The first time I saw your face. That's when I loved you. But, that was not when I realized it. I took me a while. I had my doubts. When I offered you my hand, and you so unceremoniously refused to shake it, I felt my heart break. My stone-hard unbreakable Malfoy family emotional wall came crumbling down, so I tried hard to hide it. I used hate as a cover-up for heartbreak. Malice as a cover-up for love. When I cried myself to sleep, all those cold, hard, countless nights, I still thought you where beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I stopped crying. So beautiful that I decided that we had nothing but a misunderstanding that day, and that starting over was the best way to approach my feelings for you. So I will.
I knew exactly what you thought of me. You thought I was a Death Eater.You thought I wanted to kill you. On the contrary, Harry James...I want nothing more than to hold you in my arms and whisper those sweet, innocent nothings into your ear. So I'll ask you if I can. I'll ask you if its alright. Be ready for me, Harry James...because I'm coming.

-Draco

Draco had given Harry nervous side glances all through their morning Potions class. Everything about him was gorgeous. His messy coal black hair, his bright green eyes, his face, glistening with a sheer coat of sweat as he slaved over his cauldron. Draco, so intrigued by the sight, noticed all the little things, like the way Harry bit his lip with his left front tooth when he was concentrating. The bell rang, snapping the platinum blonde out of his thoughts. He swallowed. 'This is it,' he thought, 'It's now or never, Draco! Remember your speech!'
Mustering up his courage, he followed Harry, Ron, and Hermione out of the Potions Room door, and into the main dungeons. Taking a deep, nerve-strengthening breath, he tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Po-Harry! Could I...t-talk to your for a moment? In," he motioned to Ron and Hermione in a very kind, out of character way, "private? Please?" He squinted his eyes a bit. Harry cocked an eyebrow. "What for, Malfoy?"
Draco flinched at the harshness of Harry's words. This, Harry noticed. "Is there something wrong with you, Malfoy? Seriously wrong?" Draco knitted his eyebrows together in sadness. "Could I just...talk with you...now, please?" he whispered, not meeting Harry's unfriendly, questioning gaze. Harry snorted. "Fine, but do it quick, Malfoy. I don't have time to waste talking to an arsehole like you."
Draco inwardly gasped, biting his lip to hold back the tears that threatened to escape at Harry's cruel words. Harry noticed this, too. "Malfoy, are you sick or something? Every insult I throw at you isn't met with a snide remark. You keep flinching like you're hurt. You must seriously be si-"
"I'M NOT SICK, HARRY!" Draco squeaked. "When you insult me, it does hurt! It hurts really bad!" Harry glared. "And why, dare I ask, does it hurt you, Draco?: he hissed. Draco avoided his eyes again. "Because...because...I...I-I...oh!" He shook his head, and leaned up, pressing his lips softy to Harry's, his six-year-long craving finally being met. Pulling away, he whispered in Harry's ear. "Because, I love you, Harry James Potter."