A/N: Some of you long-time HPDM readers may remember me. Well, I'm back!! Not with any new story or plot, I apologise, but with a re-post.

I have to explain my absence. It was pure, simple, laziness. And a very successful rate of making excuses for myself.

Furthermore, I have stopped this story (and all my other stories) at their current point because I very basically have to plot and plan for them. I know. I am a horrible writer.

I read through I Thought I Was and found that till this point the story goes like how I would like it to. Now it's for me to think up the next few steps and actually end this. I have a very vague idea of their path but it is only how to make it believable that I really stumping me.

But here is the repost of the previous chapters. About 2 more, since I cut them up and split them more so the pacing is a bit more even.

Enjoy, again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

It all started with me thinking that maybe I should just tell him, that he would understand, and just maybe accept it.

"I like you."

"Huh?"

"I said I like you. I like you a lot."

"Oh."

Then he burst out laughing.

That was rude. And it didn't go as intended. But at least now he knows.

"Malfoy, I'm not gay. And what's more, I hate you."

That was bloody rude. And it hurt.

"Whatever, Potter. I just thought that your egotistical self would like to know."

And I turned to leave. Just as I turned the corner and went out of his sight-

"Malfoy, I'm going out with Luna Lovegood."

Now that just hurt.

Harry wondered, after he met up with Luna for lunch and was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, what Malfoy had wanted. Did he really mean what he said about liking him? He did look very serious.

But that was impossible. Just… impossible. And very, very weird. Maybe it was just a prank. The brat did have a thing for leading Harry on on such ridiculous things and into trouble.

But Malfoy did seem to have hurt when he said that he hated him. What if he was really serious? It would most definitely hurt when someone you just confessed that you liked him to said that he hated you. And he remembered how nerve-racking it was to confess to someone all too clearly. He'd never forget the time when he asked Luna to go out with him. He'd been nervous to the point of almost passing out. And he kept thinking about how he would just absolutely bury hide in his room forever and hang himself if he got rejected.

Malfoy looked just about the same as he was then before he asked Luna out. And he looked worse then he imagined he would be if Luna had turned him down. It was possible that he was really….

……

Nah.

He stopped brooding about it and pushed it to the back of his mind as Luna tapped him lightly on his arm to tell him something and he smiled softly at her.

After about two levels, Draco started to run. With a sudden burst of energy his legs carried him down from the sixth story or so of the castle to the first and out through the doors onto the snow-covered grounds. The cold air whipped at his face and the fresh snow crunched under his feet, his legs burning from pushing too hard. But still he ran.

He headed towards the Quidditch pitch and as he approached the gaps between the stands that led to the seats, he took a left turn and followed the outer wall of the stadium.

Finally, Draco stopped and reached out a hand to support himself against the wall, doubling over to try and catch his breath. His lungs burned and his calves felt the beginnings of a cramp. In the end he just gave up and collapsed against the cold stadium wall, his chest still heaving and his eyes closed tight, trying so hard not to cry.

He tried. I mean, he really tried. But he just couldn't figure out why. Why Lovegood? Why the hell Lovegood?

He could at least understand if it were Granger. Or maybe even the Weasley brat. But Lovegood?

Draco admitted, it did make quite a dent in his ego. The most he had expected was to be rejected, not to be told who he was going out with along with it. Let alone that he was going out with Lovegood. Why the hell did he tell him anyway! That bastard was a pure sadist.

The blond Slytherin sat up in his bed and glared at his feet stretched out in front of him. However, no matter how much he wanted to blame it on his toes and say that it was all their fault, he couldn't. So he plopped back down onto his bed again.

Honestly, when Draco had envisioned being in love, he didn't think it would be this hard. At nine years old (from being told from Mother), he thought that everyone had someone they met and loved for the rest of your life and it was just holding hands and kissing. At ten years old, they meet someone they love and lots of holding hands and even more kissing (from books).

At twelve years old, Pansy found out (by experience) that you don't just meet someone and love them for the rest of your lives. But there was still a lot of holding hands and kissing. At thirteen, he and Blaise found out (by accident) that there was actually more going on than just holding hands and kissing. At fourteen, it was just sex. Fifteen and sixteen, you actually meet more than one and hold hands, and kiss and have sex.

And now, at seventeen going on eighteen… well, nothing. Just love. And pain. And he still wasn't getting any. Draco just wished his glare was strong enough to bring the canopy of his four-poster down over his head to smother him and bring him away from the humiliation forever.

The next few days were absolute torture. This was supposed to be over after he had told him, dammit! Obviously, Draco wasn't going to trust and fiction stupid love novels anymore. Why did he trust them in the first place? Idiot. They were called fiction for a reason.

Now every time he passed by Harry in the corridors or saw him in the Great Hall, especially when that Lovegood was sitting next to him (what's she doing at the Gryffindor table? She's a Ravenclaw!) he couldn't even meet his eyes and had to duck his head and walk very fast away. It wasn't doing for his reputation. His friends noticed of course. Especially fucking Blaise. After all, he was the only one who Draco told about his little- excuse me, humungous- crush on Harry Potter. It was another reason he wanted to kill himself and pull Blaise down with him into the grave. He didn't really tell him he told Potter, but Blaise being Blaise, he found out anyway.

Pansy was just a busy-body. But he's forced to say it's concern as she was still one of his best friends. Vince and Greg only noticed because they almost chocked on their food in their hurry to catch up with him. Well, at least they noticed. Was that good or bad?

Finally, after about eight days of the shame and irritating Blaise and his jokes, Draco decided to do something.

He was going to make Harry Potter fall in love with him.