New HarryxDraco fic! I hope you enjoy the first two chapters :]

All in all, there was nothing particularly strange or foreboding about that day. Draco woke up early, in his private room, as always, the sun only just rising as he showered and dressed. He buttoned up his collared shirt, he smoothed the collar and straightened some creases, he slithered his grey sweater-vest over his head and pulled at the hem. He slipped a black belt through the loops of his formal, black pants; the silver lock of the buckle shined like his designer shoes. He slicked his platinum hair back, running his fingers through his pampered sleeves of blonde and slipping on his silver watch that identified the time, place and mood he was in. He left his room, locking the door behind him and slipping the key into his back pocket, his book-bag over his shoulder and said shoulders boyish and posed in pride, his chest and pace carrying that all-too familiar Slytherin and Malfoy pride. He attended breakfast and heard the much loathed muttering of gossip as he entered the Great Hall; the owls had already arrived, and there were two letters from his parents in Azkaban. The Great Hall still held a scent of dust, a sort of aftertaste of battle. Harry Potter had survived. Harry Potter had even saved him.

Harry Potter had also tried to kill him directly after saving his life during the battle, though, so he wasn't keen on thanking him. Hermione Granger and her new boyfriend (post final battle with Voldemort), Ron Weasley were walking beside The Chosen One; they noticed the wave of whispering too, whenever Draco entered a room. He scoffed and brushed it off, walking proudly to his seat, disposing of the letters and eating in silence. He felt their stares, but pretended not to. He wasn't really built for confrontation; the Imperius curse was the only reason he seemed to have so much courage in being a complete ass. But it was their seventh year in school, and his reputation was far from alterable, and he was trying to come to peace with that. As long as he could get to graduation safely, he had no regrets and the Parkinsons (his foster-care family—that is, until he's legally allowed to live alone) took wonderful care of him. Enough care that they didn't expect him to talk about his past, being under the Imperius for months at a time or his conferences with The Dark Lord.

The morning dragged, but at eleven forty-three, Draco would religiously arrive two minutes early to Potions, a habit he couldn't break even after his Godfather's death. He neatly placed his textbook at the corner of the table, aligned with the sharp, mahogany right angle and glared at the female professor. She was very feminine and soft-spoken, the complete opposite of Severus; sure, he muttered, but he never tarnished the name of Potions by degrading the students so thoroughly that their final project was a Love Potion. Yes, they had been studying Love Potions in celebration of the kindness and love realized throughout the war, the final battle and as a symbolic, and in Draco's opinion, pitiful, tribute to the good of the Wizarding World's triumph. She smiled sweetly, inquiring,

"Mr. Malfoy, your potion is coming out wonderfully. You're so very diligent, is it your late Godfather that taught you such obedience in your studies?"

His mouth tightened in distain until he responded, "Yes, in fact, he did teach me all about Potions,"

"From what I have learned, I have a lot to live up to. He sounded like a wonderful man,"

"He certainly was,"

Even though he cared for Potter more than me.

The bell rang and students began pouring in. His table partner was The Boy Who Lived; he assumed that Harry had become used to Draco's silence and indifferent compliance in partnership. In the beginning, Harry even seemed surprised by Draco's willingness to work with him. But he learned quickly that Draco was a man of few words and it wasn't worth trying to make small talk. Said student sat beside him, dropping his disheveled papers unceremoniously on the tabletop, sighing and eventually meeting Draco's intent stare. It was questioning him and his unkempt appearance, intentionally.

"I…uh…some Slytherins slapped my books out of my hands, and I didn't have the time to pick it all up in the hall without getting trampled, so…"

Draco sighed, standing up and helping organize the papers; Harry was so shocked he could only stare as Draco looked down at the scrolls and assigned them to their respective books.

"Save the Wizarding World from chaotic destruction and social cleansing and you still get knocked around…"

Harry's expression calmed as he stated bluntly, "You're one to talk,"

Draco shot him a nasty look and remembered why he didn't speak to Harry. He dropped the rest of the scrolls in his hold and sat down again. Harry looked like he had realized he insulted Draco and was disappointed to lose his aid. The bell rang again and everyone was seated in their assigned placements. The professor smiled at everyone and announced,

"Alright, guys, take out your cauldrons and I'll be coming around to check them and grade them,"

Draco looked to the boy beside him; the corner of his mouth was twitching slightly, his thick brows were furrowed strangely and his thumb was running quickly up and down his ring finger. Draco's mouth opened into a whisper as they both stood,

"Don't sweat it, Potter, we've got this covered,"

"How do you know?" He asked as the table moved apart into two halves, a caldron rising up in between.

"She practically kissed my feet over the damn potion; she's definitely going to give us a passing grade, so don't be so nervous,"

Harry wasn't unused to Draco's few phrases of wisdom or comfort in quiet times when no one else seemed to notice Harry was uncomfortable, but he was unused to Draco's approachable aura. Over time, as table partners, they had grown a tolerance for the other. Harry learned, though, that Draco was the only one who could tell whenever he was nervous. He had prided himself for hiding it well for a long while, but Draco seemed to see right through him. He tried not to think on it too much, as it would lead to other thoughts of Draco, of his articulate nature and sophistication that Harry almost envied. He didn't like the thoughts of feeling lower than Draco Malfoy, but after having tried to kill him and still receive even indifferent kindness from him, he couldn't help but feel bad. Of course, of course he felt bad. It was always easier to wallow in self-pity and keep a mutual hatred-based relationship on route when one was fueled by anger. But he couldn't be angry at Draco. He wasn't. And it seemed that Draco wasn't angry at him.

What does that make us, though…?

"Well, I've already given a good look at all the caldrons, late last night, but presentation is a big part of Potions," The professor began, "If you all stand proud by your caldrons, it may not always seem so, but it helps your grades. I'd like to bring up the class's top potion, by Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy and I'd like them to share how they executed every instruction perfectly,"

She grinned at the pair as the class clapped unenthusiastically. No one liked clapping for Draco Malfoy. He didn't mind that much; or at least, that's what he told himself. Not to mention, Hermione Granger hated clapping for other's academic achievements, even if one of the victors was her friend. Draco walked around the table, gripping the lip of the caldron and dragging it to the front of the class; Draco had self-taught himself wordless and wandless magic, so there really was no need to burden his athletic arms with manual labor, but it did not occur to Draco that it could ever present a problem. He backed up a few feet away from his first-row table and looked up to see Harry at losing his grace. At having been knocked in the hallway, he had arrived in Potions looking somewhat messy, more specifically, though, his cloak was tagging along his feet, slipping from his shoulders in a loose fit.

Draco had risen his icy eyes just in time to watch the black fabric get caught under Harry's large left foot and gravity took its toll on the tall Quidditch player; he fell face first, his chin just hitting the lip of the caldron, across from Draco's spidery fingers. At the abrupt and violent contact, the caldron fell with Harry, landing on his head and the sound of rushing liquid woke Draco to the realization of Harry being drenched in their once perfect potion. Draco's hands had let go of the black pot and had defaulted to his sides in tight, defensive fists that strung even more tightly at the harsh sound of the caldron hitting the floor with the rest of Harry's body. When time came back into focus, Draco rushed to the seemingly unconscious body on the floor, the class rising in volume, some standing to get a better view of the incident. He lifted the pot from the boy's head, the professor bent over, her face writ with worry as Draco helped Harry sit up. The caldron rolled away, the last of the pink liquid dripping from the rim as Harry coughed.

Draco wiped some of the potion from Harry's face as he coughed, his left hand planted on Harry's shoulder as his right thumb pushed across his cheek. Harry opened his naked eyes to Draco, squinting, pink and poor vision blurring his sight. Draco took note of the strange expression and looked over into the caldron, retrieving the pair of glasses, dripping as heavily as all of Harry's torso. He slipped them behind Harry's ears after wiping the pink smear away with his own cloak sleeve. Harry blinked, coughing once more and staring at Draco until the blonde finally asked,

"Are you alright?"

"…Malfoy…"

One of his thin brows sank, "What?"

There was a thick silence in which everyone was heavy with worry, except for the apparently clueless Slytherin. His forehead creased in concern again,

"Are you okay? Do you know where you are? Who you are?" He paused, "…Hello?"

Harry's large hand lifted up, brushing at Draco's cheek, causing him to flinch and move away a bit before moving his gaze back to Harry's,

"…what?"

Harry's eyes seemed foggy, and it wasn't just because his glasses were smeared,

"Malfoy…I think…"

"…what? You're hurt?"

"…I'm in love with you,"

Reality finally struck Draco; he blinked, his face stoic and pale,

"…what?"

"I-I've never…felt like this before…I don't…know…how to…"

"How to what?"

"Merlin, have you always been this bloody gorgeous, Malfoy?"

The class began to giggle as Draco's face filled with blood; he backed away, his knees covered in pink and designer shoes ruined. He looked in dismay to the professor; her expression mirrored his as he asked,

"I thought…you have to drink it to fall in love?!"

She shrugged, shaking nervously, "I-I suppose that's why he coughed! He must've swallowed some of it, and you were the first person he saw!"

Draco was not pleased.

"W-what do you mean!? What am I supposed to do now?!"

Harry smiled cutely, muttering, "I never noticed how cute you are when you're worried, Malfoy,"

The blonde cringed in disgust, not breaking his stare with the female as she ran an anxious hand through her red hair and warned him,

"You need to get out of the classroom for now, Mr. Malfoy,"

"Wait…why? What's going on? What's going to happen?"

She glanced to Harry, the entire class looking at his pitifully girlish day-dreamy stare stuck on Draco, then back to the latter and explained,

"The first few hours of the potion initiate…uhm…intense sexual desire, it's best that you leave for now and avoid him for the next six to eight hours, then we'll work this whole mess out—"

"This whole mess? THIS WHOLE MESS? You mean this catastrophe!? You mean this undeserved imminent doom?! You mean this-"

"Malfoy," Draco felt a tug at the hem of his pants; he looked down at the boy and his bedroom eyes, "Malfoy, would you come back to nursing me? I think I may have twisted my ankle, could you help me stand? Carry me, maybe?"

Draco blushed furiously, kicking Harry's hand away, glaring at the professor and snarling,

"Severus never would have let this happen!"

"I beg to differ, Mr. Malfoy, as I am not the one who dropped the Love Potion on Mr. Potter,"

"He wouldn't have made us make stupid Love Potions in the first place!"

"Love Potion?" Harry asked innocently; all eyes fell on him again, "What Love Potion?"

Draco slapped his hand on his forehead, the professor looking at the blonde and explaining,

"He doesn't realize he's under the influence of a potion, he's convinced it's true love and-"

"I know, damn it, I told you, Severus taught me everything…"

Draco looked to Harry, the prophet smiling at him in a flirtatious but dumbfounded sort of way. Never suave, that one, probably never would be.