*Disclaimer: Do not own the characters and what not. Written only for fun!*

A/N: Hope you are enjoying it so far. Thank you so much for all the reviews! They are a joy to read and I promise to reply ASAP. Now for some more denial...

Chapter 7

Harry awoke with a choked shout, glimpses of his nightmare flooding his eyes as he groped at the sweat-soaked sheets around him. Panting, he sat up, pulling open one of the curtains of his bed to search for the water jug to quench his parched throat. The dark-haired boy glanced around the room, self-consciously looking to see if anyone had heard his cries. He had cast his routine silencing spell the night before, but, sometimes, if he yelled loudly enough, the noise would break through the barrier.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, the room still vaguely blurry before he pushed on his glasses. Everyone's curtains were still closed, all calm and peaceful. A small sliver of buttery light caught his gaze on the opposite side of the room. Through a minor gap in the dark grey curtains, Harry could see that Malfoy was propped up against his headboard, his legs crossed as he read a thin, Muggle-looking novel. Most wizarding tomes were thicker than Harry's head, after all, and only Muggles had paper-back books with non-moving pictures like the one he could vaguely see on the cover of Malfoy's novel.

Harry took this moment of inconspicuousness to study the tranquil blonde. He seemed so serene and content that Harry almost felt like he was intruding, a disturbance in one of Draco's rare moments of peace. This stolen instant was so different from the scene he had just seen in his nightmare - pictures of blood, snakes, and decaying corpses filled his mind once again, but Harry quickly rubbed a hand over his eyes, as though physically trying to wipe away the memoires.

Suddenly, as though Malfoy felt his interest, the Slytherin glanced up from the squiggly text of his novel, the two boys' eyes connecting from across the room - Harry took a sharp intake of breathe as the usually stony eyes met his. The typically-hardened features of Malfoy's face were open and vulnerable and it struck Harry that Draco was a truly beautiful person.

The moment drew on as the two once-enemies stared at each other in the room full of their sleeping peers. Harry assumed that he would get a scowl or at least an embarrassed look, but what he got instead made him feel like someone had stolen all the air from his lungs: Malfoy just gave him a small smile, a brief flashing of white and pink, before turning back to his book, oblivious to Harry's battling reactions.

Harry hastily shut his curtains again, flopping back on his bed with his hands curled in his bed-head. The breathless feeling continued, making him dizzy.

What the fuck is going on here?

Throughout the next day, Harry kept finding his mind travelling back to that small smile, piquing the curiosity of Ron and Hermione when his eyes would suddenly become glazed and he would lose the thread of the conversation.

Harry just kept telling himself that he was so obsessed with that honest grin only because it had startled him so much. But it's not really the smile you're focusing on, is it, Harry? I think we both know that it was more about the person who was smiling at you… Harry desperately tried to ignore the sneaking, ever-present tone of his conscience, but he knew it was a fruitless cause.

It was at lunch when Harry finally thought of his plan, the sudden, inspired jerk of his head smearing ketchup on his chin. Hermione had glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes flicking down to where a certain blonde was shooting not-too-inconspicuous glances at her Chosen friend. I'll just avoid Malfoy, Harry thought with enthusiasm as he dabbed at his chin. It won't have to be forever, oh, especially since we have to work on the Draught after dinner tonight, Harry remembered, a little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, but at least I can try and get rid of these stupid thoughts (– like how soft Draco's hair must be, how adorable he must look when he blushes, how sensitive his n –) before we have to really interact again, Harry decided resolutely.

The plan was fool-proof.

…Probably.

So during Defence and Charms, Harry kept his head down, diligently taking notes and focusing on the teachers – causing rather befuddled looks from the blonde who'd never quite realized just how often they'd been watching each other until it was over. Harry was vigilant, though, sticking to his rather ridiculously unrealistic plan and reminding himself, rather sternly, that he just needed time to think. Just some time with his own isolated sentiments. Time to analyse what was going on with his feelings directed towards Malfoy.

By dinner time, Harry knew that Malfoy was getting angry, the Slytherin's quick wits having deduced some, no-doubt convoluted reason for Harry's rather blatant lack of attention. The Boy-Who'd-Conquered-Death-Twice winced at the feeling of Malfoy's glare from down the thankfully long, busy eighth-year table. He'd have to deal with that after he finished the dinner that was starting to feel startlingly like his last meal.

…Maybe his plan hadn't been such a great idea – not only did he not have time to figure out his thoughts (and feelings), he'd only pissed off the object of his thoughts in the process.

…He should've just talked to Hermione. She was a girl; they just 'got' this stuff.

Harry dragged his feet, reluctantly pulling open the heavy door to the Potions lab. His mind felt off-kilter; how had he gone from a burning hatred of half a decade to this, well, not completely unpleasant feeling whenever he thought about Draco Malfoy? Harry sighed, taking that first step onto the cold stone floor of the classroom.

Malfoy looked up from where he sat at the front table, that oh-too-common peeved expression adorning his handsome features. "Oh, you are actually here on time, Potter. Astounding, really." Malfoy turned back to the bubbling gold liquid of their Draught. There was an icy tension chilling Harry to the bone – Malfoy was clearly pissed about being ignored all day. Harry felt guilty for about two seconds, before he realized he didn't owe Malfoy anything; it's not like they were friends, even, let alone dating. (And didn't that thought bring a slight flush to Harry's cheeks.)

Harry cleared his throat, pulling out the thick sheet of parchment from his bag before sliding to sit on the bench next to Malfoy. "Well, Slughorn gave us these 'partnership-building' questions last class period that we're supposed to, how did he put it, 'discuss and mediate over with our respective partners', so we should probably get started, right?" Malfoy hummed in agreement, still not making eye contact with Harry.

Harry sighed. "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?" Harry winced at the cliché-ness of the question. He peeked at Malfoy over the rim of his glasses, not surprised at the nonplussed expression on his face.

"Honestly, how is this supposed to help us with our potion?" Malfoy muttered before tossing in a light sprinkling of pixie dust into the Draught. The blonde sighed before glancing at Harry.

"Well, you know, we have to be emotionally connected or something when we take the Draught, so, I guess Slughorn thought tacky questions would help, somehow," Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, I suppose. Well, I certainly did not dream of being a Death Eater, contrary to popular belief." Draco reached one hand up, ruffling his hair in an endearing way that made him look like the vulnerable boy who'd been reading Muggle novels in the early hours of morning. "All of the Death Eater stuff was thanks to my father – well, not even my father, really. It was all thanks to my grandfather, Abraxas; he was the cranky old bat who thought all that supremacy stuff was brill. We just got sucked up in it." Draco sighed, the breeze upsetting the few messed up strands that hung over the pale skin of his forehead. "Really, I wanted play Quidditch professionally, like most little kids, but now I'm not so sure." Draco looked up at Harry through his dark lashes, the open, non-threatening look causing something in Harry's chest to twitch warmly. "What did you want to be?" Malfoy asked gently.

Harry sighed, bad, blurry memories of young days of pre-school spent with Dudley stealing all of his crayons. "I can't really remember to be honest. It was probably something Muggle like being a fireman or a bobby. Jesus, I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter." Malfoy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Around fourth year I figured being an Auror sounded wicked, but I don't think so anymore." Harry watched the Draught simmer, a bitter smile on his lips. "I've had enough battles with Dark wizards for a lifetime." Malfoy hummed in agreement.

Harry met Malfoy's gaze again. "I still want to help people though, so I was thinking about Healing." Malfoy seemed to smile encouragingly for a moment before turning back to the Draught. Harry blinked, surprised at how easy that confession came out of his mouth, the slight glimmer of a dream he hadn't even shared with Ron and Hermione. He hadn't realized at how easy it could be to talk to Malfoy, his once sworn enemy. "Um, do you have any idea of what you want to do now?"

"Well, people always seem to think I'll go into Potions, since that's what I'm good at, but I've always been interested in experimental magic – you know, the process of creating new spells? The theoretical magic involved, mixed with the physical application is just thrilling." Malfoy enthused, his eyes shining in a way Harry'd never seen before. The Slytherin suddenly blushed, the tips of his ears turning a bright pink. "But I'm sure you don't want to hear me wag my chin all night about stuff you don't even care about."

"No – I mean, that sounds interesting, Malfoy. I think it's good to have something you care passionately about." Draco grinned, that soft smile from the night before making a reappearance. It was perhaps even more dazzling in the full light of the torches of the classroom.

"Well, thanks, Potter. Um, what's the next question?"

Harry looked down at the sheet, some kind of vibrating feeling happening in his gut. Harry puffed out a chuckle at the next question. "Wow, this is a good one," Harry said dryly. "What is the fondest memory you have with your family?"

Malfoy grinned sharply along with Harry's tone. He looked away from Harry, his eyes focusing on some object across the room. "Hmm, well, believe it or not, life with my parents wasn't terrible at all, especially before the war; my mother is a rather witty person when she wants to be, and we just understand each other. And my father, well, believe it or not, Potter, he wasn't always a bastard. That little trip to Azkaban when I was fifteen helped evolve that little part of his personality."

Draco paused for a bit, biting his bottom lip as he thought. "Oh, I know. It was the first time at our house in France, I think I was about six – it was snowing heavily and there wasn't a whole lot we could do outside or inside the house. The three of us just sat in the living room, playing chess, talking, and eating the take-out our house-elf had gotten us from our favourite French restaurant. It was warm in front of the fireplace, and we all just ended up falling asleep on the couch, all curled up together. It was the first time I remember seeing my parents give each other a little kiss in front of me. I'd never seen them do anything lovey-dovey like that before." Draco finally turned back to Harry, his expression causing that way-too-familiar feeling of Harry's stomach dropping out. "It was the first time I'd ever seen people truly in love."

Malfoy had that look of hopeful contentment on his face and Harry felt entranced - he snapped out of it once Malfoy looked to Harry with an odd look. The Slytherin seemed unsure whether or not to repeat the question to him.

"Oh, well, while I never knew my parents, I have tried to put bits and pieces together of them from the memories their friends told me." Harry paused for a second before trudging on. "This is kind of going into more than I would like to share, but fuck it - in first year, I came across the Mirror of Erised, and when I looked into it, I saw my parents smiling back at me. I know it's not much and it isn't even really a memory with them, but it's the closest I have." A potent, wistful feeling rose up in Harry as he gazed out the classroom's arched windows. "I was so happy in that moment, just to see them, even if they were mirages from a mirror." Harry looked across at Malfoy, feeling embarrassed for having shared such an intimate memory, but Malfoy didn't look like he was going to laugh and mock - he was looking at Harry with curiosity and something else that Harry couldn't quite read.

Then Malfoy cast a tempus charm and the look was gone, replaced by the normal, chilly Malfoy mask. "Oh, we've been here for nearly an hour. Do you just want to call it a night?" *Harry blinked, the sudden shift in mood causing him to feel a little unbalanced.

"Um, okay, sure." Harry watched Malfoy stow their cauldron away as he returned the few ingredients they'd had laying around on their table. Malfoy had a peculiar expression on his face when he thought Harry wasn't looking – he seemed… hurt almost, as though Harry had injured him emotionally somehow.

"Well, goodnight, Potter. I'll see you after dinner tomorrow," Malfoy said, still not meeting Harry's eyes as he slipped out the door.

"Yeah, goodnight," the door shut with a resounding thud! "…Draco."

Draco walked slowly back to the eighth-year common room, his head bent as he watched his feet make the trek. What the fuck is happening to me? One minute he's furious with Potter for being a cold to him all day and then he's feeling all soft and squishy with him in the Potions lab? What the hell?

Draco sighed as he began climbing one of the many staircases leading up to the dormitories. That was some serious shit they were sharing with each other! What the fuck gives Har – Potter, damn it! – the right to make him think about things – and feel things – he hadn't even thought about dealing with for years?

Draco glared angrily at the stone floor as it sped by, his ears heating up as he thought of the past hour. Merlin, how could I have told Potter about that time in France? I even told him about my parents kissing! Salazar, I must be going barmy.

Draco suddenly crashed into something dark and solid, yelping in pain as he landed on his arse on the hard ground. "Jesus," Blaise cursed as he stood back up. "Draco? How did you not see where you were going?"

"Oh, sorry," Draco mumbled as he took Blaise's offered hand. He rubbed the warm skin of the back of his neck, awkwardly avoiding Blaise's curious look.

"Draco, what's wrong? Aren't you coming from working with 'Too-Perfect-to-Bother-with-Us-Mere-Peasants' Potter?"

"Don't call him that!" Draco snapped before making an odd choking noise and flushing. Since when had he ever defended Potter? Blaise was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Did Potter hex you or something, Draco? You don't exactly seem like yourself."

"I'm fine," Draco muttered, not looking at Blaise.

"Oi, look at me, Draco." Blaise reached out, lifting Draco's chin so that the two Slytherins' eyes connected. There was a perplexed little twist to the dark-skinned boy's mouth. "Draco, what did Potter do to you?" Draco blushed a little more, fuzzy, lust-tinged fantasies from the deepest part of twilight hazing his mind. If only he would do something to me, Draco's mind whined unnecessarily.

"N-nothing… I mean it!" Draco assured, seeing the scepticism in Blaise's eyes.

"Right," Blaise deadpanned. "Come on, Draco, I think it's time we had a little talk."

Draco gulped and followed Blaise.

"You think I've what?" Draco yelped, arms flailing as he tipped backwards off the bench, landing, hard, on the dark wooden floor of their corner in the library. Blaise just raised an eyebrow, turning the page of his Charms reading absently.

"Would you mind keeping your voice down? You know we can only sneak in here after-hours as long as Madame Pince doesn't hear or see us. Oh, and I said, you've finally realized your white-hot, never-ending, time-consuming, rather-obnoxious-really, all-powerful passion for Potter… Do you need me to repeat it one more time, or did you get that?"

"I g-got that," Draco choked, feeling as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He clambered back onto his seat, face completely pink. What the FUCK was Blaise talking about? "What the fuck are you talking about? Potter and I are allies – acquaintances at best – and you're suddenly blathering on about how I l-like him? Have you gone bat-shit insane?"

Blaise just watched Draco blankly. "Man, we all can see it – Merlin, you should just hear Pansy cut into you sometimes about how obvious your pining is, since apparently your lack of subtlety embarrasses all Slytherins or something – even Greg knows not to even bring him up, or you'll just go on and on for hours." Blaise grinned slyly at Draco. "And we've all heard who you call out when you wank."

"What the fuck, Blaise! That's completely ridiculous, absolute slander, the very idea is preposterous, ludicrous, disgu –" Blaise's eyebrow was receding into his hairline. Draco's face felt as though it was giving off heat, like it was the sun. "Okay, maybe I think Potter is… appealing – in a completely objective sort of way!"

"Uh-huh. Like how all the girls in our school look at him in an 'objective sort of way'?" Humour laced the dark boy's voice.

"That's, um, well, just sod off, Blaise! I don't like Potter! He's an idiot! A ponce! A complete tosser, really!"

"Well, he's definitely all those things – I'm just saying you like him in spite of all of that. And he seems to like you in spite of all of your faults, too." Draco mimicked a fish out of water as Blaise skimmed his page.

"I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH HARRY BLOODY POTTER!"

"MR. MALFOY AND MR. ZABINI – PLEASE GET OUT OF MY LIBRARY AT ONCE!"

"Well, fuck."

"Good going, Draco."

End Chapter 7