White Horses

He was still convincing himself as he walked down to the dungeons. It's just hormones. Stress. I shouldn't read so much into it. I'm sure Draco, er, Malfoy hasn't. After all, it wouldn't be the first time a boy was excited upon waking. But it has nothing to do with Malfoy. I can't like a boy.

Still repeating that litany to himself, Harry knocked on Draco's door cursorily and let himself in. His eyes immediately latched onto the blonde, who seemed lost in thought, not in his usual position at the window but perched instead on the edge of his bed. At the sight of the silver boy, melancholic though he was, all of Harry protestations died with a whimper.

Draco noticed his arrival and looked up, his luminous eyes seeming to reflect too much light like some nocturnal beast. Tapetum lucidum, Harry thought wildly to himself, the phrase for those reflective eyes rising from some dregs of Muggle schooling.

Harry couldn't say anything at all, let alone try to broach the subject of that morning and what it implied. Draco's lips looked dry and bloodless as he said softly, "Hello, Harry."

The Gryffindor sagged against the door, as if whatever strings that had held him up so he could play his part in this drama had been abruptly severed by those two words. He cast about for a reason to be here, in Draco's bedroom.

"Hey, Draco. We, uh, we haven't done any practice lately, so I thought we ought to. Practice, that is. Ought to practice." He knew he sounded like a prat, but couldn't seem to help it. He added on, breathlessly, "How are you at shielding charms?"

Draco pushed himself up off the bed and his lithe body suddenly seemed far too skinny to Harry, though he had the same Seeker build himself. He stared at that thin body, wondering how he had ever seen such a frail person as a threat, and realized belatedly that Draco had confirmed his need to practice shielding.

Harry began his lesson awkwardly. They went through each of the seven most useful and used shields, while Harry enumerated which situations each was best for. Draco was already at least familiar with most of them, so once he had practised each a couple times, they started the trials.

Throughout all of this, the two boys were acting self-conscious and nervous. They refrained from touching each other, avoiding contact even when it became conspicuous to do so. The only hint of their usual levity was when Draco brought Harry up on some of the curses he was using to test the boy's shields.

"Why, Potter!" he exclaimed, laughingly, "You hypocritical bastard: that's Dark magic. Imagine, the Gryffindor Wonder Boy using Dark magic."

Harry looked aside, refusing to meet Draco's eyes and he muttered, "These aren't really Dark. Nothing like the Unforgivables."

Draco didn't like that knowing tone when Harry mentioned the Unforgivables and was distracted by whatever it was he saw in Harry's face, which caused him to miss blocking the high-level pain curse Harry threw at him.

Draco fell to the floor screaming, his reaction completely beyond his control as his body jerked spasmodically and seemed to try to tear itself apart. Harry spat expressively, "Shit!" and almost instantly cast the counter-curse. He had dropped to his knees beside the gasping boy and cast a pain relieving spell for magical maladies. "Goddammit, Draco! What were you doing! You know how to block a curse like that!"

Malfoy stared up at him, not really comprehending what the dark-haired boy was saying, as his eyes slowly cleared from the haze of pain. He thought dimly to himself, Now's as good a time as ever. Then he lurched up unexpectedly, kissing Harry with his eyes wide and looking straight into those green irises that would surely bring his downfall.

After just a second, Harry jerked away, gaping at Draco wordlessly as he brought up his hand as if to touch his assaulted lips. Then he turned and hurried from the room with a word. Draco was left lying on the floor of his room, marvelling at the tingling aftershocks of pain from Harry's curse and the brief softness he had felt in Harry's lips.

He forced himself up and ran after the foolish boy. He could hear feet pounding far up the echoing dungeons and sprinted for all he was worth. Harry was fast, he'd had to run away many times in his life, but Draco was determined.

He caught up to the slight black-haired boy enough to see Harry darting around corners ahead of him. Feeling success within his grasp, he put on a last burst of speed and yelled, "Harry!"

The boy didn't even glance behind him as he broke free of the dungeons and pelted across one of the wide halls that connected back to the castle main. "Dammit, Potter, where is that Gryffindor bravery now?"

The Gryffindor faltered and stopped, still not looking at Draco. He asked, "Is this all just Slytherin cunning and manipulations, then?"

Draco didn't even question why it rang true when he said, "No, this is not just manipulations."

The Slytherin had a small smile in his voice when he said smugly, "Though, it may have been a bit cunning."

Harry turned and strode quickly back across the cavernous hall, his footsteps echoing upon the stone. Once he reached the shadowy corridor where Draco was waiting, he wrenched off his glasses and pulled the Slytherin to him. Without pausing to consider just what the hell he was doing, Harry kissed Draco Malfoy and there was none of the awkwardness he'd felt with Cho, only the feel of Draco's lips against his. He couldn't say if it was simply because Draco was a better kisser or if it was a sign of something more; some compatibility, some rightness between them.

After that first sudden impact, when Harry had slammed his mouth against Draco's and felt the hard bone of the boy's teeth in that angry kiss, he began to remember the feel of this. Although he hadn't had much experience kissing, he hoped that it was something like riding a bike - not that he ever had ridden a bike either - and that you never really forgot. Feeling unsure of what he was doing and yet somehow sure of how good it felt, Harry ran his tongue lightly along the crease of the other boy's lips and Draco opened himself completely to Harry.

Harry dropped his hands that had grabbed at Malfoy, until the only part of him touching the Slytherin was the light, unsure pressure of his lips. They each explored softly, but through those tentative first sweeps of his tongue into Draco's warm mouth, Harry began to feel confident of what he was doing as they basked in the deep shadows of the hall. Familiarizing himself with the new experiences, the Gryffindor ran his tongue along the faint points of Draco's canines and discovered how sensitive the other boy was to the lightest touch teasing along his palate.

Before long, Draco took control of the kiss, increasing the fervour from gentle explorations to bold sweeps of their tongues, as he manoeuvred Harry until he had the boy pushed up against the rough stone. He braced his hands against the wall on either side of the Gryffindor, as they each tried to devour each other without actually touching any part but their eager mouths.

His arms trembling lightly, Draco held himself off of the smaller boy just far enough to keep an uncertain distance between them, even though he could feel that warm body just inches from his own and wanted sorely to wrap himself around the burning-hot Gryffindor. It wasn't for several minutes that either remembered that they were in a relatively public hall and it wasn't for several more minutes that either could make himself care enough to break the kiss.

They finally did break apart, both breathing hard. Harry's hands were hanging by his sides; he still hadn't dared touch the Slytherin since he'd first grabbed him and pulled the blonde into his kiss. Draco hadn't touched any part of him but his mouth, either. The blonde's hands were still pressed hard against the stone next to Harry's head, holding him up. Each was looking down, refusing the meet the other's eyes or to even look into the other's face.

Harry could feel his heart beating overly-fast and irregular. He watched Draco's smooth chest heave under his thin cotton shirt and marvelled that he had provoked such a reaction in the self-contained boy. He watched that motion as if hypnotized, while his mind raced over what to do, what this meant. It was undeniable now that he reacted to and was attracted to the Slytherin. Hell, he had never kissed Cho like that - hadn't ever even felt the desire to. But what did that really mean?

This wasn't like Cho - he couldn't ask Draco to Hogsmeade, to go to tea. They couldn't owl each other little notes to be over-analysed and read into it. They certainly couldn't walk around holding hands. Harry wasn't sure that he would want any of that, even if it were possible. So, what was this?

What made a relationship, a relationship?

Feeling as though his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat - choking off any words and perhaps rational thought, as well - he raised his hand to guide Draco's face back up to him and captured his lips once more. Draco accepted this uncertain caress and the kiss remained soft and undemanding until they broke apart again.

They both seemed to take this mutual acceptance as some sort of sign and Draco let himself lean into Harry. The Gryffindor switched his hold on the boy, daringly sliding his hand around to cradle the back of that blonde head, enjoying the feel of the baby-fine hair that his fingers burrowed into. He gently rubbed that tender spot where skull met spine and, just now remembering that he had recently cursed Draco with a pain spell nearly as bad as Cruciatus, he asked, "You all right?"

Draco almost laughed and Harry could feel the puff of air on his skin. He sounded as scornful as ever - and Harry was relieved for it - when he said, "What, that curse of yours? Don't you have a high opinion of yourself, Potter. That curse was nothing, I've got to tell you. I've felt far worse. Hell, I've probably used far worse."

He was speaking softly now, almost directly into Harry's ear and Harry could feel the curve of a smile as their faces touched briefly, "You'll still have to teach it to me, of course."

Harry snorted and tugged none too gently on that silvery hair. "Come on; let's get out of here before someone comes along. It's about time for dinner anyhow."

They pulled apart, straightening their clothes. With the distance, the awakwardness came rushing back and they avoided looking at each other once again. Draco hesitated for a moment, one hand half-extended to either reach out to Harry or offer it to the other boy, but he didn't cross that distance. Seeing this uncertainty from the confident Slytherin caused doubt to sharply flood through Harry as well and his eyes fell to the floor. Draco looked at the two of them - realizing how stupid and Hufflepuff they were acting - and exclaimed, "Bugger all."

The Slytherin grabbed Harry's face, but hesitated just short of kissing the boy again. He paused with those scant inches between them and looked seriously into those wide, uncertain eyes. Only then did he push across that suddenly awkward distance and kiss the boy again, quickly but forcefully.

Pulling away, he said decisively, "Let's go to dinner then." And this time Harry actually made a move for the Great Hall, a faint smile on his recently assaulted lips.

The two boys headed for the Great Hall, a curious new silence ensconcing them. It wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it was tentative and more than a bit uncertain. They weren't specifically touching, but they walked closely together, hands brushing. When they pushed through the double doors that lead to the eating hall, Harry was unspeakably glad to see Ginny and Luna already at the Hufflepuff table, as they had been the night before.

With no warning, Harry stumbled, feeling nauseatingly faint, as if his world spinning around him. Just last night. The thoughts were whirring around his head, buzzing like vindictive wasps and disorienting him with the inescapable reality that was suddenly swamping over him in his panic attack.

Just last night, I was trying to force Malfoy to come sit with us. We were maybe almost friends, but I still wasn't sure if I even liked or trusted the boy. Now I just came to dinner after snogging with him? What the hell am I thinking? How could I do that with another guy; let alone a guy like Draco Malfoy?!

Harry felt a hand at his elbow and looked up, trying to force his eyes to focus on the silver spectre that was holding him up. Draco's face didn't show anything, it rarely ever did, but his hand was solid and steady. Harry thought he saw a bit of concern in the questioning look that the Slytherin gave him, and he was slightly reassured. Can't have a breakdown in front of the school, now can we?

Nodding slightly at Draco, Harry disengaged himself from the sturdy grip and took a seat. Ginny was looking at him with wide eyes and he laughed nervously, saying flippantly, "Guess I was hungrier than I thought!" Draco belatedly took his seat next to him.

The two fifth year girls returned to their talk about the upcoming quidditch season with some of the Hufflepuff players and enthusiasts. The two Seekers joined the conversation eagerly (which is to say that Harry joined the conversation eagerly and Draco insulted all the other players eagerly).

When Hermione came over, Harry was moaning about the Gryffindor team, "We just don't have it together! We don't have a captain - though Ron's been unofficially put on the spot. And every other one of our players has no experience on a house team! We're lucky if they've even played a bit of pickup or some backyard quidditch as kids!"

Draco inserted his opinion coolly, "Well, at least they would have an edge over you there, Potter. I think we all remember who at this table was the most under-qualified Seeker in a century."

Everyone tensed slightly, knowing all too well about the fierce competition between the two boys on the pitch. Harry normally wouldn't have noticed such a tension, but he seemed sensitive to anything dealing with Draco tonight. He replied lightly, "I'll say to you again what I said to you when we were eleven: it was all thanks to you, Malfoy."

Then he shoved Draco with his shoulder and said, "And I seem to remember a certain someone finding his way onto his house team with seven brand new Nimbus 2001's."

Hermione had the incident in second year burned into her memory, as it had been the first time she'd ever been called a Mudblood. But neither boy seemed to remember it for that significance. Draco smiled devilishly and said, sounding pleased, "Yeah, that was pretty obvious, wasn't it? But who wants to go through all that plebeian mess of trying out. I am a damn good Seeker; beat everyone but you, Harry. And you can bet I'll be fixing that record as well, this season."

Harry laughed and said to their motley audience, "See, he's all bark and no bite. So much for the infamous Mal-"

Harry broke off by jolting in seat with an undignified squeak. Draco had reached over and slipped his hand onto Harry's lap, squeezing not-so-gently. The shock of someone dropping their hand into his lap was apparently a bit much for the innocent young Gryffindor. Malfoy almost purred as he said sweetly, "What was that about no bite, Potter?"

None of the others knew exactly what Malfoy had done to get such a reaction out of Harry, but since whatever it was had involved grabbing under the table, most decided they didn't want to know. But they all laughed regardless when Ginny quoted to Harry, "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

The Gryffindor boy rolled his eyes and said unconvincingly, "Fine, you are all bite. You horrible, debauched Slytherin, you."

The others couldn't see how he had plucked Draco's hand from his lap and squeezed it warningly. Draco looked pleased with Harry's reaction and told him, "And don't you forget it. Dragon bites are poisonous, after all."

The younger girls laughed at their bizarre behaviour and everyone marvelled, some of the Hufflepuffs remarking, "Who could've imagined it - eating dinner with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione was watching the boys suspiciously, and she was certainly not the only one to be bothered by their sudden lack of animosity; though she was probably the only one who was suspicious of just how deep their new relationship ran. I might not be only to notice it if they keep flaunting like this, she thought angrily.

Ever since Harry had told her of his disturbing new feelings, she hadn't been able to think of much else and had quickly realized that he must have been talking about Malfoy. After all, who else did he spend time with - except Ron. Surely, it couldn't be Ron. Besides, it would explain some of his strange behaviours with Malfoy lately, like letting the boy into the Gryffindor common room and inviting him to dinner with them.

No - she thought it was perfectly clear to see, as she watched the two boys kicking each other under the table, even while they were each carrying on their own separate conversations. It must be some sort of spell or something that Malfoy had done to corrupt Harry. It wouldn't surprise Hermione much if Malfoy was gay - no straight guy would dress that well. But if he corrupted Harry, too...

Hermione was already trying to battle her own sense of guilt. After all, she had been the one to tell Malfoy about the D.A. meeting; she might have been the one to force the two of them together.

Of course, when she had told Malfoy about their defence club, it had only been in Harry's best interests. She was trying to save her best friend; trying to save him from committing a murder that would destroy him. Dumbledore had accidentally let it slip to her that Harry was entangled in a prophecy and it hadn't taken much for her to wheedle the whole story out of the kind, old headmaster.

Dumbledore had also been the one to bring up the issue of Malfoy's uncertain loyalties to her, and suddenly it had all become so simple: she would bring Malfoy over to their side, not for his own good or anything, but so that he could kill Voldemort and save Harry from doing the dirty work.

Destroying another human being (even one so questionable as to their humanity as Voldemort) would eat away at Harry - even the idea of it had obviously preyed on his mind and destroyed his last vestiges of innocence. Malfoy, on the other hand, had probably been torturing puppy-dogs since he was old enough to hold a wand anyhow. The boy was evil and surely murder wouldn't weight too heavily on him. Even if it did, it would be no more than the Slytherin deserved; while Harry didn't deserve any of the burdens placed on his young shoulders.

She watched the two of them carefully throughout dinner and while none of their actions were really any different than the night before, everything that they did now seemed so terribly intimate to her.

They sat so closely that they were constantly touching. It was regularly a bit hard not to do so on the long benches that lined the house tables but since the school was so much smaller now, there was plenty of free space to go around. They made sure to constantly touch though, as they would elbow and pinch and steal food from each other's plates.

Even when they were interacting with other people, they kept half-listening to each other and interjecting comments and insults into one another's conversation whenever it seemed necessary. And all the time they seemed to be slightly tuned in to one another, insular and tied up in themselves. Similar to but still so different from when they had used to fight, it seemed for each of the two Seekers that his counterpart demanded the largest share of their attention from everyone else. It was disgusting.

Ron was also disturbed as he watched his erstwhile best friend. Though he didn't know why Hermione seemed so angry with the boy. She was positively glaring at Harry and Malfoy. Of course, she could be bothered with this new, vaguely amicable Malfoy - as Ron himself was - but then why was she still sitting with them instead of coming back to the Gryffindor table? He wasn't sure what was going on, but had decided that he wasn't going to get into it.

He had learned in the past how much less fun life was when he was mad at Harry, and especially now that the Twins were gone and his only choices for company were Neville and Seamus. He still didn't like Harry hanging out with Malfoy, but as long as Ron didn't have to hang out with the creep, too, he wasn't going to lose his friend to him by starting yet another fight.

RON WAS UNLUCKY, THOUGH, AND his new resolve was challenged just three nights later. He was looking for Harry because they needed to go over the plans for the quidditch team. It was awfully hard to pin Harry down these days.

Like all of them, he was swamped with work, just as bad as their O.W.L. year, although the few remaining seventh years assured them that it was nothing compared to N.E.W.T. year. And then Harry was off on his own quite a bit, probably on the pitch or in the library, Ron assumed. Plus all that extra tuition that seemed to last hours each night, these days. Ron wondered if Harry's special lessons were getting more difficult, because he seemed to be getting back to Gryffindor Tower later and later.

The Gryffindor prefect hadn't seen Harry since dinner had ended, but after checking the boys' dormitory, he saw that his friend's Firebolt was gone. Deciding to take a bit of break from his homework (which he wouldn't tell Hermione about, of course), he hurried down to the pitch. It was just seven now, so Harry had probably decided to squeeze a bit of practice in before his meetings started at eight. Ron headed across the grounds toward the pitch and saw a minuscule figure flying in the dying light, though it was really getting too dark to see much of anything.

The toy broomstick dove toward the ground and Ron quickened his pace. He cut up some of the back stairs and emerged at the top of the ground-level stands that surrounded the pitch. He started down the empty rows of seats and saw Harry walking across the pitch. He was about to call out to the boy when he saw Malfoy sitting down on the field, just where Harry was headed.

Ron stopped where he was. The two Seekers were no more than fifteen feet from him, but they wouldn't see him unless they happened to crane their necks to look above and behind them.

He watched, hidden behind the lip of the stands' front, as Harry arrived in the pool of light cast by Malfoy's wand, which had been erected in the half-frozen ground. Normally at this point, Ron would have expected some sort of confrontation: the regular, "Get off my pitch, Malfoy!" or "Spying for Slytherin, are we?" But the silvery blonde boy continued writing notes on a parchment pad that was balanced across his knees, his left hand scrawling furiously. Harry stopped next to him, not to bash his head in, but rather to lean casually on his broom.

Though he couldn't hear more than the indistinct tones of their teasing voices and occasional snatches of words, it seemed that Harry was chiding the other boy for not flying with him. Ron was surprised to hear that Malfoy had turned down a chance to compete with Harry and show off.

Watching as Harry flopped down on the grass next to the Slytherin, Ron wasn't sure whether he ought to interrupt or not. Then Harry, for some incomprehensible reason, tugged on the Slytherin's sleeve questioningly. Malfoy looked at him hard for a long moment, then he seemed to Ron to slightly smirk as he smugly mussed Harry's dark hair - which had already been thoroughly destroyed by his flying - and then took the Gryffindor's small hand in his, squeezing tightly in some sort of assurance.

Ron was dumbfounded. Why would Harry be holding hands with Malfoy? That couldn't possibly be why they'd been spending so much time together, could it? Malfoy was continuing to write with his left hand, while Harry seemed content to examine the cold, white fingers laced with his own, holding onto his small part of the Slytherin boy.

Ron still didn't move as he watched the tableau. Soon enough, Malfoy shook off Harry's hold but allowed the slighter boy to lean against him as he continued to write his notes. They remained like that for nearly ten minutes; Malfoy working, Harry dozing off in his strange thoughts and Ron unable to tear his eyes away in his shock.

When Harry finally roused himself in order to make it to his meeting on time, he nudged Malfoy to get the boy's attention again. After saying something in a low voice, Ron was horrified to see him quickly kiss the Slytherin goodbye and leave, carrying his broom over his shoulder as he went.

He couldn't deny it - there was something going on between the two boys. But witnessing his best friend kiss Draco Malfoy was a sight that Ron could have lived his whole life never seeing, and died happy.

He briefly considered just going down to the field and beating Malfoy into a bloody pulp, but he'd grown up enough to realize that fighting with Malfoy never really changed anything. No matter how tempting or satisfying it might be. He stared wildly at the pale, fragile boy who was still working silently on the dark pitch and without any conscious decision, Ron left in search of Hermione. She'd know what to do.

WHEN HE GOT BACK TO the common room, Ron learned from some underclassmen that Harry had already come and gone. He had a disorienting feeling as he saw all of their idolising faces as they spoke of Harry and he knew that none of them could possible imagine that Harry had just minutes ago been kissing Malfoy.

He spotted Hermione at her usual table and hurried over to her. She saw his shell-shocked expression and quickly got up, abandoning her books. Without needing to even ask, she led him to the prefect's lounge, where the fifth year girl's prefect was reading quietly. The girl kindly left when Hermione asked her and Ron was so grateful that he impulsively hugged Hermione to him.

His hands were actually shaking as he said, "Hermione, I just saw... I just saw Harry with Malfoy, and... Hermione, do you know what's going on between them?"

His frenzied plea was met with sympathetic recognition and Hermione placed her hand on his arm as she said, "Yes, I quite suspected something was going on there. Harry came to me last week and told me that he'd had certain feelings for a friend of his, a male friend of his." Her tone changed as she asked him earnestly, "Did you see Malfoy do anything to him?"

The ginger boy was swamped with relief that Hermione knew and understood what was going on. He said in a dazed voice, "No, Harry was the only doing the doing... I mean, he - he kissed..."

His voice died off and Hermione looked almost feverish with ideas as she said, "Its Malfoy. He's got to be doing something to Harry. It's some kind of spell or potion; surely Dark magic."

Ron's relief began to fall away from him as her words filtered in through his raucous emotions. He asked her unsurely, "Hermione, don't you think that might be a bit strong?"

"A bit strong? Ron, please, you were the one saying that Malfoy had attacked and memory charmed a D.A. member at the beginning of the term!"

"Well, yeah... it's not that I don't think Malfoy is capable of it. I frankly doubt he's capable of anything else. It's just that, I mean, everything that I just saw was all started by Harry," he broke off when he saw that she seemed even more inflamed by hearing this. He asked her in confusion, "What's really bothering you about this?"

She retorted shrilly, "What doesn't bother you about this?"

In the face of Hermione's overblown and seemingly disproportionate reaction, he was forced to be the one to stand up for Harry and so he said uncomfortably, "Well, I'm bothered to hell that he's doing anything with Malfoy, but maybe this is just some kind of 'phase', like me Mum's always talking about. Or those whore-moan things. After all, Malfoy may be an evil git, but he's awfully pretty. So, is Harry, for that matter - if you're into that type of thing."

His fellow prefect looked horrified and it wasn't helped by Ron saying, "Maybe Harry is into that type of thing."

She hissed back, "No, Harry is not into that type of thing! And this is not just horomones or some phase!"

Ron was utterly mystified by her vehemence, "Would Harry's being... gay upset you so much?" He swallowed hard and asked in a much smaller voice, "You don't... you don't like him like that, do you?"

"No, of course not," Hermione flopped down onto the couch that the younger prefect had been reading on when they'd come in and gestured helplessly, "Ron, how is it you always manage to be so ignorant to your own world? Do you have any idea how the Wizarding world would react to Harry walking off into the sunset with his boyfriend?"

Ron didn't pick up on the Muggle idiom, but thought he understood what she was saying, especially when she continued, "It's just all so wrong! Harry is supposed to save the world and marry Ginny and live happily ever after with a huge family! You really have no idea how people react to this sort of thing... The Wizarding world is most definitely not tolerant toward homosexuality.

"Muggles often see homosexuals as a threat to their way of life, but wizards see them as a threat to wizardkind's very survival. For so long it has been a struggle to perpetuate wizarding bloodlines and 'wasting' good, pure blood without producing offspring was - and still is! - hated and seen as a direct defiance to our existence. It has been reviled for so long that no one even needs a reason to hate homosexuals anymore - it's simply become a part of the Wizarding world, like the anti-Muggleborn sentiment.

"Especially for someone as famous and powerful as Harry. (Even Malfoy is the last surviving heir to one of the few pureblood families, though it's up to debate whether anyone really wants the Malfoy line to continue.) He would be shunned and ostracized if people knew. He would be torn to shreds; he's supposed to be perfect!"

Ron was shaking his head and he said, "But you know that he's just a regular person. He's not perfect."

Hermione was acerbic as she bit out, "Of course I know that, Ron. But no one else believes it. You know how much negative publicity he already gets for things that aren't even true. The press would eviscerate him if they about this, they would ruin his life. He can't be gay, and especially not with Malfoy.

"Malfoy will just betray him, either to the Prophet or to V-Voldemort. I could almost understand if it had been Dean or Terry, even Neville - that would have almost been sweet, or at least understandable. But Malfoy? It must be some illicit tactic; it's just too unnatural."

Ron surprised even himself when he spoke up with, "Maybe it's not."

Hermione started and stared up at him. "Pardon?" she breathed in a faint voice.

"Well," Ron mused aloud, "I mean, it's Malfoy. The two of them have always had a kind of explosive relationship. They've always been in each other's faces and been each other's biggest rivals. They're really alike in their total differences."

Hermione looked rather condescendingly after this last statement and he gestured her to silence, "No, hear me out. Each is the unofficial head of his house, each is a Seeker, each is the heir to their side of the war. They've got a lot of the same pressures on them.

"Of course, none of that makes it good or right or anything else, but perhaps it's understandable what they might have in common. Did you know that Malfoy was the first person Harry met in the Wizarding World?"

She shook her head mutely and Ron continued, "He told me once when he was angry at the git. And, well, look at how strong they've always reacted to each other negatively. Maybe they would react just as powerfully in a, er, positive way."

They fell into silence, mulling over whether it was actually better or worse that Harry's apparent relationship with Malfoy made some sort of sense.

Hermione broke their silence, saying in a vaguely betrayed voice, "When did you suddenly grow up?"

Before waiting for a reply, as if one was forthcoming, she continued, "Regardless, we obviously can't let anyone else know. Hopefully, this is really is just some sort of 'phase' and it will never get out to the public. But do you think we should tell Harry that we know?"

Ron couldn't even begin to imagine how awkward that conversation would be. He said quickly, "Uh, no. No, we'll just wait and see. He's got to come to his senses soon; it is Malfoy."

Hermione seemed loathe to abandon her idea of Malfoy seducing their innocent best friend through Dark magic, but she agreed to content herself with just watching the boys as Ron had suggested. At least, for now.

DRACO REALIZED IT WAS REALLY getting obscenely late to working outside in the dark and cold. Harry wouldn't be coming back; he'd told Draco when he'd left that he had to go back to Gryffindor after his nightly meeting.

The Slytherin breathed deeply the smell of the pitch and felt something painful and prickling well up inside him at the familiar smell. He hadn't told Harry that the reason he wouldn't fly with him that evening was because he'd heard from Pansy the night before that Slytherin would be holding trials for a new Seeker.

He knew that if he told the Gryffindor Seeker, Harry would have understood how much losing his position meant to him. But he couldn't face that sympathy right now, not without being forced to realize himself how much losing his spot on the team meant to him.

Besides, why should he tell Harry any of it? This wasn't a real relationship, and even if it were, Malfoys didn't talk about emotions or share their thoughts. There was no point in investing a part of him in Harry, because then he would just lose that part of himself after Harry was gone.

Draco got up, plucking his wand out of the ground and tucking his book and parchment under his arm. The Gryffindor was still playing heavily on his mind, though. He had managed to focus on his schoolwork while he had been transcribing his notes, but now as he walked back to the castle he had to wonder: what about Harry?

The two of them had quickly and easily fallen into a bizarre sort of pattern, just as instinctively as when they had first started being amicable toward one another. They acted more or less the same as before, they just had slightly more freedom now.

It was lucky that neither had to explain to other people or even to express to themselves just what their relationship was, because Draco could not put a name it. He couldn't imagine calling Harry his 'boyfriend' without shuddering, and he would likely rip out Harry's tongue if the boy tried to call him such.

But they weren't just friends (and they wouldn't admit to even being friends to other people) and they weren't lovers (at least, not in the fullest sense of the word). Draco wasn't willing to admit even to himself how much he enjoyed being with Harry, which now included be able to touch the boy whenever it pleased him. He took it as his right to touch Harry, just as everyone else seemed incapable of daring to touch the Boy Who Lived.

Brushing some (probably imaginary) dirt off his arse, Draco glanced back toward the brightly lit school. The large clock-tower was barely visible, but it must've been half-nine or later. More than late enough to be out in the cold December air. He started back to the castle, thinking about the last couple days with Harry. They still acted the same, insulting and pinching each other, squabbling jokingly over stupid little things. Draco had been glad that tricking the other boy into some kind of relationship did not mean that he suddenly had to act all lovesick and nice. That might have tested even his acting skills.

In fact, since that first shocking night when Harry had thrown himself at the Slytherin in the middle of the hall, they hadn't done much to repeat their actions. Maybe it was some Gryffindor thing - if they were both Slytherins, they'd surely have already jumped in the sack by now. Draco wasn't going to complain though, since he still wasn't too sure about this whole 'gay' thing. Beside, no one said they needed to fit into any preset roles.

He and Harry had always defied definition in their dealings together. They had never been simple friends or enemies, there had always been complications and obligations tying them together and keeping them apart. It was still the same now. Draco was either more himself when he was with Harry, or he was someone else entirely - he wasn't just sure yet. But Harry reacted much the same way to him.

Thinking of that warm weight that had rested against him out on the barren pitch, Draco refused to even think to himself that he cared for the boy at all - and yet there was some tension and chemistry between them that Draco was going to be sorry to lose when he would have to bring it all crashing down around the Boy Who Lived.