He starts by standing at the edge of the dancefloor, watching his friends– that is a lie– watching  Draco move in the throng of eclectic bodies while the sound of a souped up Depeche Mode song thumps over the speakers. He feels a vague sense of repetition from last week; creeping from a distance. Only this time, he would love nothing more than to join. Draco's pull is magnetic and nearly impossible to resist, but Harry doesn't trust himself.  No touching,  he thinks. The innate need to comply to her every whim and word is overpowering, but he feels a little stranded in the unfamiliar territory. 