Chapter 1

As Harry sat and stared down at his pale hands trembling in his lap, he couldn't help but think back to when this all began and wonder why he had let himself sink so low. He looked up and watched Draco's slim figure retreating down the corridor, without so much as a glance backwards. But that was how it always was. A few blissful, agonizing moments in heaven (or hell; it was difficult to tell), and then he was alone again. He clenched his teeth and straightened up, heading in the opposite direction. He didn't really want to go back to Gryffindor tower. He knew Hermione and Ron would be there waiting for him, wondering where he'd been and asking questions as they always did. At least Malfoy never asked questions about his personal life. Of course, Harry never asked questions about Draco's life either; it was an unspoken rule they had. As they entered their 6th year at Hogwarts (and 3rd year of whatever it was that they had going on) Harry had noticed changes in the other boy, changes he feared. He tried not to think about them now as he wandered aimlessly through the stone halls with their many moving portraits. Instead he let his mind drift back to his 3rd year at Hogwarts, when his life had been tipped upside down in more ways than one…

Harry's strange feelings began almost immediately. Malfoy's appearance on the train was no surprise, and nor was his less than polite greeting.

"Well, look who it is. Potty and the Weasel." Harry felt something stir deep within him as he looked at Malfoy's pale features sneering back at him. It felt different from the seething hatred he usually experienced when bantering with him. It felt almost like…longing. Harry stood up quickly to try and expel the feelings, hoping it looked like he was preparing to hold Ron back from attacking Malfoy, who had made a rather nasty comment about Ron's mother. Malfoy and his gang departed quickly after noticing Lupin, but Harry still felt a lingering sense of that strange feeling. Of course, the seeping cold and misery of the Dementor attack soon wiped out all traces of longing from Harry's mind, and Malfoy's taunting after the fact only awakened his familiar hatred.

As the year dragged on, Harry had more dire problems to focus on than his feelings (if that's what they were) towards Draco Malfoy. It wasn't until the day Hagrid broke the news about Buckbeak, that the strange pangs sprung up again. Turning to find Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle eavesdropping brought out something vicious in Hermione.

SMACK.

The sound of her hand striking the pale skin of Malfoy's cheek sent a flare of anger up in Harry. What surprised him the most was that the anger wasn't directed at Malfoy, but at Hermione. He could practically feel Ron swelling with pride next to him. He watched Malfoy bring a hand up to his face, the smooth skin already turning pink. He turned his pale eyes towards Harry, and for a second he thought he saw something there, a plea for help. Hermione raised her hand again and Harry felt a snarl build up inside him. Ron, thankfully, stopped her before he had a chance to do something reckless. Malfoy gave Harry a sharp glare before leaving. He was breathing heavy, trying to get his emotions under control as Hermione squealed at him about winning the Quidditch final. The idea of facing Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch made him feel nauseous, but not for the usual reasons. Harry couldn't stomach the thought of looking into Draco's pale grey eyes again after he had seen the vulnerability hiding deep inside them.

When the day finally came to face the Slytherins, Harry's nerves where wound so tight he was sure they would snap. He was so angry at Malfoy, for Buckbeak and Hagrid, for making him look like a fool for fainting, and mostly, for making Harry feel something for him that was completely and irrevocably unwelcome. The match was brutal. Harry channeled his anger into the game. He wanted to win with every fiber of his being. The last leg of the match approached and he and Malfoy raced side by side towards the Snitch, their knees touching. Harry gasped as their legs skimmed each other; the touch felt like a spark. Heat radiated from the spot where their bodies met and spread to every part of him. He turned his head and stared Malfoy dead in the face. Draco had a dazed expression on his face; his pink lips were parted in surprise. He'd felt it too. They were both distracted; the Snitch was gone. Harry snapped back into reality and focused on the game. Angelina scored a goal, he spotted Malfoy diving towards a glinting golden object. Racing forwards and knocking Malfoy's arm out of the way, he caught the Snitch and won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor at last. Wrapped up in his elation, he forgot all about the electric moment with Malfoy in the air, and he let the euphoria of the moment envelope him.

Several nights later, still beaming with the joy of winning the Quidditch Cup, Harry lay in bed unable to sleep. He often had trouble sleeping. He quietly slipped out of bed and grabbed his invisibility cloak, fancying a nighttime stroll about the castle. He slipped out through the portrait hole and his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. Slowly he padded along the corridor, heading towards the moving staircases. The portraits on the wall were still, slow breathing and the occasional snore issuing from their dark canvases. The castle was calm and Harry felt soothed as he slowly tiptoed down the stairs. The staircase he was on started to move and he grabbed on to the railing to keep from tumbling down the steps. It stopped at a random landing that Harry didn't recognize. He stared for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then, with a shrug, he stepped down onto the landing and exited the staircase through the door. He stepped out into a cavernous hallway, bathed in moonlight. The large intricate windows cast patterned shadows on the stone floor. Harry shook himself out of his invisibility cloak and let the soft light wash over him as he sauntered lazily down the unfamiliar hallway. No portraits adorned the walls, but a few tattered tapestries and old suits of armor served as decorations. Harry stopped short as he noticed a figure standing at one of the windows down the hall. They were still, quietly gazing out. Harry recognized the form almost immediately. The pale blonde hair of Draco Malfoy shone brilliantly in the light from the moon. Harry reached for his cloak, but it was too late. Draco's head swiveled quickly in his direction and spotted him instantly. They stood motionless for a moment, staring at each other.

"Potter," Draco said. It wasn't with his usual malice. It sounded as though it was just meant to be a greeting.

"Malfoy," Harry replied, uncertain. They stood in awkward silence again for a moment before Malfoy spoke again.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a little more harshly this time and he took a step away from the window, towards Harry.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just walking." Malfoy looked suspicious, and took another step towards him.

"Just walking?" he sneered, challenging. "You haven't come to gloat about your false victory?"

"False? What the hell are you talking about?" Harry exclaimed, taking a step towards Malfoy now.

"Well it's obvious isn't it? You cheated," Malfoy scoffed. Harry was outraged.

"Cheated? You're the one that was cheating, you little git," he cried, moving even closer. Malfoy's pale eyes glinted fiercely.

"Why you little-" He rushed at Harry and lashed out, hard. Harry felt Malfoy's fist connect with his jaw and he gasped as the pain shocked his senses. He recovered quickly and slammed into Malfoy, hoping to tackle him to the ground, and failing. He was much smaller than Malfoy, but although the other boy was quite slim he was stronger than he looked. They struggled for a moment, gasping, and then Malfoy slammed Harry into the stone wall. He pinned Harry's wrists down above his head and pushed his body against him roughly. They stood like that, nose to nose, breathing heavily. Harry's face and skull stung from the beating he took and he glared menacingly into Draco's narrowed eyes. He could feel Malfoy's body pressing into him and his cold hands gripping his wrists above him. His eyes traveled down Draco's face, past his long pale lashes, across his straight nose, and down to his full lips. He couldn't stop his gaze from lingering there. He heard Draco's breath hitch for a moment, and then his face slowly inched towards Harry's. Stunned, Harry stayed motionless as Draco pressed his soft lips against his own. He felt Malfoy's lashes flutter against his cheek and he held his breath as his eyes closed involuntarily. The warmth from Malfoy's lips spread throughout his body and he reveled in this strange feeling. Then, just like that, it was over. Malfoy let go of his wrists and pushed away from the wall. He turned away and without a second glance, drifted off down the hall and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Harry alone leaning against the wall.

After that night in the hallways, Harry barely saw Malfoy at all for the rest of the year. With the rescue of Buckbeak and Sirius, the ordeal with Wormtail, and the shocking discovery that Lupin was a werewolf, he didn't have much time to think about what happened with Malfoy. But it always lingered in the back of his mind, popping up to remind him when he least expected it. To remind him that he had let something like that happen…

And that he liked it.