Draco's POV.
I walk into the Great Hall. I am exhausted after another sleepless night spent out on the roof, tracing my constellation over and over again in the stars.
Night after night I stay there, refusing to give in to the needs of my body. It craves sleep, as a drowning man craves air, but my heart craves far more for Potter. My mind, the logical side of me that is free from emotion, is the only thing still keeping me sane. It keeps me awake every night, knowing that if it does not, I will dream.
I will dream of him, of his arms around me, his lips on mine, his black hair silky beneath my fingers. And when I wake, the pain of loss is so great; it is more than my heart can stand. So I do not sleep.
Instead I sustain myself, barely, with wakefulness potions, made with ingredients stolen during my Potions classes. Occasionally I will beg a Dreamless sleep potion from Madame Pomfrey, but I cannot take them very often. She will not allow me them more than once a month, because of their addictive qualities.
This makes me laugh, a wry, bitter laugh, without humour. I am already addicted, I doubt that adding another substance to the list would do me great harm. And so, because of Potter, I do not sleep. I refuse to call him Harry, even to myself; just the sound of the name sends shivers down my spine.
When I am near him, when I see him, my heartbeat accelerates. I begin to tremble, and it feels as though my stomach has been invaded by bats, rather than butterflies. I am aware that I sound like an adolescent school girl. And these are only the least of my physical symptoms. More than once I have found myself eternally grateful for that fact that wizards wear robes.
I feel ridiculous, and I fear that everyone around me feels this in me as well. I can no longer take pride even in the Malfoy name, the name that he hates. So I pretend. I become even more obnoxious than usual.
Oh I am well aware that my earlier behaviour toward him was of the very worst kind. I have never been delusional; I never thought that my actions toward him were justified. They were merely what I was told, trained to do. But now, when everyone around me shrinks in fear, when I have never been crueler to the people around me, he feels nothing of it. I cannot bring myself to hurt him in any way. Even his friends no longer bear the brunt of my anger, for I know that to hurt them is to hurt him.
Indeed, not two days ago I saved a Gryffindor from one of my fellow housemates. Thomas. I never thought I would see the day when I could look at Thomas without feeling nauseous, let alone try and save him.
He didn't know it was me, of course. He merely knew that someone hit Crabbe with a stunning spell from around the corner, while he was being held by the throat. I hadn't expected him to come and look for me. It must have been that vaunted Gryffindor bravery I suppose.
There was nowhere for me to hide. Instead I mimicked Crabbe's actions and grabbed him around his neck. I threatened him, told him that if he told anyone what I had done he would pay. And then he laughed in my face. I had not been expecting that. I let him go. I was in shock. He left, and promised me that since he owed me he wouldn't say a word. As he left I breathed a sigh of relief.
But then he turned and tossed back to me over his shoulder, "although I bet Harry would be very interested to hear about it." he grins and winks, and then finally leaves. I am left alone, frozen with shock. Finally I gather my senses. I perform enervate on Goyle, and tell him that Finnegan turned up.
I also tell him not to go back after either of them. He agrees without question. I am lucky that it was not Blaise or Pansy. They would not have been nearly so accepting.
Ever since then, Thomas has been giving me strange looks. As I walk into the Hall this morning, there he is again, giving me a surreptitious wink, and glancing slyly at Harry. And I cannot stop my gaze from following his. He ducks his head as I look in his direction.
I am half glad that he will not see me staring, half disappointed that I cannot see his brilliant emerald eyes. I catch my breath. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. His clear skin, pale, but far darker than mine from Quidditch. My skin never tans. His perpetually messy hair gleams in the pale morning light. His neck is a mass of shadow and light, and I have to suppress the urge to swoop down on him and kiss it.
Finally I manage to drag my eyes away. It is torture to walk past him without looking, and when our hands accidentally brush, I forget to breath. Somehow, I manage to reach my seat with no further incident. But when I arrive I am breathing hard, my face slightly pink, as close as it ever comes to blushing.
I look over at him once more, and I realise that I can no longer merely sit back and wait for these feelings to go away. That is never going to happen. I have made up my mind. I am going to seduce Harry Potter.
I mean, I'm Draco Malfoy. I can do anything, right? Right?
Harry's POV.
I walk into the Library, trailing behind Hermione. I look around and to my relief it is nearly empty. I did not expect much else, it is a Hogsmeade weekend after all, but there was always a chance that... That he would be there.
He never seems to go into Hogsmeade any more. In fact, I think perhaps I haven't seen him there since that day in third year when I covered him and his two goons in snow. At the time I merely seemed a like fun, but when I think back on it now - when I think back on any memory involving him now - it all takes on a new light.
I see him, once again covered in pure white snow. His cheeks are flushed, his lips are red, and all I want to do I drag him down and kiss him. Another part of me wants to kiss him in a completely different way. When I remember the look in his eyes, I realise now that I hurt him, by embarrassing him that way. And I want to take it back, take away the pain. I want to hold him, and love him, and kiss all the hurt away. What I feel for him is not merely lust, I am sure of that.
When I think of him from when we are younger; that time near the Shrieking Shack, the beginning of second year, when Hermione accused him of buying his way onto the team, the first time I ever saw him in Madame Malkins, swamped by robes to big for his thin frame, it all seems so different.
He seems vulnerable, rather than arrogant, bragging to hide his insecurities. Although I couldn't see them then, I see them now, all too clearly. When I remember him that way I want to sweep him up in my arms and hold him close, to stop him from becoming what he has today. When I first met him, he merely played a part.
Now he has become that part, and I fear that there is no going back for him. If he ever had a choice in the first place. And that is why I am here with Hermione, instead of in the village, or flying in the crisp November air. I know that he can never love me, no matter how much I wish it. I turned him down all those years ago, and that hurt him badly. I cannot expect a second offer.
Besides, he offered his hand in friendship then, not in love. There is nothing in me that he could love, I can see that. I am too tainted, too imperfect. With help, however, I might be able to make him want me. And if that is all is can have, that that is what I will take.
There is a war coming, and we are on opposite sides. I hope we never meet, for I could never find it in myself to kill him. One day soon he will leave this place, leave me only with memories. If he must leave, I will make sure that I have some good memories to hold.
We have reached the table now, and we are sitting down. Hermione just waits, and looks at me expectantly. She is nothing if not perceptive. I knew she would not believe my weak excuse for studying with her, just as I knew she would say nothing in front of Ron.
I sit down and look her straight in the eye. I pray that what I am about to tell her will not lose me her friendship. Then I open my mouth and tell her everything.
Hermione stared at him, looking shell shocked. For the first time in her life it seemed that she had nothing to say. Gently, he reached across, and tapped shut her open mouth. Hermione seemed to come to her senses. She took a deep breath as though about to say something, but nothing came out. She attempted to speak several more times, but the most she could manage was an incoherent "uh?"
Harry was trying desperately to keep a straight face all through this, but the odd sound coming from the usually articulate Hermione defeated his best efforts. He burst into laughter, unable to hold it in. Hermione continued to watch for a few moments, trying her best to look offended.
But then the corners of her lips began to curve up, and less than a minute later she joined Harry in his hysterical laughter. Staying completely silent so as not to arouse the anger of the ever vigilant Madame Pince, they shook with the spasms of their laughter until tears began to roll down their faces. It was, Harry reflected, definitely one of those times where you had to laugh, or you'd cry. As their merriment finally subsided, he decided that he was glad he had not cried - he cried far too much over Draco as it was.
There was a silence between them once again. But this time it was friendly, companionable. They had broken the ice that had frozen over them, and they simply waited, both becoming used to Hermione's new knowledge. She was the one that broke the silence.
"So," she said slowly, "you want me to help you seduce Draco Malfoy?" Harry nodded. "The same Draco Malfoy that hates you, and Ron and me, and never passes up a chance to insult or hex us?"
Harry nodded once again, slightly less surely. Was she angry with him? But she continued in the same slow pleasant tone.
"The Draco Malfoy that has hit on every girl in third year and above? The Draco Malfoy who has never shown the slightest sign that he was interested in boys? The Draco Mal-"
"Yes, Hermione, "Harry interrupted. "I get what you're saying. And yes, it's that Draco Malfoy. I mean, how many Draco's do we know?" Hermione smiled slightly, but looked thoughtful. She spoke hesitantly "I just want to make sure..."
"Yes," Harry prompted.
"Well, I know you'd never do this, I just need to make sure ...this isn't just about getting him into bed, is it? I mean, I wouldn't blame you if it was, he's very attractive-"
"NO!" Harry cut her off again. "No, Hermione," he continued more quietly. "I can't deny the fact that I'm attracted to him - like you said, he's good-looking. But it's more than that. It's his - I don't know how to describe it. His intensity I suppose his passion. The way that no matter what he does, he's entirely focused on that one thing.
And it's his vulnerability. I know that sounds strange, even I can barely see it now, but do you remember when we first met him? He was only eleven, but already he was strutting around, bragging and boasting, and making peoples lives a misery. If he had just been a bully like Crabbe or Goyle I could have dismissed it, but he went out of his way to be noticed, to live up to the pureblood stereotype.
He was just hiding underneath all that. When I look back at all the times he taunted us, I don't see him the way I did then. I just see a little parrot, spilling out whatever his Father told him was appropriate. I mean, you know Lucius Malfoy. He gave Ginny Riddle's diary, he had Dumbledore sacked, and tried to have Buckbeak executed. When I remember the first time I met him, all I see is this scared little boy, who didn't think that he was allowed to be scared. That's the part of him I see, the part of him I love. That part seems to be almost gone now, he doesn't look like he's covering up how scared he is any more, and that scares me.
But sometimes, when I watch him, I can see flashes of it. Crabbe and Goyle might be thugs but they're his friends. How far do you think they'd get without him on their side? It's not just an arrangement, you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, I'm sure it isn't. I've seen him here in the library, staying up half the night just to help them with their homework.
And the first years, not just the Slytherins, some Ravenclaws too. They worship the ground he walks on. He treats them the way we always wanted to me treated when we were that age, like adults. But if they have any problems it's not Snape they run to, it's him. He looks after them. He's just as loyal in his way as we are in ours. He's got more Gryffindor in him than he knows.
And then there was that time," Harry's voice softened. "That time I caught him in the owlery. I went up to send a letter to Moony, and he was already there. He'd sent his letter, and he was just watching the owl fly away. He had the strangest look on his face. There was no arrogance left, so stupid sneer. Just this wistfulness in his eyes. I just looked at him for so long. It seemed like forever. And it was like I could see who he really was."
Harry had been looking down at his hands throughout the entire speech, and now he glanced upward. Hermione was once again staring at him open mouthed. This time, rather than laughing, he sighed and ducked his head.
"I didn't mean to go for so long," he continued. "I just wanted to show you why - why I have to do this. I love him so much. I know that he doesn't feel the same way, I know that he can't. But he'll be leaving soon, and I just can't face it. The mere idea of living without him terrifies me. And the thought that one day I might have to kill him..." his voice petered out. "I just want something to hold onto," he said finally. "Something, anything to carry me through until I can learn to let go.
Hermione continued to stare at the boy in front of her. Harry was like a brother to her, and she hated to see him in pain. The thought that he could be hurting this much without her even noticing seemed inconceivable.
But now she knew she would do everything in her power to help him. Not knowing quite what to say, she cleared her throat nervously.
"You really do love him, don't you?" at the sound of Hermione's soft words, Harry lifted his head from the table.
"Yes," he whispered. "I do."
"Alright."
"Alright?"
"Alright, I'll help you." Harry opened his mouth, a delighted expression on his face, but Hermione stopped him. "I can't say I'm happy with what you're doing," she continued. Harry's face fell. "I think you're giving him too much of a chance to hurt you, I think you're letting him in too close. But if I'm right, I'm not sure that he can hurt you much more than he is now." slowly, Harry nodded. "I'm still not sure that this just won't make things worse. But if you really think you need this Harry, I'll help.
