Disclaimer: Don't own the Potter characters. Nyah.

Draco Malfoy was in love.

To be more precise, he wasn't just in love. He was in love with the most powerful, most famous and most gorgeously handsome teenaged wizard in the whole of the wizarding world. The fact that his crush was male had bothered him just a teensy bit to begin with, but eventually he'd learned to ignore that fact soon after he discovered the relieving truth that his crush was really the only male he really romantically liked. His crush was special.

That, of course, would probably be the reason why he'd spent month after month picking the perfect gifts. He'd hand-wrapped them all himself, and written tiny love notes on a card which he would attach inside the wrapping and sign with an elegantly curled X. One a month would be the number he'd send, all on the firsts, save for birthdays and Christmas when he'd make sure the gifts were extra-special. He'd borrow a school owl so he could retain his anonymity, and make sure the presents always got to his crush sometime during breakfast. He enjoyed watching the expressions on Harry's face as he opened his presents.

He'd gone too far.

That'd been his first thought. That, along with a mouthed, "Oh, shit," as Harry's owl dropped a letter into his lap at lunch.

What was wrong? Had the ring not been expensive enough? Maybe it had been too expensive. Maybe Harry had found the silver band gaudy. Maybe Harry hadn't liked the beautiful glittering emerald which Draco had taken hours, hours to make absolutely sure to match with Harry's beautiful eyes. Maybe Harry hadn't liked the colors—Draco mentally slapped his forehead. Of course, the colors were too Slytherin. He should have gotten Harry a gold ring instead. Gold, with maybe a ruby instead of an emerald. Pure Gryffindor colors. Oh, but the emerald had been so lovely…

Or maybe it wasn't the ring. Maybe it had been the card, the beautiful heart-shaped card along with a simpler handmade one Draco had added in along with it. Draco hadn't been sure which Harry would've preferred more—class, or something from the heart. Maybe Harry didn't like either? Maybe he hadn't liked the poems Draco had painstakingly inked into them in his best handwriting, the poems he had taken days to perfect. Maybe he hadn't liked the perfect, italic, Be My Valentine written on the bottom of each card. Draco remembered Harry coming to breakfast, receiving his anonymous gift, reading the cards and then looking up straight at him.

With mild trepidation Draco opened the letter. The note was simple and brief.

AstronomyTower. 7pm tonight.

-- H.

---

The February air was cold and stung at Draco's nose. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around him. He'd worn a thick vest and two extra sweaters underneath. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have worn three. He started pacing a bit, and shoved his gloved hands into his fur-lined coat pockets. Harry was late. Draco knew this because Draco was exactly on time. He had gotten ready after class and had sat in the Slytherin common room for hours, simply watching the clock, not wanting to be too early and not wanting to be too late. At precisely 6:50 and 0 seconds he had gotten up from his chair and started an easy walk to the Astronomy Tower, a walk that he knew would take exactly ten minutes because he had practiced it for half an hour after lunch had ended.

A faint clapping of feet. Draco immediately stopped pacing and started panicking. He started telling himself to breathe, to breathe normally, and pulled his scarf higher up his face to hide his anxiety as his crush walked up to him with seeming uncertainty, his nose an unbearably cute shade of red in the cold.

Draco wanted to warm it with his lips.

"What this about, Potter?" he drawled instead.

For a moment Harry looked apprehensive, then he dug into his pocket and pulled out… a mess. Draco frowned, then realized.

Oh. Oh.

Harry held out the scrunched up love notes to him, then, hesitantly, the card Draco had sent him this morning. The expensive, store-bought one.

Oh. Draco felt oddly disappointed. True, he had been expecting Harry to prefer the handmade one more, but he certainly hadn't been expecting Harry to dislike the store-bought so much that he wanted to return it. Silently, he stretched out a hand and took the papers and card back.

"Did you write those?" Harry asked. His voice sounded strange, and Draco couldn't tell the tone from behind the thick scarf he was wearing. Damn those Gryffindors and their superior thick scarves.

"Of course not," he sneered, an automatic response. He didn't want to be caught. "Why would I write such romantic dribble?"

Harry looked relieved. "Good," he said with a sigh. "I was afraid… when I saw the ring, I mean." He dove into his pocket and pulled out the object—why wasn't he wearing it? "I was getting a lot of gifts before, but I never could tell who it was who was sending them… I only guessed you today, when I saw the ring. I mean, it's expensive, it's in Slytherin colors… ah well. Could've been any Slytherin now, come to think of it." The teen seemed to have drifted off into thought. "Maybe Pansy."

Draco choked. "Parkinson?" he said, before he could stop himself. "Bloody hell Potter, you must be thicker than I thought. How can you possibly think it's Parkinson's? The girl's barely smart enough to spell her own surname. If you'd said Blaise, then maybe…"

"So it's a boy, then?" Harry said.

Draco faltered. "Yeah. I'd guess so. From the ring, I mean. A girl wouldn't get a ring for a boy."

"Is it Blaise's?"

Trapped. Draco wanted to lie, but he didn't want Harry thinking that all the hard work he'd put into the Valentine's gift had been Blaise's. He shuffled around a little. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"Is it yours?"

Again the same answer. "Maybe," quiet and mumbled. Where was the Malfoy confidence when he needed it?

"Why?" Harry looked suspicious. "This better not be some joke Malfoy, or else—"

"It's not a joke!" Draco was indignant. "I wouldn't spend bloody hours looking for the perfect ring and thinking of the perfect poem for a joke. I wouldn't."

"So then…" Harry's voice held the slightest tone of embarassment, "you do actually… y'know." He waved the ring around a little, and Draco could swear that he could see the tiniest of blushes spreading across the brunette's cheeks from behind the scarf. "Like. Me."

"Well... yes."

For a moment Draco feared his voice had been too soft, that it had been eaten up by the scarf, because Harry didn't respond for what seemed to be the longest of times.

"Malfoy," Harry said gently, and for a moment Draco hated that name; 'Malfoy', not at all close and a mere formality, "I'm not gay."

"I'm not either!" Draco exclaimed indignantly. "I mean, I obviously am because I, y'know. Like you. But it's only you!" he hastened to add. "I'm not a complete pouf. I've liked other girls before. You're just the only guy."

"Okay." Harry now looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "But I, um. I… don't like you. Y'know. In that way. Or in any way in fact; you've been pretty much a complete prick to me and my mates ever since we started Hogwarts. What's with the change?"

That had hurt. "What's with the change?" Draco felt completely and fully angry now. "What kind of question is that? 'Oh Draco I don't like you in the bloodiest bit even though you obviously spent for-bloody-ever on these presents to me and obviously love me so very much that it fucking hurts and, gee, you're awfully nice all of a sudden, what's up?' I don't know. You just suddenly didn't seem like so awful a person. Alright?" Draco's tone was desperate. Things weren't meant to have gone this way.

Harry was silent for a moment. "I don't know what to say," he finally said. "I'm… well, I'm not flattered, more like surprised and all that you… love," he said this hesitantly, and Draco suddenly blushed as he realized what he'd just said, "me, but like I said… the feeling's not mutual."

Pang. Draco tried desperately to control the wounded look he obviously must have been sporting on his face. Harry held out his hand, the ring in his open palm.

"I suppose you would have jumped with joy had it been the mudblood," Draco said bitterly.

"Sorry," was all that Harry said. He took Draco's hand and pressed the ring firmly into it, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the other card, which looked sadly crumpled, and handed it to Draco as well, then without another word silently turned and walked away.

Draco stood in the Astronomy tower for some time after Harry left. He felt numb, and he wasn't sure it was because of the cold. In one hand he still held tightly clutched the love notes and cards; in the other he held the ring. He slid it into his pocket. He wasn't going to cry. Malfoys didn't cry.

Well, maybe just this once.

He looked at the cards he'd painstakingly bought and made. Rubbish. His love didn't like them. He didn't even like him. Slowly, he ripped up his hearts so they were as small and insignificant as the love notes he'd taken hours to write. Draco lifted them to his mouth and blew, and watched them flutter like tiny, blood-red confetti down into the lake.

"Happy Valentine's," he murmured. He turned and walked back to his dorm, and to his credit didn't shed a tear.

Author's Note: I expect people will want to kill me now. In my defense, I wanted to write a fic where there isn't a happily ever after, and that doesn't involve, um, death.

No, I don't like bathos either.