stirred something Harry didn't want to name.

He found the bathroom empty and lit the candles with a flick of his wand. The room filled with a soft, golden glow. He paced by the sinks, thoughts a tangled mess.

The door creaked open. Draco stepped inside, eyes scanning the room before landing on Harry. He still wore that smirk, but it seemed less sure now.

"You actually came," Harry said.

"You actually asked." Draco walked closer, stopping a foot away. "So. A bathroom. Very romantic."

"Shut up."

Draco laughed—a real laugh, not his usual sneer. "Make me."

Harry didn't think. He grabbed Draco by the front of his robes and pulled him in. Their lips met, and this time it was no peck. Deep and hungry, the kiss of two people who'd spent years fighting and finally found something else to fight for. Draco's hands came up to cup Harry's face, fingers threading through his hair. Harry's back hit the sink, cold porcelain jarring against the heat of Draco's body.

They broke apart, gasping for air. Draco's lips were red, cheeks flushed. He looked beautiful.

"Okay," Draco whispered. "You can kiss."

"You're not so bad yourself," Harry breathed back.

They stood there, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pulling him into a hug. Draco hesitated, then buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Draco murmured against his neck.

"Neither can I." Harry tightened his hold. "But I don't want to stop."

They stayed like that for a long moment, the only sounds the flickering candles and their own steadying breaths. Harry felt Draco tremble slightly, rubbed his back.

Finally, Draco pulled back. His eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way Harry had never seen. "What are we now?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Harry looked at him—this boy he'd hated, fought, and now held. The enmity felt like a distant memory, a lie they'd told themselves too long.

"What do you want us to be?" Harry asked softly.

Draco bit his lip. "I want... I want to not be enemies. I want to see where this goes. But I'm scared, Potter. You're the Boy Who Lived. Everyone's watching you. I'm a Malfoy. Everyone's judging me. This could ruin us."

"Or it could save us," Harry said. "I'm tired of fighting. Tired of pretending I don't feel what I feel."

He cupped Draco's face, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. "I want to be whatever you need me to be. Boyfriend. Secret. Lover. All of it. So tell me. What do you want?"

Draco's eyes glistened. He took a shaky breath. "I want to be yours."

Harry smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes. "Then you're mine. And I'm yours."

He leaned in and kissed Draco again, softer this time, a promise. When they finally broke apart, the bathroom seemed brighter, the future less terrifying.

"We should probably get to dinner before they send a search party," Draco said, voice teasing.

"Let them search," Harry said, taking Draco's hand. "I've got everything I need right here."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. They walked out together, fingers intertwined, stepping into the unknown with their hearts wide open.