I am sitting by the desk, exhausted after the long day. And yet I know that I will not be able to sleep – for my mind is short-circuiting from the worry.

I overheard you talking to McGonnagal last night. You're going to fight Voldemort. Tonight.

Why does it bother me, you may ask? Because I love you. I realized I did when you came into the Great Hall on the first day of school this year. Taller, leaner, tanned – aged. Your face was - and still is – dark and grey, and its not the face of a boy, but of a grown man. I guessed that it was the impact of Dumbledore's death that made you so.

So I scribbled the note at lunch and tossed it at you as I passed the Gryffindor table.

There is a knock on the door, and I stand up to open it.

You are standing there, exhausted and expressionless. Your black hair hangs over your eyebrows, as always, tousled. Your huge, summer-green eyes are weary and tense – you do not understand why I asked you to come here, today of all days. You're dressed in black – a pair of black jeans hugs your hips, and the black shirt makes your skin seem even more flawless.

'You wanted something, Malfoy?' you ask, still looking at me, puzzled.

'Yes. Come in,' I say, and move away to let you through. I close the door of my room, and gesture for you to sit on the bed.

'I'll stand,' you say.

I turn to the mirror, so I would not have to look at you.

There are a few moments of extremely uncomfortable silence.

'Malfoy, what's wrong?' you say finally.

'N-nothing. I -I found out. That you were going. To fight -' I hate myself for not being able to say his name. I hate myself for stuttering, for showing you my weakness. But I cannot help it, no matter how much it wounds my pride.

'I am,' you say, bitterly, 'you glad I'm going to die?'

I turn around, sharply, and you stop. You see the pain in my eyes, you see that my face it contorted with anguish, and you stop half way through you sentence.

'Harry,' I say, for the first time in my life using your first name, 'I don't want you to go.'

There. Its out.

'What!' you say, voice hoarse with surprise.

'I don't want you to go. He'll kill you.'

'And that bothers you because -?'

That is the last straw - something breaks inside of me and words come tumbling out.

'For God's sake, Harry, stop torturing me,' I am almost shouting, 'look at me, try and see the truth! You ask why I am concerned about you. The answer is that, blast all my pride, is that I love you. I – love – you. Yes, my father would kill me if he knew, and, quite frankly, I don't care. What I care about is you staying out of... his... way,' I look up, and you are standing behind me, so lose I can feel the warmth of your body, 'don't go,' I whisper.

You place your hands on my upper arms and turn me around, so that we are facing each other.

I thought you'd punch me, or scream at me, or, what would have been much worse, laugh. You do not. Your eyes are full of tenderness, and your smile a little, sad smile.

'Ironic, is it not, Draco?' you say in your silky voice, and it caresses my ears, 'that it is my mortal enemy who is with me on what could be my last night. No, don't say anything, 'cause I know this really might be my last night.

I am glad, though. Glad it's you, of all people. You know why? Because I love you too.'

Hope rises in my heart, filling my entire being until it hurts, and I feel so – exhilarated. You said you love me! After months of sleepless nights spent fearing I'd dream bout you, after all those weeks of anguish, after the long days of watching you, after counting hours till I will see you next, you say you love me!

'But I will go,' you say, and tears fill my eyes, 'and you know you cannot make me do otherwise.'

'But -' I whimper. Why do I have to be so damn weak when I am with you!

'Draco,' you exhale, and fling your arms around my neck. Your shoulders start to shake, and you cry, and I feel your tears run down my neck.

You cry your soul out, and I hold you until you are calm. There is no enmity between us anymore – it seems stupid that we ever fought. Yes, I'd been a bastard, and I accept that, but now, faced with the prospect of losing you, I am changed. I need you, Harry, I need you too much to hate you, I need you despite everything. It doesn't seem logical, and I know no-one will understand, but I don't care.

I help you lie down on my bed, and you nuzzle your face in the crook of my neck. I put my arms around you and I begin drawing circles on your back with my hand, in a timid attempt to comfort you. You fall asleep soon, your chest falling and rising regularly, breathing level and deep.

You are beautiful, you know that? Your face becomes calm when you are asleep, and you look younger. The cares are wiped from your features, and your lips part slightly. It's strange that the girls are not crowding around you – you are so perfect. Then again, I guess you're too busy for girls.

You whisper in your sleep, repeating 'Sirius' and 'Dumbledore' and tears ran from your eyes once again. I know you are dreaming of those you lost, and I know the pain of those losses is still raw.

An hour later, you wake up, and look at me sheepishly. You feel uncomfortable, you do not understand how everything – we – could have changed so drastically over such a little time.

'I have to go,' you say, sitting up.

'I know,' I do not look at you. I must not cry. I will not cry.

'I'm sorry.'

'No you're not,' I pull you back and stare intently into your eyes.

'Swear to me you will come back,' I hiss, 'swear to me we will have what we deserve. Swear to me, goddammit, that you will survive.'

You look at me with that infuriating tranquility.

'Draco, I cannot. All I can promise is that I will try. Oh, please don't,' you know that I am about to shout something, 'even if I die, and if that stops him, I will be glad. I'll be happy to die if that is what I have to do to drag him to hell, where he belongs.'

You stand up, and turn to face me.

'I love you, Draco. I know that now. If I come back, we will have all the time in the world. If I don't -'

You bend to place a soft, almost fleeting kiss on my lips, and it burns me like a red-hot poker.

You say nothing else. You take out your wand, and you walk out, leaving me, and the salty tears wash away the taste of your kiss.