A/N: Well, here it is, my first Harry/Draco fanfic. Will be multichaptered, though, fair warning, I'm not the fastest updater. I really hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me.

The one in which Draco isn't crushing on Harry at all (well, maybe just a bit)

Chapter 1: A damsel in distress

It's not that I hate you, I swear. It's just that you're so incredibly easy to bother. And I like that. You look almost cute when you're flustered: all red cheeks, narrowed eyes, gritted teeth…makes me want to grab you, press your body against mine, slip my hand into your messy hair, tilt your face just so that I can lick at your lips, using your surprised (enraged) gasp to slip my tongue past those pearly whites and…uh, yeah, you get the gist.

We're in Potions after all, and it won't do for Sev to notice the not-so-subtle rise beneath my robes if I continue this particular train of thought, it just might be a tad embarrassing (or a lot). Still can't believe he pulled a Binns and came back to teach potions…it's mildly disconcerting if you'd ask me (which I know you wouldn't, we don't talk, ever).

By the way, I didn't think I'd live to see the day where the two of you would be civil to each other, it's awkward (and not just to me, it's awkward for the two of you as well, I can see it, I like to observe you nowadays…or maybe I always have. I don't like to think about the past, let bygones be bygones and all that).

Your actions confuse (worry) me, you know. I don't talk to you because I wouldn't know what to say: thank you for freeing us from that, that thing? I'm not your fan boy.

Thank you for speaking up for my mother and me at our trials? She already did.

I'm sorry for being mean to you and your friends, for lying, hurting, torturing, lusting after you? Would you really believe me?

You mistrust me; you don't sneer or laugh at me like others do (who cares about them anyway), but you're weary of me. You don't trust any of the grand total of us 3 returning Slytherins (me, Pansy, Zabini), but you make a real effort towards the (yet) innocent first-years who have had the doubtful luck of being sorted into our old and worthy (traitorous, shameful) house. I guess I can understand that sentiment. We're tainted, we've done things that we still have nightmares about…but them, they are still pure, and so we don't interfere with you and your attempts to distance them from us, it's better for them to be your fans than mine.

Speaking of which, I'm just waiting for you to have a good-old-fashioned Potter-esque outburst. I can see your patience wearing thinner every time one of your self-professed fans attempts to carry your bag for you, offers to do your oh-so-troublesome homework, brings you homemade (I doubt that) cookies, self-made scarves, even offers you their rather questionable services (I admit I had a good laugh when I heard about that, and no, I did not feel any jealousy, at all). And you always seem so tired (I used to think it was from shagging the Weasley-girl, but I hear you broke up…which did not get my hopes up, I know you don't like blokes that way…I think), and it worries me.

Whatever I feel for you (jealousy, frustration, pity, lust, sympathy, anger, sadness), you're in my head and I can't get you out of it. I notice things about you, like you drumming your fingers on the table in class and constantly (irritatingly) tapping your right foot. I notice how you've taken to walking briskly from class to class, as if you're being followed (which you are, though not by Death Eaters this time, oh no, but by your loyal following of fan boys and fan girls)…you look haunted. I guess we all are. But (and I hate to admit that), you've done so much already, for everybody, and selflessly (bloody Gryffindor), that I think you should just take a break. And, you know, it's not just your responsibility alone to take care of this world, far from it, you're being….

"That's it for today. I expect your essays on the properties of Wolfsbane to be handed in by Monday, have a nice weekend."

Being dead has apparently given Sev a newfound sense of humour. I don't like it.

Well, class is over.

You sigh and practically bolt from class, and if I stare at a specific body part, well, I'm doing no harm. So I nod to Uncle Sev, almost smile (so does he), and make my way to the door where I promptly get run into.

"Watch it!" I warn the myopic oaf whose alarming body size has more or less catapulted me out of the Potions classroom.

"You talking to me, Death Eater?"

"You ran into me, does your tiny brain lack the skill of short-term memory?" I snap back.

Turning a lovely shade of purple, today's appointed leader of the We-hate-Malfoy-squad shoves me into the wall, making me drop my bag and wince at the sharp sting originating from the newly formed bump on the back of my head.

"Just fuck off, you don't belong here, you should be rotting in Azkaban with your worthless father!"

Hmm, a low blow, but I refuse to answer to such nonsense: I am, after all, a Malfoy (and this oaf has a Goyle-like muscle mass). Ignoring the sodding git, I pick up my bag and walk away (not before giving him my patented sneer, I perfected it for a reason after all). Alas, some people just refuse to get the hint.

"Hey, I'm talking to you! What, did I hurt your feelings? Heh, didn't know you had any. Just walk away then, go on, right out of the castle, and take your minions with you, murderer."

"ENOUGH!" The yell reverberates through the halls, and we all turn to see exactly who dares to defend the resident Death Eater.

And, oh, what a sight you are. Blazing eyes, shaking fists, one of which is holding your wand (the wooden one), clenched jaws…yeah, I am really glad these robes are quite thick.

"The war is over, and I know for a fact that Malfoy did not kill anyone. Yes, he screwed up, but which one of you wouldn't have tried to do anything in their power to protect their families from Voldemort?"

Everyone keeps staring at Potter (who knew you had such a high opinion of me?), and you just stand there glaring at us, as if you were daring us to contradict you. After a few seconds of heavy silence, the students gathered around us start to walk away, I guess disagreeing with their Saviour over me isn't worth it. Eventually it's just you and me standing in the hallway, locked in a tense staring contest.

"Well, Potter, it seems like thanks are in order," I drawl, breaking the silence. "Would you like a gift basket sent to your dorms? Or maybe a kiss since you seem to think I'm some sort of damsel in distress too weak to fight his own battles?"

It's truly amazing: you can demand respect from the whole school with a couple of words, but one barely suggestive jab from me and you turn into a spluttering, red-faced schoolboy. How am I supposed to resist that?

"What? I didn't…No! Shut up Malfoy! Can't you just say thank you?" Harry whirls around and starts stomping away, only to stop walking after a few steps and change directions (the Charms classroom is in the other direction, after all; and don't ask me why I know your class schedule so well, I just do, no stalking involved).

Oh this is too good. Before I can change my mind, I catch up to you. Just as you start to glance at me suspiciously, I start leaning in. Your eyes go wide and you start backing away. But I just smile (I think your eyes might pop right out of your face if they open any wider) and before you get the chance to escape, I brush my lips against your cheek and whisper:

"Thank you, Harry."

And as soon as it's done, I walk away, smirk firmly in place (and a heavily pounding heart trying to make its way out of my chest). While I would love to see your expression right now, it might just be safer to flee while you're still shocked (yes, my inner Slytherin is showing).

I do, however, hear you muttering:

"What the hell just happened?"

Well, that's what I'd like to know too.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm already working on chapter 2, so you can expect that to pop up withing the next couple of days. Please review, it makes my day and helps inspire me! Also, any and all mistakes are mine, thus constructive criticism is not just appreciated but pretty much asked for.