"Harry," Draco says benignly, though his voice has a robotic quality to it, as if his lines are learnt by heart. "It's just that... Well, I… I think you fancy me. I'm sorry, but I… I like girls. I don't think any of this… Well… Oh, this is so…The truth is, Harry… It… This doesn't… It shouldn't, it can't… Mean anything to me."
"I don't believe that," Harry says simply. Draco looks at him with pleading eyes.
"Don't make this any harder than it ought to be," he whispers.
Harry looks up at him with wide-eyed innocence, trying to ignore his racing heart. "I'm sorry."
Draco grins weakly and releases him. "I was hoping… Hoping you'd say something like that. It's getting late; you'd better get back to your room. Just climb through the window."
Harry looks at him – really looks at him. Draco looks back at Harry, the grin fading from his face in a very confused manner. And why shouldn't he be confused? This moment ought to have been awkward, yet the Gryffindor is still looking at him with a strange light in his eyes.
Sod it, Harry thinks quickly, reaching forward and gripping Draco's elbows.
"Harry," Draco whispers imploringly, though maybe there wasn't enough force in it, not as much as there ought to have been. He lets Harry curve a hand around his neck, tangle his fingers in his hair, and pull him into one last kiss. It was so sad, so final… Yet so perfect.
Harry tilts his head back a fraction and feels Draco's lips move gently against his, the lightest touch. There is no forceful dueling of tongues this time, no bruising hands: it was finality, a goodbye. Draco's hands, unsure of where to rest, gently trace ever-widening circles on Harry's shoulder blades through the thin material of his school shirt.
Draco moves to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss, but Harry forces himself to turn away. He could've stood there forever, but Draco shouldn't – he can't. Harry won't be the one to hold him back.
"Don't think it's because I want to," Draco says softly, confusion and – was it longing? – clouding his eyes. "It's because I have to."
"See you round," Harry whispers hoarsely, as it's easier to pretend that he didn't hear. Releasing Draco's elbow, he grabs his broomstick and slips into the darkness. He crosses the Quidditch pitch, grateful for the freezing rain on his back, and flies up to the window of his room on his Firebolt. He is just about to climb in when he turns back for one last look. Draco is standing in the middle of the field. Draco waves at him slowly, as if stunned.
His skin burns with desire where Draco touched him. Harry allows himself one sad smile, lifting his hand to touch his lips. He climbs through the window and lands with a thump on the carpeted floor. Finally, he pulls back the covers and crawls into bed. Did Draco honestly think that he couldn't walk away from the boy he truly fancied? He might've acted like it was fine, but had anyone looked through the window of Harry's room that night; they would've seen him sobbing quietly into the pillow.
When it's Draco Malfoy you're dealing with, it's never 'just a kiss'.