THE WAY I CRY

Red-hot. Pain. Knowledge of torture. Unbearable torment. The agony of heat. The spawn of which is an ebony mark. Inerasable. Permanent. Seared into flesh. Merciless crimson eyes. Lord of all cruelty. Chilling laughter. Stinging tears.

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Draco Malfoy was weeping.

He despised himself for allowing the tears to spill down his pale cheeks. But it couldn't be helped. The tears flowed from a place inside him that he had only realized existed when the Dark Mark was burned into his terrified flesh. A place that not even he himself could penetrate.

He stared out of the tower's windows. The sky was starless tonight. There was no moon. Just endless, inky blackness. He longed to sink into it. If he jumped, he would die, and then maybe his soul would float away into a realm which the Dark Lord could never enter . . .

Draco didn't know how long he sat like that before he felt someone else's presence in the room.

He whirled. Silver eyes immediately clashed with emerald ones.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

Harry Potter said quietly, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Draco turned away. Of course. He had forgotten that Harry was the Head Boy. "Go and tell McGonagall I'm here," he snapped, looking stonily out the window. "Or better yet, tell Filch. I won't leave. They'll catch me. Then they'll give Gryffindor House another ten thousand points because a Gryffindor caught the evil Malfoy skulking around at night."

Harry said nothing. Draco ended his diatribe with a glare at him, then he stared out the window again.

After a long silence, Harry spoke. "Malfoy, why are you crying that way?"

Draco was so stunned by the question that for a moment he was speechless. Then he managed to grate out, "Crying that way? Potter, what the bloody everlasting hell are you talking about?"

"You're sitting up and crying."

"Potter, I don't know when and how you lost your mind, and right now I don't much care. Sod off. What is wrong with crying while sitting? And for that matter, who's crying?"

Harry gave him a condescending look. "Whatever." Then he walked towards the wall opposite Draco. In one lithe motion, he was braced against it in a headstand.

Draco nearly fell out of the window. "Potter, what the HELL do you think you're doing?"

Harry was upside-down against the wall, and his robes fell down and draped across his shoulders. Draco couldn't help but admire the way Harry's muscles strained as he stayed in a headstand. His gaze swept over fit legs, the flat six-pack of muscles that was Harry's abdomen, and a hard chest…

Harry kicked off, and suddenly he was standing back up. His robes fell back into place, shielding his tanned, well-built form (the product of years of Quidditch training) from Draco's disappointed eyes.

Finally Draco got his wits back. He spluttered, "What was that for?"

Harry shrugged. "I watched that in a Muggle show once. When you want to cry, when you can't prevent the tears, do a headstand . . . that way you'll be upside-down, and your tears won't have a chance to fall." He looked at the Slytherin sitting on the windowsill, a few tearstains on his cheek, and added more gently, "I know you don't want to cry, Malfoy. No one does."

And with that, Harry began walking out of the room. He paused briefly to say, "You can stay here. I won't tell McGonagall." Then he continued walking.

Draco watched Harry's retreating form, more dumbfounded than he had ever been in his life.

Then, as Harry's form began to vanish down the winding stairs, he yelled loudly after him, "Why does the way I cry matter to you, Potter?"

Harry halted and looked back. "Don't shout, or you yourself will be the reason you're caught." He went on down the stairs.

"You didn't answer the question."

Harry didn't stop.

All right, Draco thought. There was no way he was going to let Potter walk out of his life, just like that. He ran after him. "Hey, Potter!"

One moment Harry was walking, and the next, he was being pressed against the wall by Draco's body, and they were kissing, and they didn't ever want to stop.

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Ecstasy. White-hot joining. Melding of bodies. Blinding pleasure. Searing touches. Two melt into one. Unendurable rapture.

END

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DISCLAIMER: The 'Muggle show' that Harry watched is entitled Meteor Garden.

NOTE: Was the last part too vague? It's my first D/H fic. Hope you liked it . . . please review!