Harry took the don't be daft to mean that Draco was actually going to kiss him, and that was — okay. Okay. Wonderful. Scary. Everything he'd wanted for years. And why did Draco have to look like he did, wintery-pale but flushed from the cold? He was beautiful. It was ridiculous, and a bit drafty in the front hall, something they needed to fix. They should maybe move somewhere a bit warmer for this, except they couldn't because of the bloody mistletoe. Harry would have laughed at himself if Draco hadn't looked quite so shocked over Harry's confession — to be honest, Harry was rather shocked that he'd managed it so easily himself.
"Why do you think we broke up?" Harry gave Draco a look that attempted to be cross but was mostly fond exasperation. He and Ginny had both been aware pretty quickly it wouldn't work out between them — though they had certainly tried — even without Harry's feelings for Draco making themselves very, very known during that entire stressful year. The parts where he and Draco had been fighting or ignoring each other had been awful, and when they were getting along Harry was awkward and confused and so in love it was a wonder that Draco hadn't gotten sick of him and dropped him completely for reasons that had nothing to do with his house or the Dark Lord or anything else.
"You —" he started, looking just as blindsided as Draco had despite his suspicions that there was something there on Draco's part. Actually hearing it was different than suspecting, and then Harry went very, very still as Draco's exact words sank in. "Second year?" he asked, voice quiet, a gentle tone of wonder to it. That stalled the rest of his thoughts, because second year. Harry had known he loved Draco then, of course. He was his best friend, the person Harry always went to with anything and everything.
He'd been so thrilled to have a friend, someone he was as close to as they'd become almost instantly, that things like kissing or in love had been overshadowed for… a long time, probably. Until sixth year and I might actually lose him had become a very real, very terrifying thought to Harry. He remembered that feeling, that fear, so well that he had to shove it away, and by the time Draco reached him he had started to process second year a little more clearly.
He could overthink it later, he decided, holding his breath as Draco reached for him. Harry couldn't step forward or he would have — how frustrating that was was suddenly funny, because his nerves were subsiding and he could see the humor there. He knew he'd be teased about it later, and decided that if this went well, and this meant what he hoped it did, he could kiss Draco to stop him from making some snarky comment or another. In fact, he could kiss Draco for a lot things, and —
Harry wasn't sure when the mistletoe disappeared or… whatever it did when the spell was released, but he didn't care. Draco's mouth was soft and careful against his, more than the quick brush of lips needed to break the spell, but still much too brief. He felt the slight tug of fingers as they gripped at his jumper, and the surprised stillness from earlier vanished completely from Harry. He relaxed, hadn't even been aware how tense he holding himself until his shoulders unknotted and he settled one hand lightly against Draco's waist, not entirely sure what to do with them besides touch.
He didn't mind it at all. How could he? Harry was glad his glasses were out of the way — trying to kiss with glasses could be annoying — as he searched Draco's face for the smallest sign that this wasn't wanted after all, that sometime in the last thirty seconds Draco had changed his mind. When not even the most anxious part of him could find anything that looked remotely close to a no, Harry leaned in again. His fingers brushed up over Draco's cheek and into his hair as he kissed him, still gentle, but more confident this time, tugging Draco slightly closer.