I needed to get out of there, to leave before I changed my mind

I needed to get out of there, to leave before I changed my mind. He put up a good front, seeming to be strong throughout the whole ordeal. The only thing that proved otherwise was his eyes. Damn those eyes.

"I do love you, Harry," I whispered, my face buried in his neck. "I would have stayed with you until the end." I pressed a kiss to his neck and could have sworn I'd heard a sob escape. When I pulled away and stood up, he was staring at the floor. It was better that way, not as hard to leave as I had thought, though my hand still hesitated on the doorknob. Yet, somehow, I managed to push myself through, and I walked out the door, closing it behind me.

No matter how thick the wood, I was still able to hear him break down. The pain communicated through his sobs was unbearable. I sank to the floor, my back pressed hard against the door, and let the tears fall. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't stay with him, yet it hurt so bad to end it. This was the only way, there was no going back.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be our fairy tale, complete with our own happy ending. What had gone wrong? It most certainly had started out as a fairy tale…


Only a month into term, and I was already unable to concentrate on anything but him. Harry Potter had a strange power over me. When I saw him, I fought a losing battle to look away. On the steadily increasing occasions when our eyes met, it was like electricity coursing through my body—I couldn't look away. He was everything to me, my one desire, my single fantasy—the one thing I could never call my own.

That was the hardest thin for me to accept, I think. When you grow up the way I did, when things are handed to you on a silver platter, it's hard to accept that you can't have something you so strongly desire. But, somehow, I did drive it into my mind that he wasn't attainable. It helped to distract me….temporarily.

Then quidditch started. Things got harder, my schedule filled up, and there were few times when I saw him apart from classes. Our first match came around—Slytherin VS Gryffindor, how typical. It was hard enough not to stare at him in class, and then you put him in a quidditch uniform on a broom….concentration would be impossible.

At the start of the match, we shook hands—the two of us being captains. (God, what I'd do to have his hand in mine again.) And then the match started. I was nearly knocked off my broom twice—that's what I get for paying more attention to him than the game. He spotted the snitch soon after, and I followed him willingly after it. It was then that the Slytherin beaters decided to join in the game.

My heart nearly stopped when the bludger hit him. I couldn't breathe as I watched him slip from his broom. It was the screams of the crowd that brought me back into reality. Without even thinking, I went into a dive. Once I was level with him, I pulled him up onto my own broom.

"Harry?" I had asked, holding him tightly to me (a glorious feeling, I might add). "Harry, are you alright?" No answer. He was unconscious—of course.

The whistle blew, and I landed, pulling him off with me and laying him carefully on the grass. He was surrounded almost immediately by the scarlet and gold clad Gryffindors—and I was pushed aside, clearly unwanted.

The game was postponed until further notice, much to the disappointment of my team. I couldn't care less. I was too worried about the black-haired boy being escorted to the Hospital Wing. I knew then that I was in over my head…


The owl wasn't something I had expected to see. In fact, when the snowy white bird landed in front of me at breakfast that next morning, I thought I was delusional. And when I read the letter it had delivered, I was sure I was dreaming. Either that or I'd died and gone to heaven. I didn't even bother to finish eating. My heart was beating fast as I hurried off to the Hospital Wing.

I entered cautiously, amazed to find him alone. I had expected Weasley and Granger to be at his side, as they always are. But they weren't. He was sitting quietly by himself, staring at the bed spread. I walked slowly towards him, beginning to wonder if he had really sent for me, or if the letter I still held in my hand was nothing but a prank set forth by a fellow Slytherin. And then his eyes met mine, and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes always had that effect on me. It was so easy to get lost in the green depths, and I never wanted to look away.

"You came," he said quietly. I nodded, unable to speak. He motioned to the chair beside his bed. I sat slowly, finally looking away from him. "They told me what you did."

I looked up at him, judging his expression. He was unreadable, as he so often was. I met his eyes again, and I saw the true emotion. He seemed grateful.

"You saved me. Why?"

"I…I don't know," I replied. "I couldn't just let you fall. You'd have been killed."

"Never stopped you before." His voice was cold. "You hate me, remember?"

"I don't…" I changed my mind last minute. "I don't want you dead, Potter."

"What do you want, then?" The question confused me, and he must have read this in my face. "You intrigue me, you know it?" I looked at him curiously. "It's so hard to tell what you're thinking. You've no tells."

"I'm sorry."

He laughed. "I want answers, Malfoy."

"Answers to what?"

"Well, for starters, why did you bother to save me? You could have had the snitch."

"I didn't want the snitch. What good is a victory if it costs a life?" I replied coolly, leaning back in my chair. It was surprisingly easy to talk to him. "Why are you being so civil?"

He grinned. "Hard to get answers out of you if we're hexing each other." He had a point. "What are you thinking?" he asked, most certainly noticing the faraway look on my face. (My mind had been toying with the fantasy of kissing him, as it often did.)

"Nothing," I replied. He looked at me thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "Why am I here?"

"Was that one for me, or were you asking yourself?" he questioned, grinning.

"Let me rephrase—why did you ask me here?"

"I told you I wanted answers."

"But there's more to it than that. You're avoiding something."

"And how could you tell that?"

"You're eyes give away everything, Potter."

"Call me Harry. I'm tired of all this last name bullshit."

"Alright, then—Harry it is."

"And you're right, by the way. There is something else."

I looked at him expectantly. He didn't continue. "And that would be?" I asked.

"I—"

Madame Pomfry's office door opened and Harry stopped abruptly.

"It's past visiting hours!" Pomfry exclaimed. "Out!" She pointed at the door. I knew it would be best not to test her. When I reached the door, I gave one last look to the boy of my dreams, lying alone at the far end of the room.


We didn't speak again, not for the next month or so. And then Halloween arrived. Ever since our 5th year, a new tradition had been set forth for that night. The bravest in our year would meet in the Room of Requirement for a game of truth or dare. Only recently had the invitation extended to every house, which made things much more interesting. Now, earlier in the year, I'd already resolved not to go. It was a childish game, I'd told myself. No point in wasting my time, right? Wrong. Somehow I found myself in the Room of Requirement that night.

Things started off pretty normally. I sat back in a corner, avoiding eye contact with anyone. It was the only way to ensure that you wouldn't be picked for anything. And then the door opened, and a familiar voice reached my ears. Looking up, my heart rate increased as I spotted him. He had come in with Finnegan and Thomas, no doubt brought by force. They took seats, and I did my best to avert my eyes. Why does he hold such a power over me?!

A few hours passed, and it was nearly midnight as Justin Finch-Fletchley took his turn.

"Harry!" he exclaimed. "Truth or dare!" All eyes turned to the black haired boy, mine included.

"Hmm..." Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "Dare!" he exclaimed. I grinned to myself. He was cocky and sure of himself—I was intrigued.

"Alright then…." Justin glanced about the room, no doubt searching for another victim to participate in what he considered the ultimate dare. I held my breath as his eyes stopped on my corner of the room. "I dare you to kiss Malfoy!" An odd mixture of laughter and gasps filled the room. Harry's eyes locked on mine, and I could feel the heat rising in my face as he grinned and stood.

"No problem," he said. The triumphant grin faded from Justin's face. It was obvious that he'd expected Harry to back out. The crowd was silent as Harry walked to the center of the room and stopped, never once taking his eyes off of me. "Come here, Malfoy," he called.

All eyes turned to me and I thought I might die right there. I pushed myself out of my chair, trying my hardest to steady my nervous trembling as I made my way across the room to him. I stopped, still a good foot away from him. He smirked—actually smirked—at me and stepped closer, until he was just inches away. His hand came to the back of my neck, the other on my waist, pulling our bodies together. I breathed him in. It wasn't fair. No one should be allowed to smell that good.

"Get on with it, already!" It was Finnegan. I turned to glare at him, but Harry's gentle touch brought me back to face him. Our eyes met, and I read something in his that I hadn't expected to see. Was it happiness, excitement—maybe both—but it didn't matter because his lips were on mine and then his tongue was in my mouth—.It felt like hours that we stood there, the room faded away, I forgot about everyone around us as I wrapped my arms around his waist. I was in heaven—and then he pulled gently away from me, looking into my eyes again. The room came flooding back, as did my embarrassment as the crowd wolf-whistled around us.

We separated—me back to my corner, him back to his—and didn't make contact again the rest of the night, much to my disappointment. I continued to glance at him every few minutes, hoping against all odds that he would be looking at me, too. But his eyes were always elsewhere. He seemed not to notice me at all. I was crushed.

The crowd thinned and disappeared around two-thirty. I was one of the last to leave, staring gloomily down at the floor as I headed in the direction of the dungeons. I reached an empty corridor after a bit, glad to be alone. I leaned against the cold stone wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, and buried my face in my arms. I could have kicked myself when I let out a sob. It was stupid to let him have this effect on me. He was just Harry Potter—a stupid boy.

But that was just it—he was Harry Potter, the stupid boy that I had a stupid crush on. It just wasn't fair. How could anyone make me feel so wonderful and so terrible all at once?! I took a deep breath, doing my best to hold in the tears that were still threatening to escape. A hand touched my arm lightly, and my head snapped up in an instant, my breath catching in my throat. And he was there, looking perfect and wonderful and it just wasn't fair.

"Are you alright, Draco?" he asked. My heart skipped a beat when he said my name. And then I remembered the reason I was sitting there in the first place, and put on my best sneer.

"Go away, Potter," I hissed, shrugging away from his touch—and wishing immediately that I hadn't. He looked angry for a moment, then calmed again.

"Tell me what's wrong. I know there's something. Spill."

"Like I'd honestly tell you." It was an automatic response, and I couldn't hold it back. I sighed and shook my head, looking down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what's wrong."

"I can't."

"Yes you can." I looked up at him—big mistake. Damn him and those eyes! They could make me tell him anything. "What's got you so upset? Was it something that happened in the game?"

"Sort of." He looked expectantly at me, but I wasn't about to give in that easily. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to work for them. "Can we not talk about this right now."

"Alright," he said. I expected him to walk away, but he surprised me—yet again—by sitting down next to me, his back also against the wall. "You know," he began, "I never finished what I was saying in the Hospital Wing."

"No, you didn't," I replied, doing my best not to make eye contact, while at the same time trying to resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

"Should I take the opportunity to finish now?"

"If you'd like."

"I would." He smiled, a genuine smile. I'd never received one of those from him—it was breathtaking. "Where did I leave off?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes lighting up in remembrance. "Oh, yeah." He grinned. "I was gonna tell you something important. But not here." He stood and offered his hand to me.

"Where are we going?" I asked, letting him pull me to my feet.

"First empty classroom we find," Harry replied, pulling me after him. Once inside an empty room with the door shut tightly behind us, Harry released my hand (my heart sank a bit there) and turned to face me. "I'm going to tell you this now, but not until you tell me why you were so upset."

"Must I?" I groaned. I had hoped we were past my former depression.

The grin returned to his face as he laughed. "You didn't honestly think I was going to let you get off that easy, did you?"

I sighed and looked up at him. "It was stupid, really." He was at my side, looking supportively down at me, and gesturing for me to continue. "It was over…over that dare, actually." I could feel the heat rising in my face and knew I must be blushing like mad.

"Did it make you that uncomfortable, Draco?" Harry asked soothingly. He was so close to me, and he smelled so damn good. I was finding it hard to concentrate.

"It's not that exactly…Look, I'm not telling you anymore until you've said what you keep putting off."

"Stubborn, aren't we?" He was smirking again. Damn him for stealing my signature move—and for making it look so damn sexy. "Guess we'll just have to say it at the same time, then, won't we?"

"What?!"

"Come on. On the count of three, you'll say why the kiss upset you, and I'll say what I've been trying to tell you. Deal?"

I looked nervously at him. This would have to be a complete leap of faith. If I told him that I liked him, I would be risking everything—my pride, my happiness, his opinion of me, this new-found friendship between us. Was I really stupid enough to risk all that? Apparently so, because I nodded.

"Alright, then. On three." Harry grinned. "One……Two…." I took a deep breath, closing my eyes tightly and waiting for that final number to leave his lips. "…Three!"

"I like you."

"I like you."

A thick silence hung in the air. I opened my eyes cautiously after a few moments, praying he hadn't run out of the room. He was still there, but he looked different, slightly embarrassed. He was blushing. God, he looks good when he blushes—so cute and vulnerable. His eyes met mine and we stayed like that, in silence, for what seemed like forever. Harry placed his hand against my cheek, leaning in close to me.

"You mean it?" he whispered, his breath warm against my neck.

"Yes," I breathed, still in awe over this moment. It was a dream come true, for me, anyway. I'd never imagined that it would actually be happening—Harry Potter was standing here with me, telling me he had feelings for me, just as I did for him. It was unbelievable.

"I've liked you for the longest time, Draco," he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw. "I've just never had the courage to tell you." He pulled back to look into my eyes, his thumb brushing lightly across my lips. "Can I—?"

I nodded and managed an incoherent breath of 'Yes'. And then he was kissing me again, and I lost all track of time…


Now, my friends had known for quite a while that I was gay. It's a little hard to deny when you're caught 'relieving tension' with a copy of Quidditch Weekly. I didn't exactly mind them finding out, once I got over the initial shock of being caught. It saved a lot of awkward conversations, and I had someone to support me.

Being gay isn't an easy thing, especially in a world where pure wizard bloodlines are disappearing. If you're openly gay in the Wizarding world, you automatically surrender to being an outcast. Again, I didn't really mind. Let them say what they want. It was my life, and I was going to do what bloody well made me happy.

Harry, however, was a different story entirely. He hadn't come out to anyone yet (with the exception of me, of course). He seemed absolutely terrified of what the world would think, which struck me as rather odd. Here was this amazing boy who'd done so many incredible things—including publicly denouncing the Ministry of Magic—and he was afraid to tell people he fancied boys over girls! Harry was the last person I'd expect to be afraid of something as small and as trivial as his sexuality.

Okay, maybe it wasn't really as simple a thing as I make it out to be. He was, after all, a celebrity and a source of hope for the entire Wizarding world I can see where the pressure might come in.

Our first few days together were spent secretly in the Room of Requirement. We talked, mostly about Quidditch or school, anything but our personal lives. Neither of us was ready to discuss the history between us or our families. It would be hard for him, I knew, because he couldn't remember his family—he'd never been given the chance to know them, after all—and I wasn't about to discuss my father with him.

I've always known Harry was full of surprises, and the first of many came on the Friday before a Hogsmeade weekend. We were sitting together in the room of requirement, finishing up our homework so we could have the next two days together without worry.

"I think I'll tell Ron and Hermione tonight," he said as casually as though he had been commenting on the weather. I looked up from my Arithmancy essay, slightly startled by this sudden decision. He was staring intently. "What should I say to them, Draco?" His question caught me even further off guard. I was silent for a moment, desperately searching for a helpful answer. I was unsuccessful.

"What do you want to say to them?" I asked. It was all I could think of to say.

His eyes dropped back down to his paper as he nervously fingered his quill. "I don't really know…," he whispered. It was then that I realized what he was feeling.

"You're afraid of what they'll think," I said. He blushed lightly. "Harry, that's—"

"Stupid, I know. "

"No, it's actually quite reasonable." His eyes slowly rose to meet mine. "You've every right to be nervous about it. I was terrified when Blaise confronted me." I reached my hand across the table to grasp his. He turned his hand over, our palms meeting lightly.

"I'm worried about what Ron will say." His eyes fell down to our clasped hands, where my thumb was gently rubbing the back of his hand. "I'm afraid he'll hate me."

"He won't hate you, Harry. He might be a little upset at first, and maybe a little apprehensive, but it'll pass. He'll just need a little time to get used to the idea."

"You obviously don't know Ron."

"Maybe not, but I do know that he's your best friend. And if he really cares about you, he'll accept it. He'll be happy for you, Harry."

Green eyes met mine, and I could still see the persistent traces of fear that lingered there. I gave him a reassuring smile, hoping it was more convincing than it felt. "Is it true what they say? Does it really feel good to tell someone?"

I smiled and nodded. "Yes," I answered truthfully. "It feels really good to tell someone. Like a weight's been lifted off your shoulders." He smiled, seemingly convinced. I glanced up at the clock. "Eleven thirty," I announced. "We'd better head back."

Harry nodded and placed his still unfinished potions essay back into his bag. We walked to the door together, hands still clasped, and stopped to say goodnight. Harry's arms came around my waist as he pulled me into a hug.

"Good night, Draco," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my neck.

"Good night, Harry," I replied, smiling, "and good luck." He smiled back before slipping out the door and heading up the hall towards Gryffindor Tower.


I wasn't surprised when the snowy owl delivered me a letter the next morning. Though, I had to admit that Harry's absence at breakfast had me concerned. His letter didn't ease my worries.

Draco,

As you'll have noticed, I'm not at breakfast. I couldn't stand

the thought of sitting at the Gryffindor table after what happened last

night. I'll spare you the details for now. Meet me outside the Shrieking

Shack at 11:30. I need to talk to you.

Harry

I frowned slightly at his words, and cast a glance at the Gryffindor table. Weasley and Granger were there, of course, but neither seemed happy. The mud blood was looking quietly down at her plate, and the redhead looked as though he would kill the next person who looked his way. I shook my head in disgust.

Things obviously hadn't gone well. I could only imagine how rejected Harry was feeling now. His friends certainly hadn't taken the news as well as I'd hoped. They were going to make the whole affair difficult, and that wasn't what I wanted—what Harry needed.


Eleven-thirty found me wandering up the hills to the Shrieking Shack, utterly terrified of what I would find there. I had no idea what to expect from Harry. The letter hadn't given much indication as to how he was dealing with it all, so I was going in blindly.

I rounded the last curved, coming now within sight of the house. He was waiting there for me, standing alone by the gate. From the distance, he seemed well enough, his expression solemn as he looked at me. I was still too far away, however, to see his eyes. They would hold the only answer I could trust.

Harry seemed to know that was where I would be looking for the truth, because he averted his eyes from mine when I reached him.

"Hey," he said, giving me a small awkward smile.

"Hey," I replied. He turned and opened the gate, motioning me in before him. we walked to the door in silence. He made a point to keep his eyes away from mine, apparently set on hiding how he felt for as long as he could. That was what worried me the most.

Harry pulled open the front door and let me slip past him into the old house. I looked around the room, taking in the dirty, run-down appearance of the furniture, walls, and carpets. I couldn't hold back the slight grimace as I turned back to face him. He mumbled a quick locking charm on the door and slipped his wand back into his robes, turning at last to look at me.

The pain and sadness reflected in his eyes stunned me. He let out a deep, frustrated sight, and shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets. His eyes drifted to the floor, and I knew he was looking for the right place to being. I figured I could help him a bit.

"How did it go?" I asked. He didn't look up, he didn't move, he didn't speak. The silence was killing me—I had to know. "Harry?"

Pained green eyes met mine, and I'd never felt so bad for anyone in all my life. He looked like a lost, unwanted little puppy standing there in that dismal setting. I watched in horror as Harry fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. I'd never seen him cry before—he always seemed so strong.

"Oh, Harry," I whispered, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight.

"It was awful, Draco," he murmured, burying his face in my neck. "Ron hates me."

I pulled back from his, silently wiping a tear from his face. "Sit down," I said. "Tell me what happened."

We moved to one of the old sofas, and I ignored the rising cloud of dust as we sat down. I waited patiently as he wiped his eyes and took a deep breath before looking up at me again.

"After I left you," he began," I went back to the common room. Ron and Hermione were there, bickering—as usual—over homework Ron hadn't finished. I pulled them aside to a corner where we wouldn't be disturbed and put a silencing charm around us, just so the others wouldn't hear, you know?" He paused and I nodded for him to continue, taking his hand supportively. Harry took another deep breath and surged on.

"I told them I'd been thinking a lot lately, about who I was—who I wanted to be. Hermione, of course, seemed worried about what I was going to say—she's been like that a lot lately. Anyway," he sighed. "I told them, basically straight out, that I was gay…" He looked up at me, an amused smile on his lips. "Most awkward silence of my life." I smiled back.

"What did they have to say?" I asked, still hoping for a miracle. The happiness that had momentarily brightened his face disappeared instantly, and he was back to the lost puppy look.

"That's where it went bad, actually," he said. "Hermione, being the kind of person she is, asked me if I was sure. When I answered yes, another silence followed. But, she told me she would support me, and that she'd stand by me no matter what."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" I asked, relieved slightly by Granger's quick acceptance. The grim look in Harry's eyes wiped all traces of that slight relief away when he looked at me.

"Yeah, her reaction was great. But Ron…"

Weasley. I had forgotten about him. This was what had us both nervous in the Room of Requirement that night. And, from the sound of Harry's voice and the look in his eyes, it obviously hadn't gone well.

"What happened, Harry?" I asked, unable to take the suspense any longer. "What did he say?" Tears were filling his eyes again as he undoubtedly replayed the scene in his mind.

"He was angry," Harry answered. "He started yelling—at me for being gay, and at Hermione for supporting me." He paused to wipe his eyes, and then continued. "He said it was unnatural, that just the thought of it was disgusting. He told Hermione that supporting me was just as bad, and told me that I was going insane. I don't think I've ever seen him so upset." The tears were beginning to fall faster now, and my heart went out to him. this was far worse than I ever could have imagined.

I couldn't resist any longer; I pulled him into a hug, holding him as tightly and as closely as I possibly could.

"He really hates me, Draco," Harry whispered, burying himself in my arms.

"He doesn't hate you, Harry," I replied. "He just needs time. He'll come around, you'll see. He'll realize how much of a git he's being and feel bad about it." I rubbed his back lightly as I felt the tears hitting my skin. "He doesn't hate you," I repeated.

Harry nodded and pulled back, looking into my eyes. "I'm glad I have you, Draco," he said. "I don't think I could do this without your support."

I smiled, but couldn't think of a response, so I just kissed him. It seemed alright with him—he responded enthusiastically enough, running his tongue along my bottom lip. He was begging for entrance, and I let him in, never wanting this perfect moment to end.