A/N:

I wrote this entirely by accident, when I was meant to be writing something completely different. In any case, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The title is, of course, from Shakespeare:

"My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy."

"Harry? Where are you going?"

Harry started and glanced back at the common room chairs he'd sworn were empty just a few seconds ago. Hermione peered curiously at him over the top of her book.

"Uh. For a walk?"

It came out sounding like a question, and he kicked himself, feeling uncomfortably like the teenager he had been. Still was, he supposed, though it was easy to forget that, after everything he'd been through the past few years. He shifted slightly, hating himself a little for lying to her, trying to hide the silvery fall of the invisibility cloak draped over his left arm. If he'd known someone would still be up, he'd have put it on earlier.

Hermione's eyes sharpened, expression morphing from surprised curiosity to concern as she leaned toward him.

"Harry… Is everything OK?"

"What? Of course it is 'Mione." He widened his eyes, doing his best to look innocent. The slight crackle of the marauder's map in his pocket was loud in his ears, and it sounded a lot like guilt.

He didn't know why he was sneaking around like this, really. It wasn't like she would say anything, or even be upset at him. Probably.

He thought about telling her. He should tell her. It wasn't that he liked the sneaking around — although, if he were honest, that was definitely part of it. He just wasn't sure she'd understand. But then, she didn't understand a lot of things about him, he thought bitterly.

He knew it wasn't fair to think that, after all she'd done for him, the way she'd stayed by his side. He didn't deserve her. And it wasn't like he'd given her the chance to understand. He wasn't sure he understood it himself. He'd been sneaking around all year, stuck in this strange limbo that was the unprecedented eighth year. It was supposed to be a chance for everyone to catch up on all they'd missed last year. And he appreciated it, and McGonagall for arranging it, truly he did, but… He didn't belong with the younger students, the ones not old enough to really feel the impact of the war. And he didn't belong with the adults. He just felt so… lost.

Hermione was studying him intently, and he really needed to tell her. He would, too. He just hadn't found the right time.

What about now? His conscience pricked him, but he shoved it down. He didn't have time right now — he was late as it was. He opened his mouth, knowing he had no idea what would come out, but accepting that telling her something was inevitable—

And then Ron looked up from her other side, and Harry jumped because he'd sworn that chair was empty, and did everyone have a bloody invisibility cloak now?

Ron frowned at Harry for a moment, and then his brow cleared as he placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"'Mione, love, it's all right. Let him go."

"But Ron! He's got the cloak and everything — and is that the map in your pocket, Harry?! — And he's clearly sneaking out, and it's very late, and—

Ron put a finger over her lips, halting the rapid flow of words. "Yeah, and he's probably sneaking off to meet up with some girl for a snog. Which is why we're down here, remember? So keep your voice down, yeah? Or we'll have the whole house awake."

Harry jumped slightly, startled, and Hermione turned to Ron, eyes blazing with barely-suppressed fury.

"Do you mean to tell me that you know something, Ron Weasly, and you didn't tell me?" she whispered.

Harry almost laughed at the affront in her tone.

Ron snorted. "Easy there, 'Mione. I don't know any more than you, but it's obvious he's in love, isn't it?"

Harry didn't wait around for Hermione to recover her voice. He nodded gratefully at Ron and ducked through the portrait hole, swinging the cloak over his shoulders as he went.

The silvery fabric settled around him with a reassuring swish as he walked briskly down the corridor, drawing comfort from its silky embrace. He didn't look around himself as he walked, too caught up in the roil of emotions Hermione had unwittingly stirred up, but he knew the route by heart. He'd been walking it nightly since practically the beginning of the year.

He supposed he should have expected to be caught sometime, and yet he hadn't. The other eighth years were so focused on sorting their own love lives, and taming their post-war nightmares, and passing their classes — well, maybe that was just Hermione — that they'd never paid his increasingly frequent absences any mind.

He dodged the occasional loose stone, squeaky floorboard, and unstable suit of armor by instinct. Hogwarts was nearly back to new, after a summer of concerted rebuilding efforts, but his route took him through some of the little-used passages and sections of the castle, and away from the areas where most of the repair effort had been spent.

Ron's words had shaken him, more even than Hermione's. He wasn't in love. He scoffed mentally. That was preposterous. Wasn't it? He was sure Malfoy would think so. Well, not completely sure, maybe, because he still found him difficult to read, sometimes, even after spending the majority of the year with him.

But he wouldn't acknowledge Harry in public, or admit they were even on speaking terms, much less… So. Anyway. They weren't even dating. At least, Harry didn't think they were. He admittedly didn't have much experience in that area, but he was pretty sure you had to acknowledge one another's presence in public for that. Or move beyond last names, which they still hadn't done — not even in private.

He thought of Malfoy calling him"Harry" in that snooty voice and posh accent, and almost snorted aloud. No. That wasn't going to happen.

No, he definitely didn't 'love' Malfoy, and they definitely weren't dating. He shoved down the flicker of unease. They were just…

Well, he wasn't sure what they were, really. What sort of friend only met you in the dark, to sit in silence, or talk haltingly of the war, or spend hours snogging and getting one another off?

He quickened his pace, remembering Malfoy's taste, always laced with chocolate, the warmth of his mouth, soft and pliant when it wasn't busy forming the hard, sharp-edged words he wielded like knives. Malfoy's mouth was a wonder.

He shoved those thoughts impatiently away as he came to the small, unassuming door that let to long unused classroom - their hideaway. It was better to go in with no expectations. Safer. He ignored the little voice that said he'd die if Malfoy got tired of this, ended their arrangement. Nights spent with Malfoy — no matter what they were doing, or not doing — were the highlight of his year, leaving the daylight hours dull and lackluster. Possibly that had something to do with the sleep deprivation, he thought with some amusement, but most of it was due to the magnetic presence of the slim blonde who awaited him.

He was fine. Really. He could stop anytime, he thought defiantly. His breath hitched traitorously as he reached for the knob, and he willed his pounding heart to still. He turned it slowly, blood pulsing through his veins, suddenly high on anticipation—

And was hauled into the room by the front of his cloak, slammed against the wall, and brutally kissed. He chuckled, relaxing into it, giving as good as he got. So that was how tonight was going to go.

Malfoy broke the kiss to glare at him. "Merlin's pants, Potter, could you be any slower? I was beginning to think you were standing me up."

Harry caught the hint of vulnerability hiding beneath Malfoy's words and felt a thrill run through him. He kissed him back harshly, all tongue and teeth. "Do you really think I would miss this?" he murmured, between kisses that Malfoy wrenched control of, turned languid and slow. "'Mione and Ron caught me as I was sneaking out."

Malfoy pulled away abruptly. "Do they know?" he asked, voice rising in panic. "Did you tell them anything? Potter, you fool, they hate me. Do you really think they'll—"

Harry sighed, pouting a little. "Relax, Malfoy. They don't know." He snorted, remembering. "'Mione was all ready to do her 'five million questions' routine, but then Ron told her I was clearly in love and she was so shocked she let me go." He laughed a little, embarrassed and not sure why. "I'm sure they'll have plenty of questions tomorrow, but I'll handle it."

Malfoy stiffened, eyes glinting steely gray. "I… see. And what will you tell them?"

Harry shrugged, angling for another kiss. "That she doesn't have to worry about me and that they've got it all wrong— Malfoy? Where are you going?"

Malfoy stopped at the door, spine rigid, but he didn't turn around. "I've just realized I've somewhere to be."

"But—"

"Goodbye, Potter," Malfoy spat. Then he stalked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Harry stood for a moment and just stared at it. "Bloody hell, you incomprehensible prat, aren't you going to at least tell me what I did?"

The too-empty room didn't answer, and Harry turned, slamming his fist into the wall in frustration.

Malfoy ignored him for over a week. Harry, after several failed attempts to get his attention, spent the time brooding. He didn't fight the dark, familiar cloud that settled over him, buzzing in the back of his head like a swarm of angry bees and turning his thoughts dark. He didn't need the git, anyway. He barely registered the concern on his friends' faces, and the way they backed off after one too many shouted confrontations, leaving him to stew.

He tried waiting for Malfoy, hurrying to class early to catch him before he entered the room, but each time he was headed off by Pansy, who glared at him and herded Malfoy away. He grabbed her arm one morning, forcing her into the hallway with him, after she'd thrust Malfoy through the door ahead of her.

"Why is he avoiding me?" he asked, voice breaking in a way he hated. "What did I do?"

She scoffed, glaring at his hand venomously until he relaxed his hold, then jerking her arm from his grip. "One, don't touch me, and two, I didn't think even you were that dense." She stalked stiffly into the classroom, heels clicking angrily against the flagstones, and Harry stomped out to the lake, ignoring Professor Vector's shouts.

He was angrily chewing a piece of toast at breakfast the next morning when Ron gingerly touched his shoulder. "Harry?" he asked hesitantly, "what's wrong, mate? Did you break up with mystery girl?"

Harry stared at him, toast hanging forgotten in his fingers. "What? Oh, no… No, really. It's nothing like that."

There was a crash to their right, and Ron glanced away from Harry, raising his eyebrows. Harry looked up, right into Malfoy's slate gray eyes. He stood, arms limp at his sides, tray of food on the floor at his feet, and he looked so hurt. Then he shook himself, glaring daggers at Harry, and then stalked back out of the Great Hall.

Ron snorted. "Wonder what's his problem?"

Harry looked reflexively over at the Slytherin table, at Pansy, half out of her seat, and he felt a jolt run down his spine at the heat of her glare. She stepped daintily over the mess and strode out of the Hall after Malfoy, and her words echoed in Harry's memory. I didn't think even you were that dense.

"Oh," he said, understanding suddenly, "Oh." He dropped his toast and jumped to his feet, hauling his bag onto his shoulder. "Sorry, Ron, I, uh, I gotta go."

He caught up to them in the next corridor, gasping for breath, the air burning through his lungs. "You idiot!" he shouted, grabbing Malfoy by the shoulder and ignoring Pansy entirely, "Why didn't you tell me that's how you felt?"

Malfoy glared at him. "You should have known," he said petulantly, voice small and drowned in hurt.

Harry laughed, relieved. "Yeah, well," he said, "I'm a Gryffindork, remember? We're pretty dense."

Pansy slapped him — hard.

"Ow! What the - what the hell was that for?"

Pansy ignored him. "You OK, Draco?"

He waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, but he never took his eyes off Harry, as if he feared he might disappear.

Harry smirked at him. "So… can I kiss you now?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That is not how I want to come out, thanks ever so." His hand shot out suddenly, wrapping around her wrist. "Come on, Pansy. We've plotting to do."

Harry watched them go, feeling a little lost, until Malfoy looked over his shoulder imperiously. "Well? Are you coming, Potter?"

He grinned. "Not yet, but I'm sure you could do something about that." He trotted after them, ignoring Pansy's exaggerated retching sounds.

Harry cleared his throat nervously. "So… we're really doing this?" He adjusted his tie, fumbling it between suddenly sweaty fingers.

Malfoy glared at him. "Are you telling me that you've changed your mind again, Potter?"

"No," Harry said hurriedly, "of course not. I just know how difficult this is going to be. I mean," he added weakly, under Malfoy's withering glare, "it's me. And, well, you. And everyone is going to pester us, and ask a million questions, and we won't have a minute's peace, and—"

Malfoy cut off the flow of words by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "And we've got the invisibility cloak, and the map, and I'm the dreaded ex-Death Eater, and you're the bloody Chosen One — you can just wave your hand or something and say 'let me be, peasants' and they'll have to leave us alone."

Harry snorted, but felt the jitters in his stomach ease. "I love you, you know. You insufferable prat."

He stilled, startled at the words that had just slipped out, quite against his will, and Malfoy positively froze, his gray eyes going wider than Harry had ever seen them. And then he crashed their mouths together in what was most definitely the best kiss of Harry's life.

"I love you, too, you impossible Gryffindork idiot," he said fondly, eyes dancing with laughter. "Now, come on, before you mess up your tie. Again." He paused. "It suits you, you know," he said awkwardly. Then he grinned. "I always knew you'd look good in Slytherin green."

Harry laughed. "Liar. Though I must admit that Gryffindor red looks much more dignified on you than anyone else I've seen."

"Naturally," Malfoy said, preening.

"Come on, prat," Harry said fondly, lacing their fingers together and tugging him into the Great Hall.

There was no reaction. Well, a few people stared, and there was a bit of pointing and gaping, and quite a lot of whispering, but… Nothing like Harry had expected. He felt oddly wrong-footed.

When they reached the Gryffindor table, Ron scooted down the bench to make room for them, then patted Harry on the head as, not knowing what else to do, he sat, pulling Malfoy down with him. "Knew you were in love, mate," he said cheerfully around a mouthful of bacon.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, "Don't talk with your mouth full! It makes you look like a heathen! Hullo, Harry, Draco."

Harry knew he was bright red, and his only consolation was that Malfoy was, too. He was adorable, in fact. Harry couldn't help kissing him on the cheek, and there was a chorus of "awwwww," and then Seamus leaned around Dean to slap Harry on the back.

"Did you think we didn't know, mate?" he asked, shaking his head.

Ginny nodded vigorously from across the table. "Yeah, Harry, you've been kinda obvious."

He sighed. "I hate you all," he said, with rather more fondness than he meant, because Malfoy was leaning against his side, and he was soft and warm, and not really pointy at all. Malfoy was already deep in discussion with Hermione over last night's Potions reading — which Harry hadn't bothered to do yet — and talking about their last study session, and when did that happen?

He stared at Ron, peacefully munching through more food than any one person should have been able to eat. "So… you're really not mad?"

Ron shrugged. "I mean, I personally think you're off your rocker for choosing him, but… Nah, mate. We're happy for you, really. 'Specially after the past week. No offense, but you've been hell to be around."

"Yeah," Ginny added, "a real downer."

"Thanks," Harry said drily, stealing a slice of bacon off her plate. She swatted at him good-naturedly as he crunched into it happily.

"Rude," she said. Then, after studying him for an uncomfortable moment, chin propped on her hand, she said, "Green suits you."

Harry grinned. He was… content. He looked over at the Slytherin table, out of habit, even though he knew Malfoy wasn't there, and he met Pansy's gaze. She gave him what he now realized was a mock glare, and then lifted her coffee mug in silent toast before turning back to her conversation with Blaise.

Malfoy's fingers curled around his under the table, squeezing softly, and he squeezed them back. He supposed he could do with a bit of contentment, after everything.

~The End~