Hidden

Chapter Five

A love confessed

Draco smiled grimly as he sauntered onto the Quidditch field. His mask told others that his demeanor was one of confidence, certainty of victory. But inside, he didn't care whether he won or lost, knew only of the knowledge he'd gained from the old man in the dungeon. It had horrified and shocked him. But he had learned much in the process, and it had made him thoughtful for some time.

But that thoughtfulness was gone, and in replacement was an annoyance now heightened to the level of anger; this anger was directed at one person, and one only.

Namely, Harry Potter.

He shook his head as if to shake away distracting thoughts, as he and Harry stepped into the middle of the Quidditch field, and shook hands, as captains were required to do before a game. He made sure to grip the other Seeker's hand with the tightest force he could. Then, the whistle blew, and up they went.

This time, instead of waiting a few feet above the rest of the game and many feet below Harry, he trailed Harry far up above the game, and, smirking at the Gryffindor haughtily, flew up past him, even higher. Harry glanced up only once, throwing Draco a sharp glare, mixed with confusion. Draco only smiled; taunting him by getting him confused was always best. Distracting Potter by making him think of things other than Quidditch always worked as a good diversion tactic. They both waited for a while; Gryffindor, so far, was winning. As usual, Draco thought to himself bitterly.

Suddenly, he spotted a glint of gold, which had just zoomed past the other Seeker. Heart jumping with glee, Draco dove downwards, and both boys cut to the chase as the Snitch evaded them and continued flying. Zooming with the speed of light towards the precious golden ball, for a few moments, they were neck to neck. Then, he saw an unusual glint in Harry's eyes, and immediately his mind swarmed with many thoughts. But then, as he managed to focus back on reality, he felt a brush of something nick his hand, and then, everything seemed to go in slow motion, and also not. Life was slower than snails, and simultaneously quick as the speed of mind.

Draco felt his hand close around the Snitch, and barely heard the shout of "SLYTHERIN WINS," he was so absorbed in his own personal jubilation. Finally, he'd caught it, finally he'd beaten Potter! He stared at his fist, clasped around the small golden ball, in wonderment. It was a feeling unlike anything before; he felt he could do anything and be anything he wanted now. Perfection, for those few moments, washed over his life.

And then, suddenly, with the simple opening of his hand, it all disappeared.

For sitting there, grinning innocently up at him from the smooth surface of the Snitch, was a little pile of words, scribbled on with a marker or spell of some sort.

I love you.

--H.P.

-----*-----

Draco paced, back and forth, around and around the Slytherin boy's dorm. He ignored the noise of the common room below. He focused only on the puzzle. The mystery.

Who had confessed their love to him? And why on the Snitch, of all unromantic things?

He was angry at himself, and bewildered. Usually he could solve problems easily, his mind had adapted to it. But now, he hadn't a clue. And never had he been told be anyone that they loved him. Draco was a stranger to love. Why, sure, he'd gotten admiring looks from the occasional girl, but never even a love letter, talk about a simple yet frank "I love you" on a SNITCH!

He stomped his foot on the floor, a venting of his anger and a signal for those below to shut up. Then, spinning around, he lay himself across his bed with an unsatisfactory thump. Groaning, he ran his hands through his hair, and attempted to figure out the mystery looming over his head. He doubted he would achieve success anytime soon.

Chapter Six

The Answer

Draco slowly spooned pudding into his mouth. His mind was a swirl of questions, all of them quite aggravating. He barely tasted the sweet caramel flavor that usually made him smile. This time, not even a hint of a smirk decorated his face.

His gaze, as usual, masked what he felt inside. He felt tired, blank, and wanted something to occupy his time other than pondering about who loved him. Slapping his hand against the table furiously--and almost wincing at the pain it induced in his hand that was still recovering from the broken mirror incident two days ago--he stomped out of the Great Hall, cloak swishing as he whirled around the corner.

-----*-----

"What do you want, Potter?"

Draco twiddled his pencil in his fingers momentarily, and then continued scratching on the notepad in his hand. He didn't look up, and missed the look of surprise on Harry's face; it was a mystery to everyone but Draco how he knew when people approached him, when he wasn't even facing them at all, couldn't see them from any angle. Draco shielded his drawing from Harry's vision, and snapped, "Well?"

"I...um...what are you doing, Dr-Malfoy?"

Draco looked up at his enemy, his eyes searching for the reason for Harry's blunder of speech. The emerald gaze opened to him like windows; those eyes spoke all. Draco wondered, why did the boy almost call him by his first name? Hmph.

"I...Ha-Potter," Draco smirked, hearing Harry's grumble of annoyance at his sarcasticy, "Jeezus, what does it look like I'm doing, you bloody fool? I'm fucking drawing!" Draco bit his lip, as his pencil snapped in half. He ignored Harry's look of wonderment at the Slytherin's loss of control as he searched for another pencil. He, making sure no one else was in the library, dug a hand into Harry's bag, emerging victoriously with a well sharpened pencil. Luckily the other boy kept pencils as well as quills at hand.

"Drawing? You draw, Malfoy?"

"I'll let you guess the answer to that oh so very difficult question, Potter."

A pause.

"Well...You just don't seem like an artistic type."

"I'm not. Often, you will find, Potter, that people aren't what they seem to be on the outside. That, of course, doesn't apply to you though, because you very well are the dumb fool you appear to be on the outside. Don't worry though, Potter. It makes you all the more special." Draco continued drawing, biting his lip.

"Look," Harry took a step to the other side of the table, and sat down across from Draco. Leaning forward, his emerald eyes boring into Draco's gaze--which was still paying most attention to his drawing--Harry sighed. "I just wondered...about the Quidditch game today- " Draco looked up, all his attention now focused on Harry. Suddenly, as soon as the blue-grey gaze met with his emerald, Harry started to twist his hands, awkwardly stumbling over his words, "Well, I...um er, that is...congrats on winning, I mean er...the Snitch said I...someone I mean, ah...What happened to your hands, Malfoy?"

"Stop blubbering, Potter. It's none of your business why my hands are scratched up." Scratched up, however, was a violent understatement. Dark red gashes ran, jagged and snakelike, down the Slytherin's wrists, nicks, bruises, and slices of skin taken off from the tops of his hands. Harry didn't even dare imagine how scarred the even more tender skin of the other boy's palms were. Draco paused, and the silence lay unbroken, the only sound disturbing it the scratch of Draco's pencil. Then he answered. "I broke a mirror."

"You tripped?"

"Malfoys never trip!"

"The mirror fell on your hands, then?"

Draco threw down his sketchbook and pencil, voice now tight, saying, "NO, it didn't! I plunged my hands into the mirror, Potter, like this!" His pale, wounded hands dove forward, and snatched Harry's glasses off of his nose.

Harry said indignantly, "Give those back! I-I can't see!"

"You don't need to."

Harry spent a few moments attempting to get his glasses back, but then fell back against his chair, surrendering. There was a pause. Draco wondered what had gotten into the both of them. Potter was blubbering, and asking tons of questions. And no insults, either. As for him...when had he let himself lose control over his mask, his emotions? A Malfoy did not show these things; he was slipping. The silence went on.

"Malfoy...why...why did you...plunge your hands into the mirror?"

"None of your business, Potter. Now what do you want with me? Unless you stop blubbering like a fool and stop asking questions, you won't get your glasses back."

Harry squirmed, and then, his gaze refusing to meet Draco's--or perhaps, without his glasses, he couldn't focus well? Draco wasn't sure--he began to speak.

"Well...I...um...The Snitch..." There was a very long, very awkward pause. Then Harry blurted, "Who wrote that message on it?" Draco looked up, staring at Harry. How did the boy...wait. Wait. WAIT. No. No way. Impossible. But...Draco began to feel the niggling thought ease its way into his brain, and he tried to shut it out, but couldn't repress the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. The answer to the puzzle was suddenly presented to him, complete with assembly instructions and even gift wrapped. Draco's suppressed his body's need to breath in quick gasps of air, pushing down the panic, he tried to remain cool and calm. It was all so simple. I love you. -H.P. Of course. H.P, Harry Potter!

"You know about that, eh, Potter? If you know about the message...than you know who wrote it. And, I think," Draco smirked, as if amused--yet inside, felt horrified and shocked--"so do I."

Harry leaned back, far away, and stared at Draco, whispering, "Y-you do? Already? You know?"

"You've only repeated the answer I knew," he lied. "Yes, Potter, I know. It was you, wasn't it." It wasn't a question. "You wrote that on the Snitch...You're...queer. Wrong-sided, out of wack...gay Potter, the word is gay. Otherwise called homosexual. And really, I can't question your reasoning for choosing me, but..."

Draco stood up, leaning forward over the table, his piercing gaze haunting Harry, who had shrunk back against his chair. "I'm not like you, Potter. I'm not attracted to you, never have been, never will be. Sorry to disappoint you, Potter. To me, you are nothing." Harry didn't even notice as his glasses were placed on the table in front of him.

And, managing to hide his raging emotions of anger, shock, guilt, and fear, Draco left abruptly, leaving Harry to stare after him in surprise.