Thin Ice Over a Frozen Lake

The first time Draco Malfoy saw Harry Potter smile at someone else, something cracked inside his chest. Thin ice over a frozen lake—that kind of crack.

It was a Tuesday, three weeks into first year. Sunlight slanted through the arched windows on the fourth floor, dropping gold rectangles across the stone. Harry was leaning against the wall near a suit of armor, talking to some Ravenclaw girl with long brown hair and a laugh like wind chimes. She kept touching his arm, leaning in too close, fluttering her eyelashes like she was trying to cast a spell with them.

Draco stopped dead. Crabbe nearly plowed into him.

"Watch it," Draco snapped, but he wasn't looking at Crabbe. He was watching the girl giggle at something Harry said. Harry's glasses had slipped, and he pushed them up with that careless gesture—the one Draco had memorized across meals, classes, every stolen glance in the Great Hall.

Harry's laugh was low, warm. Made Draco's stomach flip and twist at the same time.

"Who's that?" Goyle asked, blinking.

"Nobody." The word came out sharper than intended. Draco was already moving, robes billowing, heart hammering like a trapped bird. No plan. Never had a plan when it came to Potter.

The girl saw him first. Her smile faltered. "Oh," she said, stepping back. "Malfoy."

Draco ignored her. Stopped right in front of Harry, close enough to smell grass and broom polish—that Gryffindor scent that never washed out. Harry's eyebrows rose, green eyes widening behind those round spectacles.

"Malfoy. What do you want?"

"Nothing from you." Draco turned to the girl, voice dripping with polished venom he'd learned at his mother's knee. "I don't think we've met. Draco Malfoy. And you are?"

"Lisa Turpin," she said, cheeks flushing. "I'm in—"

"I don't care." He cut her off. "Let me give you some advice, Turpin. You're wasting your time. He's taken."

Harry sputtered. "Taken? What are you—"

Draco didn't let him finish. He put both hands flat on Harry's chest—felt the rapid heartbeat through the robes, the warmth—and leaned in. Pressed his lips to Harry's cheek, just below the corner of his mouth. Held it for one breath, two.

The world went quiet. Harry went still. Lisa Turpin made this small, strangled sound.

Draco pulled back, face burning, heart trying to tear through his ribs. He didn't look at Harry. He looked at her. "Understand?"

She nodded once, turned, and fled down the corridor.

The moment she was gone, Draco's courage evaporated. He dropped his hands like Harry's chest was on fire, spun, and walked away. Didn't run. Malfoys didn't run. But his strides were long and fast, and he felt Harry's stare boring into his back like a hex.

He made it to the Slytherin dungeons before his legs gave out.

Common room was empty—everyone at dinner. Draco collapsed into a velvet armchair near the cold fireplace, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

He didn't get it. None of it. Why had he done that? Why kiss Potter's cheek in front of that girl? Why did the thought of someone else touching Harry, laughing with Harry, making Harry smile like that—why did it feel like a knife twisting in his gut?

He'd ruined everything. Harry was going to hate him. Not that Harry had ever liked him—rivals, enemies, something—but now Harry would think he was some lovesick fool.

Draco pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The fire crackled. Shadows flickered. And Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, pride of Slytherin, cried alone in the dark until he had nothing left.

---

By morning, the rumors had spread like wildfire.

"Did you hear? Draco Malfoy is Harry Potter's girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? But Malfoy's a boy."

"That's what I heard! He kissed him in the corridor!"

"Potter's got a Slytherin boyfriend? No wonder he's been so distracted in Potions."

Harry heard it in the Great Hall at breakfast, whispered behind hands and over pumpkin juice. He sat at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione, eggs growing cold, mind churning.

"He kissed you?" Ron asked, voice caught between disgust and fascination. "Malfoy? On the cheek?"

"Yeah." Harry said flatly. "Called me 'taken' and told that Ravenclaw girl to back off."

Hermione set down her fork. "That's… odd. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Harry frowned at his plate. "He's been weird ever since the train. Always staring. Always finding excuses to be nearby. Thought he was just picking fights."

"Maybe he is," Ron said, but he didn't sound convinced.

Harry replayed it in his head. Draco's hands on his chest, warm and firm. The soft press of lips on his cheek, lingering just a second too long. The way Draco's eyes looked when he pulled away—frightened, almost. Like a deer caught in wandlight.

Something stirred in Harry's chest. Something unfamiliar.

He pushed it down.

"Let's test it," he said suddenly.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Test what?"

"If he's actually jealous. If he'll react every time I talk to someone else."

Ron grinned, slow and wicked. "Brilliant. Let's mess with the ferret."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, that's manipulative. You can't just—"

But Harry was already looking across the Great Hall. Cho Chang sat at the Ravenclaw table, laughing with her friends. She caught his eye and smiled.

Harry stood up. "Be right back."

---

The experiment began.

Harry walked over to Cho, leaned against the table, asked about her Charms homework. Didn't touch her. Didn't flirt. Just smiled and talked, letting his eyes linger a moment too long.

Within thirty seconds, Draco Malfoy appeared at his side, pale and trembling.

"Potter." Draco's voice was tight. "Headmaster wants to see you. Now."

Harry blinked. "Professor Dumbledore? Why?"

"I don't know. Just said now." Draco grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him away, ignoring Cho's confused look. His grip was iron, palm cold and clammy. He didn't let go until they were around the corner in an empty alcove.

"There," Draco said, breathless. "Problem solved."

"What problem?" Harry asked, feigning innocence.

Draco's jaw tightened. He looked away. "Just… stay away from her. She's not good enough for you."

"She's a prefect and top of our year in Charms."

"I don't care." Draco's voice cracked. He turned and walked away, shoulders rigid, hands clenched into fists.

Harry watched him go, a strange thrill running through him. So it was true. Draco was jealous. But why?

Next test: Hermione.

Harry sat next to her in the library, heads bent over a Transfiguration essay. He let his hand brush hers. Leaned in close, whispering something about incantations. Hermione played along—she understood strategy.

Sure enough, Draco appeared between the bookshelves, face white, eyes wild. He grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him out, past Madam Pince's furious shushing, into the corridor.

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed. "With Granger? Of all people?"

"She's my friend," Harry said.

"She's a swotty know-it-all who can't stop talking."

"So? She's smart. She's nice. She has nice hair."

Draco made a sound like he'd been punched. Gray eyes glistened. "You think she has nice hair?"

"Yeah. Soft. Shiny."

"You—" Draco's hands balled into fists. He looked like he wanted to hex Harry into next week. Instead he turned and stormed away, robes snapping behind him.

Harry felt a pang of guilt. But curiosity swallowed it. What was Draco feeling? Why did he care so much?

He moved on to Padma Patil. Then a Hufflepuff boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley (just to see if Draco cared about gender—he did, apparently, because Draco hexed Justin's cauldron to explode). Then a seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect.

Every time, Draco appeared. Every time, Draco drove them away. Every time, Draco looked more and more like a ghost, hollow-eyed and trembling, his cool facade cracking.

The school noticed. Whispers followed them.

"Did you see Malfoy? He's obsessed."

"Potter's been toying with him for weeks. It's cruel."

"Someone should do something. That boy's a mess."

Harry heard it all. Tried to ignore it. Told himself he was just confirming a hypothesis. Told himself Draco deserved it for being a bully. Told himself a hundred lies, and none of them stuck.

---

The Great Hall was crowded and loud, filled with clatter and conversation. Last day before winter holidays, festive decorations everywhere—enchanted mistletoe, floating candles, garlands of holly and ivy. Everything warm and bright.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, flanked by Ron and Hermione. Across the hall, Draco sat at the Slytherin table, not eating, just staring at his plate with empty eyes. He looked terrible. Dark circles. Unkempt hair. Hands trembling slightly.

Harry had noticed. Noticed every day. The guilt was a stone in his stomach, growing heavier.

But he had one more test. One more experiment. One final piece of evidence.

He turned to Ginny Weasley, a few seats away, laughing with her friends. Pretty, red hair, sharp wit. She'd had a crush on him for years, though mostly got over it.

"Ginny," Harry said, loud enough for half the table to hear. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

She looked up, surprised. "Sure, Harry. What's up?"

He leaned in and kissed her.

Not deep—just a quick press of lips, closed mouth, barely a second. But a kiss, and in front of the entire Hall.

Ginny gasped. Ron made a choking sound. Fred and George whistled.

And across the room, Draco Malfoy stood up.

His chair scraped the stone floor. Every head turned. Draco's face was bone-white, eyes fixed on Harry and Ginny, mouth slightly open. He took one step, then another. His hand went to his chest, clutching his robes.

"Draco?" Blaise Zabini said, reaching for him.

But Draco didn't respond. His breathing became ragged, shallow gasps. His knees buckled. He fell.

The Hall went silent.

Draco was on the floor, on his knees, whole body shaking. Tears streaming down his face. Trying to breathe, but it wasn't working—each inhale desperate, rattling, like drowning on dry land.

"Draco!" Pansy Parkinson screamed. She rushed to his side, but he pushed her away, eyes still locked on Harry.

Harry stood frozen, the kiss forgotten, guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave.

Draco's lips moved, forming words no one could hear. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, body hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud.

Pansy screamed again. Professor Snape was already there, pushing through the crowd, kneeling beside the unconscious boy. He pressed two fingers to Draco's neck, felt for a pulse, barked orders for the hospital wing.

Harry didn't move. Couldn't.

The Hall erupted. Students shouting, crying, pointing. Then the accusations started.

"Look what you did!"

"Potter, you're a monster!"

"He's been torturing him for weeks!"

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm. "We need to go. Now."

Harry let her drag him away, but his eyes stayed on the spot where Draco had fallen, where a small puddle of tears remained on the cold stone floor.

---

Three days passed.

Draco stayed in the hospital wing, refusing visitors. Madam Pomfrey said he was physically fine, but emotionally fragile. He wouldn't eat. Wouldn't talk. Just stared at the blank ceiling, eyes red and empty.

Harry didn't sleep. Didn't eat either. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco falling. Those trembling hands. Those desperate, gasping breaths.

Ron tried to comfort him. "It's not your fault. You didn't know he'd react like that."

"He told me," Harry said, voice hollow. "He kept driving people away. Kept saying I was taken. And I just… kept pushing. To see how far he'd go."

"You were curious."

"I was cruel." Harry buried his face in his hands. "I have to fix this."

"How? He won't even talk to you."

Harry looked up. An idea, born from desperation, flickered in his mind. "I know a way."

---

The Slytherin common room was dark and quiet. Harry used his Invisibility Cloak and a whispered password he'd overheard from a first-year. Slipped through the portrait hole, past the green-lit couches, into the boys' dormitory.

Draco's bed was curtained. Harry could hear soft, uneven breathing from within.

He pulled back the curtains.

Draco lay curled on his side, facing the wall. Didn't move when Harry entered. Didn't speak when Harry sat on the edge of the bed.

"Draco."

Silence.

"I know you're awake."

"I don't want to see you." Draco's voice was raw, cracked. "Go away."

"I'm not going anywhere." Harry pulled a small vial from his pocket. Clear, odorless liquid. Veritaserum. He'd borrowed it from the Potions storeroom, along with a sleeping draft to knock Draco out first if needed. But he didn't want force. He wanted honesty.

He held up the vial. "Do you know what this is?"

Draco turned his head, just enough to see. Gray eyes dull, lifeless. "Truth potion."

"Yes." Harry's throat tightened. "I'm going to add it to your pumpkin juice. Ask you questions. And you're going to answer. Honestly."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll force it down your throat. Please don't make me."

Draco stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed, broken and bitter. "You want to know why I kissed you. Why I kept interfering. Why I collapsed like a pathetic little—"

"Yes."

Draco closed his eyes. Shoulders sagged. "Fine. Do it."

Harry didn't have pumpkin juice. He conjured a glass, filled it with water, added three drops of Veritaserum. Held it out.

Draco took it with shaking hands. He drank.

The potion worked quickly. Draco's rigid posture softened. His eyes grew glassy, distant. A dreamy expression settled over his features.

Harry's heart raced. "What's your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Who is your favorite professor?"

"Professor Snape."

The potion was working. Harry took a shaky breath. "Why did you kiss me in the corridor?"

"I wanted to claim you. I wanted everyone to know you were mine."

"Am I yours?"

"No. But I wanted you to be." Draco's voice was monotone, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you, in Madam Malkin's shop. You were so small. So angry. So beautiful."

Harry's breath caught. "You've loved me since then?"

"I've loved you since before I knew what love was. It's in my blood. In my bones. I can't stop it. I've tried." Draco's hand twitched, as if reaching for something. "Every time you smile at someone else, it feels like dying. Every time you touch another person, I want to burn the world down."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you'd laugh. Because you're Harry Potter and I'm a Malfoy and we're supposed to be enemies. Because I'm a coward." His voice cracked. "I watched you kiss Ginny Weasley, and I thought my heart would stop. It did. It did stop. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I thought—I thought if you loved her, there was no point. No point in anything."

Harry's eyes burned. He reached out and took Draco's hand. Cold and limp.

"Draco," he said, voice thick. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because I used you. I experimented on you. I treated your feelings like a game." Harry squeezed his hand. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Did you feel nothing?" Draco's gaze was distant, still trapped by the potion, but somehow searching. "When I kissed your cheek. When I touched you. Did you feel nothing?"

Harry remembered the warmth. The rapid heartbeat. The strange flutter in his chest that he had ignored, buried, denied.

"I felt something," he admitted. "I just didn't know what it was."

Draco blinked slowly. "What do you feel now?"

Harry looked at Draco's pale, tear-streaked face. At the trembling lips. At the gray eyes that had been full of fire and arrogance and were now broken open, raw and honest.

"I feel like I've been an idiot," Harry said. "I feel like I've been running from something I didn't want to name. I feel like—" He took a deep breath. "I feel like I want to kiss you. For real. But only if you want me to."

Draco's eyes widened. The glassy look began to fade as the Veritaserum wore off. Color returned to his cheeks. He sat up slowly, hand still gripping Harry's.

"You're not joking."

"No."

"You're not trying to hurt me again."

"Never. I swear."

Draco stared at him for a long, trembling moment. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry's.

This kiss was nothing like the first. It wasn't a claim or a performance or a desperate act. It was soft. Tentative. A question and an answer all at once.

Harry's hand came up to cup Draco's cheek. Draco's fingers tangled in Harry's hair. They kissed until they were breathless, until the world outside the dormitory faded and all that was left was warmth and wonder and the quiet click of two broken pieces fitting together.

When they finally pulled apart, Draco let out a shaky laugh. "I think I need to sit down."

"You're already sitting."

"Then I need to lie down." Draco collapsed back onto the pillows, pulling Harry with him. Harry ended up sprawled across Draco's chest, listening to the pounding of his heart.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered again. "For everything."

"I know." Draco's arms wrapped around him, holding tight. "I forgive you."

"Really?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." But there was no venom in his voice. Only affection.

Above them, the enchanted ceiling of the Slytherin dormitory shimmered with the dark green of the lake outside, and for the first time in weeks, Draco Malfoy felt like he could breathe.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at him with those green eyes that had haunted Draco's dreams. "So what now?"

"Now," Draco said, a hint of his old smirk returning, "you're going to tell the entire school that you're my boyfriend. And then you're going to kiss me in the Great Hall. Every meal. Every day."

Harry laughed. "That's a lot of kissing."

"I'm a demanding boyfriend."

"Are you my boyfriend?"

"Obviously." Draco pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time. "Now shut up and let me enjoy this."

And Harry did.

The next morning, they walked into the Great Hall together, hand in hand. The whispers started immediately, but Harry didn't care. He pulled Draco to the Gryffindor table, sat down beside him, and kissed his cheek.

Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione smiled. And across the hall, the rumors shifted once more.

This time, they were true.