DISCLAIMER: All characters, settings, and magical occurrences were all conceived and created in the brilliant mind of J.K. Rowling. Nothing except the glorious plot is property of mine. No profits are being made from my writing.
.-.
"You ever wonder what genius thought, 'How about we let our children play with exploding cards?'"
"No, Draco. I can't say that I ever have. You know though, that psychoanalyst is here today if you need to talk to someone," Blaise held back as much laughter as he could before it burst out. Draco seemed less than amused and instead, delivered a scowl and returned to the book before him.
"I was just thinking," He offered defensively, silently vowing to find some sort of redemption for his comment gone astray. Perhaps exploding snap cards littered in his bed. That might do the trick. Especially in the dark dorm rooms at night when the last thing you are pondering is if someone might have littered your sheets with anything. Well other than rose petals but it was only that once and he'd promptly told Pansy to refrain from anything of the sort every again.
As soon as he was certain that everyone in the room was thoroughly absorbed with themselves, as was often the case, he flipped through the book to a page that had an insert of parchment in it. He studied it intensely, almost as though he were waiting for it to explode. That may be truer than he liked to believe.
Written in a sloppy scrawl across the middle were the words: Do you ever wonder what moron came up with the idea for exploding cards? It was very simple. To the point. This was actually the only reason he had questioned Blaise to begin with. It was obvious that he knew nothing at all about who had sent the bit of parchment. Because what was more puzzling was that there was no signature at the bottom. In fact, there was no purpose in him even receiving it in the first. That was what was the most puzzling.
He'd been seated at breakfast that morning casting glances of scorn at the Gryffindor Do-Gooders brigade when the post came in. With his mother off in who knew where after his father had been captured, he had rarely received much as of late. But sure enough, a light barn owl swooped in and dropped the parchment in his lap.
At first he had thought of it as a mistake but the bird had flown off so quick he couldn't even begin to decipher who it belonged to, let alone what in the bloody hell it meant. Something made him promptly fold it up, though, and tuck it into his pocket. And as he returned to the common room that night, obsessing over what it meant, he'd discretely taken it out. He'd been sitting in the arm chair since then pondering just that.
It was frustrating to no end not being able to identify the writer and more so exactly what he was supposed to write in response. In fact, he told himself he wasn't going to write a response. If someone wanted to speak with him they could do so in a more appropriate manner and that was that. He shut the book promptly and stood leaving for his dorms.
He set the book a top his night stand, dressing in his finest pajamas and climbed into the bed. It wasn't nearly late enough for sleep but perhaps it would take his mind off of all things they needn't be on. He tried to lay back and get comfortable but that didn't seem to work as he kept casting wondering glances at the book that housed the parchment.
Finally he'd had enough. Digging through his things for a scrap of parchment and a quill he pondered some witty retort for whom ever had written him. Finally he penned: You have my attention and folded it up, replacing it too inside the book, tucked away with the original message. He sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face at the thought.
.-.
The very next morning, the same barn owl swooped in, this time without carrying anything. She hooted lightly at Draco. Everyone at the table watched with morbid curiosity as he attached his own scrap of parchment to her leg and she flew off. She didn't stop anywhere in the Great Hall which he would've suspected. In fact, Draco had been counting on it. His own curiosity was getting the better of him.
He was very disappointed as he watched her soar out of the Great Hall; a glare fixed upon the shape as it flew off. It was not a good way for him to have started his day to say the least. There were a few at the table who attempted to start conversation but they found more often than not they were brushed off. Draco had much more on his mind.
It was rather stupid, he concluded, to let this bit of parchment affect him so much. He was a reasonable person. Surely he was reading too much into this. He was over thinking it. It wasn't too unbelievable. But that nagging voice in the back of his head was hoping to receive something more. He wanted to know. No, he had to know.
Class seemed to slink by at an alarmingly slow rate. As his mind strayed farther and farther from what he was studying. Finally he reached his last class before lunch which happened to be Potions with the Gryffindors. His day just kept getting better and better.
He slunk into class just before Snape entered, door coming closed behind him, and instantly launched into his lecture. Draco barely had a quill ready when he started talking and for the first time that day actually paid attention. As opposed to most of the other teachers, he truly respected his head of house and wasn't going to slack off like some of the students present. At this, he normally would've shifted his gaze to Potter and Weasley.
Though thankfully enough this year Weasley had dropped the course. He had less ability than he had money it seemed and finally took the hint. That didn't count out Granger or Potter who still trudged on even though it was rather apparent their professor was less than fond of them. When he did finally cast a glance at the other side of the room, he wasn't too surprised to find Potter paying less attention than normal. Instead, like himself, he seemed to be deep in thought of something elsewhere. Probably pondering volunteering to help the elderly or something equally generous. Draco rolled his eyes and went back to his notes.
Lunch came and surprisingly enough so did the little barn owl. It would stand to reason that the person definitely attended Hogwarts. Granted his name was well known enough, he didn't often had admirers calling outside of a certain radius. Well then again there never was any anonymity from them.
He took the next scrap of parchment, careful to keep prying eyes away and unfolded it. He reread the words several times over for actual meaning. It definitely seemed to be a bit of a proposition. I want more than your attention. But why choose this path? Honestly. When he wanted something he just went after it.
Before the little owl could fly off, he dug around for another bit of parchment and managed to scribble out a less than elegant, 'Meaning,' then sending her off to whoever she was reporting back to. As with that morning, she made her exit from the Great Hall and he was none the wiser of who this mystery writer was. But the desire to know was growing greater.
.-.
As a child, Draco was always so curious. He was into everything which constantly got him into trouble. But it always seemed worth it at the time. After a while, his mother gave up and left the discipline to Lucius and the care to the House Elves. She of course was there when she felt especially motherly or nurturing. It may not have happened quite that often but he had little complaints with his mother.
So as he sat there another slip of parchment spread across the spread to his books on the table in the library, he was getting very impatient. That's entirely up to you. What was that supposed to mean? He'd only responded as he had to get a real answer. Instead, he'd gotten this rubbish.
He'd been down in the library now a few hours, trying to force himself to study, instead always pulling the parchment out to study it again. Often plotting what his reply would be. Even more so who the person could be. He didn't have time for this. He had a Transfiguration practical soon as well as a big potion to brew. He needed to study.
But then he had it. The witty retort he'd been looking for. Well perhaps not exactly what he was looking for but if he didn't find something soon he'd never get anything done. So scribbling it down, he put it all away and went back to his reading. Well that isn't exactly fair.
Just as he was about to begin reviewing the ingredients to his potion, he felt eyes baring down on him. So much so that he was forced to look up, finding Potter standing near his table. "Is there something you want, Potter?"
"I was just down here studying. No need for hostility," Draco paid him no more attention reciting the list silently to himself. In fact, as he began reading, he paid little attention to anything and soon he found those eyes focused on him again.
"Potter, what?"Draco questioned him in annoyance.
"That's entirely up to you, huh? It hardly seems worth keeping," Draco's eyes narrowed especially as Potter went to crumble the parchment up. He nearly lunged at him, prying it from his fingers. He nearly folded it again and sat back down. "Woah, Malfoy. It's just a piece of parchment. Who's it from anyway?"
"That is hardly your business nor would I discuss it with you," Draco sneered this time, causing Harry just to give up on even light conversation. Feeling a bit flushed in the face, Draco concluded it would be a good time to leave the library. Now. Before he freaked out just a little bit more.
.-.
Over the next week, Draco found himself, much to his own dismay, anticipating meals. Meals meant another note. He found himself slowly becoming obsessed with the prospect. For Merlin's sake, he didn't even know who was sending them. In fact, he didn't know anything about them. But something kept him intrigued. 'Neither is love.' 'What are you implying now?' 'I should think that is rather obvious, don't you?' 'Perhaps.' 'Intrigued yet?' 'Yet? I have been for days.' 'I figured as much. You seem deliriously happy when my owl swoops in.' 'I assure you that isn't the truth.' 'You should see your face.'
More like I should see yours. Draco wasn't certain what made him write that last bit. It just seemed to flow out and without giving it a second thought he'd sent the little owl on her way. Then it hit him what he'd just said. Sure, he'd given it more thought than he cared to admit, his obsession and all, but to openly admit it, even if it were just through a note.
He sat uncomfortably in his seat through the rest of the meal. Like mornings as of late, there weren't even any Gryffindors to make fun of from a distance. More often than not lately, they crawled in towards the end of the meal and would grab something and go. That was of course except for the insufferable Granger who was currently glaring daggers in his direction. Unlike the Weasel, she could be pretty scary in her own right.
He didn't remember doing anything terribly evil to her as of late. In fact, he'd gotten himself so wrapped up in these notes that he couldn't remember doing much of anything. He'd done what bit of homework he had assigned and found himself skiving off everything else. Blaise had asked him a few times what the hell was going on but he couldn't give an accurate answer. He didn't know what was going on.
Only that some how, this almost juvenile note passing was beginning to consume him and he hated it. But the curiosity would eat away at him as he'd discovered the few times that he'd promised not the reply. He'd then promptly sat down and written back to whomever it was writing him.
He moved to get a piece of toast from the middle of the table and suddenly the little barn owl swooped in again. If anything it confirmed his suspicions that this person was at Hogwarts. At first he thought maybe she'd brought his letter back but as he took it from her leg, he found a new message entirely. That might not be for the best.
His frustration felt as though it had reached a new level. Not for the best. Then why in the bloody hell was he being written to anyway? If this person had no intent of every coming forward and saying something, why initiate conversation in the first place? Narrowing his eyes he scribbled out his own reply. If anything he was going to understand this at least, if nothing more. Then why the letters?
.-.
For a couple days after that, Draco received nothing. He didn't even catch sight of the tiny owl. But that was ok. He didn't really care about it anyway. It would be nothing to go back to life like before. Getting it off of his mind was going to be easy.
So then why did he find himself looking up every morning when the post came? Why did he find himself not being able to focus one bit upon anything? It was rather frustrating too, especially since it was going to hurt his marks overall.
The only perk to his foul mood as of late had been that Potter had seemed perpetually depressed. When he rarely surfaced at meals it wasn't for long and it seemed that several of his classmates weren't being too terribly friendly. Trouble in paradise? Draco couldn't help but wonder. Though only exception being that darn Granger. As always, she was being utterly insufferable.
He'd nearly given up all hope from his letter writer. He resigned himself to studying in the library. Trying to find a break from his friends. A break from everything and perhaps get something productive done. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Especially because as soon as he'd gotten comfortable Granger had decided to show up as well and wasn't there to study.
"Malfoy, we need to talk," Draco looked up, less than amused, from his book. Her eyes were lit like on fire and it seemed he wouldn't so easily get out of this.
"What could possibly have to say to me, Granger? I've already donated to the House Elf Relief Fun. So if you'll be so kind as to leave."
"There are a lot of things I could say to you, Malfoy. This hardly seems the time or place however."
"Then why are you here bothering me now?"
"I know about the notes you've been getting and I think it'd be best if you stopped replying," She got out in one breath, seeming rather disappointed in herself.
"What are you doing, snooping into my personal life? You can't believe you'd just come down here and I'd do as you say. I don't know how you found out about the post I've been receiving but trust me when I say that it isn't any of your concern," He slammed his book shut, collecting his things and leaving the library.
The next morning he got another note. I needed to say something.
He wasted no time in utterly defying whatever Granger had said to him. It did baffle him how she'd found out anyway. Perhaps it was her? Maybe she was sending these notes? That didn't seem highly plausible. She wouldn't have told him to stop. In fact, if it were anyone she knew, she'd have just told them to stop rather than him. After all he hadn't initiated any of this. What was she playing at?
Soon he was found himself right back on the track he was rather proud he'd gotten off. His days were spent obsessing over who was continuing this charade with him. Especially so when he was supposed to be in class and preferably paying attention. Blaise was quickly tiring of him asking to borrow notes. Snape especially had been 'disappointed' in his attention span or lack there of. Though as was typical, he didn't remove any points.
As the next few days past and more notes were exchanged, things soon took a big turn in the opposite direction that Draco had suspected originally.
'Well then say something more. I don't know what to believe which is really frustrating.' 'I know all about frustration.' 'So you aren't going to tell me?' 'It might be best if I show you.' 'When?' 'Tonight. Quidditch Pitch. Eleven o'clock. I'll wait just thirty minutes.'
.-.
Draco sat stubbornly on his bed, eyes glued on the clock. It was getting closer and closer to eleven and he willed himself not to move from the bed. If he didn't go, then perhaps this all would end. Then in the back of his mind, this voice was screaming that he had to go. He had to solve the rest of the puzzle. Battling with himself, as the clock struck eleven he made up his mind.
"Blaise, have you seen my cloak?"
"Why would you need you cloak for bed?" Blaise questioned, rolling over in the bed to face him.
"I have to go out for something."
"It's in the common room. Try not to lose any points for us tonight," He mumbled, feigning disinterest in whatever the blonde was plotting. Silently he assured himself he'd find out in the morning and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders again.
Draco slipped on his shoes and per Blaise's instruction he left the dorms for the common room. Sure enough, lain across the back of one of the sofas was his cloak. Checking to make sure no late night straggler had remained; he ducked out of the common room.
Half was out of the castle, he moved to turn back around, instantly angry with himself for considering to go. Then half way back to the common room he turned back around, telling himself it was purely out of curiosity. He left all remaining doubt at the door to the castle knowing that now that he was outside, there would be no turning back.
He trudged through the cold toward the pitch, still utterly unsure of what he should expect when he got there. Perhaps it was a ploy. Maybe it was just a joke and whoever it was would have a good laugh at his expense. He quickly ruled that out. He found that too many of the people he went to school with shuddered in his presence. It wouldn't make sense to anger him. Especially not on a night light that. Very satisfied with himself, he continued out to the pitch.
Inside he was silently hoping he wasn't going to be too late in getting there. That would seem a total waste of his night. He was a little irritable when he was tired and with the sleep (or lack there of) he was getting, it wouldn't be pretty.
Finally he met the ground beneath the hoops of the Quidditch Pitch and his breathing nearly stopped in his chest when he realized who was there to meet him.
.-.
Draco's face contorted in surprise as he realized who was standing on the pitch at that moment. He must've been mistaken. It had to be the wrong time or day or place or something. For Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived was there and that couldn't mean what Draco had running through his head.
It seemed at first that Potter hadn't noticed him. Instead, he'd sat with his back up against one of the high walls to the Quidditch stands. He had his house scarf tied around his neck and fidgeted a little with his mittens. Draco studied him in disbelief. It couldn't be Potter.
Though in reality, it always came back to him didn't it? Even as he was internally angry with whatever was happening with these notes, it always fell back on Potter for some reason. He was always there, nearly the only constant in Draco's life. It seemed almost proper that it was him. Rather strange and unexpected but proper.
Suddenly Harry noted his presence and pushed himself up from the ground. He seemed at a loss for words as the silence between them thickened. As Draco found himself studying him closer, he realized that he had indeed found his caller. In a most peculiar form. He couldn't remember ever having seen him so nervous before, as he shifted uneasily. Finally, and surprisingly, Harry managed to get something out. Something that sealed Draco's preconceptions.
"Do you ever wonder what moron came up with the idea of exploding cards?"
Almost as though it was a reflex, he spouted his own reply. "You have my attention."
"I want more than your attention," Harry's voice came out much shakier than he'd intended. He was standing there filled with his own disbelief though. He didn't image that Draco would've shown up, first of all, and second of he figured when he had, he'd have turned tail when he realized who it was. He'd been proven wrong twice this evening. It seemed he was on a roll.
"Why have you been writing me, Potter?"
"I didn't know how else to tell you."
"Tell me what exactly?"
"That I'm in love with you."
"Potter you're not in love with me," Draco spoke out loud though it was mostly just to convince himself. It was unfair for Harry to do this to him. To drag him out here and say these things to him. To make him feel things he didn't want to.
"You can't tell me how I feel."
"But I can tell you how you shouldn't. And you shouldn't love me. You shouldn't even want to speak with me. This is absurd," It was more that he was inwardly angry with himself than Harry. He wasn't sure what he'd expected by coming out here. Maybe on some level he had expected it to be Potter all along. No one else had ever managed to keep him so captivated, angry, and amazed at every turn.
Yes, amazed. He would admit it to himself if no one else. For whereas his path was laid before him, little for contradiction, Harry had gotten a choice and still made the one that was best for everyone else. Had it been him, he wasn't so sure he'd have shouldered the burden. No normal person would. And as much as it frustrated him, Harry still lived up to that larger than life image. He complained about it too many times to count.
"You can't help how you feel," Harry seemed so adamant. So blatantly alive almost. More so than Draco had seen him be in the last few days.
Draco just stood there, watching him. It never occurred to him that it was indeed rather cold. Or that they could be caught. Or anything really at all. Just that there he stood on the Quidditch Pitch in the middle of the night with Harry Potter just as he confessed his feelings. He couldn't help himself as he began laughing. This didn't go over too well with Harry who tried to shield a hurt look with anger.
"What's so bloody funny?"
"I just never would've believed in a thousand years I'd be standing here like this with you. Perhaps with wands wielded or even on a broom but never like this. It's thrown me off a bit."
"Well I'm sorry to set off your perfect existence. I'll leave you alone to laugh some more," Harry always managed to be an easy read and Draco could tell that he might have just screwed something big up. But what did he care if Harry went off and back to the castle? It wasn't his concern. It wasn't. It WASN'T.
"Wait a second," As his voice came out, even he was surprised. His hand moved to catch Harry's arm, spinning him around in a huff. Harry fixed him with a 'what' glare and Draco fished for something to say. "Just wait a minute."
"I don't have to stand here any longer and be humiliated, Malfoy."
"If I wanted to humiliate you, Potter, I'd already have the first draft done for the Prophet," Harry gave him a dry look but nonetheless halted his return to the castle. "What exactly is it you want me to say?"
"I don't know. I really hadn't thought that far into advance. I really had just bet on the storming off, Prophet thing," He admitted honestly, shrugging his shoulders.
"I don't know what I think about this whole thing. All of those notes sent me into upright chaos. I wanted to know more than anything."
"Now that you do, are you disappointed?"
"Actually, and surprisingly, no. I think subconsciously I knew it would be you. You are the bane of my existence after all. It's only proper really. It all suddenly reminds me of that first train ride here. I'm sure you remember," Harry just nodded not certain where he was going with this. "Only this time, you've extended your hand to me. And it seems I have two options now. I can reject this offering and things will go back to how they were, albeit very strangely. Or I can accept whatever it is you're standing out in the freezing cold offering."
"So?"
"I'm not sure I'm quite ready to make that decision. After all there are a lot of things to cover."
"This isn't a business proposition."
"Close enough. You're standing here asking for something I'm not so certain I can give. It's actually much more than a business deal, you're right. Though I will never admit it again. This is life. As fucked up as it may be. And believe me, it's getting there the more time that goes by,"
Harry seemed puzzled as what to do. Did they just stand there staring at one another until the blonde graced him with whatever answer he may have to give?
"You know, this is only the second real conversation we've ever had in all the time we've known one another," Harry moved and slid back down into the space he'd once occupied.
"What was the first?" Draco questioned unsure of his allegation.
"In Madam Malkin's shop. Getting robes. I didn't have a clue what to think about you, except that I sure was hoping to run into you again. You were the only other magical person I'd met besides Hagrid."
"As I can remember, it didn't seem to go too well either. I insulted him," Draco offered sitting down on the ground, keeping enough distance between them.
"You did. But it went better than when you insulted Ron."
"Yes but that wasn't my fault. The Weasel fond it necessary to insult me first."
"He did. But that's Ron. Why do the two of you really hate one another? There has to be some real reason? You don't just hate someone so passionately without cause, right?" Harry gave him a curious glare. Draco took a deep breath, seemingly deep in thought.
"My great-grandfather and his had been best friends when they attended school together. Despite the entire Slytherin-Gryffindor thing of course. But things got a little testy with rebellion and the further integration of muggles into Hogwarts. Weasley was all for it and didn't care about bloodline preservation like my grandfather. So they stopped talking. The Weasley's became known as disgraceful by the Malfoys and the Malfoys were deemed evil by the Weasley. And that has been the case for three full generations now. And who am I to break tradition?"
"So you two are just living up this feud from years and years ago? You really see nothing foolish with this?" He was resisting the urge to laugh. Of course he found that he still didn't understand many of the Wizarding customs but a three-generation grudge? He did realize that there were other things now that had separated them. Voldemort being one of them.
Draco just shrugged. "It isn't as though the Weasel ever made any effort."
"Neither did you."
"Sure, stand up for him," Draco muttered, his voice sounding a little tired and not up for arguing that evening.
"I'm sitting here being neutral trust me. The both of you are enormously stubborn. Unfortunately, I've witnessed both ends of it."
"And you're a basket of roses, Potter," Draco stifled a yawn, leaning back against the stands for support. He wasn't about to fall asleep outside on the Quidditch Pitch. That would be brilliant. He'd probably die from hypothermia or something just as dreadful.
"You are always the charmer."
"I'm getting too tired for pleasantries," Draco pondered out loud. Harry shot him a look that read 'you've gotta be kidding me.' "I can be pleasant sometimes, you know."
"I know you can be. I wouldn't be out here if I thought you were inherently evil."
"And why exactly are you out there?"
"We already had this conversation…"
"No I know that. I mean why."
Harry understood him though he wasn't sure at all how to respond to that. He didn't want to pour his soul out only to be stomped on which he still feared. Even if this was slightly more pleasant than he had assumed. He wondered if it were only because Draco was growing steadily more tired. He might just have to take advantage of this now.
"I'm not even sure if I know the answer to that. I just remember watching you one day, sitting outside with Crabbe. The two of your were talking about something and you just seemed so at ease. And I remember thinking that you just looked beautiful. Now at the time, I thought about dunking my head in scolding water to burn out my eyes but I couldn't get it out of my head. And I just kept thinking about it and you. I began to look for you at meals, in class, in the bloody halls. It was becoming completely obsessive and then I realized. I think that might have been worse when I realized that you were beautiful," Harry felt a little embarrassed by his sudden tirade.
"I'm no good for you. You do know that, right?" Draco still seemed very skeptical. Actually there were so many emotions raging inside of him at that moment he wasn't certain he could even say how he really felt.
"I remind myself of that constantly. It doesn't seem to matter," Harry replied instantly, voice tinged slightly with hope.
Draco leaned forward, eyes focused intensely upon him. Finally, after much deliberation with himself, he moved closer to Harry and brought their lips together. Harry didn't move at first, too afraid that if he did he'd snap back to reality. He wasn't going to tempt that just yet. The kiss stayed relatively chaste, as not long after the blonde pulled back, seemingly satisfied with himself.
"You ever wonder what genius thought, 'How about we let our children play with exploding cards?'" And in a symbolic gesture, Draco took Harry's hand in his own.
.-.
A/N: Just a little plot bunny that was hopping around frantically in my head, begging me to write it. It ended up being rather fluffy I know, but I should think by this point you might expect that from me. I do try. At any rate though, I would absolutely love to hear what you think, good, bad, or especially ugly. Flames are welcome but don't do so because it's slash. I will just stick my tongue out at you and write more :-D Updated, I went through and fixed up the dialogue.