Obviously
The breeze whipped through his hair, tousling white blond down. His eyes were dry; he time for crying had past. He thought of what he hadn't done. It was a little more substantial than leaving the oven on.
"No," he said out loud. If he thought too much, he wouldn't go through with it. He had tried before.
One step.
He couldn't stop them. The thoughts were screaming through his mind. His mother, dead with the knowledge that her son had killed himself. His father, scandalized that he had chosen suicide instead of a life of worship to the Dark Lord. He thought of Severus, who would be upset that he hadn't had the strength to follow through. Dumbledore, for fuck's sake, because the old coot seemed to actually care.
Two Steps.
Now he thought of his own personal ideology. How could he have thought that blood was a deciding factor in relative power or intelligence? Blood is blood. Except when your blood wants you to kill. When your parents are right on board with you becoming a murderer, of the greatest wizard of all time, no less.
Three steps.
He was almost panicking now; these were the last thoughts he'd ever think, the last sight he'd ever see was this lake, shining with the moon's light. His whole body was quivering as he picked up his foot (how heavy it felt!) once more.
Four steps.
He was teetering on the edge now, one slight shuffle forward and he would be falling, falling, falling! Soon he would be splat on the ground, a bloody fucking mess for Filch to clean up…
He wondered how well flowers grew with blood for fertilizer.
He took a deep breath (last breath, last fill of his lungs, last heartbeat to push the oxygen through his limbs to force his foot forwards) and heard a surprised,
"Malfoy?"
Shocked, he stumbled backwards onto the Astronomy tower, gasping again (damn it! Not his last breath after all) and looked up with irritation. Who was interrupting his death? What now, for Merlin's sake?
"Potter? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Draco snarled.
Potter was standing right in front of him, green eyes wide in surprise.
"I think the more apt question would be what are you doing here?" Potter replied.
"Take one guess, genius," Draco spat out, standing and collecting himself.
"Were… were you going to jump?" Potter said, not comprehending the obvious. Just like him, fucking idiot twat.
"Obviously," Draco said, unable to dash off. His feet just seemed glued to the stone.
"Why?" Potter still refused to get it.
"What do you care? Wouldn't you want me to finish what you already started?" Draco said, conspicuously rubbing his hand along the silver scar on his pale abdomen.
Unexpectedly, Potter winced.
"I really didn't mean to do that to you, you know. I didn't even know what the spell was when I cat it, and you were fighting back, and you were crying, and Snape…" Potter trailed off, realizing that he had been rambling.
Draco realized that he hadn't really looked at Potter in ages. Not really looked. Not since first year, he reckoned. Another thing to add to the idiot tally; what kind of wanker doesn't look at his mortal enemy for five years?
He also realized that Potter was… Not bad looking.
He had lovely tanned skin, with a couple of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His hair was far too long, and wild, tendrils poking every which way, and falling onto his glasses. He still had those round glasses from first year, which was a shame, because they covered his eyes.
Those eyes.
Oceans of startlingly green fire, swimming around open black holes.
Then Draco realized he had been staring.
"Whatever," he muttered, looking away. "Not like I really wanted to live anyways. Obviously."
"Well…" Potter said, awkwardly, "Why not?"
Draco was surprised. It almost sounded like Potter gave a shit what happened to him. But that couldn't be right. Obviously.
"Again, why do you care? You, with you perfect golden boy life, why do you want to know why your antagonist has decided to off himself? You should be happy," Draco snapped bitterly.
"I want to know because everyone's life is precious. Even yours," Potter said, suddenly serious.
Draco wondered why his heart seemed to jump when Potter said, "Even yours."
"Well. Don't suppose I have much to lose now, " Draco said, and sat and loosened his tie (Merlin! Was he really going to kill himself in perfect uniform? He really needed to learn how not to be a kiss ass.)
Potter cautiously sat next to him, not even a foot away. Closer than necessary, really. Draco noticed.
He began. "Well, as I'm sure you've figured out, Father is still a loyal groveler to Him. He fucked up, and as his punishment, I was given an impossible task."
Apparently unable to contain himself, Potter asked, "What task?"
"What, your bushy-haired sidekick hasn't figured it out yet? Think really hard, you twat," Draco said with more than a hint of annoyance.
Potter seemed to actually consider it, and then the wand lit. "Oh, you have to kill Dumbledore, don't you?" he said, far more calmly than he should have been able to.
"He finally gets it, praise Merlin!" said Draco sarcastically.
Potter was a little more serious. "That's… that's really shit," he said.
Draco just sighed. He wasn't sure he could speak, anyway. Because Potter had just scooted closer.
Their thighs were touching.
Draco's pants were tighter than they should have been.
And he saw the light.
He leapt to his feet. "Shit shit fuck buggering fucking hell!" he shouted off into the night.
"What?" Potter asked, confused.
Just like Draco suddenly wasn't. No, there was no confusion in this knowledge. He was certain. Certain of the reason that Pansy had always been unappealing, while Blaise was rather… nice looking. Now he knew why his "type" was rather flat chested, and why he'd never gotten past blowjobs (and why he'd never returned the favor). Now he knew why Astoria's simpering grated him so.
Why his heart had been pounding so hard (like another part of his anatomy) this whole time with Potter.
It was because he was gayer than a rainbow.
And he had a dragon sized crush on Harry Potter.
Finally, Draco said, "Since this is a tell all confession, I suppose I should mention that I just realized I'm gay." He didn't mention the other thing. That was just too much.
"Oh," said Potter, adjusting his glasses. Bloody things. "I've known about me for ages."
Of course Potter had to beat him to his gay realization. Obviously. He was the boy who wouldn't bloody die.
The boy who fucking forced Draco to like him.
Still, Draco was surprised. "Weren't you with the weaselette?"
"Don't call Ginny that. And no. She kissed me, I told her it wasn't going to happen, and now she won't speak to me," Potter said, shifting uncomfortably. "Anyways, what made you realize?"
"What made you realize?" Draco retorted childishly.
Potter blushed. How amusing.
"It was a boy I used to fight with. One day I figured out I wanted to snog him more than I wanted to kill him."
"And did you?" Draco asked, curious.
Potter got even redder.
How… adorable.
"No. I never told anyone, especially not him," Potter muttered in embarrassment.
"So you've never really kissed anyone?" Draco asked incredulously.
"Ah, no," Potter admitted.
"And I'm the one you're coming out to?"
"Erm. Yep," Potter said.
Oh. All right then.
Draco sat back down and stretched out languidly. "Did you ever get over your crush?" he asked.
Potter just turned away, the back of his neck flaming.
"Oh, you still like him, don't you?" Draco said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. It was a struggle, with the hot jealousy burning his veins. Harry liked someone else.
"I'm fucking in love and I'm such a fucking idiot for loving him," Harry said harshly.
Draco felt a knife pierce his heart, worse than any sectumsempra. The crush-dragon in his chest wailed in pain.
"So who is this love of yours?" Draco asked, spitting out each word like poison.
Harry's blush, which had been fading, came back full force.
"I… I can't tell you," he said.
"So you can tell me that you're a gay, never-been-kissed virgin, but you can't tell me who you're in love with? What a fucked up relationship we have," Draco said.
"We've always been fucked up, haven't we?"
Draco sighed. No chance, nothing but pain was going to come of this… this… infatuation. "That's true."
They sat in silence for a while, looking at the moon and feeling the breeze.
But Draco still wanted to know.
Still needed to know.
"Come on, just tell me who it is," he wheedled, trying to get an answer.
"No!" Harry said, "I CAN'T tell you! Don't you understand? I CAN'T TELL YOU!"
"Well I don't see why not," Draco said, offended.
" You wouldn't."
This felt… off. What reason could there possibly be for Harry not telling him? Was it… was it…
Then a horrible thought occurred to Draco.
It was the weasel.
Draco tried to mentally calm himself down, play it cool, before he really did throw himself off the tower in agony.
"So this love of yours, are you close?" he asked, trying to be discreet.
Harry snorted. "I wish."
Hmmm, that was odd. Last time Draco had checked, the demented duo was still joined at the hip. Let's try again.
"Doesn't his hair bother you? It's so bright."
Harry looked panicked. "What? How did you figure it out? What gave it away?"
Draco was confused. "It was a pretty easy jump to make. Potty and Weasel, stuck closer sticking charm." Now that he thought about it, how could he not have seen it? Of course Harry loved the weasel. Obviously.
(The sting in his chest was unbearable.)
Harry, weirdly, began to laugh. "You thought it was Ron? Wow, for a second I thought you had gotten it. But that's hilarious!"
Draco, both offended and relieved (thank fuck it wasn't Weasley!), said quietly, "I thought it was a rather good hypothesis."
"No, I guess with the information I gave you it would be, but you're so far off base," Harry said.
Well, Draco thought, then we'll have to do this by process of elimination. "Is it a Gryffindor?"
Harry gave no response.
"Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw?"
Still nothing, so it had to be a
"Slytherin? Really?"
Now Harry's face reddened again. "I can't help it," he muttered.
"So I imaging he's at least a fifth year," Draco said.
"Of course! I'm not some kind of pedophile!" Harry burst out, horrified.
"So Slytherin fifth, sixth, and seventh year boys… Harper, Smith, Pucey, Blaise, Nott, Anderson, and myself," Draco listed.
"You missed a few," said Harry, amused.
"The others are too unattractive."
"You really think I'm that shallow?" Harry asked, mildly hurt.
"No, it's just… Crabbe? Goyle? Ew."
"True," Harry conceded.
"Alright, do you know if he's gay?" Draco asked, keeping a tally of the Slytherins in his head.
"Actually I just found out that he is," Harry said.
"Then that eliminates Pucey, Blaise, Smith, and Anderson, because he came out a couple years ago," Draco figured.
"Harper's gay?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Yeah, you didn't know? He's really into fucking people in the quiddich locker rooms," Draco said.
"No surprise, I suppose. Have you SEEN his arse in quiddich leathers? Sex on legs," Harry said.
"So it's Harper?" Draco asked, his heart sinking.
"Oh, no. My type's more blond. Oh, god, what did I just say? I'm giving it away! I can't do this!" Harry shouted, starting to get to his feet.
Draco reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. He gasped when their skin made contact; physical sparks travelled down his nerves. "Stay! Stay! I need to know!" Draco said urgently. Harry looked at him strangely, but conceded.
"Blond, so no to Harper and Nott… the only blond one is…"
Harry's eyes were wide and terrified.
Draco raised a shaking hand to his own light colored locks.
This time when Harry started to run, Draco was too shocked to stop him.
Harry loved… HIM? Really? He was in love with Harry, and Harry loved him back. In LOVE. Requited love!
He snapped out of his shock and took off after Harry, feet slapping on cold stone. Fuck Filch, fuck Peeves, fuck Severus and everyone, he needed to find Harry. Post-fucking-haste.
He saw a shock of black hair around the next corner, and sprinted around it. Harry was nowhere in sight, but he hear the slam of a broom closet door.
There was only one broom closet in that corridor.
Slowly, Draco opened the door. "Harry?"
"Go away, you fucking twat," came the muffled response.
Draco cast a lumos, and found Harry curled up in the corner, arms hugging his knees close and tears staining his pants.
"But I never told you what made me realize I'm gay," Draco said in a soft voice.
There came a sniffle. And another. And then,
"What?"
Draco took a deep breath. Time to let loose. "It was when you scooted close to me and your thigh touched mine. It provoked an… interesting… anatomical reaction."
Harry slowly lifted his head. "You… you got hard because of me?"
Draco swallowed.
"Yes."
Harry was staring at him, and the look in his eyes made the crush-dragon rejoice.
And then Harry was in his arms and he was in Harry's, and cold, chapped lips were pressed against soft warm ones. Callused hands tangled in blond strands, and perfectly manicured hands n the wild black hair. Noses knocked, glasses clashed against face.
It was the best kiss Draco had ever had.
Obviously.