Saints Don't Lie, Sinners Don't Cry

"I've got you this time, Scarhead!" Malfoy said, his bleeding lip not diminishing his sneer. Finally, after all these years, he finally had him cornered. Malfoy had turned spy for the Order, but he would never play nice with that git. Potter's wand was tucked into Malfoy's robes, the owner of the wand against the wall in front of him. Potter had a rather impressive bruise blossoming on his cheekbone where Draco had given him the punch that had started all of this. Potty needed to be more careful wandering around dark corridors.

"Ha! Like you have the guts, Malfoy," he said without the slightest hint of fear. Oh, now he'd done it. Malfoys had a handle on their emotions. No, really, they did; but the accusation of being cowards, that was one thing they couldn't handle.

Draco sneered more predominantly than ever, moving so close to Potter that his wand was jabbing the git in the chest. "Don't I, Potter?" he said in a venomous whisper. The boy in front of him raised an eyebrow, a smirk caressing his features. Draco struck him across the face, hard.

The boy hero stumbled, sliding sideways down the wall. Draco liked the sight of Potter in a heap at his feet, so he kicked him hard in the shins as the made to stand up. "No, please, Potter. No need to get up on my account." Emerald eyes shot him a glare from the floor, but the effect was greatly diminished by Potter being on the floor.

"I wouldn't get up for you if you were the goddamn king of England," the thing spat at him.

"Language, Potter," Malfoy said, waving a sarcastic finger at him. "Dumbledore would roll over in his grave if he knew his pet had such a foul tongue."

Potter lunged at him from the floor with a shout. Draco, having goaded him into it on purpose, was ready for this. He caught PotterPathetic before he could lay a hand on him, shoving him roughly against the wall. Malfoy sneered at the spiteful glint in his eyes and his ragged breathing. His face was barely inches away from Malfoy's as they glared at each other.

"Uh-uh, Potter," he said, watching the reaction unfold with relish. "Can't have you hitting people, now can we?" The measure of loathing in his enemy's green eyes was almost unbearable to look at, but Draco would suffer through it.

"I suppose you feel responsible, don't you Potter? The Boy Who Lived thinks everything bad that happens to anyone is all his fault. Forget to brush your teeth that morning, Potter? Think the cavity gods were punishing you, eh?" Draco was incredibly displeased with Potter's reaction. He wasn't even glaring at him anymore. His face was tilted downward, and Draco could see none of his face. Malfoy wouldn't let it stop there, not when there was Potter-beating to be done.

"Oh but that's not all you blame yourself for, is it Potter?" he said, removing one of his hands from Scarhead's filthy shoulders and putting it to rest on the wall near his head. "Diggory was your responsibility as well, wasn't he? Nasty little prick he was. Good thing you took him with you, really." Malfoy never thought he would be annoyed with Potter's lack of insults, but now, that very thing was annoying him. The only thing the hero did was hang his head even further. "And then there's Black. You beat yourself up about that one real bad, didn't you?" Malfoy didn't know how much longer he could go on; he was running out of dead people. "He was all you had left, wasn't he? What with your pathetic father and twit of a mother being worm food and all. I suppose you thought he'd take daddy's place, didn't you, Potter? Pity that curtain ate him on you. Bet you didn't see that one com-" Malfoy's words caught in his throat, and he took a step back from Potter.

The Chosen One had slid straight down the wall in front of him, not making a sound. Malfoy watched, stunned, as the boy he hated with a passion pulled his legs up in front of him and buried his face in his knees. Through the thick silence, Malfoy heard Potter's irregular breathing, and then something that sounding remarkably like... Malfoy leaned on the opposite wall, unable to support his own weight from shock. Harry Potter was...crying. Right there, right in front of him, Potter was soaking his robes with hidden tears. The next thing Draco heard was Potter gasping, evidently trying to regain control over himself.

It was another few minutes, to the best of Draco's reckoning, before anything but Potter's hair could be seen over his knees. His head rose, his eyes still closed, and he leaned his head against the wall. He swallowed hard, only obvious by the lump in the throat, and opened his eyes to the ceiling. Draco was still leaning against the opposite wall, staring transfixed at the boy in front of him. Potter sniffed and pulled his head off the wall, turning his face to Draco. His eyes had very little water-sheen left to them, but his cheeks were not so fortunate. Dirty tear streaks shone silver in the dim light of the corridor. He wiped them haphazardly off with his sleeve before addressing Draco.

He started with a humourless laugh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling for another second before continuing. "That'll make a great story," he said idly, a would-be-mocking grin on his face. His eyes focused on the empty space directly in front of him. "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Cried," he said, waving a hand in front of him as though miming the headline of the front-page. He chuckled again to himself, looking down at the floor just in front of his shoes.

Draco continued to lean against the wall, motionless, staring at Potter. It vaguely occurred to him that he could have made a rather clever 'The Boy Who Died' retort to Potter's comment, but the idea was barely even the ghost of a thought. There was a long silence, and then Potter broke it again.

"Well, go on," he shot, almost angrily, at Malfoy. "Go toddle off to your little hole and tell all your pathetic friends that you got Saint Potter sobbing in a corridor over a few of your stupid little taunts." His voice was choked, and his eyes glistened threateningly. "Go on, GO!" he shouted, now positively glaring at Malfoy.

Having never felt sympathy before, it took a moment for Malfoy to realize what this strange new sensation was. When he finally did come to his senses, he couldn't help but think that, of all the people he'd have expected to pity, Potter was so far down the list, he was in the negatives.

With some protest from his legs, Malfoy moved across the corridor and slid down the wall next to his arch-nemesis, who was watching him with curious trepidation. "No," he said plainly, almost feeling the shockwave slice the air between them. "I won't tell them. I...I won't tell anyone."

What was, at first, carefully measured surprised, had now transformed into an utterly gob-smacked expression on Potter's face. "You- what?" he said, and Draco was surprised at the almost angry tone to his voice.

"I- Oh you heard me, Potter! You're not deaf!" he said, looking away, but not shifting his position.

"No, I just thought I was...hallucinating, or something," said the bespectacled boy dazedly.

"Well nobody's denying that you're crazy," Draco said, though with a much less malicious hiss than normal.

"You don't hear me protesting," Potter said humorously, his hands rising in the air in a defeated expression.

In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Malfoy found the corners of his mouth pulled into a momentary smile. The second he realized it of course, it was gone.

"Do you really think you're crazy?" Malfoy asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Potter looked straight into his eyes, as if he was attempting to see through them and look at what was going on in Malfoy's head. Apparently failing, he went back to gazing at the opposite wall; and, when he spoke, it was in a different voice than Malfoy had ever heard him use.

"I don't know," he said, as though he was admitting it to himself as much as he was to Malfoy. "I suppose I do, what with-" but he faded off. With no explanation being needed, Potter gave no further details as to why he thought he was crazy.

"Probably not the best thing really, thinking your crazy," Draco said, giving the point some serious thought. "I mean, it's gotta kind of...weigh on you, doesn't it?" He looked towards Potter for confirmation. Still staring adamantly at the blank stretch of wall, he proceeded to nod at it instead of Draco.

"The perils of being Potter..." Malfoy said listlessly, hoping to get some form of reaction from the boy that didn't point to catatonic shock. He got it, but that didn't mean he was expecting it. Draco would have been pleased with a small cough or an indistinct noise. He was not prepared for an outright snort of snide amusement.

"Ha! Perils of Potter! That's good. Funny," he said with sincerity, making a type of --Draco could only assume-- congratulatory gesture. "I know what I'll call my Autobiography now," he said with a smirk.

Draco laughed, and not his normal taunting laugh. He laughed because something was funny, not because he was making fun of someone. It felt good, and Draco wondered why he didn't do it more often. "No one is going to read that," Malfoy said, shaking his head.

One of Potter's eyebrows rose as he spoke, "Not even my fan-club?" Malfoy's eyes widened.

"You have a- a fan-club?" he asked incredulously, barely containing the great guffaw that was burning in his chest.

Potter nodded, looking rather nauseous. "They have," he paused, clearly horrified, "badges and- and posters and- Ok, fine! Laugh!" Malfoy was almost crying with mirth as Harry turned on him, though nearing a grin himself. "But it wouldn't be funny if it were you who had a bunch of nitwit girls following you around with 'Scar Stick-Ons' stuck to their friggin' foreheads!"

Malfoy stopped laughing, knowing a relapse was inevitable. "They don't?" he asked breathlessly. Potter turned, hesitated, then nodded morosely.

Malfoy fell backwards onto the floor, clutching his pained sides. Tears rolled down his face, and he slowly collected himself. He rolled back to a sitting position, wiping away the wet remnants of hilarity with his sleeve.

"Sorry," Malfoy said, though he meant nothing of the sort. "It's just, 'Scar Stick-Ons'..." he said, fading off with an amused shake of his head. "It's clever though, ya gotta admit," he said, his voice now controlled and matter-of-fact, as he leaned back against the wall, one arm behind his head.

Potter turned, his eyes flashing. "Clever? CLEVER?" he said angrily, though his angry was obviously not directed at Draco. "It is not clever. NOT!" he added in response to the smirk on Malfoy's face.

Malfoy didn't drop his eyebrows-raised signature smirk. Potter held his gaze for a moment, and then rolled his eyes and sighed, returning to stare at his new best friend: the wall. It was as Potter rolled his eyes that Draco finally saw his eyes in the first place. Despite how much he had heard girls twitter non-stop about it, Draco had never before noticed their vivid green depths.

It was if he was looking into the canopy of a forest, the sunlight sending green rays to the ground through the leaves. Draco shook his head. Ok, now he was being ridiculous. This was Potter, Harry Potter: archenemy of Draco Malfoy, Dumbledore's pet, and world-class prat. He would not be comparing his eyes to a forest, and even now the idea that he had was sickening him, ever again. Plus, comparing anyone's eyes to anything was much too sentimental for a Malfoy.

"Hey, Malfoy?" Potter said tentatively, and Draco was obliged to exit his berating thoughts.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, turning towards him.

"Can I ask you something?" This was going to be the start of a very odd conversation, but Draco found he didn't really mind.

"Sure," he replied, looking more engaged in the soon-to-be discussion than intended.

"Do you ever, with you being a spy and everything, worry about...you know, what would happen?" Potter said hesitantly, still looking resolutely straight ahead.

"What would happen when?" Malfoy enquired, though he already had a pretty good idea. Potter turned to look at him now, and Malfoy's breath caught in his chest as he took in the Gryffindor's expression.

The look in Potter's eyes, the way his face fell with seriousness, it all made Draco feel like he'd never really seen him before. Mind you, they had always been shouting or something at the time, so he hadn't really given it much thought. "When- if, I mean, you were caught," Potter clarified.

It was Malfoy's turn to stare at an inanimate object. He chose his shoes, much more prestigious than a stone wall. The fact was, though he was not sure whether to admit it to Potter or not, was that he had given that question a great deal of thought. He would be hunted, of that he was sure. The Death Eaters would want him dead, though Voldemort wouldn't be bothered too much with him, he wasn't important enough. He would have to stay at Order Headquarters or somewhere equally disgusting, and he didn't even want to, though he did, consider what his parents would do. It was his father that particularly concerned him. Draco admired his father, though he knew he had no reason too, and he wanted to please him. Lucius Malfoy was not a kind father, Draco knew that (though he would never fully accept it). The thought of what horrible things his father would do to him if he found out he was a spy sent shivers up his spine.

He must have shown some outward sign of his horrifying inner musings, because Potter's hand came swinging into view in front of his eyes. "Malfoy? Malfoy! ...DRACO!" It was Potter using his first name that flipped him back to reality, and rather harshly too. At least the uncombed-haired boy had the good grace to flush pink for a moment. "Sorry, you just went into a coma for a minute there," he said, not near as embarrassedly as Draco would have expected. When Draco didn't respond, Potter clearly misinterpreted his silence. "I won't do it again, if it bothers you that much," he said, looking uncharacteristically dejected and vulnerable. Vulnerable... Draco let the word slide surrupterously across his mind. He liked this, though he didn't dare consider why. He liked this new Potter. This fragile, exposed, real Potter. The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, all of his never self-proclaimed titles were gone. Here, ironically sitting before Draco Malfoy, was the real thing. This wasn't the famous Harry Potter, this was Harry...Just Harry.

Realizing Ha- Potter still thought he was mad at him, he prompted his vocal cords to speech. "No, I don't mind. Really," he added to Potter's questioning stare.

"Ok," Potter said, still watching him anxiously.

"To answer your question," he started, and Potter's adorably curious little eyes perked towards him immediately. "I do worry about it sometimes. I worry about it all the time, actually."

Malfoy hoped, for some reason unknown to even himself, that Har- Po- Oh, the hell with it! He hoped HARRY would move closer. There was a good several inches between them at the moment, and Draco felt that it should be less. Much...much less. Ok, he really needed to stop thinking like that! His breath caught and, unless he was having some sort of cardiac spasm, his heart skipped a beat as Harry shifted covertly, lessening the space between them. He could almost feel the heat from Harry's arm, which was so close to his, he was afraid to move for hitting it.

"The Order would protect you, you know. If...that, ever happened." Draco was almost too distracted by how close Harry's voice sounded to respond.

"They'd find me," he said, swallowing hard. He turned towards Harry, momentarily shocked by how close he actually was. "The Order wouldn't be able to protect me for long, and you know that." Apparently having no words of comfort or advice, Harry's eyes fell to just below Draco's shoulder. "Plus," Draco said, figuring he had started, he might as well finish. "If the Death Eaters didn't kill me, my- ...my father would."

The effect of this sentence on the scene was phenomenal. Draco hung his head, Harry didn't move, but his eyes moved back to Draco's downcast face. Having never before admitted, even to himself, that his father would actually kill him, Draco was entirely taken aback by hearing the words spoken aloud. It was as though all the things he thought of his father were nothing more than sugarcoated grime. For the first time in his life, Draco felt completely unsure of himself.

The whole affair was made even worse by the fact that he could feel Harry's freakishly green eyes boring into him and, to top it all off, Malfoy's eyes were starting to sting. He was dimly aware that this would make him and Harry even as the first few tears fell from his eyes. He waited, expecting to hear a rustle of robes as Harry stood up and made a dignified escape. Dignity...wow. There was irony if Draco had ever seen it. He was just contemplating how far the story could spread, after Potter told his cronies, by breakfast the next morning, when he felt a light pressure on his shoulder.

He looked up, all-too-conscious of the wet drops of weakness sliding down his pale cheeks. If Harry still being there wasn't surprise enough, Draco nearly fainted to see he was smiling. Not the shining smile he wore most often, but a comforting smile...an understanding smile. Malfoy suddenly realized that if anyone could understand, it would be the person he had hated with a passion for years. Malfoy didn't know how long they sat there, Harry's hand on his shoulder and Malfoy staring at him like he was an illusion, but he knew he was sorry when the pressure on his shoulder was removed. A split-second later though, Malfoy's heart leapt into his throat, stalling his breath. Harry's hand lightly, ever so lightly, brushed across Malfoy's cheek, wiping a crystalline tear from his face. Harry's hand froze on Malfoy's cheek as their eyes locked. Malfoy wasn't sure what was happening, he wasn't sure why he felt dizzy and light-headed, but he was sure of one thing: He never wanted it to end. He had only just begun praying that time would stop at that moment, when he had to make an abrupt change of moment.

Soft lips pressed lightly on Malfoy's mouth, hesitation evident in their movement. Fireworks exploded in Draco's head, half of shock and half of ecstasy. Considering he had been crying, playing out his own demise, a mere moment ago, he was amazingly happy at the moment. Harry pulled away, far too soon in Malfoy's opinion, and looked anxiously into his eyes for confirmation. Malfoy, coming back to life from the shock, thought giving Harry a signal would take far too long. He chose, instead, to cup Harry's cheek, pull him forward, and kiss him again. It was only seconds before the kiss became hungry, longing. Malfoy wrapped his hand further around Harry's head, his fingers sliding through black locks. In response, Harry leaned in, pulling Malfoy closer with an arm reaching around his waist. Malfoy relaxed into Harry's hold on him. At that moment, Draco Malfoy lost control over the situation.

The kiss proceeded, escalating accordingly. When it came to the point that even tongue wasn't enough, Harry broke his contact with Malfoy's lips. Malfoy was going to protest, until he felt Harry's lips on his neck. Malfoy remained still for a moment, wondering at this new development; but as Harry's tongue flicked Malfoy's ear, all rational thought was gone. Harry's body was now pressed against Malfoy as he leaned forward, still attacking Malfoy's ear. The sounds Harry was making by Malfoy's ear were slowly increasing the size of the bulge in Malfoy's jeans. He could feel Harry's hard-on pressing against his chest as Harry kneeled against Malfoy's sitting body, straddling one of his legs, though Harry wasn't quite as far along as Malfoy was. Mind you, he wasn't the one who was getting his ear bitten off. Almost involuntarily, as if to steady himself, Malfoy's hand found Harry's hips. Harry stopped sexually assaulting Malfoy's ear and tucked his head into Malfoy's neck neatly, his uneasy breathing still perfectly audible into Malfoy's thoroughly licked ear.

Malfoy heard rather than saw Harry smirk as he hissed into his ear. "I'll need a new nickname," he said, his warm breath and ghostly caress of lips making Draco swallow hard and get harder. At the moment, he felt he would have given Harry the world if he had asked for it.

"Harry?" he suggested, knowing that was what he had meant by the comment in the first place.

"Naturally," Harry said, a smile evident in his voice. His head twisted around, his lips sliding across Malfoy's neck. "And one more thing," he said, and Draco desperately hoped he hadn't realized his advantage. Harry became oddly still, his cock now considerable stiff against Malfoy's chest. "Are you a virgin, Draco?" he said sultrily, his face still hidden in Malfoy's neck. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded into Harry's chest.

Harry pulled back, settling directly in front of Malfoy. He pulled his feet flat on the floor beneath him, ready to stand, as he took Malfoy's hands in his own and looked at him, a gorgeous glint in his eyes. When he spoke, his lips were so close to Malfoy's that they brushed together with his words. "Then I want your virginity too." With that, Harry stood up, Malfoy rising with him.

Though Harry still had a hold of one of Malfoy's hands as he led him towards a long-deserted and forgotten classroom, Malfoy hardly needed the pull it provided. He would have followed Harry off the edge of the world and, as Harry turned towards a door on their right, Malfoy wondered why he had wasted so much time hating Harry. Loving him was so much better.