Time slowed to a crawl as Harry registered what he'd just said.

Me? Did I really just say… Me? Shit. Oh Bugger. I did. He shrank from Draco's stare, his grey eyes narrowed, suspicious.

"I mean…" Harry swallowed, suddenly nauseous. "I… I know all about what you did, but I still want… I'd date you." Ugh, he was going to vomit. He was going to tell Draco he wanted to go out with him, them spew on his expensive boots.

They'd stopped walking. When had that happened? They stood just under a tree, the school gate twenty strides away, dappled sunshine shifting over Draco's startled face.

"I want to." He insisted, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. Now he'd started, he needed to finish. "I know we have history, I know you have history, but you're not the only one who made mistakes, and you're definitely not the only one who cost people their lives… I get it. I get all of it. But I don't care about that. I just…"

He faltered, trying to find the words to say how he felt, while still making sense.

"I like you, Draco, a lot. I like you for who you are now. I know that there's probably no chance you'd ever like me back, but if I can see past all of the rumours and history and stuff enough to make an idiot of myself by attempting to ask you out, then obviously someone who'd actually have a chance with you will be able to, too…"

God, did that make any sense at all?

Probably not, judging from Draco's tilted smile. Ugh, he was amused. Harry's heart sank, he felt about an inch tall. He dropped his gaze to the dirt path, bracing himself for whatever cutting rejection Draco was about to hit him with.

"You're attempting to ask me out?" The question was soft, and it was somehow worse than if he'd just outright laughed.

Harry nodded. "Attempting to, yeah." He still couldn't look up.

"You know we can't." Still soft, Draco's words twisted in Harry's guts.

He nodded again. "Figured that'd be the case."

An irritated huff caught his attention. He flicked his eyes up. Draco was looking at him like he was a question to be solved, a puzzle to be figured out.

"Did Arthur Weasley ever tell you what he said to me, after my trial?"

Huh? "No. I didn't… what did he say?" Harry stammered.

"That your testifying for me had put your future in my hands, and I wasn't to take that responsibility lightly."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco cut him off. "And he was right. Your testimony kept me and my family out of Azkaban, Harry. I don't think you realised it, but you were putting a lot of trust in me. If I had betrayed you, by continuing to practice dark magic, or anti-muggle sentiment, your judgement – and your future as an auror – would have been called into question."

Again, Harry went to speak, and again, Draco kept talking. "I know that it would have been unfair, on many levels, but it's only to be expected." He sighed, shifted his weight. There was pity in his eyes, and something else, something harder. "I owe you my life, Harry, such as it is. I'm not about to jeopardise your standing by dating you… no matter how much I might want to."

Frantic excitement fluttered at the base of Harry's throat. He wasn't sure he'd heard him right… it didn't seem possible… "You want to?"

Draco's gaze didn't waver as he took a step forward. Not too close, not so close that Harry could just lean forward to kiss him, but near enough that he could drop his voice to a low murmur.

"I am somewhat… enamoured with you, Potter." He almost growled his admission, the gentle blush on his cheeks darkening, along with the grey of his eyes. "I always have been."

He always had been?

"But," Draco rushed on. "I cannot act on it, there's too much at stake."

In the space of three seconds, Harry's heart had swollen with hope, then been cruelly deflated.

What Draco was saying made sense, logically. If the papers were to find out they were seeing each other, the backlash would be phenomenal. They would both be hounded, probably even in the muggle world. He doubted he'd lose his job, but it wasn't impossible. Even if he wasn't fired, he could just be edged out, made a laughing stock of… like Moody had been in the years before Harry had met him.

And besides what kind of a relationship could they possibly have? Hiding, sneaking around, trying to keep it a secret. No couple could survive that.

Still…

"What if it's worth the risk?"

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what being hated was really like." Draco said gently. "I can't do that to you… and I can't do it to myself. I have fifteen years of work on the line, I can't just forget about that. I am really very sorry, but I can't." His jaw was tense, the muscle shifting under his fine skin as he clenched his teeth. "I just can't."

So that was all there was to it. Draco couldn't, and Harry had to respect that. Long, painful experience had taught him that there was nothing he could do in this kind of situation. He just had to deal with the crushing disappointment on his own.

He offered a weak smile, felt it falter on his lips. "Well, if you change your mind…"

"I won't." Draco didn't bother trying to smile back, just stared with that level gaze.

Ouch.

"OK." What else could he possibly say? There was nothing more to be said. He didn't know what to do… surely they couldn't just walk back in those gates and act like everything was the same?

"Is it too early to start drinking?" He asked, to no one in particular. He was surprised when Draco answered.

"Not at all." There was a brittle edge to his voice. "In this situation, it seems the only reasonable course of action."

"Good." Harry grumbled. He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the neatly tied package of jam tarts that Hermione had given him. "Pass these on to Rose for me?" He pushed them in to Draco's hands, ignoring his bemused expression. "I've got a date with a bottle."

And he apparated with a crack, opening his eyes to the familiar rooms of Grimmauld Place.

"No, really Kreach, I'm fine." Harry backed into the living room, his palms held up.

I look like a hostage. He mused as he offered Kreacher assurances that yes, he'd eaten, and yes, he'd call when he got hungry. I feel kind of like a hostage, too. He added as he shut the door, relieved.

Kreacher was in one of his moods. Taking advantage of Harry's extended absence, he was indulging in a comprehensive spring (autumn?) clean, and didn't want Harry traipsing through and messing up any of his hard work. Like that would be an issue. Harry had interrupted his full clean-out and re-organisation of the linen cupboard. What did Kreacher think he was going to do? Build a tablecloth fort? Though it did beg the question: why on earth did Harry have so much linen? He'd never bought a tablecloth in his life.

He bet Draco had. He was willing to bet that Draco had chosen all matching towels and updated them every year…

Ugh. No!

Harry pushed his hands into his hair, slumped over the arm of the sofa until he was lying back on the cushions, his feet dangling, his eyes screwed shut.

He had to not think about him. He had to force himself to not think about to Draco. Or it would drive him mad. There had to be some kind of psychological trick, negative reinforcement or something that he could train himself with… Draco would know.

ARGH!

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was such a tool.

Why had he said all of that crap? So much for not subjecting the man to his nervous rambling. Half of what he'd said hadn't made any sense, and the other half was so clumsy, it was a wonder Draco hadn't laughed in his face. And then Draco had been his usual, brilliant, articulate self, and rejected him.

Harry grit his teeth. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Work with him? Every day? Knowing how they felt about each other, but not doing anything about it? It would be torture.

All of those long hours they spent alone in Draco's rooms, on that huge sofa. How could Harry maintain his sanity, wanting what he wanted, and now knowing that Draco wanted it too?

He could quit. Just tell McGonagall that it wasn't working out, and go back to his boring desk job.

But that would be awful. He liked this job, he didn't want to leave. Besides, they'd need to find another auror on short notice, and it would kill Draco's course, all of his work. He could only imagine what reasons the papers would come up for his sudden departure, and it's not like he could tell them the truth.

So of course, he couldn't quit. He couldn't do that to Malfoy.

He wanted so badly for Draco's plans to work out, he could put up with being heartbroken and sexually frustrated until Christmas. They were already – he thought for a second – about halfway through the term, and the first half had gone by in the blink of an eye. One more blink, and he'd be able to escape. Until then, he'd just have to lick his wounds, and try not to do anything else monumentally brainless.

That's all there really was to it.

It was raining the next afternoon, as Harry trudged up the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. The same path he and Draco had walked the previous day. He turned his collar up against the wet, but didn't bother to cast an umbrella charm, preferring to let the cold water drip down his neck in a futile act of self-flagellation. Besides, he could just spell himself dry when he got indoors.

He kept walking as he passed the spot where everything had happened the day before, kicking himself for panicking and running away the way he did. He'd been amazed that he could feel any worse about himself, when he'd realised how ridiculous he must have looked. Throwing out some stupid line about drinking, before apparating. Too scared to face the long, awkward, trek back up to the castle.

Well, he was worse off now, wasn't he? And it served him right for acting like a child.

He was, pathetically, nervous.

Nervous of what it would be like now, of apologising for his behaviour, of whatever Draco would say to him… or worse, of Draco not saying anything to him, but keeping him at a cold distance.

He hadn't slept well, which wasn't helping. He'd stayed up playing games until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, but when he had fallen asleep, he'd had intense, jarring dreams. Dreams that jolted him awake with surges of emotion, but that he couldn't remember two minutes after waking up. Just after dawn, he'd woken with his hand down his pants, hard, and a hazy memory of parted lips and white skin fading quickly from his vision.

Groaning, he'd squeezed his eyes closed, tried to keep the image in his head, adding his own imagination to it when it disappeared. His hand working, he'd let his mind wander, flashing moments of fantasy into his mind's eye… his hand in white blonde hair, grey eyes staring up at him, bitten pink lips smiling around a full mouth…

He came in minutes, panting.

It wasn't the first time he'd jerked off thinking about Draco… but it was the first time it had made him feel dirty. He'd thrown back the covers, abandoning any thoughts of sleeping longer, and after cleaning up, had gone downstairs to help Kreacher take an inventory of the tea towels.

So now he was tired, and jittery after drinking too much coffee… and feeling incredibly guilty, for reasons he couldn't quite identify.

At least the rain was keeping everyone indoors. He didn't feel like being accosted by students – or staff, for that matter – on his way across the grounds.

Even once he pushed through the main doors, the halls were quiet. Thankfully. He must have just caught the lull after Sunday lunch, when everyone went back to their rooms, or their common room, or the library, or one of the castle's many secluded corners… the few students he passed weren't interested in chatting, and he was halfway to his rooms before anyone tried to speak to him.

"How was the date?"

Harry jumped, startled. Draco was only two steps away, half-hidden by a poorly placed suit of armour, and Harry had almost walked straight past him. "Date?" He parroted uselessly.

Draco smirked. "With the bottle?"

Oh, that date. Harry grimaced. "I stood her up." He wasn't quite meeting Draco's eyes. "Ended up playing games, instead."

Draco's smirk turned into something more genuine. "Anything interesting?"

"Uhm," Harry swallowed. "Inside?"

"The platformer?" They fell into step with each other as they trod the familiar path to their rooms.

"Yeah." Such an eloquent response. Harry wilted. How could he ever even hope to be good enough for someone like Malfoy? He couldn't even hold a proper conversation.

"What did you think of it? Did you finish it?"

It was odd, and nerve-wracking. They just talked about the game, about the strange ending, and the secret rooms, and how it compared to its predecessor… were neither of them going to mention the, well, what had happened?

Apparently not, as by the time they reached Draco's door, he was talking about a game called Swapper that he insisted Harry would enjoy. "It uses a similar mechanic to the mind-control puzzles in Inside, though far more challenging."

"Sounds good, I'll check it out." He attempted a smile, wanting desperately to run and hide in his rooms… coward.

"Harry," Draco started before Harry could turn away, "about yesterday…"

Oh, here it came. He shook his head. "Just… forget about it." He tried to sound nonchalant, but it almost sounded like a plea. "I shouldn't have said anything…"

Draco's head tilted, there was a soft, significant smile on his lips. "I'm not sure I agree with that."

Harry stared, and Draco just smiled. "Do you want to come in?"

Panic. Irrational, unreasonable panic made Harry's hands prickle. "I, uh…" He spluttered.

"Just for a minute." Draco clarified, pushing his door open and stepping inside, looking back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow when Harry didn't follow straight away.

God, he was gorgeous. Harry couldn't help it, he wanted him.

What else could he do? He followed.

It was warm in Draco's rooms, warmer than the rest of the castle. Another of Dobby's spells, no doubt. Draco shucked off his jumper as he crossed the floor, dropping it over the back of a chair, then leaning against the table.

Harry just stood, useless. Utterly unsure of what to do.

"I won't keep you." Draco began. "I just don't want to be overheard."

"It's OK." Harry managed. "I don't have anywhere to be."

"Still…" Draco was still wearing that smile. "I imagine you're uncomfortable, after yesterday."

It wasn't a question, so Harry didn't answer.

"I wasn't prepared for it, and I'm sorry if I upset you, but I'm glad you told me, Harry." His voice was, as always, steady. "If anything, it's a relief."

A relief? What? His bewilderment must have been clear, because Draco carried on.

"I was concerned enough that you'd find out I'm gay, let alone that I'm attracted to you."

I'm attracted to you. Those words were as painful as they were thrilling. Draco was attracted to him… attracted to him. It was surreal, amazing, beautiful… or it would be, if he was going to act on it. As it was, it just made him ache.

"I don't generally tell people about my sexuality, and I had no idea that you knew… you did know?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "It's been more than a little stressful, worrying about how you might react, and ensuring that I didn't out myself." He explained, his face taking on that slightly sympathetic look he'd given Calvin during that very first lesson. "While it's somewhat… awkward, I do find it a relief, not having that eventuality hanging over my head any longer."

Harry figured he understood, though he was quietly hurt that Draco had thought he was a homophobe. "Are you in the closet?" He asked, wondering if this was really the right time for questions like that.

"Not technically, but I don't broadcast the knowledge." Draco's long fingers were toying with his discarded jumper, tracing the edge of the empty neck. "I have had less-than-positive reactions in the past."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

Oh… he wasn't expecting that.

"I suppose I am… in the closet, I mean." That did not feel good to say. "Only you and Hermione know."

"Ah." A look of pity twisted his face. "Well, I won't tell a soul."

"Thanks." Harry mumbled, though he didn't feel any better. He felt like a coward. They stood silent, the rain tapping on the windows. "So, uh… now what?"

Draco didn't pretend to need any clarification. "We keep working, unless you were planning on leaving."

"Nah, I'm not going anywhere." Harry managed, though guilt that he'd considered it jabbed at his insides.

"Good."

"So we just pretend that… there's… that nothing…" Harry didn't know how to phrase it.

"If that's what you'd like." Draco assented. "Though I can't see the point in it. We both know that there are… feelings here. I think it would best if we just acknowledge them."

"Uh…" Harry was confused.

"You'd prefer to alter my memory?"

That was a joke… it had to be a joke. Harry attempted a wan smile. "Haven't ruled it out."

Draco smirked. "I'd rather you didn't."

But Harry was out of banter, feeling suddenly bone tired. "OK. So we're not going to, uh, do anything, but we know we both want to?" All he wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Draco frowned. "Essentially, yes. Though when you put it like that-"

"It's fine." Harry interrupted, shrugging. "It's just…" He trailed off, grimacing. Really, he was no worse off than yesterday, but it just sucked, wanting so much.

"Quite." Draco agreed. "You understand why I can't?"

"Yeah." And he did. He knew it would be a circus, that it would put everything Draco had worked for on the line. He still wanted to try, of course, but he did get why Draco couldn't risk it. "I do."