IN THE END

Set: post-OotP, pre-HBP

Warning: the angst monster attacked me. He held his angsty little gun to my happy little head and said to me (I imagine the angst monster to have a Scottish accent), "F'you ever wan' to wri'e a happy story again, you will gi'e t'me one angs'y story, or th'happiness is go'e. Jus' like tha'."

How could I possibly refuse (especially when he had such a cute accent)? So, I said yes. And here's the result. Because y'don't double-cross th'angs' monster and c'mou' alive, baby.

Another warning: There is also a bit of fluff. Oh, and snogging. But it's mainly angst. And lots of character death.

A/N: Obsessed? With Harry/Draco Slash? Who, me? Never!

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He was late for class again. Harry sprinted through the hidden corridors of Hogwarts, hoping against all hopes that Snape was lying dead in a hallway somewhere with the Dark Mark over him. He didn't think that he could cope with another public humiliation at the hands of his Potions Master, on top of all that'd happened this week.

He couldn't deal with this anymore; he couldn't keep his mask of pretence and lies any longer. He was thankful for the emptiness of the main corridors; that way, nobody could see the tears that threatened to fall at any moment.

He threw himself through a particularly ugly tapestry that concealed the passage and found himself nose-to-nose with Malfoy. It was just his beastly luck striking again; actually, it seemed like Malfoy had been waiting for him. Harry whirled round, backed himself up a few steps (away from Malfoy) and drew his wand. Malfoy did the same; twirling the wood lazily between his fingers.

"Why aren't you in class, Potter?"

"I could ask the same of you, Malfoy. Just because you're a prefect, and Snape's favorite, doesn't give you the right to miss Potions."

The blonde tilted his head and smirked at the Gryffindor. Tardiness forgotten, Harry felt a tiny twinge in his heart, like Malfoy had just cast a minor hex on him or something. What the hell?

"Now, now, Potter, I'd hate to dock points…" he turned to better show off his green-and-silver Prefect badge. Harry longed to rip that stupid badge off his robes and lob it at his head. Or just rip off his robes completely and…

"You can't dock points: you, unlike me, are a –"

"Yes, git, I know. Think up something new for a change, will you?"

Harry had a sudden fleeting, but highly inappropriate, vision of himself jumping forward and kissing that sneering mouth: arms flailing, hands grasping at robes, welcoming, responsive lips… Harry suddenly hoped that a) Draco Malfoy wasn't a skilled Legilimens (as far as Harry knew, Malfoy couldn't read his mind, but you never really know…), and b) that he himself wasn't a Seer like Professor Trelawney. Though that wouldn't be so bad…

It was strange how some feelings could change so quickly; one second he hated Malfoy, the next he wanted to snog him senseless. It was rather weird, but perfectly understandable; half the girls in the school would sell their appendages for a chance to kiss him. Minus the hating bit, of course. Malfoy smiled; a real smile, unlike those manufactured smirks Harry was usually the recipient of.

"What?" Harry snapped. When Malfoy smiled like that, it was never a good thing. For one thing, it was really bad for his hormones.

"I've finally rendered the Boy Who Won't Shut Up completely speechless," Malfoy said triumphantly.

"Oh, hush up, would you?" Harry hissed.

"And what if I won't?" Draco retorted. "You can't do magic in the hallways."

Harry sighed, "Number one, Malfoy: since when do I care about rules?" Draco arched an eyebrow. He continued, "And number two: if you don't shut up, I might have to do something we both might regret."

"Oh?" Draco replied, tightening the grip on his wand. "And what did you have in mind, exactly?"

Before he could stop himself, Harry leapt forward so that they were nose to nose.

"Well, Malfoy," he whispered huskily. "I might just have to do this."

And, ignoring the fact that Draco's wand was pressing uncomfortably into his chest (or was it his wand?), Harry leaned forward and kissed him. And it was better than he'd thought it would be. Because it was actually happening. And Draco was responding like he should respond. And Harry was speechless.

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(A/N: And I really should stop writing in such disjointed sentences. And, also, I should never put an A/N in the middle of a story ever again. It's bad. Smacks head on desk Bad Trisha, wicked Trisha! Geez, I'm beginning to sound like Dobby. I should just shut up now, you know. So I will. Now, back to the story…)

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But it was okay, because there was no need for words anyway. Not even in his wildest dreams had anything like this ever happened. They had never kissed in the middle of a deserted hallway, certainly. It was usually somewhere like the Astronomy Tower (terribly overrated, in Harry's opinion, anyway) or in his own dorm room (because his room-mates wouldn't kill him too much for letting a Slytherin in, let alone for snogging him… ha).

He felt Malfoy remove his wand from where it was pointedly pressing into his chest. Yes, he was pretty sure it was his wand. Malfoy slid his arms out from where they'd been wrapped around Harry, under his robes. He gently pulled away and brushed his thumb against Harry's jaw. Harry couldn't see anything anymore – everything was blurry.

He reached down to find his glasses tucked into the back pocket of his trousers. He didn't know how they'd ended up there – he supposed Malfoy had put them there whilst providing a distraction in the form of a mind-blowing kiss.

"Potter," Malfoy whispered. He moved his fingers up Harry's face to lightly brush his lightning-bolt scar.

"You'd think," Harry said loudly, trying to stop his voice from shaking. The places where Malfoy had touched him tingled a little bit. "You'd think that after that, you'd at least call me by my first name."

"Harry, then," Malfoy whispered, surprising them both.

"Well," Harry said, replacing his glasses on his nose, now trying to hide the smile that threatened to burst forth at any moment – and, knowing him, it would be one of those ridiculous dopey smiles that girls fell over themselves about. "We'd best get to Potions, hadn't we?"

There was almost a spring in his step as he went down the stairs to class. Malfoy's face was unsmiling and his stride so ordinary that for a second Harry thought that he'd imagined everything that'd just taken place.

He considered going to Filch to have some sense smacked into him via a very drunken beating with a cactus – he was sure that the caretaker would gladly fight Snape for the honor. Then he realized how he was feeling – the lightness in his step, the giant smile on his face, the way his heart thumped almost painfully in his chest – could not have been caused by his thoughts: not even his boundless imagination was good enough to make him feel like that.

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