Seekers Play Rough

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

My sweater is on backwards and inside out
and you say how appropriate
I don't want to dissect everything today
I don't mean to pick you apart you see
But I can't help it
There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already
If only I could hunt the hunter

And all I really want is some patience
A way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance

Do I wear you out
You must wonder why I'm relentless and all strung out
I'm consumed by the chill of solitary
I'm like Estella
I like to reel it in and spit it out
I'm frustrated by your apathy
And I am frightened by the corrupted ways of this land
If only I could meet the Maker
And I'm fascinated by the spiritual man
I am humbled by his humble nature

What I wouldn't give to find a soulmate
Someone else to catch this drift
And what I wouldn't give to meet a kindred

Enough about me, let's talk about you for a minute
Enough about you, let's talk about life for a while
The conflicts, the craziness and the sound of pretenses
Falling all around... all around

Why are you so petrified of silence
Here, can you handle this?
Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines
Or when you think you're gonna die
Or did you long for the next distraction
And all I need now is intellectual intercourse
A soul to dig the hole much deeper
And I have no concept of time other an it is flying
If only I could kill the killer

All I really want is some peace man
A place to find a common ground
And all I really want is a wavelength
All I really want is some comfort
A way to get my hands untied
And all I really want is some justice

Chapter 4:

Here, Can You Handle This?

The Gryffindor table was especially rowdy that night at supper. The students relived parts of the game joyfully, praising their team. The Quidditch players themselves sat beaming with pride, nursing sore muscles, aches and pains. Each of them was wearing every bruise like a badge of honor. Harry sat between Ron and Hermione as usual, listening to them extol his virtues as a Seeker as he picked at his food.

"It was a fluke really," he was protesting quietly. "I just got shoved forward and caught it."

"But that's the point!" Ron said excitedly. "You caught it! Not Malfoy!"

Harry remembered Malfoy's eyes.

"Really, Harry," Ron went on, "everyone was kinda worried about you, you haven't been on about Quidditch like you usually are. Especially with these seeker trial things coming up." He paused to take a huge bite of mashed potatoes. "But you proved you're still the best!" he declared loudly around the food.

"Oh, Ron, that's gross!" Hermione laughed from Harry's other side. "Do swallow before to talk, would you?"

"He's right though, Harry," Brianna, whose hair had returned to its natural, flaming red, spoke up from where she sat across from him. "I heard you lived for Quidditch, and you were the best and brightest seeker in ages. And here I come to the school, and you hardly bat an eyelash at the prospect of being on the Pro team!" She grabbed the last bun from Neville.

"I've just been... inwardly excited." It sounded lame even to his own ears.

Brianna snorted and said nothing more, deigning to split the bun with Longbottom, who had complained loudly when she took it.

Raelin, who was seated beside Hermione and had been dreamily watching her hair bounce as she moved, joined in. "Have you been practicing for the Trials at all?"

Harry picked at a mound of peas, chasing one that kept stubbornly escaping his fork. "Well, Hooch gave me two hours a day on the pitch to practice. But I have to share with Malfoy."

The listeners winced in empathy, some throwing dirty looks at the sulking Slytherin table. Harry pursued the pea. He kept hearing Draco's voice whispering up from his memory.

Hello, beautiful.

He continued to go after the pea with more concentration than the activity really called for.

Fiona tossed her long blonde hair and smiled reassuringly at Harry. "Don't worry, Harry. Judging by what I saw today, there's not much you really need to practice anyway. Unlike some people I could name." She shot a playfully malicious glare at Cullen. Cullen, who had hithertofore had his face buried in his plate, looked up, showing off his dimples as he grinned.

"Surely you don't mean me, my dear Fiona?"

"Oh, never, darling."

Several players snickered.

"Really," piped up Ginny from her seat beside Fiona, "we all need practice. I mean, we won today, but--"

"--If it hadn't been for those penalty points when Nethane froze Fiona--" interjected Parvati.

"--and Harry catching the Snitch--" added Ron adamantly.

"--we wouldn't've won," Ginny finished easily, accustomed to her brother and fellow players filling in blanks in her sentences. As one they turned to Harry, who was still engrossed in spearing a single pea, face only a few inches from his plate.

"It would help," Brianna declared loudly, "if we had a team captain that was on planet Earth at least half the time!"

"...And not being enraptured by a legume!" piped up Neville. The rest of the players laughed good- naturedly as Harry jerked back to awareness.

"I'm sorry guys," Harry said miserably, sounding honestly contrite. "I've just been--distracted--"

Hello, beautiful.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, entirely disturbed by the way he felt when he remembered those words.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked quietly.

"You really did deserve the win," Raelin assured him, misreading his captain's silence.

The rest of the players murmured their agreement. Harry felt the fog in his head clear, letting their words have the effect on him they wanted. He felt his heart rise.

"Thanks, guys," he smiled bashfully. "I'm just being stupid."
"Oh, I agree!" Brianna chortled loudly, reaching over to spear the pea Harry had been chasing for the past several minutes. She popped it in her mouth and smiled widely at him. "But we're used to it by now."

~*~

Resentfully, Draco sat and listened to the laughter issuing from the Gryffindor table. Above him, the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall rained a cold autumn shower down on the students which dissipated before striking any of them. The wind during the match had kicked up a typical September storm, and Draco found it reflected his dark mood perfectly. Through the gap between the shoulders of Bulstrode and Zabini, Draco could perfectly see Potter's hunched back, as well as his little tag- alongs on either side. Ever since Potions class, Draco had been brooding to himself about what he would say to Harry, carefully laying out the groundwork for their conversation, how he would explain that he was in love with Potter, but he most certainly didn't love him, and it was all the potions fault. Draco feverishly hoped Potter could distinguish between the two.

Unlike Potter, he had remembered about the match, and had been using it as the center for his planning, deciding that after his team beat the Gryffindors, he would corner Potter sulking somewhere afterwards and tell him everything. Unfortunately, things hadn't gone according to plan. His head throbbed as he remembered how he had run into Potter. Twice. He had bitten his lip in the fall too hard to even attempt to eat, so instead, he sat and burned holes in the back of Potter's head with his glare. Potter had beaten him. And it was his own fault. He was the one who shoved him into the Snitch. No amount of rationalizing could convince Draco that it hadn't been his fault. He knew that if he hadn't been such a clumsy oaf, if he hadn't been so busy staring at Harry Potter's body in Quidditch robes, he wouldn't have been caught by surprise when the boy stopped so suddenly.

Cracking his knuckles in agitation under the table, he gritted his teeth, watching Potter battle playfully with some random Gryffinwhore over the spoon to the mashed potatoes. Draco was so tense his sore and battered muscles were beginning to knot painfully around his shoulders and neck. Hardly anyone was speaking at the Slytherin table and they all sat in irritable silence, snapping at each other whenever a rare word was spoken.

With a snarl of frustration, Draco rolled his head back and stared up at the falling rain, attempting to ease the throbbing headache, the pain in his back.

You need to talk to Potter now more than ever, the same old hissing voice reminded him. You can't ignore this, who knows what you could do?

But if I talk to him, I know I'll lose it and spill more than I need to.

More than I want to.

For some time now, a doubt had been growing in the back of Draco's mind like a tumor, slowly and surely gaining ground, beginning to infect all other thoughts.

What if it isn't the elixir?

Draco looked back down at Potter, finding himself mesmerized by the way the candlelight shone on the thick black hair.

Fuck. It has to be the elixir.

Why else would I suddenly be feeling like--this?

Draco eyed the way Potter's strong hands were holding a pitcher of water, feeling an intense desire beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach. As if he could physically drown the fire, Draco took a huge gulp of cold water so quickly it made him cough and sputter in a rather undignified manner, causing the other Slytherins to turn their boorish eyes at him, to look at him blankly and stupidly like a herd of cows. He snarled like an angry animal and wiped his mouth, feeling ready to brutally slaughter something. The desire that had spread from his stomach was burning slowly through his veins, firing up every time he found his eyes returning to the broad back and the shock of black hair, as they often did.

I need to get out of here.

With that sole, half- formed thought, Draco shoved himself abruptly to his feet and stalked out of the hall.

~*~

A swirl of movement in green Slytherin robes caught Harry's eye as he polished off the last of his meal, feeling much better. Draco was striding briskly out of the hall with his shoulders hunched, hands balled into fists and a dangerously dark expression plastered on his face. Harry watched him go, feeling his heart sink just slightly as he remembered the issues the Slytherin represented.

"--in the library," Hermione was saying decisively. "That's where we'll have to go. It shouldn't be too crowded this time of night."

"What?" Harry said in surprise.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly Harry, stay with me for at least fifteen minutes at a time, would you? I was talking about our Potions papers on the amorelation elixir. We only have tonight and tomorrow to get them done."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Shall we?" He pushed himself away from the table.

"Now?" wailed Ron despairingly, who had just started in on a rice pudding.

"Now." Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand. Ron flushed, forgot to swallow, dropped his spoon, and allowed Hermione to pull him to his feet. Harry noted this reaction with no small amount of exasperation, leading the two of them at a swift pace out of the hall, waving over his shoulder to the lingering Gryffindors.

Once in the dimly lit library, Hermione sent both Harry and Ron off in search of certain books as she stayed to set up their things in an alcove, lighting candles and setting out ink and parchment. Moments later, chatting cheerfully, Ron and Harry returned laden with heavy tomes.

"Excellent!" Hermione smiled, gesturing to the table. "Put them down there, we'll see what we can dig up."

With a melodramatic sigh for the work awaiting them, Harry took a chair and Ron sat down on the table, each pulling a heavy book into their laps to start scanning for information. After a few moments of silence, Hermione drew her wand from her pocket and muttered "Musicalis." without looking up from her book. Harry and Ron's heads snapped up in surprise as a Muggle's voice began singing softly among them.

"My sweater is on backwards and inside out
and you say how appropriate
I don't want to dissect everything today
I don't mean to pick you apart you see
But I can't help it."

Hermione looked up with a chagrined smile. "Sorry," she said. "Music helps me concentrate, and I've had this stuck in my head all day. Do you mind?"

"No," Ron said with a dreamy smile, leaning back in his seat. "She has a nice voice. Who is it?"

"A Muggle singer, you wouldn't know her."

Ron looked mildly insulted and went back to reading.

"There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already
If only I could hunt the hunter."

~*~

The moment Draco heard the music, he froze. He had come to the library in search of solitude and now someone was blaring some Muggle's rasping voice into the silence. For quick, confused moment when the music had started, Draco had thought his own mind was coming up with it, the words the woman sang rang true, somehow. With a snarl, he slammed shut the book he was staring at but not quite reading and left his dim hideaway to investigate.

"And all I really want is some patience
A way to calm the angry voice
And all I really want is deliverance."

As he neared the source, he heard voices joined in with the singer's. A man's and a woman's, the woman's was high and clear, while the man's stumbled with less certainty through the notes, tripping over words.

"Do I wear you out
You must wonder why I'm relentless and all strung out
I'm consumed by the chill of solitary."

Draco peered around a bookshelf and looked into a brightly lit alcove. There sat Potter, with Granger and Weasel. Potter was sitting with his feet on the table, and it was his voice Draco had been hearing, along with Granger's. The Weasel, however, was looking disgruntled, staring resolutely at the tome in his lap, though obviously not reading, as his eyes were slightly glazed and his head was tilted toward the Mudblood. Potter and Granger were smiling as they sang.

"I'm like Estella
I like to reel it in and spit it out
I'm frustrated by your apathy
And I am frightened by the corrupted ways of this land."

Draco stood for a long moment, letting the music wash over him as he watched Potter's calm face, the way his lips shaped the words. With every passing line, every note, Draco felt more and more enraptured by the song.

"If only I could meet the Maker
And I'm fascinated by the spiritual man
I am humbled by his humble nature."

Draco sighed and balled his hands into fists, then spun on his heel and stalked back to his dim seat, resolving to catch Potter alone at some point, while they were both in the Library. It was unspeakably frustrating to have the object of his angst not twenty feet away from him, but being utterly unable to talk to him.

"What I wouldn't give to find a soulmate
Someone else to catch this drift
And what I wouldn't give to meet a kindred."

~*~

"Oh," Hermione murmured thoughtfully. "I might've struck upon something."

Harry, who had been sitting with his back to her, rolled his head over the back of his chair, eyeing her upside- down as he grinned. "Oh? Do tell." Ron merely lifted his eyes, not moving his head, but listening keenly to what she had to tell them.

Her eyes skimmed a few pages as she spoke. "Well, they're talking here about how the potion will take effect after an amount of time prescribed by the amount of elixir you drink..." She flipped a page. "... And here they're talking about how, since the symptoms manifest themselves so slowly, it's hard to tell when one is under the effects of an elixir, or truly in love." She flipped yet another page. "But here," she said triumphantly, stabbing a finger into the page for emphasis, "they mention a few symptoms."

Ron looked up sharply, eyes glittering dangerously in the lamplight. "Let's hear them."

Hermione's questioning thoughts about Ron's enthusiasm translated themselves into no more than a cocked eyebrow as she cleared he throat and began to scan the page for her place. "Well... they're mentioned in a rather roundabout manner... let's see. Ah! There's insomnia."

Both Harry and Ron nodded.

"And... moodiness." She trailed her finger along the text. "And there's anxiety. They also say those under the influence of the potion are generally more likely to react to things with emotional extremes, overall." She eyed Ron meaningfully, who looked both abashed and insulted. "Extreme anger, extreme sadness, extreme happiness, et cetera." She pursed her lips and tapped her chin pensively. "Think that's enough?"

"Enough for me!" Harry declared loudly, slamming his heavy book shut with finality, sending a small cloud of dust billowing. He glanced over at Ron, who was writing the symptoms down feverishly. "Good thinking Ron. If we write it down now, we can take it back to the common room and work on it there tomorrow night."

Ron jumped and clutched the parchment close to his chest for a moment, eyes wild. For a moment he looked on the brink of rage, before visibly forced himself to relax. He ducked his head to straighten the slightly abused notes. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's what I was thinking."

"Enough about me, let's talk about you for a minute

Enough about you, let's talk about life for a while

The conflicts, the craziness and the sound of pretenses

Falling all around... all around."

~*~

Draco sat moodily in the dark, arms crossed as he brooded. The candle in his alcove had gone out when he had lost his temper moments earlier, slamming his book shut with much more force than was necessary. Luckily, a few alcoves over, one of the Trinity had slammed his book shut at the exact moment, masking Draco's noise. He listened to them talk and laugh, inwardly boiling with rage, waiting with utter impatience for Granger and the Weasel to leave, to give him a moment alone with Potter. He had heard that dirty little impurity, Granger, name off the oh-so-familiar symptoms of the damned elixir. He recognized each one as one of his own. He knew quite well by now that it was he who had gotten the real dose, not a placebo. How could he not? The signs were there. He'd just have to inform Potter of this in a business-like manner and they'd agree to steer clear of each other until the end of the week. Draco bowed his head, resolving to not let Potter know that he actually did want to see him, in fact, for the whole of the remainder of the week, every day. Every moment. Ever damn second, he wanted to be with Harry Potter. And it scared him half to death.

"Why are you so petrified of silence

Here, can you handle this?

Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines

Or when you think you're gonna die

Or did you long for the next distraction."

The Muggle music was still blaring on, transforming Draco's headache into a migraine of mammoth proportions. His knotted muscles were throbbing, every joint ached and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into a hot, luxurious tub. Maybe even break into the Prefects Bathroom to relax his tensed body in the confines of the luxury that he was accustomed to. Unfortunately, he had a task awaiting him in the dark, drafty library.

"Well," he heard Granger's nasal voice, muffled through the books and shelves that separated them. "I'm tired. What about you two?"

The Weasel muttered something indistinct, but he could hear Potter's voice clearly. "Alright. I'll meet you two back in the common room. I'll clear up the stuff and come up right behind you," he said. Draco's heart thudded violently.

The Weasel muttered something again, and Draco could barely make out the sound of papers being shuffled. "Oh, just go, Ron!" Potter was laughing. Draco snarled. Just go, you stupid git.

"Come on, Ron!" Granger's silhouette strongly resembled a pencil with a shock of unruly yarn atop it as she scuttled away towards the door. "You said yourself that you're tired."

Again, the vague mumble. Granger walked to the door, and Weasel muttered something else, this time so low that Draco could barely make out he said anything at all. He could still hear Potter's voice perfectly, though.

"Ron, you're being a foolish prat about all of this. Just go with her! You two need to talk!"

The muffled reply carried clear undertones of urgency.

"Go."

There was a snarl in response to Potter's firm command this time.

"Don't get mad at me!" Potter sounded quite affronted, but continued to keep his voice low enough that Granger didn't overhear. "You're the one who thinks you're in love with her!"

Draco couldn't help but snicker. What a pathetic bunch.

Reluctantly, Weasel withdrew and Draco watched as his silhouette slid along the wall, as the Mudblood's had.

He surged triumphantly to his feet as the library door creaked shut. On cat-silent feet, Draco slid through the bookshelves to the lighted alcove, where Potter was lazily gathering up papers, stacking them, and flipping through books, apparently in no hurry to interrupt Granger's and Weasel's alonetime. He was singing softly along with the music that still played about their heads.

"All I really want is some peace man
A place to find a common ground
And all I really want is a wavelength
All I really want is some comfort
A way to get my hands untied
And all I really want is some justice..."

As the last notes of music faded away with the spell, Draco stepped into the light, hoping he would have the dramatic effect he wanted. He was gratified to see Potter jump as he materialized in the light, the way his hands fumbled with and almost dropped the inkpot he had been holding, the way his beautiful eyes widened and the way his lips parted in surprise.

"Potter," Draco heard himself growling, sounding angrier than he meant to. "We need to talk."

~*~

Harry was determined to let Hermione and Ron work themselves out. Ever since Tuesday's potion class, they had been awkward around each other and it was beginning to try on Harry's patience. Consequently, he had an ulterior motive in staying behind to clean up. Singing softly to the last verse of the song, Harry dawdled, shuffling papers and stacking books with entirely too much precision.

He had turned away from the table with Hermione's inkpot in hand when suddenly, Malfoy appeared out of nowhere. He jumped in shock, thinking for a brief, frantic moment that the pale specter before him was a ghost. When his mind processed the figure as being Malfoy, his next thought was that he was fantasizing, or that he had fallen asleep and Hermione would wake him up at any moment and he'd find himself face- down in a book.

Until Draco spoke.

"Potter." His voice was low, rumbling out of his throat, sounding taught with fury. "We need to talk."

The anger in Draco's voice surprised him. You're a fool, he scolded himself inwardly as he set the inkpot carefully on the table before another shock made him drop it, this is no fantasy. He's really here, and he's really angry. Plastering his face with the same old look of disinterest, Harry turned back.

"About what?" he asked blandly.

Harry had never seen Malfoy look so profoundly uncomfortable. He was looking at a point over Harry's shoulder, hand resting on the back of a chair, feet slightly spaced, but Harry knew Draco well enough to know the boy was taut with anxiety. His shoulders were hunched ever-so-slightly, and his knuckles were white. It was his eyes that gave him away the most, though. To anyone who knew Draco well enough, his eyes laid everything bare, all answers were there if one knew where to look. They were currently distant and cold, looking at Harry but not quite looking at him, and this told him there was something Malfoy was trying to hide, there was something he was trying to deny, to bury behind those icy silver eyes.

"You remember, I'm sure," he began in a flat voice, "Potions class."

Harry was finding himself more and more annoyed by Draco's mannerisms. "I remember tons of Potions classes, Malfoy. I do go to one every day, you know." He felt mildly gratified to see Draco tense even more, his eyes flickering with cold fire.

"You know which class I mean, Potter. The one where we drank--" he faltered.

Harry simply cocked an eyebrow at him.

"---the amorelation elixirs."

Harry smiled slyly, making a great show of painstakingly delving into his memory. "Ah, right. That class. What about it?"

Draco took a step forward. "You."

Harry blinked serenely, hoping desperately that Malfoy couldn't tell that his pulse had quickened. "Me?"

"You were the very first person I saw after two hours."

Harry blinked again, denying frantically the way his heart thudded painfully in his chest as he thought of the implications. He smiled mockingly. "And?" He drawled out the word, crossing his arms and switching his weight casually.

Draco's beautiful face contorted briefly with pure, undeniable fury. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to scream, to curse, to throw a punch at him, something. Anything. However, true to Malfoy form, the mask snapped into place again, the eyes hardened and the blonde head tossed jauntily. "And," he said grimly, "I'm in love with you."

~*~

Harry froze. His heart stopped. His limbs chilled. He stared at Draco dumbly, standing in uncomprehending silence.

"I'm in love with you, Potter," Draco snarled out resentfully. "But I most certainly do not love you."

He loves you. He thinks the elixir made him fall for you.

He. Loves. You.

Malfoy still wasn't looking at him. His eyes were still fixed proudly on a spot just over Harry's left shoulder. It was a relief. Harry wasn't sure he could be held accountable for his actions if those silver eyes were locked with his.

The words hung heavily in the tense silence that enveloped them as Harry tried to formulate a response. His heart fluttered, his face was flushed and hot, and he was being ruled by a prevailing sense of light- hearted giddiness.

Draco Malfoy said he loves you.

Abruptly, a sobering thought worked its way to the surface of his mind.

This is has to be a joke.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

There's probably two dozen Slytherin hiding in here, waiting for me to make a fool of myself. This is all revenge because we won the Quidditch match.

Harry's anger boiled.

You bastard, he thought fiercely at the still, tense Malfoy who stood before him, happiness turning to hatred in seconds. How can you do this to me? How dare you fuck around with my emotions like this? It's all just one big joke to you, isn't it?

So, Harry did the proper thing to do when one is responding to a joke. He laughed. He laughed long and hard, putting all his hurt, all his confusion, all his fear and anger into the unnecessarily loud bellow. He laughed and saw Draco's mouth slacken in surprise, his eyes widen. It was delicious. He laughed louder, gratified to see pain, true pain, fill a Malfoy's eyes.

~*~

Before he knew it, the words had escaped him.

"And," he heard his own voice drawl, sounding much more composed than he felt. "I'm in love with you."

Draco choked. Though he had gone over the words countless times in his mind, turning them over and over, saying them aloud made his heart wrench, his breath falter. He stubbornly refused to look at Potter. He could picture The Boy's face perfectly, anyway. He knew it intimately enough that he could call it up to the front of his mind at any time. He knew what emotions did to that face; he knew that anger made his cheeks flush, his eyes turn into dark green steel, his nostrils flare and his teeth clench. Worry made him pale, making the pinkish scar on his forehead more noticeable than ever. Draco knew what emotions would be on that face at this moment, he didn't even need to turn his eyes to Potter. He knew that if his eyes fell on that face, locked with those eyes, all would be lost. So instead, he looked away, and pictured the shock that made the eyebrows raise and the lips part, mingled with the anger that made his cheeks flush and his eyes glitter in the candlelight.

Why isn't he saying anything?

In the scenarios in Draco's mind, Harry had always had a response. He had always done something, and the possibilities had ranged from attacking Draco to throwing himself into Draco's arms. But never, never in his perfectly composed plans, had he ever expected this dumb silence. This building discomfort between them as his words hung in the air, refusing to dissipate or fade away. The Famous Harry Potter was speechless.

"I'm in love with you, Potter," he grumbled, desperate to break the silence, to get a response, any response. "But I most certainly do not love you." He was becoming more and more certain that Harry couldn't tell the difference. Draco concentrated on the hand he had gripped painfully on the back of the wooden chair. He could feel the carved design digging into his fingers, in the same intense, certain way he felt Harry eyes digging into him with that unwavering gaze that made Draco's spine tingle, his heart lurch.

Say something, Potter, he begged fiercely.

Without warning, a noise tore through the tense silence. It was not at all what Draco had been expecting. In disbelief, he finally shifted his eyes to look at Potter. The boy was laughing. He was laughing loudly, as if someone had just told him a wonderful jest. But those eyes. They were fixed on Draco, and they were untouched by the laughter. Potter, who smiled with his entire face, who had eyes that warmed every time he grinned or beamed, was fixing him with cold eyes that glittered with pain as he laughed.

Draco felt his own face slacken with surprise as he stared at Harry. Every peal of laughter tore through Draco, causing more pain than any cruel remark or any rough rejection he could had received in response to his words. Potter was laughing at him. Laughing at his admittance to love. Laughing at his bared heart.

Rage boiled in response.

"Love me!?" Harry cried hysterically, straightening and abruptly ceasing his laughter. "You love me?"

The hand at Draco's side balled into a vengeful fist. "I'm in love with you. But I don't love you."

Harry's voice had risen several octaves due to the tension, the strain of his emotions. "There's no difference!" he shrieked, and threw his hands into the air, a wild look in his eyes. "What are you doing, Malfoy! You can't love me!"

"It's entirely not my fault, Potter." Draco kept his voice stonily cold and barely above a murmur. He carefully clamped down on his rage, trying to contain an outburst. "It's because you were there after I drank the elixir."

Harry tossed his head and began pacing in the most maddening fashion, back and forth in the narrow alcove. "What makes you so sure you got the true elixir?" He voice was daggers.

Draco felt suddenly helpless. For once he didn't have the words, he couldn't articulate what he'd been feeling, the intense emotions he'd been battered with in only two short days. "Because, " he began quietly. He looked down at the palms of his pale, fine-boned hands, getting the distinct impression he was drowning. "... I love you."

"You said that already," Harry spat, turning on Draco like a feral animal, dark hair falling in his eyes. "Stop saying it."

Draco felt his rage break out of the careful chains of control he had kept it in. "How can I not?" he yelled suddenly. "You think I'm enjoying this? I can't help it!" he heard his own voice raise painfully, on the brink of hysterics. "Seeing you--" He stopped abruptly, shocked by his lack of control. He clamped down and swallowed his anger before he went any further. "You're killing me," he muttered in a sotto voice, not knowing where to rest his eyes: unable to look down for pride's sake, unable to look up because they would most certainly end up resting on Harry Potter.

Harry stopped his pacing and simply looked at Draco. Shamed by his outburst, Draco schooled his features into his comfortable, reassuring old mask and fixed his gaze pointedly on the same place over Harry's shoulder.

"Oh no you don't," Harry snarled, taking a smooth step towards him. "Don't you fucking dare, Malfoy."

"Dare what, Potter," he replied blandly, hands folded behind him as he tried to get under control, refusing to look at the boy again.

Suddenly, Harry reached up and placed his hands on either side of Draco's face, turning his head and forcing Draco to look at him. The green eyes burned behind the round glasses, locking with Draco's.

"Don't you dare," Harry's voice rumbled with anger as the eyes burned into his own. "Don't you dare claim to love me, to turn my world upside down with three words, then clamp down again. You can't pretend you're composed. You can't pretend you're under control, you can't pretend you know what you're doing. I saw you slip. I saw your true face, I saw your heart. Just now, you showed them to me. Now don't you dare hide them from me again, like nothing happened." Draco's head swam. "You started all this," Harry said softly, dropping his hands slowly from Draco's pale cheeks. "You're not going to crawl back under your rock until you finish it."

Draco closed his eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "You give yourself too much credit, Potter," he said quietly, eyes still shut. "You'd think I'd ever actually bare my heart to you?" He couldn't stop thinking about how the hot, sweaty hands had felt on his face.

Harry snorted profoundly. "It's too late, Malfoy. You've lost."

Draco opened his eyes slowly, meeting the calm face of The Boy. Harry was regarding him with... pity?

"Your mask cracked tonight, Draco," Harry said softly. "And I saw it. Now I won't be happy until I see more." With that, Potter brushed past him and out into the darkness of the library.