words to say

by BetchYouGotMe

Draco Malfoy has never been able to tell Harry Potter how he feels about him. But sometimes, it's not what you say, but what you do, that makes the difference in the end.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything. I'm just a broke post college female with way too much time on her hands. I've shipped Draco/Harry since I was 14, but this is the first time I'm attempting to write about it. So it's terrible, I apologize. I've tried to put myself in Draco's point of view, and I hope it's at least somewhat believable. One-shot. Semi Deathly Hallows compliant.

Summary: Draco Malfoy has never been able to tell Harry Potter how he really feels about him. But sometimes, it's not what you say, but what you do, that makes the difference in the end.

~ D/H~

You're staring at him.

Your eyes bore holes into the back of his messy jet black mane. You catch yourself, once again – but you'd fucking gut yourself in the stomach before you'd ever admit it - wishing that he might turn around.

Face me

To have his eyes on you.

Look at me

Impossibly green.

Notice me. Pay ATTENTION TO ME, DAMMIT

It scorches your insides whenever you see him laughing and spending all his time with that vile ginger blood traitor, and the equally irritating know it all Mudblood. Especially when he wouldn't even bother to shake your hand that first day on the Hogwarts express.

His hand never touched yours, but you felt at that moment, like he had slapped you across the face. 6 years later, you can still feel the sting.

But then he saved you. After you saved him, of course. You wonder if he knew, because it was the only way you could express your feelings for him, to him, without directly outing yourself and losing all your pride and dignity in the process. You remember Father's voice, excited and eager, for you to confirm everyone's suspicions, that the Snatchers had finally caught the famous Harry Potter...

"Draco, come here! Look properly...what do you think?"

"I don't know."

You knew. Even though that jinx distorted his face, you knew. Because you've only spent the last

6 years watching his every move; memorizing every detail…from the way he would stand and clench his fists to his side, fuming, whenever Snape would goad and target him in class – to the shade of pink his cheeks would turn, and how he'd lower his head and stare at the ground, when he was hurt or embarrassed.

So of course you knew it was Harry Potter standing in front of you that day, as scared of looking at you as you were of looking at him.

You saved him. You refused to give him up to your Father's demands, subsequently refusing to sell him to the Dark Lord's clutches by protecting his identity. The arsehole schoolboy you would have gleefully harped on the fact that you saved Harry Potter's skin, would have held it over his head and make sure he never forgot he owed you…but for some reason, that day you seemed to forget how to only think about yourself. Instead, you only saw Harry.

You know he was thankful. Surprised - shocked - maybe even confused. But he was thankful. And he repaid you by pulling you out of that fiendfyre curse gone array, thanks to idiot fucking Crabbe – who cast the damn thing in the first place and nearly killed everybody in the process. But Harry came back for you. Even as Weasley bellowed at him to leave you and Goyle to burn to the seventh circle of Hell – which even you couldn't deny – was probably what you deserved.

You don't think you've ever been so close to him as you were, gripping his waist while he rode you both to safety. You remember, as the two of you fell off the broom and tumbled into the hall outside, that sudden overwhelming urge to grab Harry, turn him to face you, and press your lips to his. Instead you forced yourself to remain as you were, crumpled on the ashy, filthy castle ground, and tried hopelessly to make sense of the madness you were feeling…

You've never been able to find an explanation for why Harry affects you the way he does. Why he seems to have this hold on your subconscious that you've never been able to extricate yourself from.

Maybe that's why you never could leave him alone, even after he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. It infuriated you to no end, fucking tore you apart, because Malfoys don't grovel for anyone's attention. Not even for the Scarhead Who. Wouldn't. Die.

But even as annoying to you as he was, you still wanted him to pay attention to you. And you knew the only way he'd ever start giving you the time of day was if you forced him to. Your pride and insufferable dignity meant you could never be caught begging for Harry Potter's attention, at least not in a positive way. So you took the alternative approach, and became the bully…and settled to be Draco Malfoy, The Boy Who Lived to Torture Harry Potter – Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter's arch nemesis. You forced yourself to hate him, and well, eventually you didn't have to try anymore. Harry became strictly "Potter" the insolent, stupid, speccy, inconsolable Gryffindor bastard and annoying do gooder of the Light. The Golden Boy whom everyone else seemed to worship and revere. Everyone except you. You felt the names and hateful taunts spew out of your mouth like uncontrollable projectile word vomit, and pretty soon it became a chronic reaction. Meanwhile, secretly, you relished it because at least this way you were connected to Harry. He might look at you and loathe everything you stand for, but at least he'd be looking.

You'd never in your life ever admit it to anyone, but sometimes you still find Harry in your dreams. It's always the same dream, been recurring since as long as you can remember. And in that dream, Harry shakes your outstretched hand that first day on the train. And in that dream, Harry gets up and follows you to your compartment, leaving Weaselby sputtering like a fish out of water, to fend for himself. And in that dream, Harry shares the rest of those Bertie Bott's with you. And opens the rest of his Chocolate Frogs with you as you tell him about your childhood, about everything to expect in the Wizarding World, who to befriend, who to avoid, who not to cross…and Harry looks at you in awe, his green eyes lighting up, fascinated by you and you alone. And in that dream, Harry is sorted into Slytherin, and when he walks over to the Slytherin table, he sits down right next to you…

Don't wake me up

And every time you wake up from that dream, you'd find that for some reason, the top of your pillowcase would always be damp.

~D/H~

"Draco! DRACO!"

Mother's voice sounded in your ear. You quickly pulled yourself into a sitting position. You looked up and to your immense relief and glory, Mother and Father were hurrying towards you together; Mother's blue eyes red rimmed and her sunken cheeks streaming with tears…

"Mother!"

You held her close to you, and Father placed his arms around you both.

"Oh Draco–" Mother's voice was hoarsely worn from crying, but her arms held you with unexpected strength. "You're alive."

You let out a harsh gasp, as you recall how close to death you actually were…

"I'm lucky to be."

Thanks to Harry…

Father squeezed my shoulder wearily. "Draco, it's all right. We're all lucky to be alive."

I turned to face Father, my chin lifted and my eyes held his own with a steady gaze.

"Harry Potter saved my life." The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I swallowed deeply and continued. "C-Crabbe's dead, he accidentally cast a Fiendfyre and it went rogue on him, but Potter got on a broomstick, and he flew us both to safety. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

At these words, Father looked shocked and remained speechless. Mother meanwhile, merely smiled.

~D/H~

The war was finally over. Shouts of laughter, joy, triumph, and celebratory wand sparks filled the Great Hall, as everyone who was lucky enough to be there to witness, celebrated the end of Voldemort. The end of fear and despair and the start of new hope…

Father and Mother sit together next to you, Father's arm around Mother, and Mother's hand grasping your own. You're the only three people in the Great Hall not celebrating…well, technically you weren't crying of heartbreak, either. Mostly you were just relieved. But to join in on the festivities after the defeat of the Dark Wizard whose existence you had been taught to revere since birth – would be out of character, to say the least. Your mind draws away to another corner, where the fixation upon a dark haired, green eyed boy with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead stirs to life…you shake your head fiercely, trying unsuccessfully to remove that forbidden image from your mind. You look up as the actual Harry Potter walks past you and through the doors leading out of the Great Hall. He later tells you he had hesitated to approach you because he was unsure of how you would react. You follow him with your eyes until he's completely out of sight. Then you lock eyes with Mother, who's been watching you, watch Harry the whole time. She holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity, and you realize with a plunging feeling that she's caught on. Surprisingly however, she squeezes your hand and nods in Harry's direction.

"What?" You demand bluntly. You're not done playing denial just yet. Even if your own Mother's just discovered your deepest, darkest secret.

Mother smirks at you in true Malfoy style. "I believe I just saw something of yours head in that direction. Am I right, Draco?"

You feel your cheeks redden and you scowl at her. Father joins the conversation, clearly oblivious to what's happening.

"Draco, what's the matter? What happened? Narcissa?"

Mother just chuckles and pats him on the hand.

"Nothing, Lucius. Just a little joke between Draco and I."

Father appears too exhausted to bother with further investigation, so he merely shrugs and returns to wearily leaning against the wall behind him.

Mother turns back to you, her lips curling up triumphantly. You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at her like a sodding ten year old. You're embarrassed beyond belief and you can't believe you've just nearly been outed by your own Mother. At least now you have a legitimate excuse to get away from them and subsequently attempt to corner Potter behind a conveniently place suit of armor. Or something.

"I need some air." You say, a little more loudly than you had intended, and swiftly walk out before Mother can interrogate you any further.

Mothers. Bloody fucking Hell.

~D/H~

You find Potter sitting alone on the steps outside the entrance of the castle. You momentarily wonder why he's alone and not with those two detachable arses, Weasel and Granger – but then you realize the utter perfection of the situation; you've caught Potter alone and now you can make your move and snog—attempt reconciliation – with him. Bloody fucking Hell, what's happening to you? After a few deep swallows to try and keep that increasing urge to vomit at bay, you finally find the words to speak.

"Potter?"

~D/H~

"You know, The Sorting Hat had wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry says quietly. "But I asked it to place me in Gryffindor instead."

"You're joking."

You gape at Harry, unable to hide your shock. Harry Potter, almost a Slytherin? And in that dream, Harry was sorted in Slytherin, and when he walked over to the Slytherin table, he sat down right next to you…

Harry shakes his head. "I wish I was…but no. It's true. I think that's why I was so paranoid our second year…with all those rumors going around about the Heir of Slytherin…and then when you set that snake on me, and I started speaking Parseltongue … well it drove me bonkers because I really thought – " He breaks off mid sentence, uncertainty etched in his features.

All you can do is stare at him. Stare at him and realize that at that moment, you're no longer looking at the famous Harry Potter, the Harry Potter who seemed so infallible, so unwavering to the rest of the world. But just Harry, a boy – with fears and insecurities and flaws, just like everyone else. And you realize that everything you've said to him, done to him, and the way you taunted him for all those years in school – did nothing but add salt to the wound.

You swallow roughly, trying to suppress the onset of burning guilt that's currently creeping up your esophagus. The unpleasant sensation is then replaced by a sudden cautious idea: What if you hadn't insulted Weasley in front of Harry that day? Well, all right, it'd be highly unlikely saying as it was Weasley, and to mock him was more like a reflex, will of nature than anything else – but what if, given the circumstances, Harry wasn't given a reason to feel insulted or wary of you? Might he have then possibly accepted your offer of friendship? And could he have then not been so repulsed and afraid of Slytherin, that when he placed the Sorting Hat on his head and was given the idea…could he?

"Potter," You finally say, "Hell would freeze over before nature would let you become a Slytherin. You are much too daft and your glasses are too stupid."

Oh Fuck

Harry raises his eyebrows at you.

"What's my glasses got to do with me being a Slytherin?"

"Nothing. I just wanted an excuse to make fun of you for no apparent reason. You know how that goes."

Shut up, shut up-

"Uh, okay." Harry says, cautiously taking a few steps back from you. You realize with a sinking feeling that you've just inadvertently just dug yourself into another verbal ditch.

For Fuck's Sake you were supposed to be attempting to console Harry regardless of his innately wrong and idiotic assumptions about Slytherin, NOT insult him more!

You're increasingly aware that trying to be "nice" is much harder than you initially thought it would be. It's no wonder you've avoided it like the Plague for all these years.

"I mean, it takes away from your face, your glasses," You put in quickly, then realizing - just as quickly, of the ominous direction you were just about to steer into. You recover by mentally kicking yourself.

"…Not that you'd be any better looking without them. On second thought, keep the glasses. You wear the four-eyed stunned bullfrog look rather w- repulsively. Just the sight of you is enough to put me off meals for weeks."

Liar - you're such a fucking liar, don't even try and deny you wouldn't jump him the first chance you got…those eyes, that hair that always looked as if he either just woke up from being thoroughly shagged silly –

You wonder if it's possible to cast an Unforgiveable on your own conscience. Fortunately for you, Harry appears not to have noticed anything. You sigh inwardly in relief that the object of your affection conveniently has the intuition accuracy of a troll. Or Trelawney after 5 bottles of cooking sherry.

Harry's looking at you with a bemused look on his face. Your cheeks grow hot and you feel that devilish, throbbing feeling seep into your groin. Blast ended Skrewt you're getting hard…

"Potter, I know my gorgeous looks are enough to render anyone speechless," You drawl casually, all the while trying to ignore the treacherous behavior currently happening in your lower region. "But may I ask what the fuck it is you're staring at? It's putting me off my dinner."

Harry chuckles at your albeit wit.

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"What?"

"Thanks…for assuring me that no matter what happens, I can always still count on you to be a steadfastly miserable prat." Harry finishes, but there's no tone of anger or insult. Instead, he's grinning like you just told him you were taking over Creevey's position as President of Harry Potter's Fan Club.

"See you around, Malfoy." He laughs, before turning and walking away.

You stare wordlessly after his retreating figure. A few seconds pass before it hits. The war is over. You're alive. Voldemort's dead. And you just had a conversation with Harry Potter that didn't result in a hex or one of you ending up in the hospital wing. Salazar be Damned.

The next time you see Harry is at graduation. Most of the students who had evacuated Hogwarts before the attack didn't bother returning, but the school reopened on the last day of June to all who wanted to see the first post war class graduate. Even though you made a big show of feigning disdain and reluctance in stepping back into that blasted school ever again, you were secretly glad that Mother won over in her insistence you return for the occasion. After all, Harry Potter was going to be honored at graduation. And while you would never, ever admit it to a single soul, you were secretly hoping for an excuse to see him again.

~D/H~

Surprisingly, it's Harry who finds you first after the ceremony. You're standing with Blaise and Daphne Greengrass, meanwhile nervously searching around the Hall with your eyes for any sight of untidy black hair. You feel a light tap on your shoulder and spin around in surprise as you find Harry Potter standing there, nervously biting his lip. You blatantly ignore Zabini and Daphne's questioning stares.

"Could I…could I have a word with you?" Harry asks quietly. Your heart has currently found a new home in your throat, pounding against your Adam's apple like a beat drum. For the first time in your entire life, you have no witty, sarcastic, or insulting remark to shoot at Harry. Instead, you allow your body to move on its own accord and follow Harry outside.

~D/H~

"I never got to say I'm sorry about the Sectumsempra thing," Harry says awkwardly. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I –I found that spell in the potions book, it said for enemies, and I just – I know it was a stupid, arse thing to do. And I'm sorry."

You recall lying in the boys' bathroom, shaking uncontrollably, blood gushing out of you like a crimson waterfall. Then you glimpse another image, between gasps and convulsions, of Harry falling to his knees, next to you, covered in blood as well…

"You almost killed me, you blithering idiot." You manage finally; but seeing Harry's visible guilt written all over his face, causes a few shards of ice to chip off your black heart.

"…But I was going to Crucio you to the ends of the Earth anyway so I guess we can call it even."

Harry, to your immense shock, actually smiles. You find yourself slightly hypnotized by the curve of his lips, then quickly snap yourself out of it. Bloody Hell. Why is it that no matter how much you try and retain yourself, effing Potter has to do something to make himself even harder to resist?

"Don't get too happy, I still despise you on principle," You add quickly, making sure to add an arrogant sneer (all the while praying to Salazar Harry hasn't noticed that temporary lovesick puppy look on your face seconds earlier). To your huge relief, he doesn't. Typical oblivious Potter.

"Of course." Harry's grin widens. You feel a heartbeat catch in your throat. "But…since the war's over now…call a truce maybe?"

This time, it's Harry who holds out his hand.

~D/H~

For the love of all things Evil and Unholy. Harry Potter just held out his hand to you. And you shook it, civilly and calmly, and neither of you tried to break the other's fingers. You did, however, manage to keep your cover and ensure Harry that regardless of whatever truce the two of you made, you still holy and purely hated him like it was the most natural, surest thing you knew in life. Fantastic, this is perfect, you're off the hook now, forever, and surely –

But then something strange happens. Suddenly a force beyond your control surges through you, and before you can gather what the fuck is going on and stop yourself…you're running, fucking dashing as fast as you can, down the corridor. You spot Weasel and Granger alone lurking annoyingly by a window nearby, and before you can refrain yourself, you're stopped in front of them. To your horror, your mouth opens and -

"Where's Potter?"

"Yeah, right, like we'd ever tell you!" Weasley scoffs at you derisively. You respond with a sneer and trademark lip curl, meanwhile trying to avoid breathing at all; for fear you might catch whatever infectious disease it was that created Weasley in the first place.

"What's it to you, Malfoy?"

"Just tell me where Potter is!" You yell out, unable to hold your breath any longer. You instinctively turn away from Weasley and your next words are addressed to the dusty broom cupboard now in front of you.

"I need to talk to him."

Weasley laughs harshly. "Talk to him, don't make me laugh. We're not telling you bollocks so you can try and do Harry in now that You-Know-Who's gone, no –"

But you don't wait to retort, you can't be bothered wasting precious time arguing with Weasel at the moment, so you start running again, in the direction of the staircases, towards the Gryffindor tower…

You don't stop until you've reached that Portrait with that insolent Fat Wench sitting in it. She gapes openly as you collapse against a suit of armor, wheezing and gasping like Filch on a normal day.

"Let – me – in –" You choke out, clutching your sides while promptly knocking over the suit of armor. Unsurprisingly, The Fat Wench merely folds those giant slabs of ham she calls arms and turns her nose up at you.

"Password?" She trills snobbishly. You almost hex her.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? Just let me in!"

The Fat Wench gasps at your rudeness, but you could care less.

"How dare you! Of course I can't let you in if you haven't got the password, otherwise anyone can just wander on in, couldn't they? So either say the correct password or stop wasting my time and leave!" She shrieks, her chins wobbling about like a poorly constructed accordion.

The portrait door swings open just as you're about to cast the Cruciatus Curse on a picture frame, and to your utter delight – Harry walks out. Then you see he's with Weasley's sister and that delight quickly turns to scorn.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" the Weasel girl scowls. You restrain the urge to hex her. Harry stares at you, his mouth attractively opening and closing like he's channeling a goldfish. But it's what you do next that hits the shock factor for everyone.

"Potter, come with me –"

And you reach out – grab Harry's arm – and yank him through the still open portrait door, which, through all of the excitement, the Fat Wench had forgotten to close. You mentally cast a locking jinx that your Aunt Bellatrix had once taught you – and the portrait swings shut and locks from the inside. The Weasel girl is shouting profanities at you from behind the locked portrait, but you hear none of it.

"Malfoy, what-?" Harry's bewildered words are cut off as you dive in, press your lips into his, and pull him against you. Harry's entire body goes rigid as if you had cast Petrificus Totalis on him, but you don't care. You kiss him, as seven years of unspoken passion, failed attempts to reconcile, hateful taunts, retorts, hexes, sneers, and bitterness of hurt from rejection – seem to vanish on the spot.

A few seconds go by before you realize what you've done.

Oh Shit

And just as quickly, you release Harry, reeling back like you've been stung. Harry stumbles and backs away from you, the expression on his face can be construed as pure unadulterated shock.

"P-Potter, I –it's not, I don't-" You're not even sure how the words are coming out of your mouth. All you know is that you just fucking blew your cover, big time, and any second now Harry would hex you right out of Gryffindor tower and straight into the Basilik's lair in the dungeons –

But then the Unthinkable happens. Harry stares at you, his emerald eyes on your grey ones, and for a moment it's as if time has stopped. Then Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The Golden Boy of Hogwarts, insufferable Gryffindor Git of the Century, boyfriend of the female Weasel – suddenly moves forward and presses his lips against yours. His warm breath hits your mouth like a shot of firewhisky, and the next thing you know, your arms are at his waist, pulling him into you, and you're kissing him, and he's kissing you…

And there's nothing as real as right then.

Five minutes later

Harry detaches himself from you, breathing heavily. You take in the sight of him, raw crimson lips, black hair sticking up in a different directions, and his eyes, Slytherin green, searching your own grey ones for an answer.

"What…was that all about?"

You smile broadly, finally aware that with the right time, comes the right words.

"That – was for saving my life." And you push Harry up against the wall, lean down and capture his lips again.

~D/H~

Nineteen Years Later

Astoria walks next to you, holding Scorpius's hand as the three of you head down the train platform. In the distance, you see Harry. You barely notice that the female Weasel and the three Potter offspring are with him. You only see Harry, and as Harry catches your gaze, he smiles – a small, gentle one. You return with a curt nod before turning your attention back to your wife and son.

It's better this way.

"Dad?"

Scorpius's voice fills with uncertainty as he looks up at you.

"Yeah, Scorp?"

"What if I don't get put into Slytherin?"

You look down at Scorpius, whose face, like a mirror image of your own at eleven, is contorted with worry and concern. You chuckle and kneel down so that your son's face is on level with your own.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, are you truly worried that you will get placed in another house?"

"No, I'm not worried, I'm just – well, what if the Sorting Hat wants to put me somewhere else?" There is a rise of panic in Scorpius' voice now. You look over at Astoria, who gives you a pointed look. You sigh and place an unwavering hand on your son's shoulder.

"And why should that worry you if you get put somewhere else? Last time I checked, there were four houses at Hogwarts, not one."

Scorpius shakes his head fiercely. "But you and Mum, and Grandfather, and Grandmother, you were all in Slytherin! What if I'm not? What if I get put somewhere else? I'm scared, Dad, I'm scared because I don't want to disappoint you if I'm not in– " He breaks off, and you can tell the mere thought of getting put anywhere else terrifies him to no avail. You pause for a moment – a familiar pair of emerald eyes and night black hair swivel hazily into your thoughts – and you glance over across the platform to where Harry Potter is currently kneeling in a similar way in front of his own son. A sensation of sadness mixed with regret overcomes you, but you shake it off, determined not to let the past become the present.

"Scorpius, listen to me. The greatest person I've ever met, who means more to me than he will ever know, was a Gryffindor. He was also the bravest man I've ever known, and it's to him I owe my life." The words are spilling out of your mouth before you can stop it. "So whatever house you end up in, Scorp, just know that your mother and I will be proud of you. And besides…"

"The Sorting Hat had wanted to put me in Slytherin. But I asked it to place me in Gryffindor instead."

"You can choose Slytherin over the others if it matters that much to you. A friend of mine once told me that the Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

Scorpius's eyes light up at these words. He's visibly relieved and a small grin finds its way onto his face.

"Thanks, Dad."

You return the smile, and then another thought occurs to you. "Hey, Scorp."

"Yeah, Dad?" Scorpius glances up at you. The Hogwarts Express sounds its warning whistle. You quickly lean in towards your son's direction.

"If you see Harry Potter's son, the one in your year, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to try and get to know him. Know what I mean?"

Scorpius gives you a slightly surprised look, but nods quickly before waving good bye and hurrying onto the train. You stand back, watch as the Hogwarts Express shuttles off, and across the platform through the thinning mist, you see Harry Potter. His emerald eyes reach your silver grey ones, and there's a small, sort of sad smile on his face. Your chest constricts for a moment as 19 years of longing stir feebly inside you.

Red and gold and silver and green and black and blond and dark and light

"So…what do we do now?" Harry asks, looking up at you with those eyes that get you every time.

Stay with me

"Besides fuck each other's brains out? Dunno, haven't got to thinking that far yet." You smirk, your right hand coming down to rest against Harry's hip, slowly creeping up under his un tucked white button down shirt.

The touch of his bare skin is surprisingly smooth and slender against your own. You envision running your tongue over that spot. Harry half smirks back at your response and leans in, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Then you realize that he's hugging you, like body pressed against yours, hugging and holding onto you, willingly. For the first time in your life, you feel awkward. Unsure, almost – of how to respond to such a simple, tender moment. Your thoughts were always laced with rough, tension ridden sex and the need to maintain dominance when it came to Harry. But now he's embracing you, his arms encircling your neck, head just touching yours, and it's given you a strange sensation you don't believe you've ever felt before. It's so…sweet. So Harry. So innocent, despite everything he's been through. It makes you want to wrap your own arms around him, and shield him, protect him, from everything in the world that's bad, that's dangerous, that's evil and corrupting…that's everything you stood for. Still stand for. You're not even sure what you are at this point, but the guilt trip has already started.

You're in love with him.

You can't let him go now

But you'd tarnish his golden innocence. And you'd be turned to mush by his goodness.

You're a Malfoy. You would never, could never – it's beneath you =

You're beneath him.

He deserves better

But you love him.

You've loved him since you first laid eyes on him…

He completes me

You would break his spirit

You would burn his Heaven with your Hell

You need to walk away

No I won't, I want him

He wants me too…

He's with the Weasley girl

But he's kissing you right now

Mother wants you to marry Pure

Daphne's sister

You're a Malfoy

He's a Potter

He's fucking Harry Potter

I don't fucking CARE

Let him go.

You pull away. Harry, feeling the sudden jerk in movement, lifts himself up and looks questionably up at you. You glance around your surroundings and realized that in your hormone, adrenaline-ridden heat of passion, the two of you managed to end up in Harry's dormitory. Downstairs, you can still hear echoes of blasts from the wand spells – no doubt coming from the Weasel girl and probably Weasel and Granger too, desperately trying- and failing- to counter the extremely powerful and handy jinx Aunt Bella taught you all those years ago. "For protection against unwanted intrusion" –Aunt Bella used to say,, with that slightly manic glint in her deep lidded eyes. "Or if you just want some alone time and don't want to be disturbed." She'd add, giving you a wink that would cause Mother to tut disapprovingly. You can't help but smile a little at that last part. If only Aunt Bellatrix could see her nephew now, using that jinx to attempt to shag the living daylights out of Harry Potter. You have a crazy thought that she might even be impressed…

"Draco?" Harry's small voice yanks you out of the devious crevasses of your own thoughts. You look down and see Harry's concerned face. He's biting his lip a little. You grab his chin and kiss him roughly. Harry's mouth opens in surprise and you force your tongue in. He responds, letting you explore inside…

Draco.

He said your name.

"You called me Draco." You say, between kisses. Harry's eyes close as you reach down to caress his neck.

"I…didn't…even…realize," He gasps, then pulls away as if it's the only way he can go back to speaking properly again. "I just figured after well, everything…we could be on a first name basis now?"

"I'll consider the idea…Potter." You grin purposefully. Harry rolls his eyes at you but as he turns away, you catch him hiding a smile too.

"So I guess, after this, we just…go our separate ways?" He turns around to face you again, and your chest tightens, as it always does, whenever Harry Potter looks at you. You nod, even though it's killing your spirit to do it.

"Why did you, you know –" Harry gestures pointedly at the current state you've both managed to tangle yourselves in.

"Kiss you?" You respond, moving forward until your body is covering Harry's, and your palms are pressed against the pillow, on either side of Harry's face. "I didn't know how else to tell you."

"I don't hate you, Harry," You add quietly. Your throat is burning now, and the corners of your eyes are brimming with that familiar wetness you hate so much. "I've never hated you. In fact, I've always felt the opposite…"

You trail off, unable to finish. Harry's eyes seem frozen on your face.

I love you, Harry. Always have; always will.

"How long?" He asks.

"Since we met at Madam Malkin's seven years ago."

Harry's eyes widen in shock.

"Draco, I – "

But you don't let him finish. Instead, you kiss him. And he kisses you back, and there's nothing else needed to be said, because everything needed has already been done.

"Draco? Draco!" Astoria's voice enters your thoughts, and forcefully drags you back to the present. You look down the platform and see Harry's retreating figure, one arm around Ginny Weasley, the other linked with his daughter's. Astoria's blue eyes follow your gaze. She nods knowingly.

"You miss him, don't you?" She asks, placing her hand on yours. You take it and grasp it tightly.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter, of course. I see how your eyes get when you see him. Sad. Empty. Whatever happened between the two of you while you were at school, anyway?" Astoria presses. You shrug in response. You've never told her the truth of the matter, but then again, you've never told anyone else either.

"'Storia, there's nothing to tell. You know I told you we were schoolmates at Hogwarts, but we weren't even friends. We hated each other, actually."

"Yes, but Daphne told me that you reconciled after the war, and that you always –"

"I always what?"

"You always say, that without him, you wouldn't be here."

A smile works its way around your lips. Astoria's giving you a bemused look, and you squeeze her hand again.

"Something like that, yeah."

Always.

~ the End ~