Laughter

Laughter

Draco is late. Maybe this should bother Harry. But it doesn't. Not tonight, at least. Tonight he's content just to sit in the still-warm grass by the lake. Spring is carefully turning into summer and the night is mild and pleasant.

Most of all Harry appreciates the silence. With the end-of-term buzz that takes up most of the days, and Draco taking up his nights, he rarely has time to be alone. He rarely has time to think. And lately the need to think has become more and more compelling.

Draco...

Draco - and their relationship - is what he needs to think about. Their relationship... Even such a simple term causes problems. Relationship? Is that what it is? And when exactly did Harry start thinking about what's going on between him and Draco as a relationship? Probably around the same time this need to think surfaced. He has no idea when that was.

But then again, he has no idea when or how or why any of it started. All he knows is that it suddenly bothers him that he can't define it.

***

Harry had always been aware of Draco Malfoy. It was a strange kind of awareness. Malfoy (for it was Malfoy then; Harry had never even considered calling him by any other name) was just there, so obviously, unavoidably there, every time he felt awkward or embarrassed. Always there, and ready to humiliate him further.

Harry didn't know he was doing it, and if someone had pointed it out to him he would have denied it, but whenever he entered a room, he quickly scanned it, looking for Malfoy. It was such a natural thing to do - keep your eyes on the enemy. And only when he knew where Malfoy was could he relax.

Sometimes Malfoy met his gaze, staring back with malice or a challenge in his eyes. Their eyes would hold for mere seconds, a silent acknowledgement, "Yes, I hate you too." Or they would stare at each other until something provided enough distraction for one of them to be the first to look away without losing face.

But when did the spite and hatred disappear from these gazes? When did looks of, "Drop dead" turn into a simple, "Oh, it's you"?

Harry had no idea how it happened, but one perfectly ordinary morning he walked into the Great Hall, and Malfoy glanced up at him from his breakfast. For a moment their eyes met solemnly. Then Malfoy smiled at him. It wasn't much of a smile, barely a twitch of the lips. Harry was surprised when he realised that his own mouth was mirroring the gesture, and even more surprised at how normal it felt. Like they had been doing the same thing many times before.

And the strangest thing of all was that he never once worried about what it could mean.

***

Harry worries about it now, though. About their relationship. He doesn't like the word. It's not nearly enough to explain what's going on between him and Draco. And at the same time it's too much. It implies things that aren't there.

But what other words are there to use?

Boyfriend?

That makes him laugh. The word boyfriend seems linked with giggles, and girls with pigtails and ribbons, and walking hand in hand through the corridors. In Harry's mind, being a boyfriend means having a girlfriend.

There are other difficulties in the word, as well. He has no trouble with the boy-part. Well, not much trouble. He is the Boy Who Lived, after all, and one boy-title should really be enough for anyone, shouldn't it? It's the friend-part that disturbs him. Whatever it is that's going on between him and Draco, it has nothing to do with friendship. A friend is someone you laugh and gossip with, someone who helps you with your homework. You have secrets with your friends, but a friendship can't be a secret. And whatever Harry and Draco are, it's a secret.

***

Malfoy must have touched him before. Harry was sure of it. It just wasn't possible that they could have gone to the same school for all these years without touching each other. There was Quidditch after all - flying side by side in frantic pursuit of the Snitch. There were lessons and crowded hallways, where they could easily have been pushed together. Accidental touches. It wasn't surprising that they hadn't noticed.

But when the other touches started... Harry should definitely have noticed those.

He and Ron were running late for Transfiguration, and they were hurrying through the entrance hall, when Harry saw Malfoy coming towards them, obviously in a hurry to get somewhere in the other direction.

Harry gave Malfoy a barely perceptible nod in greeting, as he almost always did nowadays. Malfoy nodded back just as subtly. As always.

When they passed each other, Harry inexplicably found himself taking a step to the left, towards Malfoy. If anyone had asked him about it, he could have called it a stumble; he could have said that he was taking a step away from Ron, to give his friend a quizzical look, because Ron was telling him something funny about Hermione's latest project for the house-elves. He would not have admitted that it was an unconscious need to be closer to Malfoy. And at the moment they were side by side, Malfoy reached out - maybe that was an unconscious gesture too - and for the briefest of seconds their fingers touched.

It took two more steps for Harry to realise what had happened, where that warm, tingling feeling came from. Surprised, he turned around. Malfoy was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment that seemed to stretch out as if time was made of jelly, they looked at each other. Then they hurried away in opposite directions, and forgot all about it. Until the next touch.

***

Is it a crush?

Harry doesn't think so. A crush is something temporary. Maybe even unrequited. A crush is what's going on before you realise that the other person doesn't feel the same way, that it's never going to happen, and the feelings fade away. Or just before it starts to happen and evolves into a relationship. Except, they're not in a relationship. Are they?

It could have been a crush, Harry thinks. In the beginning it could have been. But he doesn't think it was.

A crush involves pining. Longing. Worrying about what the other might feel. Harry never worried, and he doesn't think Draco did either.

He's worrying now, when the time it was appropriate to call it a crush is long gone.

***

They touched each other as often as they could. Their shoulders would brush as they met, walking from one lesson to another. Or they would reach for each other, clasping hands for a second, as they happened to exit the Great Hall at the same time after dinner.

Harry never knew exactly when he started taking detours wherever he was going just because it might give him a chance to see Draco. There always seemed to be another reason for choosing the longer way. He took the east corridor to his Charms lesson instead of the more direct route through the castle, because from the eastern windows he could take a quick look at the condition of the Quidditch field. The fact that Malfoy would be coming that way from Artihmancy might not have had anything to do with it.

Or he started walking around just above the dungeons at night because he couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake his housemates. Not because he was hoping that someone else might not be able to sleep, either.

And then, one night, what he had not been hoping for happened. Malfoy came walking up the stairs, and he smiled gently when he saw Harry waiting for him. Harry held out his hand, and Draco took it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The world seemed to hold its breath and nothing moved as they stood silently in the empty hallway, holding hands. Then Malfoy nodded, let go of Harry's hand and walked back towards the dungeons the same way he had come.

They met almost every night after that. First, just to hold each other's hands for a moment. Then there were shy careful half-hugs that turned into embraces that made them feel warmer and safer than they had ever felt before. The touches became bolder. Fingertips gently caressing a face, a head turning slightly so that lips could touch the hand cupping a cheek; something that could have been a kiss on a forehead as they pulled away from each other.

They never stayed together long. The risk of Filch finding them was just too great. Besides, if their meetings had dragged out too long, they might have started talking, and words might have broken the fragile world of touches and glances they had built for themselves.

How long had it been going on when Draco started greeting him by kissing him deeply and passionately? Harry didn't know, didn't think about it, didn't care. He only did the natural thing and kissed Draco back (and it was Draco now, because it was impossible to call the person who held you like he never wanted to let go by his last name).

***

Lovers?

Is that a better word for what they are?

It's true, certainly. In the technical sense of the word, it's true. They touch, they kiss, they... well, to be crude, they fuck. Their relationship, or whatever it is, surely contains all the passion, all the need, the word seems to demand.

When Draco touches him, Harry can forget about everything else. The world becomes something distant that doesn't concern him. The only thing that exists is Draco. Draco's hands and lips, Draco's eyes that tell him how much Draco wants him. Draco...

Yes, lovers could be a good definition, but it still makes Harry uncomfortable. The word is too close to another one - one that he's not sure he's ready for.

Does Draco love him?

Does he love Draco?

Love. That's a concept Harry doesn't want to think about. Besides, if you love someone, aren't you supposed to know it? Know it with your whole being, know beyond all doubt? Or is it more complicated than that? Well, Harry doesn't know.

And can you love someone who isn't your friend? Harry has always imagined that love is what you get when you mix friendship and passion until you can't tell them apart.

No. If he gets to choose, Harry prefers to keep his mind firmly on the word lovers. It's safer. It can be seen as something purely physical.

And not even that is easy. Because when everything happens gradually, how are you supposed to know when the final step is taken?

***

Their meetings were becoming longer, and their touches more intimate. More desperate. But it still came as a surprise when Draco sneaked his hand into Harry's pants.

"W-What are you doing?" Harry asked. They had started talking to each other by now; no longer afraid that words might shatter their precious balance.

"Just curious," Draco murmured, removed his hand, and went back to kissing Harry as if nothing had happened.

The first time they shared a bed was on a Hogsmeade weekend when Draco managed to smuggle Harry into the empty Slytherin dorms.

"Isn't it nice to finally do it in a bed?" he asked, and then he went on to show Harry just how nice it could be.

"Yes, very nice," Harry agreed later when they were lying side by side, sweaty and too tired to move.

"Too bad we won't get this chance very often." Draco sounded somewhat sad.

Harry looked at him. "Oh, I don't mind doing it on the floor. Or up against the wall. Or," he laughed a little, remembering a night a few weeks ago, "on the desk in Flitwick's office."

Draco had to smile at that. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't matter where we are..."

"...as long as I'm with you," Harry finished.

They both looked up at the ceiling while pondering this.

"It's really nice to be comfortable for once, though," Draco said.

"Yes. Nice."

***

Somewhere between these two incidents, they had sex for the first time and Harry has no idea when it could have been. Exactly when do intimate touches turn into sex? He doesn't know, and he's starting to get the feeling that there are no first times for him and Draco.

It's not just sex, though, whatever this thing between them is.

They talk.

But it's more than talking. And at the same time, less.

They don't talk about normal things. They don't discuss friends or Quidditch or the unfair amount of homework Snape gives them. Their conversations consist of sweet nothings and serious confessions.

They're confidants.

Maybe that's an appropriate word, for all that it's totally inadequate, not nearly enough for even that small part of their relationship... thing... whatever.

But they talk. Harry can tell Draco things he has never dreamed of telling anyone. And Draco gives him secrets in return. They share the best and worst parts of themselves. All the shades of grey in between are left for other people.

***

"Are you ever scared, Harry?"

"What do you mean, scared?" He didn't understand what Draco was after. Everyone was scared sometimes, weren't they?

"I mean... You always seem so unconcerned. Like... nothing could really touch you. I... I know there are lots of things you should be afraid of, but... well... are you?" Draco looked at him, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes.

"Of course I'm afraid," Harry answered. "I'm afraid of all the things I'm supposed to be afraid of: Voldemort and Death Eaters and dying... but I'm also afraid of little things."

"Little things? Like... What?"

"Like making a fool of myself on the Quidditch field. Or not being good enough..." He sighed, still not sure why Draco had brought up the subject. "What are you scared of?"

"I'm scared..." Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He looked utterly lost. "I'm scared all the time. I'm scared of my father, of disappointing him, of what his reaction will be when he finds out I've let him down again. And it terrifies me that I care so much about his opinions. Harry, I'm so scared that if I care for something it will be taken away from me, or it will turn against me. I'm scared of getting hurt."

Harry put his arms around Draco and held him close. "Is that why you've been hurting people and pushing them away? Because you're afraid they will hurt you?"

"Maybe. I think so."

"That gets lonely, Draco."

"I know. I don't want to be alone anymore."

***

Harry hears the footsteps, even though the grass is soft. Or maybe he can just feel Draco approaching. He turns around and sees Draco walking very fast, almost running towards him.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," Draco says as he sits down next to Harry.

"It's okay. It gave me time to think."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Us."

"Oh." For a moment Draco looks worried, then he smiles a little too cheerfully. "Good thoughts?" He sounds like he doesn't really want to ask that question.

"Yeah." Harry smiles at him. "Yeah, I think so."

"Oh. Good."

They sit close together in an almost comfortable silence for a while. Then Draco says, "Aren't you going to ask me why I was late?" There's a twinkle in his eyes that makes Harry's heart do funny things.

"Why were you late?" he asks obediently.

"I had to sneak out through a window on the other side of the castle. There were... people in the entrance hall, and considering what they were doing, I thought it best not to interrupt."

"Who? What?" Harry can't help feeling intrigued.

"They were kissing." Draco actually giggles. "You'll never guess who."

Harry runs through a list of possible pairings in his head, but the ones he can come up with are either too boring to make Draco react like this, or just too... weird.

"So tell me," he says.

Draco looks very smug. "You'll be pleased to know that we're no longer the strangest couple at Hogwarts," he teases.

Couple?

That's a word Harry hasn't considered. Is that what they are? He'll have to think about it. But not now. Now he wants to hear what Draco is dying to tell him. Now he wants to look Draco deeply in the eyes and drown in the quiet delight he sees there.

"Who?" he asks again.

Draco leans towards him and whispers conspiratorially, "Professor Snape and Professor Vector."

"No... Really?" Harry can hardly believe it. Snape is so strict and sinister and... well, slimy. And Vector... Harry doesn't know her very well, but she seems a bit whimsical. And completely wrong for Snape.

"Really," Draco says and there's a strange, almost expectant look on his face. His lips are twitching like he's trying hard not to smile. "And they were quite passionate about it, too."

That's just too much. Harry feels the laughter bubbling through his body - explosive and refreshing - before it finally bursts out. Draco's lips twitch even more violently and then he's laughing too. And once they've started, it's impossible to stop. They're rolling around in the grass, laughing until their sides hurt and they have to take a break, have to breathe. Then they look at each other... and start laughing again.

Just like friends do.

Wait... Friends?

Harry manages to roll them around so that he's on top of Draco. Draco is still giggling a little. His cheeks are flushed from laughing and there's a sparkle in his eyes. Harry just has to kiss him.

Friends, lovers, confidants. None of these terms mean anything anymore. Neither does relationship. Or couple. Or crush. They are only words, and words don't matter. Because now Harry knows.

He breaks their kiss and just looks at Draco. Oh yes, definitely. He smiles.

"What?" Draco asks gently, sensing the change in the mood.

"Someday I'll tell you." And he will. Someday real soon. Maybe that will be a first for them; maybe it will be a defining moment. But then again, maybe not, because some things really don't need words to be understood.

"Oh." Draco smiles back at him, and there is a happiness in his eyes that Harry has never seen before.

Maybe Draco knows too.