Pretty When You Cry

It was only a few days until the match against Ravenclaw; a few days until he would prove himself worthy of being Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Yet, Quidditch was not what was foremost on Harry Potter's mind; no, far from it. The young seeker was walking past the Room of Requirement once again, hoping to catch a certain equally young, blond Slytherin boy in the act of entering or exiting said room.

Of course, he had no such luck. And why should he? With a sigh, he took out the Marauder's Map and scanned it for the name he sought - and was surprised to actually see it. Draco Malfoy was in a bathroom not far from him, and one floor below, and was even more surprisingly not alone. "What's Malfoy doing with Moaning Myrtle?" he wondered aloud, quickly making his way towards the bathroom the map had indicated.

Harry pressed an ear to the door, listening intently for voices on the other side, but was unable to hear anything, and so slowly and silently pushed the door open. Myrtle appeared to be trying to comfort Draco, who looked decidedly miserable, unable to look at his own reflection in the mirror he was currently facing - which was all well and good, as it meant he also hadn't seen Harry's entrance.

During the brief time in which Harry stared at the bent and shaking figure of his rival, it occurred to him that the other young man was crying. Harry had never known Draco to be the emotional type - unless arrogance counted, that is. As such, seeing the Slytherin youth in such a state of unrest was drawing a mixed reaction out of Harry: on the one hand, he was thrilled with the fact that Malfoy was, in fact, human, and was susceptible to human emotions; on the other hand, he felt a strange sort of pity for the boy who was usually his greatest enemy within the school. What on earth could have caused this sudden show of vulnerability in the normally cold boy? To say that Harry was intrigued would have been a vast understatement.

"No one can help me," Malfoy was saying, his words shaking with his body. "I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..."

"Maybe I can help," said Harry, still standing quietly in the doorway. Draco whipped around to face him, a sudden terror in his eyes.

"Get out," he snarled, though the effect was rather ruined by the dark tearstains on his abnormally pale skin.

"No, I don't think I will," Harry replied.

"Potter, I'm warning you. If you don't get out now, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Harry allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk as Draco fell silent. "Now, as I was saying. Maybe I can help you, Malfoy. I'm willing to bet my entire fortune at Gringotts that whoever is threatening to kill you is Voldemort -" He was rewarded with a flinch at the name. "-who undoubtedly is using you as a bit of revenge against your father."

Draco's eyes widened only slightly as he nodded, his tears still leaking from behind his eyes. Harry watched him intently as he brought one sleeve-covered hand up to scrub at his tearstained face. He was seeing something in that face that he had never seen there before.

Harry had never really noticed just how beautiful Draco was. He possessed a fine-featured, chiseled face, mysterious yet (for the first time Harry could recall) inviting grey eyes, and a body that, had he been in better health, would have been the envy of the majority of males in the school. Harry could feel his fingers itching to caress that face and heal whatever was ailing the beautiful Adonis before him.

But this is Malfoy!

So?

So I hate him!

Do I really?

What am I saying?! Of course I do!

Then why am I touching him?

The Gryffindor youth blinked as he realized that he was, indeed, touching Malfoy. His breathing had grown distinctly shallower as his own fingers traced the outlines of Draco's cheekbones, smudging the tearstains as they moved over his pale skin. The blond's eyes had closed, though the tears were still falling, while he all but leaned into Harry's gentle caress.

"Go away, Potter," he murmured, though it didn't take a genius to see that he did not mean it this time.

"I told you, Malfoy," he replied, stepping so close to his Slytherin rival that their faces were almost touching. "I don't think I will."

Before either of them realized what was happening, Harry was kissing him. Draco resisted instinctively at first, but had melted into the kiss - and into Harry's arms - after only that initial hesitation.

Once the kiss was broken, they stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, their gazes filled with a mixture of shock, confusion, and desire. Draco's tears had slowed but suddenly returned in full force as he seemed to collapse to the ground, his body wracked with sobs as he held himself. Harry fell to his knees beside the other boy and wrapped his arms around him in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Promise me... Promise me you won't tell," said Draco between sobs. "If people knew... promise me!"

"I promise," replied Harry hastily, not sure if he was referring to the kiss or his crying, or even both.

Draco nodded gratefully before leaning his head against Harry's shoulder. He appeared to take some comfort from the other youth's presence, and from the physical contact.

"Though, you know," he added softly, one hand gently stroking Draco's hair. "I think you should let go like this a little more often."

"Why's that?" asked Draco after a shuddering breath.

"Because you're pretty when you cry," he answered, kissing him again. Somewhere nearby, Myrtle giggled. Neither boy cared.