Draco was determined not to ask why Potter was standing in front of his desk.
"It's your birthday, then," said Potter brusquely, trying eagerly to look as if he didn't much care one way or the other.
Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Potter,” he said, putting down the box Pansy had dropped off (which he was pretty sure was a Spellcast Spellometer, top of the line, because no matter what else could be said about Slytherin, they always knew how to give good presents). “People attempt to foist festive, brightly colored packages upon me every day of the year. I just got tired of fending them off, and finally told myself, 'let the admirers come.'"
Harry had been standing with his hands thrust too casually in his pockets. At this he straightened, and - actually laughed, a quick snicker before he took his hands out of his pockets and looked somewhat baffled at himself. He wasn't the only one.
"Right," Draco said, feeling as awkward as Potter looked, still standing in one spot talking to Draco for this long. "Right, then. I was hoping you’d be a birthday hat, but even if you’d do as a party favor I can’t exactly put you on my head and wear you round the office, so either state your business or shoo.”
Potter rolled his eyes. "You're such a -"
"A what," Draco snapped, falling back on his duelling club instincts and attacking first. "A Slytherin? A Pureblood? A failed Death Eater turned not-particularly-helpful spy for the other side? Which moniker do I get from the hero of the wizarding world?"
Clearly it was a verbal riposte deserving a parry. Instead Potter just looked at him as if he'd said something rather sweet.
"I was going to say 'you're such a brat,' Malfoy," he said, not quite smiling. "But don't let me stop you from extemporizing."
"Potter, what - " Draco began to demand (not quite sure what he wanted to demand, exactly, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Potter was now leaning on Draco’s desk) -
except then Draco had Potter's mouth in his mouth. It tasted a little wet and sloppy and like regular boy kissing, and not really all that much like hero. Draco found his forehead nudging Potter's glasses, and even though Potter’s eyes were squinched shut, Draco knew in a way that felt strangely intimate, a way that made him cold and warm all at once, that when Potter opened them, they would be the most intense green he’d ever seen. He could feel Potter’s heart yammering out of his thin little chest and right up against his own, and for a moment he almost closed his eyes and gave in to the erratic rhythm of it. Which was of course the moment Potter pulled away.
Potter looked all smug, and now Draco could hear his own heartbeat.
“Huh,” Potter said pleasantly. “You shut up after all.” He slid apart from Draco and ran two fingers down Draco’s shirtfront, smoothing down his tie with much more care than was absolutely necessary. “Happy birthday, Malfoy.” He winked, and then positively slinked away, looking nothing at all like the awkward oversized ten-year-old who’d shuffled in.
Draco stared after him.
“Worst party favor ever,” he muttered at last, and set about viciously unwrapping his Spellometer before it could snigger at him.