Simply Charming

Chapter 4:

Levitating

Harry rocketed down the stairs from his dormitory on badly shaking legs. He sped through the common room, passing the surprised first years, and nearly tripped going through the portrait hole. The effects of the charm were still swimming in his head, beating a dull tattoo against his ribs. It hurt just to remember the sensations he had felt. He could not imagine being the bearer of those emotions, constantly beating them off in an endeavor that had obviously become a lost cause.

Somewhere in this school, Malfoy was doing that right now. But Harry had no idea where to start looking.

His first thought was to systematically wander - well, actually, race - down every corridor from the top of the school to the bottom, checking each classroom he came across... and it was right about then that he realized how ludicrous the notion was. He had no idea how many classrooms Hogwarts had, and besides, the school was inundated with magic. Chances were, he would end up in the same mysteriously mobile room five times before reaching the second floor.

And to be absolutely honest, Harry was too worked up to dedicate himself to that kind of search. Every nerve tingled from the charm he had cast upon himself. He felt as if he'd been rubbed raw by some sort of abrasive and then dunked into water that was burning itself into oblivion... or perhaps quivering a mere degree above freezing. He was itching to find Malfoy. Every single muscle was driving him to that end. And for what? What was he possibly going to say to the Slytherin? So sorry I treated you the way I did, I had no idea you actually had feelings, can we please talk about this?

It sounded incredibly stupid and unfeeling to Harry as he made his way down to the Great Hall. But he knew he really didn't have a choice about going to see Malfoy. Didn't really want a choice. And that was the surprising part: he wanted to hear Malfoy's version of things, Malfoy's side of the emotional weight he was shouldering. In Malfoy's voice.

He had to get to him, wherever he was. Those emotions had been stifling, but clear. For some reason, Harry did not feel the least bit confused over the concern he was feeling for the Slytherin. After all, he reasoned, who could possibly endure that level of grief and indecision in a single person, whomever it might be, and not feel concerned about that person's well-being? It was enough that Malfoy was in such emotional pain. Harry could put aside his own dislike - which seemed to be fighting a losing battle anyway - for the Slytherin, and try to... well, do something.

Malfoy was not only hurting. He was hurting because of Harry.

He's feeling that, because of me.

Harry's steps slowed unconsciously. That had not occurred to him, not really. The anguish, though not directed his way, was because of him, because of something he had or had not done. It made Harry want to disappear; as much as he disliked Malfoy, he didn't want anyone to feel what the Slytherin was feeling. He certainly did not wish to be the cause of it. And dislike... was that really true anymore? Harry was beginning to wonder.

But the other emotions, the good ones...

Harry shivered and closed his eyes, swaying slightly. He had elicited those emotions in Malfoy as well, every one of them. Someone wanted to be near Harry, just to be near him. Wanted to touch him, obviously wanted to kiss him. No matter how much the desire was despised and fought against, it was genuine. And it had been winning.

Already the idea he had of the Slytherin was undergoing changes in Harry's mind. Puzzle pieces were clicking home, misunderstood behaviors taking on a new flavor. He thought he could handle this new mental image of Malfoy. But to walk up to him, to look right at him knowing the most guarded secrets he had to offer? To understand everything that played behind those inscrutable grey eyes? Harry was already captivated by the thought.

He wondered how Draco Malfoy would look to him now.

The front atrium lay vast and gaping when he reached it at last. Harry stopped at the foot of the stairs and forced himself to breathe deeply. Regardless of the places Malfoy could be in Hogwarts, there were really only a few places that he would be. Rationally, the most likely one was the Slytherin common room. Harry headed down the darkened corridor that led toward the dungeons. He knew he had a better chance of defeating Voldemort without a wand than he had of getting into Slytherin House without the password, but perhaps he could catch Malfoy coming out.

After fifteen minutes of pacing the shadowy corridor near the locked Potions classroom, Harry had to admit that this was not a very well-thought-out idea either. If Malfoy was already inside, he'd have little reason to come out before dinner... and then it would be too late to talk to him: the rest of Slytherin House - the rest of all the houses, for that matter - would be back from Hogsmeade. And if Malfoy happened to be avoiding his common room due to the leftover lower-classmen with nothing to do on the weekend, then Harry was even less likely to run across him returning.

Besides, the hallway directly outside the Slytherin common room was not the best place for him, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to be loitering. He didn't relish the thought of being found by any of the other members of that house. Not on a weekend when the school was so... empty. Harry was so preoccupied by his desire to end Malfoy's suffering that he wasn't thinking clearly. His brain felt sluggish, overworked, and desperately deprived of something important.

He came up from the dungeons into the front hall feeling very jittery. Thanking whoever was in charge for the fact that it was a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry began climbing the stairs again. The school was so quiet he was beginning to wonder if he had not missed some important evacuation announcement... but it felt nice not to have to be constantly aware of himself all the time. He wearied of the frequent stares, the mutterings that followed him daily, mainly from the younger classes. His own classmates knew enough to let it alone, but everyone else treated his presence like a godsend, with him as some sort of inanimate good-luck charm. He could never have pulled off endurance of this behavior today, not after the experience in his dormitory with that charm. Feeling Malfoy's emotions as if they were his own had frayed his nerves to burning. He could think of nothing and no one else.

Perhaps Malfoy felt the same way about his schoolmates' attention? Except most everyone would think of him as a sort of... bad luck charm.

Was the situation really any different?

Harry visited the library, all the main classrooms on the upper floors, and even the Infirmary on the off-chance that Malfoy might be there... but came away every time with a steadily growing sense of worry and one less place he could check. He was on the fifth floor walking rapidly down a long, somewhat dusty hallway when something rather obvious struck him. Maybe the Slytherin was out flying? He stopped at one of the windows and peered out.

The Quidditch pitch was empty. Harry grimaced.

Of course he's not going to be there. From what he said to Montague, it doesn't sound like he's the least bit interested in Quidditch any longer.

Harry was starting to understand that particular sentiment.

He gazed out the window, eyes flicking over the lakeside, where a dozen or so students lounged, walked, or rough-housed with each other. Hagrid's ivy-covered hut nestled cozily into the hillside by the Forbidden Forest, and the large man was outside chatting with some younger students Harry didn't recognize. Obviously, none of them was Draco Malfoy. That would certainly be a clue that the Slytherin was confused, Harry thought. He settled his attention on the lawn just around the borders of the pitch. If only there was a way to tell where a person might--

Harry blinked, then shut his eyes and groaned. The way was upstairs lying in his school trunk, pristinely folded and pristinely blank. He had been in such a rush to leave his dormitory that he hadn't even thought of the Marauder's Map. He felt like an absolute fool. The map should have been the first thing he'd looked at. He needn't have gone rampaging all over the bloody school. Malfoy's whereabouts would show up there, wouldn't they?

But a second later any thoughts of the Marauder's Map were wiped from his mind. The knowledge of where Malfoy was hit Harry a split second before he spotted him... and then he cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner, too. There, along the edge of the forest, just where a bend in the tree line cut off the view from anyone at the lake. Malfoy's flaxen hair was unmistakable in the afternoon sunlight. And the way he was pacing... Harry recognized it.

It was the place where Harry first confronted Malfoy after the Slytherin had kissed him in the Infirmary. It seemed he liked to go to that area of the grounds to... think? To plan? Simply to be alone?

Whatever Malfoy's reason for being on that particular stretch of grass again, Harry had found him. His heart began to beat fast against his ribs. Immediately his mind blanked, except for the single, driving thought: Malfoy. Get to Malfoy.

He started down the stairs.

* * *

It was colder that he expected outside, and Harry rubbed his forearms as he hurried across the Quidditch pitch. He knew he only had a short amount of time before the students who were at Hogsmeade began returning to the castle, but the thought lay somewhere in the back of his mind, cloaked in thick fog.

He'd found Malfoy. Everything else seemed rather pointless.

It didn't even occur to Harry that he had no real idea what he was planning to say once he reached the Slytherin. He thought vaguely that Malfoy would be angry, especially when he realized Harry knew the truth about everything he was trying to hide. But that didn't matter either, somehow. What mattered was that he was only a few yards from where Malfoy paced. He needed that closeness suddenly, that tangible sensation to place alongside all the emotions he'd felt.

"Malfoy."

The Slytherin looked up sharply. His eyes were cavernous. He recognized Harry, and his face went through a flurry of emotions. Surprise. Curiosity. Shame. He settled on anger and glared at Harry so furiously that the Gryffindor would have turned around and left given any other circumstances.

"Bloody hell, Potter, what is it with you? Can't you just leave me alone for once?"

Harry looked at Malfoy searchingly, trying to get used to the strange new light the charm had cast over the other boy. "You didn't go to Hogsmeade either."

Malfoy turned surprised yet disdainful eyes on him. "Hogsmeade? For Salazar's sake."

He turned and began to stalk away, but then spun back around and jerked a hand in Harry's direction. "What could that ridiculous little town have to offer? It doesn't even seem to realize its own worthlessness. And I don't see you falling over yourself to get to Zonko's right now, so maybe you should be asking why Hogsmeade doesn't fulfill your every desire at the moment!"

Harry cocked his head slightly. "I'm... not sure exactly what I desire at the moment."

Malfoy snorted and looked askance at him. His voice was painfully withering. "What the hell should I care what you desire, Potter? I have enough to think about with what I desire. Why the sudden interest anyway? Why not just leave me to my own selfish pursuits, like always?"

Harry wondered if he was supposed to respond, but the Slytherin shook his head, dismissing whatever answer he would have given, and stared vacantly across the field. His eyes clouded over, seeing something else in place of the nearby Quidditch pitch. Harry watched him.

The last time he'd seen Draco Malfoy, it had been in a terribly confused light that left no room for anything except questions, questions, questions. Why was he behaving the way he was? What did he hope to accomplish? Was he hoping to accomplish anything at all? Every approach to these questions had focused around Harry himself and how he was supposed to react to this strange alteration. He had no idea what to do, what to say, what to think, even.

This time Harry let himself fall by the wayside and merely looked at Malfoy for Malfoy's sake.

The Slytherin had changed in some indecipherable way. Now every movement was entrancing because Harry could put an emotion behind it. That tightening of his jaw... that was stubbornness. The tremble to his lower lip when he breathed, desire and sorrow. The almost imperceptible hitch of his shoulders... oh, no, no, that was the shame. Harry swallowed hard and nearly reached out to touch those shoulders, to still them. But he held back.

Malfoy glanced at him, detecting the slight movement. Harry saw a flicker of that unnamable emotion in his eyes, the one that made him hurt and feel so wonderful at the exact same time. The one that had reduced him to a shivering heap in his dormitory.

He'd been asking the wrong questions entirely. Not how was he supposed to react, but rather, how was Malfoy supposed to react? Because it wasn't an act at all. He could see that clearly. The other boy knew about as much as Harry did concerning what was going on. Malfoy's confusion was plainly evident, and his fury at being in such a vulnerable position made his entire harassed, sleep-deprived, anxiety-wracked frame smoulder. He was only moving at all out of pure necessity.

The Slytherin was mesmerizing.

Somehow, whether because of the charm or because Malfoy was suddenly too weary to hold up the façade, Harry could see every little detail. He marveled at the fact that he hadn't noticed Malfoy's extreme discomfiture before. Now he could barely see anything else. Before, all Harry had managed was a presupposition. He'd superimposed his own fears onto the other boy, and had seen exactly what he set himself up for: a leering and sinister trickster eager to have the last laugh.

He could see now that Malfoy no longer had it in him to laugh. He was emotionally wasted past the point of caring. Harry wondered if his friends in Slytherin House noticed it. Snape certainly had. But it wasn't really a visible thing, other than the physical weariness. It was an instinctive observation, garnered from the hollow echo of Malfoy's voice and the lackluster appearance of his eyes.

"Snape was right. You're not doing very well, are you?" Harry asked, wonderingly.

Malfoy sneered, and all Harry saw was helplessness. "You certainly are perceptive, Potter."

"Not really, I'm finding," Harry murmured. Malfoy flicked his gaze to him and then away toward the castle looming in the distance.

"Look," the Slytherin muttered tiredly. "I'm not going to pretend to be curious about why you're not at Hogsmeade. I really couldn't give a damn. But I do want to know why you find it necessary to keep coming out here to bother me. There is a reason I'm here and not back there!"

He waved a pale hand at the castle. Harry followed his gesture absently, as if watching a bird.

"You want to be alone," he finished for him.

Malfoy scowled at him, a spark of mutiny flaring in his eyes. "And lo and behold, I have failed yet again. Thank you so very much, Potter."

"Being alone isn't going to help you."

The other boy snorted and rubbed his eyes with four fingers. "Says the boy who is always alone."

Harry blinked. "What?"

The Slytherin looked as if he wouldn't answer for a moment. But then he gave a resigned sigh. "Face it, Potter, you're alone. No matter how many people are around you, you're not a part of it. They pretend you are, but really they're all just curious to see what you're going to end up doing. Are you going to save them all? Or maybe die in a flaming inferno? Wouldn't that be dramatic."

At Harry's lack of response, Malfoy turned hard eyes on him and continued. "Maybe you'll surprise everyone and just leave, right? Just walk out. Maybe you don't know if you've been put in the right place. Now you can show them; choose your own place. Well, go on then, if you have the courage to do it, because they will hunt you down and bring you back. They have expectations, after all. You don't really matter to them, just what you stand for."

Harry roused himself because it was all very clear to him suddenly. He was sure he was right about this at least. "Is that what you want to do, Malfoy? Walk out and disappear?"

Malfoy's face went through a tumult of fury and helplessness that was so baffling Harry wasn't sure whether the Slytherin was going to punch him or collapse right there in front of him. It distressed Harry greatly, more greatly than he had thought possible. Why did it make him so uncomfortable to see Draco Malfoy in this weakened state?

Because you know what's behind it now, don't you? Harry's heart constricted. Yes, he knew. Really, really knew. It wasn't just him. He was a catalyst, and like any such substance, his presence was very important to the whole transformation. But Malfoy was fighting something much deeper than a mere crush on his arch-enemy. He was fighting off the fact that part of him agreed with it, fought for it, hoped it would change things enough for the rest of him to follow, wherever he was trying to go. And the rest of him... Harry turned his thoughts toward the mess he had felt under the charm's influence. It was so dark, muddled. There was a lot there that Harry did not understand at all. The Slytherin's indignant fury was so ingrained that Harry knew it had been bred from an early age, into the very bones of the youngest Malfoy. And the shame he harbored went so deep it cut at Harry's soul.

Malfoy wasn't ashamed of Harry. He was ashamed of himself for not being ashamed of Harry. And everything that went with it, on either side.

It made Harry's head reel. He didn't know which part of Malfoy was winning. It was clear that the Slytherin's body had become a battlefield of some kind, and he could see the wasting effects the constant torment was having on the other boy.

"You said once," he began, wondering if he wasn't venturing into some sort of fatal minefield, "that it wasn't about me this time. But it is about me. In a way."

Malfoy shook his head, a swift jerk, accompanied by humorless laughter. "Oh, please. Spare me your analysis of my problems."

"I think," Harry continued, unperturbed, "that you're stuck. In a loop, or something. You can't get past one huge question, and maybe if you did, it would all begin to fall into place."

Harry was describing himself, his question, his roadblock. Why? That was the loop, and the real question, What is the truth? had slipped by him on its way around so many times because Harry had been unable to see it from that angle... until the problem had been physically jerked from his grip. By his own casting of the charm. Self-imposed, yet unprepared for.

Malfoy's situation began to unfurl itself before him, and Harry found it to be so daunting he wanted to push it away. Just as Malfoy had done. So that was not the answer. But to embrace it? Malfoy had tried that, too, at least in part, by kissing him. Harry could not begin to address the deep-seated question in the Slytherin's mind. He had no idea where Draco Malfoy was really supposed to stand after all. That sort of change, the gradual inner event that Dumbledore had alluded to, was massive. It threw everything into stark relief, and then doubt. There were ties that bound too tightly, questions only Malfoy could answer.

But perhaps the most unapproachable question was not the question. Not the one that made going forward impossible. Maybe what Malfoy needed was a first step. A tug in one direction or the other. Looking at the overwrought boy in front of him, Harry knew which way he would pull him if it were his choice. It was what he had mindlessly set out from Gryffindor Tower to do in the first place. He would stop that rending pain. Show him he had no reason for the poisoned emotions. Show him that being alone was not--

Wait.

Harry looked Malfoy directly in the eye. "What can I do? For you."

Malfoy glared at him incredulously, then sighed and touched his own forehead as if pinpointing a thought beneath the skin. "Go away, Potter. You will never be able to say what I need you to say. Just let it go."

Harry thought about it in the ensuing silence. Alone. Let it go. Words. Magic was words. Magic was truth. Words should therefore be truth. Magical or not, there was an incantation for everything; he was only just beginning to realize it. He had known the one for this moment for several weeks, but had been unwilling to let it develop in his mind until... until he'd felt that horrible confusion, which Malfoy felt everyday. It broke something loose inside him and there were words there, waiting, gaining in strength like a magic spell practiced over and over. He didn't know if he was ready to voice these particular words, or if they were even true yet. He suspected they weren't. Words had power. He was afraid to speak them because of what they could do to him. But what about what they could do for him? For Malfoy?

Magic did not injure or lie. Only those who wielded it did.

Harry opened his mouth and said the words. He thought his chest would catch his utterance and tangle it up inside, twisting it until it broke into pieces. But it did not.

"I love you."

The effect was enchanting. Malfoy's eyes closed and his whole body gave a sigh, as if he had at last found heat after being frozen for years. A sad smile formed on his face. It was the first time Harry had seen him, truly seen him, washed clean of every dark, hateful emotion. Harry's mind rolled at the idea that he, with his voice, with his very presence, could have so much power. He opened his mouth to stutter some reiteration.

Even with his eyes shut, Malfoy seemed to notice his attempt. Straightening, he raised a hand against Harry's unspoken words. "Please. Don't. Just let me hear it for a little longer."

Harry had no response to that. He watched his counterpart in silence as Draco Malfoy's serenity faded into drawn sorrow. The Slytherin gave quite a different sigh than he had before.

Cloudy eyes opened. "It's wonderful to hear it. Even if it's not true."

Harry considered Malfoy's words. Perhaps he was right, and it wasn't true. Maybe this wasn't love, whatever that was. Love seemed like such an inadequate term for the strength running through Harry's limbs. The hollow wonder in his chest. Incantations. Maybe there was no word for it.

Then... how to speak without words?

Somewhere, sometime ago - when, Harry was not sure - his body had predicted its own inability to speak. It had prepared its own message. All that was left was to act. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt as if his mind and body were moving in tandem. He raised his wand, pointed it directly at Draco Malfoy, and began to utter the words of the charm.

The Slytherin's eyes flew wide in recognition, and then horror. He cast about for his own wand, and as Harry drew near the end of the incantation, he clearly saw the desperation in the other boy's eyes. The last word fell into silence before Malfoy could retrieve his wand, and Harry saw the blond quake visibly under the emotional tide Harry knew was rolling from him. He did not attempt to control which emotions he sent out; it suddenly didn't matter what he might want to hide from Malfoy. Truth was laid open, not packed away in silence.

Grey eyes met his in a jumble of frustration.

And then Malfoy did something Harry had never seen him do. He ran. Not like his mad dodge in the Forbidden Forest their first year. That had been cowardice, a startled boy fleeing shadows, but this was real fear, deep and instinctual, with something that had been carefully protected and tended at stake. One hand stretched blindly in front of him, the Slytherin spun around and staggered away. Harry's mind clouded at the defeat in the other's eyes, and Malfoy gained space between them.

But now Harry's body had found its voice and his mind agreed, for once. He knew for the first time that he really would have his say.

Harry overtook the Slytherin easily and grabbed his shoulders, intending to turn him around. Malfoy gave a convulsive shudder at his touch. Harry was not prepared for the other boy to turn, panic in his eyes, and shove him away hard. He was not prepared for Malfoy to lose his footing. A rasp laced with desperation tore from the Slytherin as he fell. Harry lost his balance, and found himself somehow on his knees, kneeling over Draco Malfoy. He pinned him down by the shoulders, fighting to keep the taller boy from throwing him off. Locking his eyes on Malfoy's, Harry saw the distress, the yearning there, and the sheer alarm. For a long moment, the struggle continued in silence, both of them fighting for some semblance of control over the other.

And then Malfoy made a tiny movement, involuntary and almost undetectable. He raised his head toward Harry's and the Gryffindor felt hands spasm on his shoulders. Not pushing. A gentle tug downward.

Malfoy seemed to recall himself and his eyes hardened. He went rigid, flat upon the ground. Harry knelt over him, eyes darting, searching for the spark he had seen. It was gone, masterfully concealed behind a stony glare Harry recognized all too well. The sudden reappearance of the mask frightened him intensely, galvanized him into action.

He bent over Malfoy, their faces inches apart, and shook him firmly.

"Do it," he whispered. "Just do it."

Malfoy's eyes struggled against themselves. Harry could feel the long fingers gripping his shoulders, quivering minutely in a battle for self-control. His answer came through clenched teeth. "No."

Harry drew back a fraction and looked into the other boy's face.

"Alright," he said softly. Before the Slytherin could move, Harry bent and pressed his lips against the other boy's. Just as he remembered them: soft, warm, but this time trembling in shock. He felt Malfoy struggle, trying to buck him off, and fought with himself. This was a heavy gamble; he wanted to pull away, worried that he was harming this fragile soul beneath him, yet unwilling to end the kiss because he knew in his very core that he was not hurting Malfoy.

Harry tried to put the same tenderness into his kiss as Malfoy had done that day in the Infirmary, with no expectation of a return. He knew he had succeeded when he felt the body beneath him begin to tremble. Harry moved his hand to touch Malfoy's cheek. His skin felt silky, flushed under his fingers. Malfoy's body radiated heat into his. It was an infinite moment and Harry wanted to fall into it and stay there forever. But he knew he could not.

He pulled back slowly and sat up, hand dropping from Malfoy's face. On his knees in the damp grass, Harry waited, a bit nervous but with more of a fascinated anticipation of whatever would come next. He'd had his say without saying a thing, and Draco Malfoy had let him. He'd poured himself out completely, finally, and his residual fear had gone as well. It was in Malfoy's hands now and there it would remain, no matter how much it might hurt to sit by and do nothing while the other boy pushed him off and walked away.

The Slytherin moved sluggishly, raising himself into a sitting position. His eyes were swimming in too many emotions to count. One asserted itself over all of them, one Harry recognized, and it made his heart thud heavily. Malfoy reached a shaking hand toward him and as it moved they both seemed to hang there in silence, eyes locked, Harry's heart beating so hard in response to what he saw in Draco's eyes that he could barely breathe.

And then Draco touched him. He gripped his arm and pulled Harry to him in a sudden shudder of disbelief. Harry fell against the other boy, felt fingers sliding around the nape of his neck and up through his hair. Then his mouth was on Draco's in a haze of heat, and Harry truly did lose himself in the moment. He opened to the other's kiss, bringing his arms up to enfold Draco's shivering torso, and sought a deeper place that was readily yielded up to him. Harry felt rather than heard the Slytherin's murmur from somewhere inside his body, and his heart twinged in response. He searched for a way to heal the wound he'd helped to open. Malfoy's body was quaking, and it was only then that Harry realized just how deep the shard had lanced, how much damage it had wrought. The thought left him dazed, and he had the overwhelming urge to touch the Slytherin's face, close the gash with his fingers, his mouth, his very thoughts. He deepened the kiss, delving into Draco's mouth, and felt him melt just a little bit more.

When Harry finally pulled away, it felt natural, a gradual need to look into Draco's eyes and read him there. They were so unguarded now, his defenses having crumbled like the walls of a long-besieged fortress, and Harry saw answers to all of his questions there, saw other questions in them that he himself knew the solutions to. Draco was looking at him, uncertainty running rampant in those enchanting irises, uneasy contentment, and... fear. Harry blinked, his own emotions turning in his chest. A look passed over Draco's features, one Harry could not grasp - it was gone too quickly - and he saw Draco's eyes begin to die right in front of his face, something akin to defeat overriding everything.

For a long moment, Harry was saddened. He had no idea what he had done to make Draco hurt so much. To make Draco turn from him. He knew the other boy wanted this; he saw it in his tiniest movements. The charm alone had convinced him beyond any doubt and had shown him how to heal the wound. And he wanted to. He actually wanted to. So what was wrong?

Then, like a spark flaring to life, Harry saw that it wasn't him at all. It was something else entirely, darker and more deep-rooted than he'd realized.

Gently he touched Draco's cheek, lifting his face until he saw the sadness in his eyes.

"Draco," he said softly. "This is not a failure."

The Slytherin looked back at him. His voice was weak. "What do you know?"

Harry stroked the locks of hair from the other's forehead.

"I know you," he whispered, laying a hand against Draco's chest just over his heart. Draco looked down at Harry's hand against his shirt. He gazed at it for a long time.

"I don't even know myself anymore."

Harry wanted nothing more than to understand and quiet the turmoil in Draco's words. His mind briefly wondered at the fact that he was here, thinking these things about a person who up until a month ago had garnered nothing but intense dislike and frustration. He easily put that thread away. It was gone, part of a past that was being rapidly buried.

"Do you think I know what's happening?" Harry asked. Draco looked at him hesitantly. "Everything's switched on me and... I'm doing things I didn't think myself capable of, thinking things I never would have--I have no idea who this person is!"

He smacked his own chest and Draco flinched. Harry knew he was going to pull away again.

"Everything has run away from me," he said, more softly, and Draco stopped. Harry took hold of the other boy's shoulders, relishing the pulse of heat beneath his fingers. "I need time to catch up, and I'm going to take it."

He ran his hands through the fine blond hair drifting across Draco's forehead. Grey eyes gazed back at him and he saw a tiny flicker of hope there for the first time.

"Harry..." Draco began, and then shook his head.

Harry wrapped his arms gently around the Slytherin. Forget about the future, he told him silently. Just today. He felt Draco's hands clutching his shoulders, his body close against his, the feeling of warm, shaky breath on his throat as the boy rested his head there. Harry needed this; had needed it, would need it. The empty place left by the charm no longer stung, and he wasn't sure if Draco's emotions had filled it, or if it was his own. He realized it didn't really matter.

Draco's voice sounded, halting and full in his ear. "Harry... you have... you have no idea..."

"Yes, I do," Harry whispered. He gripped Draco's body closer to him, burying his face in the soft hair, and closed his eyes. "Yes, I do."