The Perfect Imperfection

He's trembling against me. Sobbing openly, for the first time, into my chest. I'm repulsed and entranced at the same time. Yet, this time, in the blur of all my emotions is a compassion I don't think I've ever felt before. I'm holding him...my arms are tight around him, and I know what I'm doing is exactly right. That my sole reason for existence in this moment is to do nothing more than embrace him.

I must say, this stupid, stupid boy has caught me off guard. He knows it of course, he knows and he feels terrible...and so do I. Terrible that I confessed my feelings? Terrible that he knows he hurt me? No, terrible because he's hurting. A few months ago it wouldn't have mattered. In fact, last week I probably wouldn't have cared.

My attempt to get at him by kissing Pansy seems mere child's play to what he's accomplished with me. I daresay he's been paying quite a bit of attention to me. His annoying, relentless effort to drive me mad, his effort not to care, and his effort to make me feel like crap actually went somewhere. Although, I can't say I was all that convinced. Okay, so that's a horrible lie. He's a better at role-playing than I had ever given him credit for. Too bad it had to come out now and not in...another form.

Prat. What was he playing at? He should've known he'd crack first. It is me, after all...I wonder why. Why he hurts me, why I hurt him but never knew. Why we even met. Why it all happened. Why it all had to happen. Why we're here now. Why the stupid "Boy Who Lived" is the only person I ever loved. Why he's the only person I can love. Because, Draco. Just because.

Absentmindedly, I'm running my hands up and down his back. He's stopped his heaving sobs, but the tear-stained fabric of my robes is still matted against my chest. Taking in big gulps of air, his just barely pulls away from my body, just enough to look up at me. His eyes are red, and his cheeks are quite flushed. It's only as those deep emeralds are scanning my features that I take notice of the tears falling swiftly down my cheeks.

What is he doing to me? Never before have I let my guard down. Never before have I let my emotions get the best of me. And yet, here I stand. Stupid stupid stupid...not only stupid him, stupid me. Stupid me for feeling this way. Stupid me for ever letting him get to me. Nobody else. Nobody else could do this to me, and he knows now. He knows and he's not rubbing it in my face, not making me regret ever showing him. Not doing to me what I would so gladly have done to him...Stupid.

For a brief instant, our eyes are locked, and we're both at a loss for words. I can hear his light breathing, and the soft sound of my hands, gently gliding along his robes, and it's quite calming. Strange, in a way. The last place I'd ever expect or hope to be is the only place I'd want to.

A rogue tear slips past my jaw line, falling down to splatter on the surface of his glasses. It's then that I snap out of my semi-trance state. Immediately, I turn away from him, closing my eyes. I want to scream and run away, but what's the point? He knows everything now. He's seen the effects of what he's done. He knows he hurt me. He knows I hurt him. He knows how I feel now. And I know how he feels. And...it's the same. God damn it, we're the fucking same.

He's moving. His hands are sliding up, cold fingertips brushing against the damp skin of my cheeks. Gently, he turns my head to face him, and my eyes flutter open. Brow furrowed, he stares up at me, through tear-dabbed glasses. It takes me a moment to notice he's chewing most intently on his bottom lip. I nearly laugh out loud at the irony. The fucking same. I keep one arm wrapped securely around him, as I slowly lift my right hand to carefully wipe the moisture from his glasses. Our eyes never leave each other's as he opens his mouth to speak, in a hushed, forced tone.

"I...I never meant to hurt you. I didn't know...I didn't..."

He's shaking his head as he looks up at me, swallowing hard before running his tongue across his chapped lips. Finally, I manage to tear my gaze away from his. I glance out the window for a brief moment before I turn back to him, firm in my belief that I've calmed myself enough to speak.

"You never hurt me, Harry." Oftentimes I've wondered why it is I have to lie about everything, even when everybody knows the truth. Mark of a Slytherin I imagine. Usually I'm well received, but we both know this time it's a lie. My voice is calm, and cool, as usual, but nobody is fooled. His hands are cupping my face and he's forcing me to look at him-not that I'm in any hurry to turn away.

"In that case then...I'm not sorry." His voice isn't mocking or playing. One lie for another.

I'd like to say that it didn't matter, but one can only pretend so much. To hear him say he was sorry-even in such a tense was more than I had expected. More than I had expected, but all I wanted. For him to understand, for him to care, for him to apologize. I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. When was the last time a Malfoy didn't get what he wanted? Too bad I had to go through Hell and back to get it...a sigh escapes my lips and I give a light nod in response to his "non-apology." I'm reluctant to speak, to move, to do anything that could change the moment.

The perfect moment of me holding him, him holding me, and us in an understanding I never thought we'd have. But as much as I hate it, there's got to be something else. My arms tighten around him, and I pull him closer, bringing my face just inches from his;

"I am."

And it's as simple as that. We're moving at the same time, so slow, too slow...but just right. Finally, our lips meet in a gentle kiss, that can only become much more. His eyes drift shut, and mine do the same not an instant later. Cocking my head slightly to the side, I deepen the kiss, gently parting his lips with my tongue. His hands have moved up and his fingertips swim through my hair, keeping our lips together as his tongue meets mine. My hands are gripping the back of his robes, resisting the urge to tear them right off. For a quick second, I manage to just barely pull my lips from his to take in a breath. A low moan escapes his tiers and he's back on me. His kisses trail from my lips, down along my jaw, to my neck. I'm aware that his hands have moved, and my scarf is being pulled from around my neck, only to be flung on the floor.

My head falls back against the stonewall as he continues to kiss, lick, and suck my chilled skin.

His breath is warm, and I can't help but shudder as I draw my hands up, trailing a stray fingertip up and down the back of his neck. I hardly have time to think of the flurry of emotions running through my head, and before I know it, his hands are working expertly to remove my robes. With nimble and swift fingers, it's not long before I'm stark naked and shivering in the cool night air of the empty room. Shivering because of the air, trembling because of him...him and his skills he so likes to keep hidden.

A light smile is gracing his lips as his hands, now a bit warmer, caress my exposed shoulders, arms, chest, and stomach. He seems to take note of the unfair situation and turns his attention to his own attire, yanking off his scarf, which soon joins mine on the floor. I bat his hands away from his robes and place mine where his had been. Making sure to take my time, I undo every clasp on his cloak before pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall, where it pools around his ankles. He's staring at me, I can tell, but I don't let it phase me as I again move my hands up to the buttons on his robes, painstakingly undoing each and every one before it follows the path of the cloak. My eyes flicker to the now exposed skin of his shoulders and arms. Adored in a white tank top and boxers, he looks absolutely delicious.

Reaching down, I take his hands in mine, carefully entwining our fingers as I kick his clothing away, to stand right against him. I lower my head and place a soft hiss on his shoulder, before moving to the other and repeating the action. He's shivering now, his hands squeezing mine, as I slowly run my tongue along his collar bone, drawing out another moan from him-and this time myself, as well. Reluctantly, I pull my hands from his, only to hook my fingers under the hem of his undershirt, which is resting at his waistline. Dropping to my knees, I gingerly lift his shirt, taking care to kiss every inch of skin that exposes itself as I do so.

Up, and up I kiss, until I'm standing again, sucking and licking on his nipple, as his hands grasp my shoulders. His grip tightens and his fingers knead my muscles as I pull back just far enough to blow cool air onto the wet spot I left behind. He's shivering as I finally pull off his under shirt and cast it aside before giving him a soft kiss to the lips. With a click glance to the pile of clothes on the floor beside us, I outstretch my arms to pull him against me.

Instantly, his arms are around my waist, his fingertips playing at the hem of my boxers. We stand there for a moment before I pivot on my heel, and drop hard on my knees, one on either side of his hips. I think I hear him yelp a bit, but I know the pile of clothes have kept him from getting hurt. I'm still holding up his torso, and his arms are still around my waist as he lies there beneath me, staring up and waiting...just begging to be taken.

When I open my eyes, I can't see a thing. It takes me a moment to realize I've got my face buried in the back of his head. So here we are. Lying in a pile of stripped clothing, my arms around him, and his back to my chest. Strangely haunting. I must not have been out long, as it's still dark outside, and he's awake. Clearing my throat, I pull away from him and begin to pick up my clothes. I've never been good at these post-sex chats. What does one say, exactly?

"Thanks for the orgasm, see you later?" Well, maybe a while ago. But not tonight.

He glances up at me as I dress myself, trying not to glance down at the perfect form that's below me. He follows suit, and we dress in silence. As we finish, he tosses me my scarf, and I drape it casually over my shoulders, before shoving my hands into the pockets of my cloak. Neither of us moves as we stare at each other. Where do we go from here? I shake my head, moving a few blonde strands of hair away from my eyes. With a light smile, he steps forward with an outstretched hand to gently brush a few missed locks away, before planting a short, sweet kiss right on my lips.

He moves toward the small panel that will open the hidden door and looks back at me. I wander over beside him as he presses on the panel and the door opens. As I take a step forward, he stops me by grabbing onto my arm. He's glancing around and seems a bit nervous as he speaks, his words coming out quite fast and all pushed together.

"I just...well, I want you to know Draco, that I...Iloveyou. I have for a long time..."

Confessions of love from Harry Potter? What's next? Hufflepuff winning the House Cup? I can tell you, I really don't think I ever expected to hear him say that. Sure, a person can hope, but hope is far from reality.

His hand is tightening around my arm as I stare at him, not moving. Blushing furiously, he lets go of my arm and mutters to himself, drawing back. I would smile at his embarrassed state, but I can't really think straight at this moment. I could make it perfect-tell him I love him, too. I wouldn't be lying; God knows I love him, but not now. There's no reason to get sappy, is there? Damn it, yes there is.

Outstretching my arms, I pull him toward me. He stumbles a bit, but leans against me, his head pressed against my chest.

"A lot of people do, you know."

As he glances up at me, with a mildly shocked expression, I can't help but grin. "But the difference between them and you is...I don't love them back." Somebody call the reporters, I'm actually saying it. As relief spreads across his face, he tilts his head to press his lips against mine. The kiss is sweet, passionate, perfect, and it seems to go on forever. I want to stay in this moment and never leave.

So much can be said in a kiss. I love you...I'm sorry...Forgive me...I understand. And this one said it all. Maybe what we have isn't perfect, but...really...nothing ever is.