Falling

Falling

Chapter One - That Incident We Don't Mention

Harry was awakened from warm, strangely comfortable sleep by a yell of sheer horror. He would have shot bolt upright if he had been able; as it was a heavy weight was pressed against his chest, and all he could do was stare up at Ron's blurry, horrified face. Then he looked down, realised why he couldn't sit up, and froze. Draco Malfoy's pale, pointed face looked up at him through an untidy thatch of rumpled blond hair. Their eyes met, green to grey, with a dawning realisation, and they screamed simultaneously, throwing themselves as far apart as they could get. For Harry, this meant right out of the bed; he landed on the cold stone floor with a thump and immediately shot to his feet, grabbing his glasses and jamming them onto his nose.

"What the flaming hell are you doing in my bed, Malfoy?!" The bed part was bad enough; Harry really didn't want to think about the fact that Malfoy had been snuggled so comfortably against him, let alone the fact that he, Harry, hadn't been disturbed by this until he'd seen who it was he was...was...was sleeping with. Eww. Sleeping with Malfoy. He glanced surreptitiously down at his pyjamas, but he was wearing exactly what he'd gone to bed in last night; at least Malfoy couldn't have...done anything to him...could he?

The Slytherin in question was pressed back against the wall, looking, if it were possible, even more horrified than Ron. "P-Potter?" he practically squeaked, sounding just a little sick. Obviously, this was enough indication of guilt for Ron, who surged forward and grabbed Draco by the front of his green pyjama top, hauling him off the bed. It was a measure of how shocked Malfoy was, Harry realised, that he didn't protest this manhandling, just hung in Ron's grip looking as though his world had crumbled from beneath him. Harry was suddenly intensely relieved that final-year students were given their own rooms; as it was, the shouting would probably bring visitors soon.

"What are you doing here, you rat-faced little bastard?" Ron shouted into Malfoy's face, then whirled to look at Harry. "Harry, you're not...with Malfoy...please tell me you're not..." he didn't seem able to go on, just stood there with his fist clenched in Malfoy's shirt and his eyes fixed pleadingly on his best friend.

"What? No!" Harry couldn't repress a shudder. "I have no idea what the bloody hell he's doing here! How can you even... ewww, Ron!" He shook his head, still staring at Malfoy.

Draco seemed to have regained some of his composure; he yanked his pyjamas out of Ron's grip and smoothed them down with a sneer, although he still looked a little wild about the eyes. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but I'll have you know I don't appreciate this. Kindly play your little practical jokes on someone else, or you might find the...repercussions not to your liking." He divided a glare between them and marched over to the door, reaching out a hand for the handle.

"I wouldn't," Harry spat at him, furious. "There are a lot of Gryffindors out there who'd just love to know what the hell you're playing at, Malfoy." Draco didn't turn, but Harry could see him blanch and drop the door handle as if it were a hot coal. He continued, twisting the knife a little. "You'd better start thinking of some way to get yourself out of here, hadn't you."

Both of Malfoy's fists clenched, and he turned back around. "I wouldn't be so quick to go spreading this around the school, Potter," he snarled. "Exactly how many people do you want to know about this?"

"Hell." Harry bit his lip. Malfoy, though he hated to admit it, was right. If anyone found out about this, they'd both be laughing-stocks. And there was only one way to avoid that that he could see. He just didn't want to take it.

"Harry," Ron interrupted as he was trying to screw up his resolve, "you're going to have to give him the..."

"I know¸" Harry snapped, then regretted it as he saw the hurt expression on Ron's face. "Sorry," he muttered, turning to Malfoy, who was still poised by the door. "Malfoy, I want your oath not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Ever."

Malfoy, amazingly enough, seemed to actually have to consider this! "You can get me out of here? And you'll swear to the same?" Harry nodded shortly and nudged Ron, who scowled at Draco. "All right. My oath as a Malfoy never to mention this...incident... to anyone."

Ron muttered something about a Malfoy's oath not being worth much, which made Draco glower at him, but joined his voice with Harry's to swear in turn. Harry crossed to the wardrobe and yanked it open, pulling out his dad's Invisibility Cloak and tossing it to Malfoy - not without a pang. "Here. Get the hell out of here - and if you damage my Cloak, I will kill you very painfully, understand?"

Malfoy didn't bother to acknowledge him, just swirled the silvery fabric around himself and disappeared. A moment later the door opened, then closed again silently. For a panicked second Harry hoped that he was actually gone, but then he couldn't see why Malfoy would want to stick around. Ron was cutching at his pyjama sleeve and practically gibbering.

"God, Harry, that was disgusting..."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly a bundle of joy from this end either," Harry muttered, staring at the door and feeling strangely guilty for saying that. Then he blinked, and scrubbed at his forehead. Ron continued obliviously, clearly still wrapped up in the horror of what he'd seen.

"I mean, he was draped all over you, Harry - are you sure he didn't - you know - do anything...?"

"Ugh. Definitely not, I'd remember that." Strangely enough, the thought had no heat. "Can we not talk about this? I don't really want to think about it..."

But of course, having said that, he could not stop thinking about it, and almost stumbled over the false step on the way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He couldn't stop remembering the warm comfortable feeling he'd had in that split second after he'd woken, the way Malfoy's head on his shoulder and arm across his chest hadn't seemed unnatural at all...

He was rudely awakened yet again by Hedwig's nipping at his wrist; she had entered the Hall while he was distracted, carrying a tightly wrapped parcel. Harry picked it up and realised what it was immediately; he stuffed it into his bag before Hermione, who was trying to cheer up an extremely miserable and shell-shocked-looking Ron, could notice.

Malfoy hadn't appeared to breakfast by the time Harry left with the rest of the Gryffindor prefects, and he was conscious of a strange hollow feeling in his middle. For a moment he wondered if he might be ill, but then realised that if he went to the hospital wing he would have to tell Madam Pomfrey why he was feeling peculiar. Somehow, he didn't think that 'feeling weird because Malfoy somehow ended up in my bed and then wasn't at breakfast' would count as a serious illness. Besides, there was no way that he was going to mention the Incident to anyone.

Draco descended the stone steps from the Owlery slowly, wrapped up in thoughts he didn't much like. The sheer horror of Potter and Weasley at finding him in Harry's bed (with Harry, his treacherous mind insisted on reminding him, as if he needed reminding; he wasn't sure he could ever forget that) strongly suggested that neither of them had executed whatever bit of magic had brought him there. He himself certainly had not had anything to do with it.

At least not consciously, anyway. He frowned in thought, then smoothed his expression; his mother was always warning him that wrinkles would follow frowns. I wonder if it's possible to Apparate somewhere in your sleep? He had passed his Apparition test only weeks before, and although he didn't have perfect control of the spell yet, he knew enough to realise that it was a very complicated piece of magic - surely- he couldn't have dreamed himself into Harry Potter's room by accident, could he? Besides, it wasn't possible to Apparate within the school grounds; Draco had been quite put out that he wasn't able to show off his new skills to his Slytherin minions.

The only thing was, he couldn't think of a single other thing that could explain what had happened. He had never sleepwalked in his life, and besides, he would have needed the Gryffindor password to get into their tower. And it wasn't as if he could have Flooed there in his sleep, either. The only other possibility was foul play, and what purpose would dumping him into Harry Potter's bed possibly serve?

Oh god. I was in bed with Harry Potter. I was sleeping with Harry Potter, and I didn't even notice until that Weasley yelled! And if it wasn't for the shock of seeing him lying next to me it wouldn't have been uncomfortable...Draco clutched at his head in distraction. It was time to go and see Professor Snape about this.

Harry was wandering along the third-floor corridor towards the stairs when the sound of familiar voices caught his attention. Gripping his Firebolt tightly, he stepped back into a shadowed doorway - there was no way he was facing Malfoy again today, let alone Snape. Besides, if the Incident had been a Slytherin plot, he might be able to find out what the hell was going on...

It was enough to keep him there while the Potions Master and his favourite student strolled past, anyway. But they seemed to be discussing Apparition...

"...wondering if it was possible to Apparate without conscious choice?" Malfoy's voice was clear and haughty.

"Not under usual circumstances," Snape replied unctuously. "In theory it might be possible, although not, of course, at Hogwarts... the Anti-Apparition spells have just been strengthened... Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why exactly you are suddenly interested in this particular subject? You already have your Apparition license, unless I am mistaken, and there are many books in the library which you could consult."

Harry could actually hear Malfoy gulp, and bit his lip, praying that the little bastard wasn't going to go back on his word - and to Snape of all people! "I - um - I'm not quite sure what happened, but when I woke up this morning I... wasn't in my bed," Malfoy hedged. Harry swore silently to himself. If Snape managed to pry the story out of Malfoy, he'd never hear the end of it. He might just as well kill himself - in fact, he'd prefer that to having Snape leer at him in Potions every other day...

"Oh?" Snape had halted almost exactly opposite Harry's doorway, and he shrank back into the shadows, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. "Precisely where did you wake up, Draco? Is it possible you could have simply sleepwalked there?"

"I've never sleepwalked in my life." Harry thought with amazement that Malfoy actually sounded harassed, as though this ridiculous incident was having as disturbing an effect on him as it was on Harry. "And I woke up this morning in an armchair in the Astronomy Tower - the door was locked, too; I had to use an Unlocking Charm to open it."

"You had your wand?" Harry knew from the familiar tone of voice that Snape had raised an eyebrow; Malfoy muttered something about it being in his pocket, but Snape had continued in a thoughtful tone of voice. "It is possible... but why would you want to go to the Astronomy Tower so badly...?"

"Professor?" Malfoy sounded confused.

"It is a possibility," Snape repeated. "Since you are familiar with the process of Apparition, it is possible that if you had a great enough subconscious desire to be in a certain place, and you were deeply enough asleep to let your subconscious mind take over..."

"But surely I couldn't have Apparated inside the castle, anyway, could I, Professor?" Malfoy sounded desperate now, as if he was trying to deny what he had heard. Harry certainly was - Malfoy had subconscious desires to be in bed with him? Could any revelation be more disturbing?

Snape was giving Malfoy a narrow look, and Harry saw the boy wince beneath it as if afraid of what Snape could see. "Normally, that would be so, but as I mentioned, the spells have just been re-set. This necessitated the taking down of the old wards; there was a period of about ten minutes around midnight yesterday when it would have been possible for you to unconsciously Apparate to the Astronomy Tower. And I suppose I had best not ask why you suddenly have such strong desires to gaze at the stars that they would pull you there against your conscious will." Harry's rebellious mind insisted on translating this to strong desires to snuggle up to me, and he started to shake his head before he realised that either of them might catch the movement. He froze, barely breathing.

Malfoy was looking intensely miserable, staring at the hem of his robes, pale hair falling across his face. Harry, for some inexplicable reason, actually felt a pang of sympathy for the vicious little bastard, despite the little voice in the back of his head insisting that misery was the least of what Malfoy deserved.

"Well, you can rest assured such an... incident will not happen again," Snape remarked coldly. "I am rather surprised that it happened in the first place, but I suppose adolescents do have very little control over their... feelings..."

He was interrupted by a little choking sound from Malfoy, which sounded a lot like 'Oh God,' as the slight, pale boy whirled and fled down the corridor as if a legion of demons were after him. Snape simply stared after him for several moments, then turned, gliding off towards the staff room with a shake of his head. Harry slumped against the wall, breathing hard and unable to believe what he'd just heard. Malfoy... Malfoy actually liked him, deep down?

He shook his head, and tried to relax the death-grip he had on his broomstick. Everyone has weird dreams. It doesn't have to mean anything. He lifted his wrist to the light, trying to get a look at his watch, then swore when he realised what the time was. He was going to be late to Quidditch practice.

Draco tried to control his shivering as he strode through the Slytherin common room, ignoring the presence of a few fifth years by the fire. He had the terrible feeling that if he couldn't get to his room without being accosted, he might break down in public. God, what's happening to me? He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms and trying to focus on the pain instead of the horrors going on in his head.

Thankfully, he made it to his own door without interruption, and slammed and bolted it behind him. Privacy. Draco threw himself down on the freshly-made bed and grabbed a silver-embroidered green velvet cushion. Damn it all, how had he come to this? Bad enough to wake up next to Harry Potter - and that wasn't going to be something he'd forget in a hurry - but to be told that the incident had occurred because somewhere, deep down, he wanted it to... No, there must be some other explanation. I don't... want Harry. I hate Harry... and I just called him 'Harry.' Damn it, I hate that four-eyed git Potter! I do! He champions Mudbloods and defeats evil forces and beats me to the Snitch every time we play Gryffindor. And he's a do-gooder and an insult to the name of wizard and he refused my hand that first day on the train...

He refused me. Draco bit savagely into his bottom lip, clenching his fists in the soft velvet of the cushion. Do I really hate him because he refused me? I mean...all that other stuff was afterwards... we already had the whole hatred thing going by then - I'd try and push him, and he'd never budge an inch, and I'd try harder and harder to make him lose control... He sat up slowly, staring into space, suddenly seeing his relationship with Potter in a terrible new light.

Oh God. Oh God, I can't like him, I can't, I can't! Not him! Anyone but him! He hates me! After Potter had rejected his original offer of friendship, he'd been insulted and jealous, and had tried as hard as he could to crack that cool self-control that Harry so effortlessly projected. And sometimes it feels like nothing I do makes the least impression on him... he barely notices me...Draco flopped back down on the bed, beating his face on the pillows. He remembered all too well the horrific teasing that the other Slytherins had put Millicent Bulstrode through in the fifth year after she'd started following Draco around like a puppy, doing the strangest things just to get him to notice her...

Oh no. Oh, no. I do not have a crush on Harry Potter. Not 'How Many Mentions Do I Have In The Daily Prophet This Week?' Potter, who manages to get away with anything and humiliates me on the Quidditch pitch. No. I don't. Draco groaned, burying his face in the pillows and trying frantically to think of something else to think about.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ron yelled, dismounting his broom and jogging into the centre of the pitch. Harry, who had been hovering twenty feet over the centre circle, the Snitch fluttering away vainly at his closed fingers, for the past ten minutes, looked down at the rest of the team, blinked, and pointed his broom handle downwards. Ron was giving him a Look, as was Seamus Finnigan, and Harry could feel himself blush.

"Um, sorry guys. I think I got a bit distracted there - I didn't sleep very well last night." Seamus frowned, but Ron jerked slightly, and made a grunting noise.

"Ah... yeah, I remember you said. Well, you caught the thing, I suppose," he muttered, grabbing the Snitch from Harry and carrying it over to the chest to lock it away. Harry, stripping the protective gear off, turned to walk back up to the castle. He just couldn't stop thinking about what Snape had told Malfoy. Could it really be true? Could Malfoy really have ended up in bed with him - in bed with him! - this morning because he had some kind of subconscious feelings for Harry?

I always thought Malfoy hated my guts. The thought was strangely unheated. And there have been times I've hated him- - when he's pushed me that bit too far. God, but he can be a pain - he's a spoiled little brat whose family's so far into the Dark Side they come out the other end, and he's nasty, prejudiced and vicious. And he can make me furious like no one else can. That in itself was disturbing; even the rest of the Slytherins together couldn't annoy Harry enough to prod him towards violence, but Malfoy could make him lose it. Malfoy could provoke Harry (more often Ron, admittedly, but Ron's temper was never far below the surface) into attacking him in front of the entire faculty. Malfoy could goad him until he was furious enough to spit. Malfoy can do things to me that no one else can... And Harry would die before he'd admit that to anyone. I wonder why he does it, though, if he really does feel...

Does he, though? He could just be harbouring a secret desire to befriend me, or something; I did refuse him on the train back in first year. But then why would he end up in bed with me? And then the truly disturbing thought, that refused to be chased away, and hung around his head prodding at him all the way back to Gryffindor Tower: Is Malfoy in love with me? And, hot on its heels: Why doesn't this bother me more?

Chapter Two - In My Dreams

The Incident continued to nag at him over the rest of the weekend; Harry barely heard Ron's sound ticking off for inattention to Quidditch, or his dark mutterings that the whole thing had been a Slytherin plot to distract the Gryffindor Seeker. That night, he couldn't sleep for more than an hour at a time without dreaming - not the usual nightmares of Voldemort and Death Eaters, but strange dreams, dreams that frightened him in their intensity.

Harry dreamed he was standing on a stool in a robe shop, looking into his own eyes; it felt like a mirror but when he looked down at his hand, it was different - long and thin and pale, not his own at all. And then he was standing in a compartment door on the school train, holding out a hand to that same boy who was himself and not himself, and he felt his heart crumble as his offer of friendship was rejected. And then he was confronting himself again on a dark, dank evening as he got out of a carriage, he was saying "You fainted, Potter?" in a delighted, drawling voice that was not his own, and he was overjoyed because finally, finally he had found a weak point, a way to guarantee a reaction out of his other self, a way to ensure he would not be ignored.

Harry woke late on Sunday morning, with bleary eyes and an incipient headache, glad of the fact that unlike yesterday he was alone, but at the same time strangely... disappointed? He went down to breakfast in a very bad mood indeed, and couldn't seem to stop himself from sneaking glances at Malfoy between bites of toast. The other boy seemed to have spent as sleepless a night as Harry had; his usually perfect hair was in disarray and he kept rubbing at his eyes. More than once Harry caught Draco looking away hurriedly as their eyes met, and he was only glad that Ron and Hermione were too absorbed in their own argument to notice his abstraction. He excused himself as soon as he could and spent the rest of the day hunched over his homework and trying to concentrate on it.

Ron and Hermione had made up their fight and vanished up the stairs by the time Harry gave up studying as a lost cause and, banging shut The Rise of the Dark Arts In Western Europe, stomped up the stairs to his room.

His first thought upon opening his door was that it was colder than usual in there, although a fire was burning merrily in the grate. His second never arrived, shocked into stillness by the fact that Draco Malfoy was sitting cross-legged on his bed, regarding him warily.

It took a while for Harry to recover enough presence of mind to react to this second invasion of his chamber; when he finally unfroze, he pushed the door shut behind him and regarded Malfoy levelly, arms crossed. "To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?" An unfamiliar broomstick was propped by the window; plainly that was how Malfoy had got into the tower in the first place. Why he would want to was another matter...

"Harry..." Harry's eyebrows rose involuntarily at this use of his first name and Malfoy bit his lip, flushing a delicate pink across his cheekbones. "Actually, I... I wanted to ask you a favour."

"What kind of favour?" Harry didn't move. Perhaps he wants a Memory Charm so he can forget this ever happened?

Malfoy eyed him, eyes silvery beneath a soft curtain of pale lashes. "You won't like it."

"Then why are you bothering to ask?"

Malfoy's entire face was pink now, and he was looking down at his hands. "Because I have to," he practically whispered, and something in Harry's chest gave a funny little twinge. "Will you...will you come over here? Please?" He indicated the bed beside him with one graceful sweep of his hand.

Harry weighed up the options. He was physically stronger than Malfoy, although he didn't really think Draco would try any tricks... he really couldn't see any reason not to, and there was a part of him that was prodding him forward, that wanted to... He walked slowly across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at Draco, who refused to look up at him. "What is it you want, Malfoy?"

"I don't know, that's the point of this little exercise-" the drawl was back - "Lie down, will you?" And a pale, thin hand caught his shoulder and pushed him down flat onto his back.

"What...?" Harry, stunned, froze when he felt Draco curling up against his side, burying his face in his shoulder and tentatively putting an altogether too possessive arm across his chest. "What the hell, Malfoy?" he hissed, struggling to sit up again, but Draco was too heavy.

"Hush, I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm just trying to see what this feels like; I didn't have enough time yesterday."

"Trying to see what this feels like?" Harry repeated incredulously, trying to ignore the disturbingly comfortable (and...nice?) feeling of having Draco Malfoy snuggled up against him. "What are you trying to prove here, exactly? That you're not interested in me or something?"

It was Malfoy's turn to freeze. "What?" His voice was thin and small, and Harry lifted a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses a fraction.

"I heard you talking to Snape yesterday," he confessed, feeling absurdly guilty. "I know why... it happened."

There was an instant's frozen calm, and then Malfoy was off the bed in a flash, grabbing his broomstick and opening the window with one frantic wave of his wand. Harry rolled off the bed and started after him, not knowing what to say. He had caught a glimpse of the stricken look on Draco's face and felt absurdly terrible, but Malfoy was already climbing out of the window and onto his broom; he had zoomed away into the gathering dusk before Harry could reach him. For a moment he considered grabbing his Firebolt and going after Draco, but common sense intruded; it was cold and dark and Malfoy had enough of a head start that Harry wouldn't be able to catch him anyway. Swearing under his breath, he slammed the casement shut and flung himself face-down on the bed, all too aware of the lingering warmth Malfoy's presence had left in the velvet covers.

Damn. Flaming damn. He didn't even know what exactly he'd wanted from this strange meeting, but it hadn't been that. Hard on the heels of that thought came another, the slow dawning realisation that he really must have feelings for me after all. Harry was surprised by the way that made him feel. Last week, if someone had told him Draco Malfoy fancied him, he would have been disgusted, suspicious, and quite probably completely incredulous. If it hadn't been for that Saturday-morning awakening, he could never have believed such a story. But now, now he did. And he wasn't suspicious, because he'd seen real genuine pain on Malfoy's face, not the feigned kind he'd tried on the teachers in third year, and the idea that he could hurt Draco that way made it all too real. And try as he might, he couldn't seem to gather together any disgust, because... because...

Oh God. Harry groaned and beat at a pillow with clenched fists. He couldn't be disgusted, because a little voice inside him was very busily pointing out just how beautiful Draco Malfoy could actually be when he didn't have that habitual sneer plastered across his face. The little voice was reminding him inexorably that Draco - when had he stopped thinking of the Slytherin as Malfoy, Harry wondered desperately - moved with the innate grace of a cat, and that the way his pale hair fell about his face was absolutely fascinating, and that those silver-grey eyes could be more luminous than moonlight on the water. But he's Malfoy, Harry protested vainly as that terrible, seductive voice was whispering about how maybe it might be nice to find out whether Draco's reputation was really all that well-deserved, he's a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater and he can't be trusted! Ah, the voice replied softly, but you know yourself that he's the only one who can ever push you beyond control. Wouldn't you like to see what else he could do to you? And Harry didn't have an answer for that, couldn't answer that, because the only answer, the only possible reply, was yes.

Draco, too, was sprawled across velvet pillows with his mind dancing a terrified quickstep. He knows was followed by dear God, this can't be happening which segued into he'll hate me now, and I'm supposed to hate him, not fall in love with him! He couldn't get his mind off the way Harry had looked with the firelight turning his emerald eyes viridian, the way Harry had felt in his arms, gentle and pliant to his touch yet strong enough to shelter him. The way he had suddenly longed so fiercely to lift his head and kiss those soft-looking lips into submission, to clutch Harry tightly enough to brand him as his possession. And the way he had realised that not only was he falling desperately, ridiculously in love with Harry Potter, with a boy who exemplified all things Good and Honest and Brave, and whose hate was the only passion he had for Draco, but that Harry Potter was perfectly well aware of this fact.

It had been more than he could bear; he had bolted, trying to outrun his own emotions the way he had after Snape had first revealed them to him.

There was a loud knocking on his door, and Pansy Parkinson's strident voice echoed through the dungeon room, reminding him that he was supposed to have corridor duty tonight. For a rebellious moment, he stayed where he was, but then Draco sighed and pushed himself to his feet, feeling far too weary for seventeen years old. Walking the rounds of the corridors would be cold and draughty, but would at least be conducive to thought. Besides, it might serve as some form of distraction, and heaven knew he needed one.

Harry slumped against the wall, fighting a losing battle against the ambivalent side of himself, the part that kept questioning, and slid down into a sitting position, arms secure around his knees under the Cloak. The stone was cold beneath and behind him, but he ignored it with ease, far too inwardly focused. He had started out full of resolve to go and find Malfoy, but the doubts had just kept on growing. The question was, he thought dejectedly, exactly how did he really feel about Draco - about Malfoy? And that was a question he couldn't answer. Do I love him? I've never loved anyone in that way - I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. All he knew was that Draco was important to him, in a different kind of way than Ron and Hermione, and with a different kind of force. The hurt he'd seen on Draco's face earlier had dug hooks into his own heart. And Draco was attractive - Draco was beautiful. All the evidence pointed to the fact that Draco was in love with him. And that made Harry shiver, in a strange, half-pleasurable way. Maybe I am in love with him. He can make me angrier than anyone else ever has, he can make me so furious I forget everything else except him. It's like there's just me and him and this thing between us, and nothing else matters. Isn't that what love's supposed to be like?

He was so absorbed in these strange, new, and rather exciting thoughts, that he didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching down the corridor and was thus startled enough to let out a yell when Draco Malfoy tripped over him. Malfoy's shout matched his own, and Harry saw with horror as he frantically tried to extricate himself from the tangle of Cloak and limbs that a patch of lantern light was growing on the stone wall of the hallway; someone was approaching down a side corridor. He didn't stop to think, just yanked Malfoy to his feet and pulled the other boy hard against him, wrapping the cloak about them both as they huddled into the shadow of a large statue.

Draco, who had been struggling against the hand gripping his arm, tensed as the light grew, washing over the stone wall and illuminating Harry's face, mere inches from his own. Shit. Why does it have to be him, of all people? Why does it always have to be him? He was suddenly extremely aware of Harry's arm encircling his shoulders, holding the Invisibility cloak over them both. The contact made him want to shiver; there was something new lurking in the depths of those green eyes, something only half-glimpsed but strangely compelling. He leant forward, Harry's hair brushing against his lips as he breathed softly into the other boy's ear: "I'm supposed to be here, Potter, you don't need to hide me." Harry just looked at him for a moment, a look that made his stomach turn over and his knees wobble, and then leaned in to whisper back.

"Yes, but I'm not. I... was looking for you." And then, without giving Draco time to ponder this peculiar admission, he felt Harry's lips brush swiftly against his own as he drew back. Just a soft touch, barely even a kiss, but enough to turn his entire skeletal structure into jelly and make him ache desperately for more. Harry's face, as he stared at Draco in the reflected light of Filch's lamp, mirrored that exquisite longing; his eyes were very wide and very green, and there was a hitch in his soft breathing. Draco couldn't resist - he loved Harry, and Harry was here, was with him, had just kissed him - he lifted his hands to hold Harry Potter's face and kissed him so hard his toes curled.

Harry couldn't quite believe this was happening. There he was, only the Invisibility Cloak protecting him from the passing caretaker, and he didn't care because he was kissing Draco, and Draco was kissing him, their arms wrapped tightly about each other. There had been that first, barely-there kiss, just a brush of lips that he had chanced in order to show Draco that he needn't run, and then Draco had taken firm hold of his head and met his lips with enough passion to melt an iceberg. Harry had very nearly dropped the Cloak in his haste to get his arms around Malfoy. And now he was holding him so tightly his arms ached, and Draco's tongue was delicately exploring his mouth, and Filch had somehow vanished completely, and this was wonderful and perfect and right and he never ever wanted to let go.

He had to, though; they both needed air, and it was dark again now that Filch and his lantern had rounded the corner; Harry was uncomfortably aware that Mrs. Norris could be anywhere, and her sense of smell would not be fooled by his Cloak. And it was late, and tomorrow was Monday... and Draco was biting at his neck and ear in the most wonderfully distracting way in between whispering that he was supposed to be on duty and had to go before someone came looking for him. Harry was loath to let him go, but the thought of being discovered was worse. He didn't want anyone else to know about this, this was theirs, was very, very private between them - and no one else would understand, anyway. Draco's mouth against his was sweet as he kissed him goodbye and ducked out from beneath the Cloak, sauntering off down the corridor. Harry watched his lithe, pale figure fall out of sight, then turned and stumbled back to Gryffindor Tower in a happy, exhausted daze.

Chapter Three - Worth Anything

In the cold light of morning, doubt set in with a vengeance. Draco, staring into his own eyes in the mirror, didn't quite know whether to believe it. Did I really spend a quarter of an hour kissing Harry Potter under an Invisibility Cloak? It didn't seem like the kind of thing that was likely to actually happen. Maybe he had dreamed it. He did remember dreaming about Harry - wonderful dreams of warmth and skin and kisses that remained in his memory like a happy blur. Perhaps it was just a dream... but it felt so real... He brushed the side of his index finger across his lips, trying to decide. If it was a dream, it was a wonderful one.

That was the seduction of it. He loved Harry Potter, and he wanted Harry to love him back. It would make all too much sense for that sweet little interlude to be nothing more than a dream born of pathetic wishing. Draco watched his face in the mirror as the corner of his mouth lifted up in a wry, twisted smile that never reached his eyes, and tried to decide.

Harry spent the period before breakfast alternating between a happy daze and desperate, gnawing doubts, and was just glad that Ron and Hermione were busy enough with their own burgeoning relationship to ignore his emotional wavering. He just couldn't seem to decide what to think. On the one hand, he had spent a portion of last night actually kissing Draco and most of the rest thinking about it; he had fallen asleep smiling and had no nightmares for once. On the other hand, this was Malfoy of all people, and it was entirely possible that the whole thing had been an elaborate plot to humiliate Harry. And his memory kept reminding him that Draco had never given Harry any reason to trust him at all. Half of him wanted to run straight down to the Slytherin dungeons and kiss Draco within an inch of his life. The other half, though, was dancing with the jitters and wasn't even sure it wanted to turn up to breakfast.

The dilemma was solved by Ron's grabbing his arm as he dithered in the common room and physically dragging him down the stairs, chattering away nine to the dozen.

"Honestly, Harry, you have to see this new strategy Seamus came up with - we're playing Slytherin next, remember, and the cheating bastards are bound to break every rule in the book...." Harry let it wash over him, occasionally managing to get a word in edgewise agreeing with Ron's assessment - not that he was completely certain what it was. He would have hung back at the entrance to the Great Hall, but by then Hermione had hold of his other arm, and if he pulled away they'd be bound to notice something was wrong. He felt his stomach clench in anticipation.

Harry couldn't stop himself from glancing over at the Slytherin table as soon as they had entered the room, but Draco was conspicuous by his absence. His heart contracted. Where is he? Does this mean he's realised last night was a mistake? Is he avoiding me?

When Draco entered the Hall for breakfast - later than usual, but he'd been a little distracted and had had to go back and comb his hair again - his eyes went instantly to the Gryffindor table. Harry was already there, squashed between Granger and the Weasley (who seemed to be more interested in each other than their breakfast) on one side, and Finnigan on the other. He had a miserable, apprehensive expression on his face, and was busily shredding a piece of toast into crumbs. Draco's heart flip-flopped and he bit his lip. Maybe it was real after all...

At that moment, while he was standing in the doorway with his eyes full of Harry, Potter looked up and saw him. The electric thrill as their gazes locked made Draco gasp and clench his fists; Harry's eyes were wide and clear and utterly guileless - and fixed on him as if there was no one else in the room. Draco felt himself beginning to blush, but was physically incapable of movement until a group of Hufflepuffs pushed past him, jogging his arm and distracting him enough that he could finish the journey to his table and snatch up a mug of coffee.

When he looked up again, Harry and the Gryffindors were gone.

The day was far too long, and Harry couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed that they had no lessons with the Slytherins on Mondays. Draco didn't appear in the Hall at dinner time (he had been surrounded by his housemates at lunch, and hadn't so much as looked at Harry), although Harry hung around waiting for so long that the house elves were giving him anxious glances as they cleared the tables and began setting them up for breakfast. Eventually he gave up, and wandered upstairs to the Tower, thinking depressed thoughts and wondering whether Malfoy was just playing with him after all.

Neither Ron nor Hermione was in the common room when he climbed through the portrait hole, so he got his Transfiguration book off the shelf and started making notes for the essay McGonagall had set them that morning. He had filled half a page with scrawled comments - and had had to scratch out Malfoy's name at least twice - by the time he got bored enough to give up. It was typical of the sort of luck that seemed to afflict him that his two best friends had finally got together in the exact week when his emotions appeared to have turned themselves upside down.

Harry abandoned his work and mooched upstairs to his room, in half a mind to get his Cloak and sneak down to the dungeons to see Draco. This tentative plan was made unnecessary by the sight that greeted his eyes when he opened the door: Draco was curled like a cat on the rug before the fireplace, staring into the flames. As Harry stepped uncertainly towards him, he looked up and smiled, reaching out a hand in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of their second meeting. After a moment's hesitation, Harry reached out and took it, letting Draco pull him down to sit beside him. He felt like he might explode from sheer nerves; last night had seemed so easy, but suddenly the air between them was thick with unspoken words, and he didn't quite know what he wanted to say or do.

Draco was still holding his hand and smiling uncertainly, eyes glowing in the firelight, and Harry felt his heart turn over. Almost without volition he lifted his free hand to trace the knife-sharp line of a cheekbone; Draco inhaled softly and leant into the touch, eyes narrowing to slits like a cat's as he spoke. "I can't stay very long. We've got Astronomy Practical at ten." Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry's, and suddenly it was easy again.

Harry shuffled forwards on his knees, pulling Draco against him as he wrapped that silky blond hair around his fingers and leant into the kiss. This felt good, this felt right, this felt wonderful as Draco ran gentle hands over his shoulders, flicking Harry's bottom lip with his tongue, then biting gently. Harry shivered under the touch, forgetting everything he'd spent the day worrying about, forgetting everything except sensation as Draco pressed against him, mouth open beneath his and arms around him. One of Malfoy's hands had sneaked beneath his shirt and jumper, but it felt so good against Harry's skin that he wasn't at all inclined to protest.

Harry had his face buried in Draco's neck, breathing in his scent between kisses and more than a little intoxicated, when Draco's other hand did something truly startling; he jerked in surprise and overbalanced, toppling over sideways onto the rug and taking Draco with him. Gasping, Harry stared up into silver eyes that sparkled with laughter and love and something much more elemental, before lifting his head to claim that teasing mouth again with his own, eliciting a hoarse gasp that suddenly felt amazingly good. Draco ended up being very late to Astronomy that night.

Afterwards, when Draco looked back, the weeks leading up to his last Christmas at Hogwarts seemed to blur into a happy dream of warmth and love and kisses. He had never felt so real, and yet so unreal, in his life. Nothing mattered but Harry; the rest of the school, the rest of the world, seemed to blur into the background. When they were apart, the colour seemed to leach out of the world. When they were together, they never had time for words, but that didn't matter because they were too wrapped up in each other. Draco delighted in finding new ways to push Harry beyond the boundaries of self-control, and Harry in turn seemed to be intent on reducing Draco to a limp heap of mewling jelly.

The secrecy was part of the fun of it; they were having a clandestine affair, and they both knew what would happen if they were caught, yet they took outrageous risks, stealing moments and kisses in empty hallways between classes when anyone could have happened on them, spending nights wrapped around each other in Harry's bed with Draco only returning to the dungeons at the first light of dawn. It was wonderful, and both of them dreaded the fast-approaching end of term, when Draco's father would arrive to take him back to the Manor for Christmas.

It made them careless; Draco knew he was spending too much time away from the dungeons, and that the rest of the Slytherins were beginning to remark on it. Both of them were yawning their way through breakfast by now, and Harry had told him that Granger had remarked once that he ought to see Madam Pomfrey about his nightmares.

On that last Saturday morning before the holidays, disaster was averted by the narrowest of margins as they were awakened from a happy doze by a furious knocking at the door and Ron's voice shouting for Harry to let him in.

"Hold on a second," Harry yelled, struggling out of bed and grabbing for his dressing gown. Draco was already up, snatching frantically at his clothes and broomstick. They stared desperately at each other for a moment, then Draco mouthed "Cloak!" and Harry threw it at him and gestured him into the corner.

As it turned out, all Ron wanted to talk about was the fact that he'd just received an owl informing him that his Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, had finally won a match. He paced up and down, waving his hands in the air as he described the play, red hair unkempt, as Harry stood and watched and made enthusiastic comments, completely unaware that Draco was huddled stark naked under the Cloak in the corner of the room, desperately trying not to shiver too hard.

That had been the worst of it; they hadn't come any closer to discovery, although Draco had had some very bad moments when he realised that he'd left his wand on the bedside table. Luckily, Weasley had been too excited to notice, and had left after about a quarter of an hour, still none the wiser. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if they had been discovered. Weasley would have been furious; he and Draco had a great deal more mutual animosity between them than Draco and Harry had ever had. He suspected that Harry might have lost a friend - that he still might when the red-headed git found out.

More pressing to Draco, though, was what could happen if his father ever found out about his relationship with Harry. That, to him, was the principal reason for secrecy, and the reason he had already banned Harry from owling him in his own name while he was away for the holidays. Either Lucius Malfoy would half-kill his son and take him out of school, or he would try to use him to hurt Harry. Draco couldn't envisage any other outcome; he knew exactly how much he mattered in his father's grand scheme of things. It was inevitable that if the news got out in Hogwarts, his father would manage to find out. So his and Harry's relationship would remain secret. It was that simple, and that complicated.

To Harry, the advent of the holidays felt like approaching death. He stood there in the foyer on Sunday morning, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lucius Malfoy shepherded his son out of the door with an arm around his shoulders, feeling utterly lost. Draco didn't look back once as he climbed into the carriage and drove off, and Harry felt like part of his soul had been torn out of his chest. All that day, he tried to behave normally to Ron and Hermione, but it seemed like a farce; all he could think of was Draco, and the fact that he wouldn't see him again for another two weeks. Eventually he gave up and went up to his room, curling up on his bed with both arms wrapped tight around a pillow.

Which was where Hermione found him, an hour or so later.

Chapter Four - True Or False?

Harry's head snapped up from the pillow as the door snicked shut behind her. Hermione shot the bolt across for good measure; Ron was busy doing something with his Quidditch equipment, but she really didn't want him interrupting. She surveyed Harry carefully for a moment, really looking at him for the first time in four weeks when she'd been too caught up with her own new boyfriend for anything else. He looked different, she realised - older, younger, sadder, happier - there was a kind of fizzing, hidden joy in him that Hermione only now realised had been there for the past few weeks, although it was buried beneath the surface layer of depression. Hermione examined the all the facts at her disposal, and yet again came to the only possible conclusion.

"Who is it?"

Harry sat up, frowning at her and playing with the edges of the pillow he had clutched to his chest. She thought she detected a smidgen of guilt hovering about the edge of his countenance. "Who's what? What are you on about, Hermione? And where's Ron?"

"Don't try and change the subject," she admonished. "My point is that I would like to know who you have been seeing for the past few weeks." And whether you've been sleeping with her, but that can wait until I get a name out of you.

"Seeing?" Harry practically squeaked. "I haven't...I...what makes you think I'm..."

"The fact that you've been ridiculously distracted for the last month," Hermione interrupted. "The fact that when Ron or I speak to you, we get fobbed off with vague answers because you obviously aren't paying attention. The fact that you've been late to more classes in the past month than in the whole rest of the term. The fact that you've been waltzing around with a ridiculous grin on your face half the time, spending far too much time holed up in here, and last but not least the fact that now that everyone else has gone home you've suddenly become all depressed."

Harry was biting his lip and looking very guilty now. "Have I been neglecting you and Ron?"

She waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. We've been a little busy ourselves, or I would have noticed this sooner," she confessed. "So, who is she?" Hermione was startled by the sudden blush that washed across his face; he stared down at his hands, clenched in the fabric of his cushion, and muttered something inaudible.

"Harry?" she asked, puzzled and a little hurt that he might refuse to tell her the identity of his girlfriend; after all, he had been the first to know when she and Ron became an item. She had thought Harry counted her as a friend... "Well, would you be more comfortable talking to Ron about this?" she asked, at a loss. Maybe it was just that he was uncomfortable talking to a girl about this. "I can fetch him if you want?"

To her surprise, Harry went absolutely white and shook his head frantically. "No! Please, don't tell Ron about this - he doesn't know, does he?" His green eyes were frantic and pleading; Hermione's sense of trouble returned full force. If he doesn't want Ron to know...he can't be sleeping with Ginny, can he? I could see how Ron would fly off the handle over that...

Hermione sat down on the bed beside him, shaking her head soothingly. "No, no, I worked it out for myself - Harry, please tell me who she is, it can't be that bad surely..."

He mumbled something, refusing to meet her eyes. "...not a girl..." was all she could make out, but that was enough; she could understand part of the reason for his hesitance.

"You're seeing a boy?" she said blankly, staring at him. She had never suspected that Harry was anything other than straight; she'd watched him go through a series of crushes on girls after Cho Chang left Hogwarts, and had never noticed any same-sex interests. But then, maybe she just hadn't been looking properly... "O...kay... Can you tell me who, or is this much truth enough for now?"

Harry sighed, looking up at her; his face was crimson and his lip bitten. "You're not going to let up until you find out, are you?"

"Probably not," Hermione admitted honestly.

Harry opened his mouth to say something further, but a tapping at the window made them both turn their heads. A nondescript grey tufted owl was hovering outside on silent wings, a rolled parchment attached to one leg. Harry hurried over to the window and opened it; the somewhat bedraggled owl swooped in out of the rain and landed wetly on his desk, raising its leg so Harry could get at the letter. Hermione watched as he untied the damp parchment and stowed it in the pocket of his robes without a glance, fed the owl some Owl Treats, and saw it out of the window again. He stood there for a moment, staring out into the darkness, and Hermione had the uncanny impression that he had forgotten her presence completely. She cleared her throat gently, and he jumped, turning back to her.

"So are you going to tell me who he is? Especially since he's sending you letters already?"

He sighed, slumping into his desk chair with his head in his hands. "You won't like it. You really won't like this, Hermione." By now, she had some suspicions, and she suspected that not only was she not going to like this at all, but that Ron was going to have an apoplexy when he found out.

"So...?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"Ah." That was all she could say; too many thoughts were whirling around in her head, all too jumbled up to form a coherent spoken sentence. Phrases like what the hell do you think you're doing, and why Malfoy of all people? were tangling together in her head. What she actually ended up saying - well, croaking, anyway - was "Ron will have a fit."

"I know," Harry looked unhappy. "I don't want to lose him as a friend - or you - but... Draco..." he closed his eyes, shaking his head miserably. "I can't lose this, Hermione, I just can't."

"Are you sleeping with him?" she asked in a small voice, unable to help herself; his violent blush was answer enough and she sighed. "Harry, are you entirely sure you know what you're doing? I mean, I always though you hated Malfoy." Like all the rest of us, she thought sorrowfully. Somehow it seemed very sad that Harry Potter, champion for so long of all that was good in the world, could turn away from that enmity.

"So did I. Except...well, something happened a few weeks back, and it got stuck in my head and I couldn't stop thinking about it, and then I overheard Draco talking to Snape, and I realised he had feelings for me, and one thing kind of led to another...." He trailed off. "I'm not making sense, am I?

"No. Exactly what happened to start all this off?"

He bit his lip again. "We kind of agreed never to mention it."

"Does that really matter? I presume 'we' is you and Malfoy?"

"And Ron. I suppose since you know the rest now anyway, it doesn't matter if I tell you so long as you promise never ever to tell anyone else."

Hermione goggled at him. "Ron knows about this? Bloody hell. You tell me what happened right this minute, Harry Potter!"

So he did, and she stared some more. Then she laughed a lot. "Oh, that serves you right!"

"I don't think it's funny," Harry muttered.

"You wouldn't," was Hermione's verdict, still giggling. "I wish I could have seen your faces!"

Harry really couldn't see why Hermione found the Incident all that amusing. He carried on explaining, telling her what he'd overheard Snape telling Draco. She titled her head to one side, considering.

"I wouldn't have thought that was possible, but it makes sense. So Malfoy had subconscious feelings for you, and you knew about it. What happened next - you thought about that a lot and realised you felt the same way?"

"Pretty much. And then...well, I was in the corridors in my Cloak, and he tripped over me, and...well..."

"I think I get the picture." Hermione sighed. "Harry. Please listen to me for a moment?" He nodded warily, and she continued. "Malfoy has been a complete bastard to you since our first year, to say nothing of me and Ron. He's constantly trying to get you in trouble. Why do you want to be with him?"

Harry groaned inwardly. How could he explain it to her, without either looking like a maniac or making her think he didn't value her friendship? "It's like," he tried, "he's the only one who can push me far enough to make me lose control completely. And he has been horrible, and he still is sometimes, but it's all been because he wants to get to me... he can get under my skin in ways that no one else can. Do you understand?"

"Not really. A bit, maybe," Hermione sighed. "Next question: how do you really feel about him, Harry? Is this just a physical thing?"

"No. Not at all. I... I think I'm in love with him, Hermione." It took effort to admit that, and he felt the claws of misery clamp tighter around his heart. Hermione's worried expression didn't help; he knew she didn't like or trust Draco, but she could have been a little more... willing to forgive.

"Oh. And have you told him that?" He shook his head miserably. Suddenly, now that he had to explain it to someone else, his relationship with Draco didn't seem nearly as all-consumingly wonderful, and he wondered why he hadn't thought about this before. "So you love him, but you don't know how he feels about you, am I correct?" Hermione sighed, rubbing at her forehead. "Oh, Harry. You do tend to get yourself into messes."

"I can't see why he'd stay with me unless he did...you know...feel something for me," he began uncertainly. Hermione reached out to ruffle his hair, and he batted her hand away irritably.

"Are you absolutely sure he's not trying to seduce you to the Dark Side?" Seeing the expression on his face, she added quickly, "I'm sorry, but given his history I do have to think about it."

"He's not. No, I know it, Hermione," he added as she opened her mouth to say something. "We've never really talked about political stuff, but he's absolutely terrified that his father might find out - he won't let me write to him under my own name or even send Hedwig to the Manor while he's away."

"Well, if you really believe that." He could see she was still sceptical, but there wasn't a lot he could say to convince her. "Anyway, since Malfoy's not around to distract you, I think it might be a good idea if you actually spend some time thinking about what you want from this relationship. More importantly, what do we tell Ron?"

"Shit." Harry hung his head. "I don't know - I'm not sure I want to tell him anything right now."

"He's going to find out at some point, Harry."

"I know. But he'll do his nut, he really will."

"That much was obvious. Maybe if we start trying to sell Malfoy to him as not quite so bad after all? If we just out and told him, there'd be murder."

"I could write and ask Draco to be less vicious to him?" Harry offered. "I'm pretty sure he was only trying to push at me anyway, so..."

"You do that." Hermione rose, smoothing down her skirts. "In the meantime, I shall go and attempt to pry out of him exactly why he hates Malfoy so much."

"I'd have thought that was obvious - and be prepared for an explosion, because he'll still fly off the handle." Harry was morose, but Hermione smiled wickedly.

"I shall disarm him with kisses," she declared. As she walked out of the door, she tossed back over her shoulder, "Don't forget to read your letter!" As if he would have.

Dear Harry.

I'm only just back and I miss you already. This holiday is going to be very boring - Father's going to be away on business, and Mother always spends most of her time shopping and chattering to her friends. Dullness shall reign; I'll end up spending most of my time imagining things I'd like to do with you, which won't be a good idea because you're too far away for me to actually do them. Hmm. Sexual frustration is setting in already.

-Draco, bored beyond belief here.

Harry smiled to himself, able to clearly visualise the smirk that had undoubtedly been on Draco's face as he wrote the note. He had hated that smirk for so long that it had come as a surprise to find himself not only liking it but trying to elicit it. Draco didn't smile often, but when he did it lit up his face and made him more beautiful than ever. Harry read the letter over again, Hermione's words coming back to him.

Does he love me? Or is this just a sexual thing to him? Am I just some new conquest? Heaven knows he has more experience than I do; it's easy to see how he might get bored with me and move on. He stared into the fireplace, where cheery orange flames were dancing merrily, without really seeing it. Hermione's honest scepticism had reawakened all the old doubts, and now that Draco was gone there was no one to dispel them. Always before, when he had started to think that the whole thing might be just a fever-dream borne of his own love and desire, Draco had been there to smile and embrace him and soothe away his fears with kisses. Now - now Harry was alone.

Harry? Is everything all right? Only it's been a week now, and I haven't heard from you - I didn't mean you shouldn't owl me at all, only not to use your name or your snowy owl, because she's quite distinctive. Did I say something? Did something happen? Now I'm worrying about you as well as missing you.

-Draco

Draco-

Sorry. I've been a bit distracted. And I suppose I've been trying to put off telling you - Hermione knows. She confronted me and wouldn't let me leave until I told her who you were. I think we need to talk about this whole thing when you get back. I've sent your Christmas present with this owl; I hope you like it.

-H.

Harry-

It's perfect. Where did you manage to find it? I especially like the little green eyes; they remind me of you.

Granger knows? Well. I suppose at least she won't go around telling everyone she meets, but what about Weasley? And the phrase 'we need to talk' is making me very nervous.

Did you get your present? I saw it in the shop and just had to buy it for you. I'll see you on Sunday.

-Draco

Draco slumped against the wall outside the empty Transfiguration classroom, hands thrust deep into his pockets. He hadn't seen Harry for two weeks now, and his heart was skittering in his chest at the thought that he was about to get a sight of him. He had seen the Gryffindor Quidditch team zooming about the pitch as his carriage had rolled up the drive, and had been able to pick Harry's slender, graceful figure hovering above the centre of the pitch with ease. It had made him feel all twitchy and fluttery. So now he was waiting out here because he knew Harry would have to come this way to get back to his House common room. He was just praying that Harry would be alone, or at the very least that Weasley wouldn't be with him.

The letters had been nice - he had kept the handful of parchment scraps that Harry had sent him in a little packet under his pillow, although he would never have admitted it to a soul - as had the Christmas present Harry had sent him, a silver cloak-brooch in the shape of a Slytherin serpent, with tiny emerald eyes. But the necessary concealment had made them brief and to the point, and as in their conversation there were things they simply did not discuss - politics, allegiances, plans, the strange complexity of their feelings for each other. Because that was the thing that was worrying Draco now. Harry had said they needed to talk - was he going to tell Draco that he'd had enough of him? That he'd been a good lay as long as it lasted, but Harry couldn't give him what he seemed to be after? That he didn't love him?

Draco closed his eyes. He loved Harry; he knew this with the kind of certainty with which he knew the sky was blue. What he didn't know was what he wanted to do about it, because being with Harry on a permanent basis would mean so many things - from dealing with the suspicions of the Gryffindors to defying his father and losing everything in the process. There was no way they would be able to keep their secret forever, that was the one truth of the situation.

If Harry even wants to stay with me. He's never said or done anything to let me know how he feels - does he love me? Could he love me, after everything I've done to him over the past six years? Draco simply didn't know; he wasn't able to put himself in Harry's place because he had no idea how Harry thought - that was part of his endless fascination, his charm. Harry had always been able to hide his feelings from Draco, and Draco was terribly afraid that this time, there were no hidden feelings. Nothing below the surface.

But sitting alone in his room at the Manor, Harry's scrawled note in his hands, Draco had made his decision. He was going to tell Harry. Let Harry know exactly how he felt about him, so that there was nothing else he could do and the rest was up to Harry. If, as Draco thought likely, Harry said sorry, I don't love you that way, then they would part, and the rest of the mess would never become a problem. But if, by some inconceivable chance, Harry did profess to having those feelings, then they could work it out from there. Draco had a plan, and this was the first step he had to take; the only problem was that he was jittering with nerves.

Harry, I love you more than anything else in the world, and I want to be with you forever if you will have me. It sounded so perfect in his head - and he let himself imagine that Harry would speak the words in return for a brief, sweet moment. He was about to whisper them under his breath in practise when Harry himself rounded the corner and drove all thought from Draco's head completely. He was alone, broomstick over his shoulder and hair windswept and mussed, and he stopped dead for a moment at the sight of Draco, a huge, bright smile springing into being on his face. It dragged an answering one from Draco - he couldn't help it, it was as if he was a moth and Harry the brightest candle flame in the world. Harry walked up to him and said "Hi," and Draco touched his arm gently and drew him into the empty classroom where they wouldn't be seen.

Chapter Five - Say The Words

Harry's thoughts began whirling dizzily when he saw Draco lounging against the wall of the Transfiguration classroom, clearly waiting for him. The mental image that he'd been cherishing for the last two weeks didn't live up to the reality; Draco was more beautiful than ever. He couldn't stop the smile that plastered itself across his face as Draco pulled him into the empty room.

Once they were alone, Draco seemed strangely tongue-tied, taking Harry's hand in his own and holding on for dear life. Harry felt the same way, as if this thing between them could be shattered by words, because words could never express the way he was feeling. Still, he was starting to feel faintly ridiculous, standing there staring into Draco's face with the silence pressing down on them both, so he tried to think of something to say.

"I missed you." That seemed like the right thing; it was simple, and it was true, and it bridged the gap between them. Draco smiled and moved closer.

"I missed you too," he whispered in Harry's ear, hands brushing his shoulders lightly. "You have no idea how much..." and he pulled Harry to him, kissing him fervently. Harry responded enthusiastically - the two weeks of Draco's absence had been more than a little frustrating - and things were rapidly becoming rather heated when a dry cough sounded from the doorway.

Both Harry and Draco froze, still locked into the kiss, Draco's hands beneath the rucked-up hem of Harry's shirt and Harry's tangled in Draco's fine silvery hair. Then they backed apart so quickly that it felt physically painful, turning to stare at Snape, whose eyes seemed to be popping out of his head with fury and astonishment.

"Um..." Harry's clothes were mussed, he had dropped his Firebolt on the floor, and he was sure he was the colour of a beetroot. He glanced at Draco, who was blushing fiercely too, teeth caught in his lower lip. Damn. This is not good. Harry was pretty sure there was only one person he'd have been less happy to have walk in on him and Draco, and that was Ron.

"Mr. Potter, kindly return to your common room," the Potions Professor snapped without so much as looking at Harry; his eyes were narrowed and fixed on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, you will follow me now." And he turned, gliding out of the room without looking back. Draco cast Harry a desperate glance, then hurried to follow Snape, tugging his robes straight as he did so. Harry watched him walk out of the room as if going to his death, dejection in every line of him.

Snape's office was cold and musty smelling. Draco, lowering himself into the single chair placed before the desk, tried not to shiver. Slytherins did not show weakness. Nor did Malfoys. Snape slammed the door rather more forcefully than seemed necessary and pointed his wand at the fireplace, muttering "Incendio!" The flames he conjured were blue and fierce, but did not appreciably warm the room. Or perhaps Draco was just in a cold frame of mind.

"Well." Snape leant back in his high-backed chair and regarded Draco over steepled fingers. "I do not suppose that you are about to calm my apprehensions by revealing that the little...episode which I just had the misfortune to witness was an aberration of some kind?"

"No sir." Draco exerted all of his formidable self-control to keep his voice steady.

"In that case, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you explain yourself. How long have you been...dallying...with the Potter boy?"

"Ah - something approaching two months, sir."

"Indeed. Dare I hope that this little liaison will soon be over and forgotten about?"

"Probably not, sir."

Snape made an indeterminate noise of disgust, hooded eyes glaring at Draco. It was an expression that had not often been directed at him, and left him feeling rather small. "Draco, are you entirely sure that you have adequately considered all the possible consequences of this? For example, I very much doubt your father would be any happier than I am once he discovers it."

Draco winced. That cut to the heart of the matter. "Yes, sir, I've thought this through. And... I would appreciate it if my father did not hear of this from you." Snape merely raised an eyebrow at him. "He will find out eventually, I know, but I need some time to...to work out my options."

"You are set on this course, then, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir." Draco didn't know what Harry would have to say, but his own mind was made up. He loved Harry, and whether his feelings were returned or not, he couldn't take a side which was against Harry. Which left him only one course, really. "I will not work directly against my family, but neither will I work with my father and... and Voldemort. Not against Harry."

"You have feelings for the Potter boy then," Snape observed as if he was pointing out some distasteful but relevant fact. "Have you discussed your little change of allegiance with him?"

"Not yet. That was what I was intending to do when you - ah, interrupted us, sir."

"Oh really?" Now Snape was being more than usually sarcastic, which was a certain sign that his temper was fraying. "Correct me by all means if you have suddenly become telepathic, but my impression was that very little discussion was going on in that classroom. Quite the contrary, in fact."

Draco was sure he was blushing again. It was true that he and Harry hadn't exactly been using their mouths to talk. It's probably lucky Snape walked in when he did - if he'd been ten minutes later he might have got a hell of a shock. "Sorry, sir - I, um, got carried away."

"Hmph." Snape glared at him. "You realise I will have to inform the Headmaster of this incident?" Draco winced. "I will, however, refrain from mentioning it to anyone else."

Draco heaved a sigh, aware that this was more than he could have expected. "Thank you, sir."

Snape eyed him narrowly, and he tried not to squirm. "Twenty points from each of you for a distasteful public display, and please try and be a little more discreet in the future, Mr. Malfoy."

"You mean - you're not going to forbid us from, from seeing each other?"

"You are both seventeen and of legal age," Snape pointed out. "Your... affairs... are your own business, as long as they are kept behind closed doors. You will kindly see to that in future, Draco - and be glad I do not take more points from you for conduct unbecoming to a member of our House."

"Yes sir." Draco knew when to be properly submissive, and right then was a prime example. Snape responded well to flattery and demonstrations of his authority, but would balk if pushed too far.

"Very well, you may go - although on a personal note I would like to say that I am somewhat disappointed in you." That cut, but Draco had expected something of the sort and refused to let the pain show. Instead he lifted his chin, recalling to himself all the dignity due his name and family.

"Yes, sir, I realise that. Thank you, Professor." Snape was still sitting there staring into the fire when Draco closed the door behind him.

Harry stumbled through the portrait hole into the Common Room in a state of raw terror and shock. Oh God. This is it, this is the end. Snape will make Draco end it, and he'll tell Lucius Malfoy, and it will all be over. Oh God, and he'll tell all the teachers, and everyone will know, and they'll probably expel me or something, because Draco's dad won't want me anywhere near his precious son, and everyone will be laughing at me... This was worse than the worst thing he could possibly have imagined, and Harry just stood there, arms wrapped around his chest and staring into space.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice brought his head up, and he stared at her blankly. She and Ron were sitting on a sofa by the fire; they were the only people in the room. "Harry, you look awful, what's happened?" She reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him down onto the seat opposite them. Harry couldn't seem to do more than stare at his knees, convinced that McGonagall would be arriving any minute to take five hundred points off him and escort him to Dumbledore's office.

"Snape," he said blankly. Ron straightened immediately, a scowl coming over his face.

"What did the slimy bastard do this time?" he demanded, before Hermione shushed him.

"He... he walked in, and we were... he took Draco away and sent me back here... he knows, and he's going to tell everyone..." Hermione winced, and Ron was staring at him.

"Malfoy? You were talking to Malfoy? Is that a crime suddenly? It's bit weird, but... Or were you fighting him?"

"Um... not in so many words..." Harry hedged. This was a bad way for Ron to find out, and he'd probably never speak to Harry again, but then if Snape spread the news over the entire school, Ron was going to find out anyway.

"So what were you doing? Kissing him or something?" He broke off, staring incredulously at Harry's suddenly burning face. "You were, weren't you? Malfoy? Bloody hell, Harry." He didn't seem capable of further speech; his mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish.

Hermione was regarding him with concern. "Where?"

"The Transfiguration classroom," Harry admitted, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Honestly, Harry - couldn't you have been more careful? This could turn out very badly."

"You think I don't know that? Hell, they'll probably end up either expelling us or chaperoning us for the rest of our lives."

Ron was staring at Hermione. "You knew about this?" he croaked, shaking his head. "Is this why Malfoy's been so much less of a git lately?"

"I don't know, I'm not his keeper," Harry snapped. "And yes, before we get into all that, I am having a clandestine affair with Draco Malfoy, who has been a complete bastard to all of us for six years, but who seems to have done so because he had some kind of crush on me as far as I can see, and who can make me so furious that it's either kiss him or kill him, OK?"

Ron looked a little dazed. "OK - Um, Harry, you remember the thing that happened back at the beginning of December? That incident we don't mention? Was that really an accident, or were you and Malfoy..."

"No, it was an accident." Harry sighed. "Draco accidentally Apparated himself there because he had subconscious feelings for me, and I overheard him talking to Snape about it, and that was kind of the start of the whole thing." He shrugged. "And this looks like being the end of it, really."

"I still can't believe Harry and Malfoy," Ron insisted, sounding almost as shaken as that time in second year when they'd followed the spiders and nearly been eaten. "I thought you liked girls - you were all moony over Cho Chang..."

"I do like girls. I also like Draco." Harry shrugged. "Don't ask me to explain it."

Ron eyed Harry much as he had Aragog's brood. "I hope you don't think I'm going to be all nice to the insufferable git over this..."

Harry stared at him, wondering where the anticipated explosion had gone. "I'd be glad if you just didn't scream at me - I thought you'd hate me for this."

A loud knocking on the portrait door interrupted whatever reply Ron had been about to make; as he crossed to answer it muttering about forgetful first-years, Hermione smiled at Harry in a worried kind of way. "See, that could have been worse," she murmured. "I'm surprised he took it that well."

Harry was about to mutter something about the situation not needing any worsening, but was arrested in the midst of forming the sentence by Ron's incredulous voice. "What the hell are you doing here?" the redhead demanded, and to Harry's amazement it was Draco who answered him.

"Is Harry here? Can I come in?"

Ron glowered out of the door, but reluctantly held it open for Malfoy. "Yes, he's here, and I suppose you can come in. But if you two get all kissy I think I might throw up, all right?"

Draco looked far too calm for someone who had just escaped death and dismemberment at the hands of his head of House. He sauntered across the room with a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth, and Harry's heart performed a painful series of somersaults. "Relax," Draco said quietly, perching on the arm of Harry's chair and touching his hair softly. "He took twenty points off each of us, and agreed not to let on to anyone apart from Dumbledore unless he catches us in flagrante again."

"Oh." Suddenly Harry felt enormously relieved, and he managed a tremulous smile up at Draco, who touched his cheek softly.

Ron made a disgusted sound and dragged Hermione to her feet. "That's it, we're leaving," he announced.

Harry stood hastily. "No, it's OK, we'll go upstairs. We kind of have to talk anyway." Draco made a sound that might have been assent as Harry dragged him up the dormitory stairs.

Once they were behind the closed door of Harry's bedroom, he turned and flung both arms around Draco, unable to stop the trembling that wracked him. "Oh God, Draco, I thought we were both finished for sure..."

"Shh," Draco murmured, holding him tightly. "We really do have to talk about something." He led Harry over to sit down on the bed. "Why did you tell Weasley?"

"He was here, and I was...well, I was a bit upset, and I didn't stop to think since Hermione knew anyway... he took it quite well, I suppose."

"Hmm, I don't see any blood," Draco agreed, pretending to check Harry over for wounds. Harry laughed weakly. "Anyway," Draco continued soberly, tilting Harry's chin up far enough that he could look into his eyes. "I do need to tell you something - I was meaning to when I saw you earlier but you distracted me."

"Mm, I like doing that," Harry murmured, strangely content despite the butterflies still roiling in his stomach. "What were you going to say?"

Draco took a deep breath and looked away. "I've never been so happy in my life as these last few weeks," he began, "but there are a lot issues in this for me, and I have to make some decisions right now."

Harry went cold all over. This was it - this was the point at which Draco told him it was going to be over. "What are you trying to say?" he whispered.

Draco sighed, his breath stirring the soft-silver hair that was hanging around his face. "What I am trying to say," he said very precisely and clearly, "is that I love you, and I'm in love with you, and I want to be with you. And if you feel the same way, then I am going to burn my bridges and inform my father that I do not wish to become a Death Eater when I leave here."

Harry stared at him, unable to take this in. "You...you love me? You're going to pick sides over me?"

"Yes," Draco informed him baldly, and Harry realised that it was all up to him now.

"You don't have to defy your father because of me..."

"Yes I do," Draco said simply. "Either I am on his side or I do not exist in his eyes, and if I am on his side, then I will be required to cause you harm. And I will not do that, because I love you. So I'm picking sides anyway, really. I threw in my lot with the glorious warriors of light" - the phrase was spat out sarcastically; Draco Malfoy was the last person to want to champion the cause of Good - "the moment you kissed me that first time."

"Really?" Harry blinked at him, and Draco simply stared into his eyes with a plaintive sort of hunger. He steeled himself to make his own admission; he'd never said this before, to anyone.

"Yes." Draco's silver eyes were still fixed on his own; Harry was struck yet again by their beauty.

"Oh." Harry blinked a bit more, then leaned in to kiss Draco gently. "I love you too. More than I would have ever believed." Harry put his arms around Draco and buried his face in his shoulder, and then Draco was holding him back, arms embraced tight about him, and kissing his neck, and the world was perfect again. They never made it to dinner that evening, but neither of them cared.