Just Like This

Harry had never been in love, or known the love of his parents but he knew what it was supposed to be like. He'd gleaned it from movies, pictured it when he was a heart-breakingly lonely child lying in his bed under the stairs. A mothers love should be like Mrs. Weasley's affection: brisk and kind and warm. A fathers love should be like Sirius's protective fire had been - and to be *in* love .... well that would be sweet and pure and natural. Like Ron and Hermione.

Ron and Hermione are in love, and they are exactly what couples in love should be like. How Harry likes to think his parents would have been together when they were just starting out. He's watched Ron and Hermione together, holding hands as they walk to class. He's seen Ron carrying Hermione's heavy bag for her. He's noticed the way Hermione leans over Ron to show him something in a book, and the way her hair tickles over Ron's face but how he doesn't seem to mind. Their relationship is all about friendship and tenderness. About shared jokes and sparky arguments, over almost at once with a kiss. It's about acceptance and easy, teasing flirtation, about open affection, innocent and uncomplicated, while he and his secret lover ...

Well. They don't have that, therefore they're not in love. Ipso facto.

The sensation of being watched as he toys with his breakfast grows stronger until, with a shiver of anticipation, he looks up. Malfoy is watching him from the Slytherin table. Despite the fact that this ... thing between them has been going on for nearly two months he still gets a needful thump right in the pit of his stomach. An unwanted, helpless response, just from having Malfoy's eyes on him. Malfoy raises his eyebrows slightly in a silent question, unseen by anyone else, and in reflex Harry glances down at the note in his hand that he received that morning, already crumpled and creased like it was weeks old.

'Tonight. Midnight. The Astronomy Tower.'

His fingers clench tighter on the note. He promised, he swore to himself he wouldn't do this again ... He looks back up at Malfoy. Big mistake. He fights a fierce but unsuccessful battle with himself in the space of seconds, feeling his face grow taut with the effort of trying to keep his struggle hidden from Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy doesn't look away, his silver-grey eyes making all sorts of promises. Desire pulls inside Harry, a wanting, aching sensation, and his resistance crumples like the paper he holds in his hand. He nods and drops his eyes at once, unwilling to see the expression on Malfoy's face as he capulates. He may be unable to stop this but he damn well doesn't have to like it. If Malfoy wants to gloat then Harry can at least deny him the satisfaction of watching him do it. Sick excitement churns inside him, tinged with disgust at himself. What the hell is wrong with him? He despises himself for giving in to this, for being so weak, but try as he might he can't stop himself, barely knows how he's going to wait until tonight. He's willing to bet Ron and Hermione don't feel like this when they make a date. They probably get happy butterflies, not this relentless, gnawing ache, but then they are in love. And he's not.

Love would have him sleeping like the dead, the way Ron does, with a slight smile on his face, his dreams filled with hazy images and scents of his loved one. It wouldn't wake him up in the night to send a wave of paralysing terror crashing over him as he thought apros of nothing; 'Oh my God. I'm sleeping with Draco Malfoy!' Love was something to show the world and be proud of, something his friends could be happy about. It wouldn't send sheer panic through him at the thought of what they would say, the way they would look at him if they ever found out what he's doing with Malfoy. Love began with liking and flirtation, with a date and gentle excitement, not with utter loathing and yet another blazing row that suddenly took a sharp turn into bizzaro land.

****************************flashback*********************************

The hatred between the two of them had worsened with every passing year and in their sixth year Malfoy, always poisonous, was more vicious than ever. A new edginess about him made him vibrate with tension whenever Harry as much as entered the room and he seemed to take Harry's very existence as a personal insult. He had obviously decided to make it his mission to ruin Harry's life, pushing at him relentlessly with his taunting, back-biting and all out cruelty, until Harry - who for some reason was also more on edge than ever - exploded with rage. He could barely think of Malfoy without the hatred rising like bile in his throat. He constantly itched to seek him out and let vent to his loathing all over again and they couldn't glance sideways at each other without one trying to hex the other into the floor.

This particular evening they were in detention - again - following an altercation in the corridor earlier that day. Malfoy had insulted Hermione, and Harry had - as always - leapt headfirst into the fray. The difference about this detention was that they had to do it together. All the teachers knew of their hatred and usually kept them separated, but Professor McGonagall, obviously sick to death of the pair of them, had decided the worst punishment for them would be to have to spend the time together. It certainly was a good punishment, the very air seemed to crackle with the glares they were shooting at each other. However they managed to keep their tongues and tempers reigned in - at least until Professor McGonagall was called away to an emergency arising from one student's attempts at trying to transfigure another student into some kind of animal, with certain undesirable results. Telling them she was trusting them to stay the remaining half-hour without fighting she had hurried off. Unsurprisingly within seconds of her leaving another furious row erupted, the insults flung back and forth like gunfire until they were nose to nose, screaming obscenities at each other, shaking with rage.

" ... eat shit Potter, you're nothing!"

"Never managed to beat me to the Snitch though, have you ..."

"Fuck off you Muggle-loving bastard ..."

"You pathetic, prejudiced, spoilt fucking brat ..."

"Still better than you Scarhead ..."

"At least my father isn't in jail ..."

"At least mine isn't dead ..."

"Go screw yourself Malfoy!" And for once Harry didn't reach for his wand. His mind in a red haze, he only wanted the satisfaction of pounding Malfoy's face with his bare hands. He launched at Malfoy, knocking him painfully to the floor, but Malfoy dragged Harry down with him, and they fought wildly, viciously, their breath rasping.

"I hate you," Harry gasped, wrenching at Malfoy's hair, scrabbling wildly for a grip on his neck, barely able to speak as he wallowed in the luxury of naked emotion. "I hate you!"

"I hate you more!" Malfoy spat furiously, his pale face flushed, his eyes blazing with emotion, he managed to throw Harry off him. Harry landed with a bone-jarring thump on his back, the breath knocked out of him, and Malfoy straddled him, pinning him to the floor. "You hear me Potter?" Malfoy yelled, pent up words spilling from his mouth, released on a tide of anger. "I hate you! You're ruining my fucking life! I ... I can't eat ... I can't sleep ... I wish I'd never met you! I wish you were dead! I wish ... I want ..."

Malfoy's voice broke, and then ... then ... suddenly Malfoy's mouth was on his, hard and desperate. Harry tasted blood in his mouth, his ears roaring with shock, the outside world swirling in confusion, his mind only processing one terrified scream; 'Malfoy is kissing me!' He struggled frantically but Malfoy had the advantage, his hands pinning Harry's wrists to the floor, his body pressed hard against Harry's, and though Harry knew if he tried, really tried, he could throw Malfoy off, he couldn't quite ... couldn't seem to ...

The world turned upside-down and inside out then finally slotted into place as understanding flooded his head like a light being switched on. He stopped struggling, the resistance flowing away from his body. Malfoy didn't let up his grip on Harry's wrists, didn't take his mouth away and ... oh God. His mouth. His mouth. Frantic and needful and scorching.

Harry kissed him back.

***************************end flashback***********************************

Harry shakes his head slightly, makes another effort to respond to the light-hearted conversation being bantered back and forth around him, but as breakfast ends he can't stop himself from risking another glance at Malfoy. He notices the way everything about him, from his perfectly groomed hair to his crisp robes is immaculate. He's drawn to that because he wants to destroy that perfect image. Wants to tear those robes, run his fingers through that hair, use his own body and mouth to make Malfoy lose it, make him writhe in pleasure, make him cry out, turn him into a sated, rumpled, sweaty heap.

An ache of desire so strong it hurts rips through him and he snaps his eyes away before Malfoy catches him staring. Biting his lip to stifle his whimper of impatience he lets himself be swept away to his first class, wishing with all his heart he had some kind of time turner that could move time forwards. Angry bewilderment, a familiar feeling by now, had him writhing in its grasp. This wasn't supposed to happen! He's not meant to have this utter craving for cruel, ruthless, cunning Draco Malfoy, a boy he's loathed from the start. Still, there's some small solace in the fact that this is just sex - two bitter enemies who've discovered a very inconvenient, yet overwhelming physical attraction. That's all. Although physically he's given himself to Malfoy he refuses to open his heart and mind to him. Why should he? One day he'll be able to walk away, find a nice girl, someone good and worthy and write all this off as temporary insanity. Except ... except ...

Except this neat theory doesn't even begin to explain why he's risking so much to be with a boy he supposedly hates. It doesn't tell him why it's getting harder and harder to say no to Malfoy, why he feels hollow when Malfoy isn't around, yet violently unsettled when he is. It doesn't explain why his control is slipping from his fingers and why his act of cool indifference is a gruelling effort to maintain, and it doesn't explain Malfoy. Harry doesn't understand why Malfoy, who now has potential dynamite to blackmail him with, isn't using it to make Harry's life hell in-between screwing him. What is going on in Malfoy's head? After years of rivalry he now has Harry where he wants him; helpless under his power. Malfoy should be triumphant and cutting, but he's not. He still acts cool and sarcastic, yet underneath that he seems sad and slightly bitter, as though Harry is the one with the power. What the hell does Malfoy have to be sad and bitter about? Harry - against every rational thought he has - is sleeping with him isn't he? Just what else does Malfoy want from him?

As the lesson drags by and Professor McGonagall talks on and on, Harry casts a glance to a certain space on the floor and despite himself lets his mind flash up images from the past couple of months. Confusing, frustrating clues about Malfoy that Harry can't quite piece together. He remembers ....

***

Waking up with the dawning light, lying naked on a cold classroom floor. There are finger shaped bruises on his wrists, hips and thighs, he aches in places he never knew he could ache, and his lips are swollen. Draco Malfoy is lying next to him, watching him and the horrified rush of realisation of what he's done hits him. Sex. With Malfoy. Right here. Over and over and over. Malfoy's eyes are glowing, probably with satisfaction at finally having found a way to get Harry to buckle under his power. In this moment he looks devastating. Devastatingly beautiful, devastatingly sexy, and poised to devastate Harry. Before Malfoy can speak Harry rolls away violently, dressing with lightening speed despite his shaking fingers.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy asks, his voice oddly subdued and sounding a little frightened.

"What's wrong?" Repeated harshly and his voice is trembling. "Last night I made the biggest mistake of my life and you want to know what's wrong? What's wrong is I'm disgusted with myself!"

"I ... I thought ..."

"What? What did you think you sick bastard? That you were going to blackmail me with this? I swear to God, you ever tell anyone about this and I will cast the Cruciatus curse on you every day for the rest of your life!"

Slamming out of the classroom, leaving Malfoy lying on the floor, motionless and silent. Harry pelts down the corridors and tears fill his eyes, because under his horror and dismay there's still a part of him that wants it to be last night.

***

He's avoided Malfoy successfully for days but as he sprints along the corridor, drastically late for Charms, Malfoy steps out from behind a suit of armour and Harry barrels into him. Before he can catch his breath Malfoy has him pinned against the wall.

"Meet me tonight."

"Get off me!"

"Say you'll meet me. Name the time, the place, any bloody thing you want, just ..."

"Malfoy I mean it, let me go or I swear ..." The words are cut off as he inhales sharply as Malfoy's hand slides under his robes, rubbing between his thighs. Desire that he's tried so hard to ignore breaks free and his legs actually buckle with the force of it.

"No. Malfoy ... don't ..." It comes out as a moan, he's already hard. "It's never going to happen again."

"It is. It's going to. Let it happen, Potter, meet me later ..."

"I hate you," Harry spits, even as his hips arch forward.

Malfoy drops his eyes from Harry's but his hand increases the friction fractionally. "I know. But you'll meet me won't you?"

And Harry's skin is tingling, he feels hot and restless and edgy, can't stop himself grinding into Malfoy's hand, and soon he's saying yes, he'll meet Malfoy, yes he'll meet him tonight, yes, yes, yes ...

***

Malfoy's easing into him and the way his eyes are so dilated they're almost black is almost as good as the shivers racking Harry's body. Malfoy presses forward until he's pressed flush against Harry, biting his lip so hard Harry can see a tiny bead of blood forming under his perfect white teeth, like Malfoy was terrified of what he'd say if he didn't clamp down. Feels a pull inside him that terrifies him, yet is not entirely unpleasant.

***

Looking up unexpectedly in Potions class and catching Malfoy looking at him with an expression of frustrated yearning. It feels like Malfoy has reached inside him and wrenched at his heart. Harry drops his eyes quickly, and he doesn't turn up to their meeting that night.

***

Quidditch practice yesterday and pain explodes as he's hit by a bludger, it's broken his collarbone and he loses control of his broom. He plummets to the ground hitting it with an agonising thud. Within moments his concerned team-mates flock around him, helping him to his feet. Through the bodies surrounding him, through the rain, he catches sight of a pale face, taut with concern, way back in the stands. Malfoy? Why was he out in the rain watching Harry practice? For a crazy second his heart is in his mouth, thinking Malfoy was going to race down to his side and there's a hollowness in his legs that's nothing to do with his injury. A thrill in his belly, like he's about to jump off a high building with no broom ... Of course Malfoy doesn't move. Harry's team-mates chatter around him, pulling him to the school, to Madame Pomfrey and Malfoy is lost from view.

***

Harry sighs, giving up on trying to understand Malfoy, and makes another effort to pay attention to his class. It's easier - or maybe safer - not to think too much about what's going on in Malfoy's head. He can cope when Malfoy is snide, sarcastic and a downright bastard but these odd flashes of vulnerability scare Harry. They make him feel like something inside him is being stretched taut. He's terrified of breaking under the pressure of it, and can only repeat to himself; it's just sex, as he struggles to keep his defences nailed in place.

The day inches by, classes are unbearably irrelevant and Harry can't stop himself from watching out for Malfoy in the courtyard, in the Great Hall. He's walking down the corridor, slightly ahead of Ron and Hermione who have their arms linked, murmuring to each other, when Malfoy passes by. He brushes past Harry unnecessarily closely and trails his finger secretly over Harry's sleeve and hand. For a second Harry is tongue-tied, physically melded to the spot.

"Hey watch it Malfoy," Ron snaps in Harry's defence, only seeing Malfoy's arrogance in pushing past Harry but Malfoy doesn't even pause, throwing a scornful look over his shoulder.

"Come off it Weasley, Potter should know to get out of the way of his betters by now."

Harry scowls as the Slytherin's that surround Malfoy snicker at Malfoy's comment and at Harry's flushed face as they sail off triumphantly down the corridor.

"Prick," Ron mutters.

"Malfoy's awful," Hermione says soothingly, shooting Harry a compassionate look. "We know that. Just ignore him."

"Yeah," Harry agrees dully. If only he could. His cheeks are still flushed and he tells himself it's because he's furious with Malfoy for doing something so potentially risky in front of his friends and the Slytherin's. But his hand feels like it's been seared with fire where Malfoy brushed against it.

***********

An eternity later night arrives and Harry checks the boys in his dormitory are sleeping. Ron isn't there and he draws his curtains around his bed so Ron won't notice his absence when he comes to bed. It's still too early to leave but he can't force himself to wait another second. He wraps himself in his invisibility cloak and slips out, easing the door closed behind him. He wonders what his Father would have thought of him using his cloak in order to make it easier for him to sneak out to have sex with Lucius Malfoy's son, and pushes the thought away. He has enough to worry about with what would happen if any living person found out about this, without wondering what his parents would say if they could talk to him.

He silently descends the stairs to the common room and sees Ron is there with Hermione. They are curled up by the fire, the warm glow flickering over them as they kiss tenderly. His heart thudding fast he slips past them and inches the portrait door open. They are so wrapped up in each other they don't even hear the tiny sound as it shuts behind him.

In the summer the Astronomy Tower is a hotbed of couples smooching, but in winter it's deserted thanks to it's arctic temperatures. The higher he climbs the colder it gets and the warmth of the common room recedes until it seems almost like a dream. He opens the door and closes it carefully behind him. Malfoy is waiting and Harry's heart lurches painfully at the sight of him. Malfoy unfurls himself elegantly from the armchair he's reposing in as Harry takes off his cloak. It's five minutes to midnight.

"You're early, Potter," Malfoy drawls, his voice cool and slightly mocking. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were eager to see me."

"You're even earlier," he points out, speaking coldly to match Malfoy's tone and the iciness of the room, yet behind his surface composure he's liquefying into a searing pool of desire. The tension between them is being cranked higher and higher and he doesn't know how he's going to survive another second without Malfoy pressed against him, easing the ache that seems to be in his very bones.

For once Malfoy doesn't seem to have a cutting response. He only nods, smiling slightly bitterly. "So I am. I suppose I must be even more eager than you." And he reaches out, hauling Harry to him.

Despite the cool air Malfoy's lips are burning hot, the kiss demanding and almost brutal, like Malfoy is trying to draw him in, swallow him up, and Harry's kissing him back just as hard. His heart swelling painfully with emotion and it's too much. He was only with Malfoy two nights ago and it still feels like it's been too long since they did this. He might just die of how right this feels, how much he needs this, needs him. Needs him. Not loves him.

Malfoy's hand slides under the neck of his T-shirt, tracing his collarbone, healed, but still slightly tender from yesterday's fall. Harry pulls back briefly from the kiss to draw in a shuddering gasp of air, then freezes, stunned to see Malfoy's eyes glinting with what looks like tears.

"Malfoy ...?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy's voice has a harsh edge to it. Could be anger or sadness. "Just ... shut up."

It's tempting, yet he can't. He can't bear to see the pain in Malfoy's eyes, it makes his own heart ache in unwanted sympathy, and he hates this, hates that he can't control his churning, confusing emotions. "What ... what's wrong?"

"Oh spare me," A world of bitterness in the retort. "As if you care."

A frightened thud hits right in the middle of his chest, Malfoy was right, he shouldn't care, he *didn't* care and yet ... "Malfoy, I ..."

"Leave it Potter!" Malfoy snarls. "Stop pretending you give a crap. You think I don't know what you really think about me? About this?"

"And what do I think Malfoy?" Harry asks, trying to keep his voice cool.

"That I'm scum. That this is wrong. That I'm only a good screw, and one day when you've had enough you'll leave - well fine, but I'm not forcing you to do this. You're the one that keeps coming back for more, Potter, remember that."

Harry feels his face drain white, then flush red almost instantly. "I knew it," he says, trying to control the tremor in his voice, to ignore the miserable, sick feeling in his stomach. "I knew this was all about getting one up on me, I knew you were only doing this to win ..."

"Oh grow up Potter! Do I look like I'm winning?" Malfoy's voice cracks as his slender form vibrates with agitation. "This isn't about beating you!"

"So what is it about Malfoy?" The question slips out before he can stop it, and his heart thuds in fear, suddenly aware he's played right into Malfoy's hands, into some danger zone he's been trying to avoid.

"Isn't it bloody obvious?"

"No!"

Malfoy snorts disgustedly, yet his voice is still tight with misery. "God, Potter maybe you ought to get new glasses since you're obviously blind."

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about." Said icily, clipped, as he struggles to stay calm. "And I'm really not in the mood tonight for all these stupid hints ..."

"You're never in the mood!" Malfoy shouts and Harry jerks back in shock as Malfoy's veneer of control shatters - Malfoy is always in control ... Or at least he was. "You never hear what I'm trying to say, all you want to do is bury yourself in denial ..."

"What are you talking about 'in denial'?" Harry sneers, complete with finger quotes around the words. "I'm sleeping with you aren't I?"

"I'm not talking about sex!"

"What else is there? We hate each other and we have sex with each other and that's all!"

"Potter ..." Then suddenly Malfoy's voice softens, takes on an edge of desperation. "Harry ..."

Harry's heart gives a huge lurch. They never - but never call each other by their first names. Not even in his head does he allow himself to call Malfoy by his first name, it's too scary, too intimate, too ... loving. Fear wallops through him and he strikes back angrily. "Oh shut up Malfoy! I hate your guts - I hate myself for letting you drag me into this whole sick situation ... I hate this whole thing ..."

Harry stops. Malfoy's face is even paler than usual, and his lip is trembling, while his eyes ... oh his eyes, they look like Harry has torn out his heart and ground it under his heel. Harry suddenly wishes he could pull the words back. Tonight is heading about a hundred miles from where he wanted it to go, and it hurts more than he'd ever admit.

"Fine." Malfoy says, shaking. "Well if we can stop any time you want, how about right now?"

Malfoy pushes past him, almost running to the door, and Harry feels - physically feels - his heart begin to tear in two. Doesn't hesitate a second, he dives after him, grabbing him, forcing the blond to turn and face him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Don't you go - don't you dare!" he shouts shrilly, panic streaming through him.

"Why not?" Malfoy shouts, his voice trembling.

"I don't know! I wish I did, I just ... I need ..." Gives up trying to explain feelings that didn't make slightest sense to him and slams his mouth to Malfoy's instead, kissing him hard. The blond struggles briefly, bringing his hands up to try and shove Harry away.

"Oh please, please let me ..." Harry pleads in his head. Only realises when Malfoy stills, that he's said the words out loud, and he doesn't care, because Malfoy is giving in. With a noise that sounds an awful lot like a choked sob he opens his mouth under Harry's, winding his arms around him tightly, pulling him close, kissing him fervently. A surge of painful relief fills Harry's heart and he's almost at the point of tears himself, just at being allowed to do this after coming within a hairs breadth of losing it. Dra ... Malfoy wasn't going to leave, was still with him, was still his to kiss and run his hands over and lay him on the floor ...

Harry knows Ron and Hermione haven't taken their relationship to sex yet. He has a feeling when they do it'll be warm and safe, maybe with candles, whispered endearments and gentleness. It won't be like this, on a cold stone floor with all kinds of confusing emotions swirling around, yet still wanting this so badly he's rock hard and shaking with his stomach in knots. He can't find it in his heart to envy them, because he'd never, ever change this. Draco - and yes, he does notice the slip in using his first name, but for once doesn't go back and correct it - is so fucking beautiful with pale, silky skin that's his to tastekisstouch, and eyes darkened with hunger.

They kiss as they undress each other, trembling but unable to separate for a second. Their fingers fumble in their haste as they pull at clothing, no finesse, all they want is the clothes off. Finally the ache in Harry's bones is eased as Draco lies flush on top of him, still kissing as Harry tangles his hands into that silky hair. Draco's passionate responses telling Harry that he's forgiven, and they arch against each other, friction making their skin slick. In the past when they've had sex Harry has always felt an undercurrent of anger and resentment, but tonight feels different, something has been released. The latent simmering anger in him has gone, destroyed by Draco's painfully honest vulnerability and the courage it must have taken to reveal it to Harry. His defences are down and he doesn't give a damn. He no longer resents Draco, he wants to be good to Draco, wants to make up for hurting him, and he gives himself up in a way he's never done before. His hands are everywhere, roaming over Draco, needing to touch, to be one with him, their mouths sliding over each other, tasting skin, and he gets a hot thump right in the pit of his belly as Draco moves over him, preparing him and sliding inside. Their bodies mould deeply together, their breath coming in harsh, deep gasps. He clings to Draco, vibrating under him, slamming his body up to meet Draco's eagerly. Harry was falling apart in Draco's arms and that was okay because Draco was right there with him, grey eyes locked on his, brilliantly hazy as they rode the roller-coaster ride together. Draco's fingers are clenched painfully tight on his body, and he's biting his lip as usual, but for the first time Harry doesn't want him to, and he gropes for the words to let him know.

"It's okay - let go ... I want you too ... it's okay ..." he mutters incoherently, Draco's eyes widen with understanding, and with a shiver, he lets his control slip as he stops biting his lip and moans; "Harry. Oh, Harry, Harry." And the sound of his name on Draco's lips like that is just the best, most warming thing Harry's ever heard. Scary and intoxicating and somehow, perfect.

Afterwards Draco slips out of him and they lay still for a while, hearts pounding, sweat cooling. Usually he races away, terrified at being left behind by Draco, but tonight he didn't move, didn't want to move. So what if Draco leaves first? It won't be the worst thing that has ever happened to him, but Draco remains still. Harry looks at Draco lying beside him, still breathing heavily. His eyes are closed, his lips pinned tightly together, as though he's terrified he's said too much and the tether inside Harry, binding him to ideas formed long ago of how love should be, already stretched taut, finally, silently, snaps.

He feels strange without it, but free, like he's been chained down, and now he can move again. All he has to do is decide how, and in which direction, he wants to move.

He tentatively reaches his hand out towards Draco, cupping his face in a movement as uncertain as it is tender. Draco's eyes open, looking at him warily, waiting, and at last Harry can see that the light in them isn't the smugness he so bitterly resented, but hope. Burning, enduring hope. An incredible, frightening new world, blazing with possibilities lies in those eyes, and he doesn't want to hide from it anymore. Harry feels light-headed, breathless, hot and nervous, like this is it, the big jump ...

"Draco," It's not a question or a statement, more a sigh, a release of all the things he's been trying to ignore, to deny, all let loose with one word as he steps into the new world with Draco. A world where everything that matters to him is wrapped up in this boy with pale skin and silver eyes. His heart swells with emotion, his eyes sting. Draco doesn't speak but swallows and reaches an unsteady hand out, stroking Harry's hair. Harry jumps slightly but stays still and lets Draco caress him tentatively, slightly awkwardly, as though he's not sure he's doing it right. He realises with a shock this is the first truly loving gesture they've shared and knows with steel-plated certainty he doesn't want it to be the last.

Somehow Harry doesn't feel surprised. He has always ended up doing things the hard way and this is no different. Now he understood; love was different for everyone, and no, they weren't like Ron and Hermione, because they were Harry and Draco. Maybe Draco was cruel and ruthless and cunning. It didn't matter. Love wasn't always simple, wasn't always about sweetness and tenderness and holding hands in public. Sometimes it was complicated and painful and secret and scary. Sometimes it was about passion so powerful it could destroy you, and pressure that felt like it was going to kill you, yet holding on somehow because letting go was impossible. About looking at the face of what had once been your bitterest rival and knowing it had changed into a face you would live and die for. About knowing that no matter how hard this was, and how much harder it was going to get; nothing could be better than this.

He takes Draco's hand in his, Draco's fingers curl tightly around his, and for a long time they lie there silently, gazing at each other in the chill of the room.

Sometimes love was just like this.

End.