Not Just an Empty Emotion

Chapter 5-Who You Shouldn't

Before Draco knew what was happening the kiss was over. He heard Harry whisper something in his ear, then the door slamming, and then silence.

He remained with his eyes closed for a long while. His insides were writhing and cringing. He had no idea what he had just done. Or was it Potter who had done it? He had no idea.

As his heart's rhythm returned to normal, he opened his eyes at last. The torches were flickering seductively in their brackets, casting the relief of Draco's face into greater effect. Draco slid his tongue over his lips. He could still taste Harry on them, his sweet scent still lingered in the air, and his touch still tingled on Draco's hand.

Before Draco knew what was happening he was sitting on one of the desks littered around the room, his hands fumbling for the opening of his trousers underneath his robes. Once again he was hard...

The robes were getting tangled around his fingers, and his nails were snagging on his trousers. He searched frantically, every time his fingers brushed his crotch he let out a slight moan, and each time he thought of what had just happened he felt himself growing more and more aroused....

Crack.

One of the torches sputtered, and died. The room was darker. It brought Draco back to his senses so abruptly that he yelled out in shock.

No, he whispered to himself, No, what the hell am I doing? What have I just done?

The shame was washing over him like a tidal wave. It was overcoming him. He didn't know what to do next, or even what he had just done.

The room around him seemed so much smaller than it had done before. The walls seemed to be closing in on the teenage boy bent over fully on one of the desks. It seemed to mirror what he felt inside-he was trapped.... trapped inside himself. His thoughts, already, were filling his head, his chest heaved as he tried to breathe, the weight of what had just occurred settling itself upon him.

He pushed himself of the desk with such force that it crashed to the floor. He didn't care. What was happening inside him was far more important. He rushed for the door he had heard slam not long ago...the one through which Potter had left. It was locked.

"Al-Alohomora," he managed to gasp, through rasping breaths, which were splitting his lungs open. He threw himself out of it, kicking it shut behind him, and ran away from that room as fast as he possibly could. He ran through portraits, up stairs, along corridors, down secret passageways and into secret doors. He had no idea where he was going; all he knew was that he needed to get as far away from that room and Harry Potter as fast as he possibly could.

Finally he reached a deserted corridor. It was dark and dusty, with huge tapestries riddled with moth holes hung all along its walls. Along the outside wall tall stained windows let musty shafts of noon light in to highlight dirty corners, or strands of fine thread upon the tapestries.

Draco had only been here once before. It was the highest place in the castle, save for the towers and turrets, and was a place most people avoided, for the simple reason that the ghosts of Hogwarts told tales of it...countless centuries ago it had been the platform where many men and women had been taken. They had been gagged and bound. They would lay their heads on the block. And then they would be silenced. In most cases, one swipe of the axe would have been sufficient to remove their heads.

Over a thousand years ago, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been built upon it. Now, in the present day, it still stood, a disused part of the building. A part, needless to say, that even Dumbledore avoided.

Looking around him tentatively, Draco could see specks of dried brown blood on the stone floor, which further along became stained wooden planks. He chose not to look at the gruesome tapestries.

Instead, he leaned his back against the icy stone wall, its coolness penetrating his black robes like a sharp knife. He dropped his head back, and as the heat beneath his hair reduced Draco's head began to swim. He became dizzy, and lost all sense of where he was or how he had got there. The only thing filling his mind was how the hot sweet touch of Potter's lips on his had made him go weak, and the guilt he had felt afterwards...the guilt he felt now...His knees really were beginning to give way now, as he collapsed onto the floor, he heard a thud, and felt his cheek come into contact with stone.

***

Silence echoed around the corridor like a death knell. The boy lying on the floor was the only source of sound; a light but ragged breathing was audible from him.

Draco blinked his eyes open in the dusk light. Every part of his body was aching as though his father had been cursing him again. At the thought of his father Draco gave a small whimper, and curled tighter into a ball. He knew he was showing a weakness, but right now he didn't care. There was no one here to see him anyway.

His fathers voice filled his head, filling it with hideous sentiments, threats, curses and words that made Draco cringe. He couldn't bear to think of what his Mother and Father would say to him now, if they knew what was troubling him. Not that he valued his father's opinion, of course, but he was scared of the action he would take against both Draco and his mother.

His arms were numb with the cold and the weight of his body. He gulped a breath desperately and then stood up. As his feet took the weight of his body, his mind once again took the weight of his emotion. He staggered forwards in the general direction of the Slytherin common room, leaning on walls and doorways for support.

He felt like shit. All he felt like doing was sleeping and never waking up. He didn't want to face his problems.

He uttered the password to the blank stretch of wall, which led to the common room, and stepped through. I'm a coward, he thought, a bloody coward. First I kiss a boy, and then I act like a sodding COWARD!

There was a time when Draco Malfoy would have been more disturbed about the fact that he had kissed Harry Potter than about the fact that he had kissed another boy, but not any more. He liked Potter now- he was on his side. Ah, said a nasty little voice inside his head, but do you really just like Potter? Or is it more? Do you fancy-

With immense difficulty Draco managed to choke back a huge yell. Although the common room was almost empty, he could see a fifth year staring at him from the corner and didn't feel much like answering to anyone else at the moment. He had enough to deal with answering to himself.

He tripped up the stairs almost continuing right to the top of the tower, and flung himself into his room. Only his area was tidy, the rest of the boys in his dorm were slobs. Draco eyed the dirty laundry and rubbish that lay on the floor around the other three beds. As he sank onto his own bed he drew the dark green hangings, and wrapped his duvet over his shaking torso. He felt sick. Closing his eyes he tried not to think of what had happened, but it was impossible. No matter from which angle he looked at it, there was no denying the fact that him and Potter had somehow become attached to each others' mouths, both kissing the other back.

It was no one's fault.

Or was it?

Was that it? Was it Potter? Was he gay? Surely not-after all, wasn't it Potter who had run? But maybe-just maybe- it was because Potter knew that Draco would be angry about it...

But I kissed him back, Draco thought miserably, Even if he is gay, and if he did kiss me first, I still kissed him back. Why did I do that? I'm not-

But what if he was? What if he was gay?

Draco had never even considered feeling attracted to another boy. From as far back as he could remember he had always fancied girls, even if they were just childish crushes.

He was becoming paranoid now. The more he thought of it, the more possible him being gay seemed. He'd never had a girlfriend, not a real one anyway. He had only gone to the Yule Ball in his fourth year with Pansy Parkinson because she had asked him. And if he was really honest with himself it was a matter of pride that he took a girl to the ball. He was in competition after all...in competition with Harry.

He knew that just because he hadn't had a girlfriend it didn't mean he was gay. He just hadn't me the right person yet. He couldn't even consider going out with someone in another house-he was certain his father had far worse things than Cruciatus up his sleeve...He'd thought about it of course. Whenever another girl walked by the Slytherin table at meal times, or during lessons, he had stared at them, sized them up- even if he had done it subconsciously. The only girls he could even consider going out with were girls from his own house...that was so he could be sure they were pure blood (though he didn't care so much about that-he was only worried because his father was one of Voldemort's most trusted servants). But even before last summer, he had known that these girls weren't right. Apart from him not being attracted to them (though they seemed to be quite attracted to him), they were always so obviously different to him. They acted like he did-only they did it out of choice rather than necessity.

While he had been thinking of this, Potter had wandered out of his mind. Soon, though, the Boy-Who-Lived had wandered right back in again. Draco suddenly found himself having to laugh. He laughed at the sheer absurdity and irony of his situation. All his school life he had been worried about not being able to fancy girls from other houses. Now he was finding himself wondering if he fancied a boy from another house.

His laughing stopped as abruptly as it had begun. "NO!" he screamed, sitting bolt upright in his bed, "No! I don't fancy him! It was a mistake, it wasn't meant to happen! It just felt right!" his voice died into a slight sob, "It just felt right at the time"

The silence pressed upon his ears. It was unbearable, but he didn't dare to move. He hadn't noticed he was shaking again, heaving tearless cries from his chest. He failed to realise the good that had come out of his meeting with Potter. Since their kiss he had entirely forgotten the reason why he and Potter were alone in the same room in the first place.

I trust you.

Potter's gentle, whispering voice repeated itself inside Draco's mind. But he didn't hear it. It was being blocked out by the grotesque thoughts in his head, which felt to the boy as if they were a ferocious fire, burning through his thought path. Determined to destroy the mixed feelings in Draco's head about Harry.

As Draco's voice failed, and his heaving breaths died, the fire inside his head went with them. He leant over the edge of his bed, and opened the first drawer in the chest beside him. He shifted some parchment, and some long, black quills before carefully removing a large, square object: his mother's book.

Kneeling back down on the bed, he placed the book on its spine, and let it drop open. Draco inhaled sharply. The page the book had opened at was the same one he had looked at back at the Manor in his room. When he had first decided he was not one of Voldemort's servants. He looked at the picture of the Muggle. He saw the features, hair and clothes, so like Professor Sprout's. The only difference was that the person in this book was lying down. Although these were Muggle pictures, and therefore did not move, it was obvious, by the open mouth, shocked eyes, and slight pool of red where the woman's head had hit the floor, that this person was dead.

Draco's heart leapt, and then he took a second to recover from the shock, as he always had to. He stared unblinkingly at the picture. Somehow it heartened him. He remembered now about Potter's promise of trust. And he remembered how he had felt when Potter had said the words. Everything Draco had said was still true, and Potter could still trust him. He wasn't stupid or pathetic enough to not be able to cope with confusing feelings. What was he meant to do? Just because he and Potter had kissed was he meant to turn back to the dark side? No he was not. Draco Malfoy was bigger than that. His teenage angst was nothing compared to what the world would have to face if Voldemort had back his full power over everything and everyone again.

This issue resolved, he put the book gently back into its place and locked the drawer, as always, with a spell a little more powerful than an ordinary locking charm.

Lying back on his bed, and feeling considerably calmer, he closed his eyes. If he was gay then...he didn't dare think about it. But he had to. It was a thing facing him right then and there. There was not hiding from it.

I've done nothing wrong, he thought, being gay isn't wrong it's just.... different to a lot of other people. Who's to say that being gay isn't right? It's perfectly OK, and if I want to be gay, then so be it. I am gay. Or maybe I'm bisexual? How can you tell? His thoughts were confusing, but at the same time, so much calmer since he had looked at the book. I don't have to decide right now, do I? I'm only 16...I've got plenty of time to...work it out. I don't need to tell anyone. It's not like I fancy anyone right now...The nasty voice was back. Aahhh...don't you though? So, what was that thing between you and Potter then, a friendly gesture between two new friends? I think not. You kissed him and you fancy hi-! His other thoughts interrupted, I DON'T! It was an accident! It just felt right at the time, I don't know why we did it. I don't know why it happened it just DID! And it'll never happen again. Even if I am...gay, I'm not attracted to Harry Potter, and I never will be. I don't even like him that much...we're just on the same side against Voldemort. I have a little more class than to fancy him...

Somehow though, despite the fact that he had resolved the small possibility that he might be gay, and decided that if he was then it was OK, and if anyone else didn't like it then it was their problem.... he wasn't sure. He knew it was right yet he didn't believe it. And no matter what he said, he had to admit that Potter was good-looking...and he did like him. Though that day was the first time they had ever spoken to each other as equals, Draco already felt as close to Potter as he ever could feel to any of those in Slytherin...

He knew that he'd decided not to talk to anyone, but it didn't stop him wanting and needing to. Who could he talk to? Crabbe and Goyle? Even Draco could see that was an absurd idea.... they'd just laugh at him and then blurt it out in front of everyone...they would probably desert him anyway. He didn't want to imagine what they would call him if they thought he was gay...

Okay, he couldn't talk to any of the Slytherins...so how about a teacher? Snape? No way, he'd be just as bad as Crabbe and Goyle. He didn't want to talk to any of the other teachers either. He wasn't even telling them that he was on Harry's side now, so the idea of going to them and telling him his problems was laughable.

Obviously, he couldn't tell his father. He'd just go apeshit and then curse him into oblivion.... and his mother couldn't take the stress of a revelation like that...

As he knocked off the people on the list one by one, he became more and more miserable and depressed. He had no one he could talk to. He was stuck inside his own head forever.

An idea struck him so fast that he gasped. "Of course," he said out loud, his tone crossed with wonderment and bitterness, "Why not? It can't hurt more than it already has.... why not go to the source of the problem? He can't exactly be feeling thrilled about this-can he?" He became silent as he cursed himself for not realising the obvious. The only person who he could possibly talk to was Potter. Not about everything of course. He couldn't say about how confused he was...about how he was thinking he was possibly gay, that would be ridiculous, but he could sort out the kiss.

The idea hardly made him feel any better though...if anything it made him feel worse. The idea of having to face Potter again was almost more than he could bear. He felt mortified at the prospect. In some ways, talking to Potter about this was going to be so much harder than talking to him about leaving the dark side could ever have been. Although he did not believe it, Draco Malfoy was not a coward. He would talk to Potter-no matter what lengths he had to go to to speak to him.

He stood up and undressed. The emotions and feelings he had felt during the day were still milling around in his head, confusing him more than ever. A dull misery settled itself upon him, but he ignored it.

Once in bed he defensively drew the covers tight around him like a shield. He shivered as the last of the light able to penetrate the thick hangings around his bed disappeared, and inky darkness fell upon him.

Very soon he lonely figure of Draco Malfoy became limp as his body rested, his face wet and shining with tears.