Disclaimer: In order not to incur the wrath of Bloomsbury, I feel I should make it clear that the characters and settings in this fan fiction belong to J.K. Rowling, and I am not making any royalties off this story (I wish!)

Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction, and I'm quite sure it shows. In any case, I hope, at the very least, there is something to entertain you in the paragraphs that follow. Dear Reader, enjoy!

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"Harry, what on earth are you writing?"

Ooops.

Harry Potter had thought he was alone in the Gryffindor common room. After all, it was well past midnight, on the night before a Transfiguration exam, and even Seamus and Dean had forsaken their (highly amusing) game of pre-exam-nerves strip poker in favour of their beds and sleep.

But Harry couldn't sleep.

Sick of the constant fatigue of hours spent in the library with little to show for it, Harry had, in a moment of weakness, bought from Ron – now the Hogwarts stockist of Fred and George's merchandise – a "Weasley's Wizards Wheezes! Patented Energy Drink."

That had been yesterday morning. Well, thought Harry, I really should have known better than to think it would be the same strength as muggle energy drinks…

It was his second sleepless night, and Harry was seriously beginning to wonder when the effects would wear off.

He leaned back in his armchair, and stared blankly at the fireplace. It was odd, thought Harry. Days were spent in such a rush – dragging yourself out of bed with five minutes until breakfast is over because you've overslept (again) because you stayed up until midnight trying to cram Charms work into your head (again.) Rushing to class (late – again), and spending the next six hours trying to bully a sleep-deprived brain into learning. Spending two hours at Quidditch training, then dinner, and then, a sinking feeling as you realise that it's ten o'clock and there's a mountain of half-finished homework...

... In such an environment, there's hardly time for self-reflection – the brain goes into automatic, as you fall into a routine, just trying to keep up with assignments... staggering into bed, utterly exhausted, and falling asleep immediately…

Sleepless nights, though, were dangerous. In the silent hours between dusk and dawn, where the moonlight seems unnaturally bright as it splashes across the walls and floor, the mind wanders. It examines those half-formed thoughts of the day, thrust aside in the bustle of the waking hours. It dredges up hidden feelings...

…strange, new, confusing feelings…

Harry was attracted to girls. He was ... quite sure about that. He hadn't had that many relationships, but so far, it all seemed to be going quite well, aside from the usual fumbling quality and occasional awkward moments that seemed to accompany everyone's first relationships. (If only, thought Harry, there were a spell to help undo those confounded bra hooks…)

Of course, this didn't mean that Harry particularly understood girls. He'd briefly dated Parvati, and one time she was in a huff with Harry for three whole days and he had no idea why, until Hermione took him aside and gently explained that when a girl asks you what you think of her new dress robes, an appropriate response is not to say "I dunno... I liked Hermione's better," and then go back to animatedly discussing Quidditch tactics with Ron.

It seemed a shame, Harry thought, that there had to be such a great, and sometimes slightly intimidating, gender gap when it came to relationships. Looking around his classmates and their relationships, it seems that both boys and girls had an unwritten script of how a relationship was supposed to go, and how the girl was supposed to act, and how the boy was supposed to act. Both the boys and the girls seemed quite happy with this arrangement... but Harry wasn't sure how he felt about it. I mean, we're all humans... is the gender divide really that great?

But while Harry had been sitting alone in an armchair by the fire in the common room, just turning idle thoughts over in his mind, it seems that Ron had managed to sneak up on him without Harry noticing.

"Harry? Helloo-oo – I said, what are you writing?"

And before Harry could react, Ron had already snatched the piece of parchment he'd been scribbling on, and was now reading it.

"'Silver eyes,' Harry? What's that?" Ron's face split into a wide, knowing grin. "Or should I say... who's that?"

Harry started to blush, and then realised what he was doing. "It's nothing, Ron!" he said a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

Ron's face momentarily fell, and then he grinned wider than ever. "'Nothing,' is it? Well, then, there's no need to get so worked up about nothing, then!"

He flopped into the armchair opposite Harry's. "Come on, Harry, you can tell me, right? I mean, you've been single for ages mate, and all of a sudden, I catch you sitting up in the common room for two nights in a row, and now you're scribbling someone's eye colour all over your History of Magic essay?" (Harry gave a guilty start – the parchment in question was, indeed, supposed to be his essay on the factors which contributed to the centaur land rights movement of 1935.) "I mean...you've never been so secretive before!"

This was certainly true. Harry and Ron had certainly seen each other through the tougher times in their romantic relationships. (Including last summer holidays when Mrs Weasley had sat them both down and explained magical contraception…Harry shuddered at the memory. Even more awkward had been the conversation afterwards when Ron had asked Harry to explain muggle contraception…Harry wished he'd had a camera to record Ron's reactions.)

Still, this was...different. So Harry, feeling somewhat guilty, decided on a little white lie.

"I'd tell you, Ron, but there's nothing to tell." Harry was suddenly struck by inspiration. "Weren't you listening in History of Magic?" (Of course, neither of them ever listened in History of Magic.) "I think Silver Eyes was the name of some centaur... I only just remembered that Binns had mentioned him; I was going to look him up in our textbook just in case he was someone important I could use in our essay."

Ron immediately looked interested, in case there was something he could add to his own essay. "And did you find anything" Ron asked.

"Oh..." Harry cast about for something to say. "Er... no. I couldn't find any mention. Can't have been that important, then, hey?"

Ron looked crestfallen. "Bugger. I could've used some extra information. I still have five more inches of parchment to fill. Oh well," said Ron. "I think I'm going to go back up to bed. Come on, Harry, there is our mid-year Transfiguration exam tomorrow. At least try to get some sleep."

Harry shrugged. Perhaps the energy potion would wear off soon, anyway. "OK, let's go to bed."

But as he lay in his four poster bed, his mind returned (once again) to the events of the day, or rather one event in particular.

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He had been running along the corridor on the second floor, on his way to Potions. He noticed vaguely that Peeves the Poltergeist was floating around the ceiling, but since Peeves seemed to be bent on terrorising some first-year Ravenclaws (he was attempting to lift one screaming girl by her pigtails) he didn't think he was in much danger of being targeted.

So it was with great surprise that found Peeves racing up right behind him, yelling "Running, Potter? Careful not to run into anyone!"

And then he was lifted clear off his feet, and dropped just as suddenly, straight onto…

"POTTER – what the hell?"

Peeves had carried him straight into Malfoy's path, and because of the forward momentum, he had pushed Malfoy straight onto his back and had landed right on top of him.

One part of Harry's informed him of how much his body hurt from the impact,while another part chimed in to let him know that he had just made a total idiot of himself in front of a hundred-odd students. Yet another part of Harry's mind chipped in to let him know how pissed off Malfoy was, and how Harry was likely to be soon jinxed into a million sorry little pieces. But a more secret, primal part of Harry's mind noticed that the last time Harry had been on top of someone – sweating and breathing hard – had been in a much more romantic situation, and, in fact, his body was responding to this romantic memory and he, Harry, would have to move away very quickly to avoid embarrassing himself even more.

He leapt off Malfoy just in time to see Snape bearing down on them.

"Fighting in the hallway, Potter? Detention!" Snape snarled as he bent down to drag Malfoy to his feet.

"But – but Professor Snape, it was all Peeves' fault!" Harry protested, while some surrounding students nodded their heads. "He dragged me through the air and threw me on top of Malfoy – I didn't lay a hand on Draco!"

Snape glared at the nodding students, and at Harry, and finally turned to Malfoy. "Is this true, Draco?"

Draco was staring at his feet. "Unfortunately, yes. As much as I would love for Potter to be hung up by his ankles in Filch's office, it was actually all that damned poltergeist's fault."

Snape looked particularly displeased at Harry's innocence. "Well then, Potter, what are you standing around for? Get to class!"

Harry ran to get to the dungeons before Snape, and threw his things down on one of the only empty desks left in the classroom. Malfoy came in right behind him. Snape swept in last, and slammed the big, wooden doors.

"You will be doing pair-work today," said Snape, looking around at them. "Before you get your hopes up, I have chosen your partners for you. Their name," Snape said, waving his wand lazily, "you will find on the blackboard." He glared at the class angrily. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to it!"

Harry realised straightaway that he had been teamed up with Malfoy. As he moved his books over to where Malfoy was sitting, he realised that Malfoy was still looking very flushed, and his breathing had not yet returned to normal. Malfoy didn't even look up when Harry put his books down on the desk – which was strange, because Harry had at least expected some sneering remark or other from the blonde boy.

But Malfoy mostly ignored Harry, except to exchange a few terse remarks to do with the potion they had been set. Twice they had both reached for an ingredient at the same time so that their hands had brushed, and once, when Snape had ordered all the pairs to collect their next lot of ingredients from the front desk, Harry and Malfoy had almost collided again as they both stood up to do the task. They had stood almost nose-to-nose for a few seconds before Malfoy had growled, "Watch where you're going, Potter," and stalked off towards the front of the dungeon.

Harry was happy to see the end of that lesson. Malfoy had been terribly on edge the entire time. Geez, thought Harry, he must be really pissed off about that corridor run-in. It's not like he got hurt much – I mean, you could lose Dobby in the carpet that Malfoy fell down on! – and I doubt that his infamous Malfoy ego was bruised by a puny incident like that. And besides, it wasn't even my fault…

Still, Harry could feel Malfoy's eyes on his back as he packed up his books and walked out of the classroom with Ron and Hermione.

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Meanwhile, in the present, Harry turned over in his bed. His cheeks flushed as he recalled how close he'd been to Malfoy. He's the same height as me, and almost exactly the same build…

Harry blushed. Whenever he'd been that close to someone before, that someone had been a girl. (Not that it had happened that often, anyway.) They had all been shorter than him (Ginny had been much shorter) and … softer. Harry wasn't very fit, but he'd managed to acquire some muscles from his relentless Quidditch training. But Ginny – and Cho, and Parvati – hadn't had much muscle definition, but instead had beautiful curves and soft skin and long, silky hair.

It had been very bizarre to (Harry turned very red at this) feel Draco underneath him. Strange…

…but not unpleasant, was it? said a little voice in the back of Harry's head.

Harry punched the pillow, and turned over again, trying to silence these new, uncomfortable thoughts.

But there was one memory Harry couldn't shake from his mind.

Draco's eyes weren't blue. Harry had always thought they were, for some reason: blonde hair and blue eyes just seemed to go together. But neither were his eyes grey.

They were a pure, molten silver.

And (there was that blush again, dammit!) Harry thought... that they were quite beautiful, really.

Parvati had dark brown eyes, lovely and rich like dark chocolate. His friend, Hermione, had hazel eyes. Harry himself had green eyes, which he'd always liked, because it gave him a link with his mother (who'd also had green eyes, or so everyone told him.)

But Draco's eyes had been simply stunning. And the rest of him wasn't so bad, either…

Harry felt himself starting to drift off to sleep, still pondering Malfoy's reaction, and his own...

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A/N: My first instalment of Silver Eyes! Yummy virtual Bertie Botts Every Flavour Jellybeans for all those wonderful, wonderful readers who take a few seconds to review!