Author's Note: I'm all about the slow romantic build-up. Bear with me! Still Draco's POV.

Chapter 11

Draco had awoken that morning irritable and tired, having spent the remainder of the night mulling over his newly discovered sexuality. He had come to realise that yes, he definitely fancied blokes over girls, and yes, only blokes seemed to do it for him. Merlin. Draco could hardly wrap his head around it. But after spending half of his night dreaming about male Quidditch players rather than the Beauxbatons girls, it was a slightly less ridiculous notion than it had been a few hours ago. Draco sighed and got out of bed, careful not to look at Potter as he did. Well, he supposed that he would have to tell Blaise and Pansy the news—as if they'd be surprised. When breakfast came, Draco's assumption was confirmed.

"Pansy," Draco had said, over toast. "I'm gay."

"Are you now?" Pansy asked. She hadn't been looking at him though; she was spreading butter on her muffin.

Blaise sat down next to Draco. "Good morning. How is everyone?"

"Fine," Pansy had said, before Draco could even open his mouth. "Except that we're all out of strawberry jam." She paused. "Oh, and Draco has just told us that he's gay."

Blaise had raised his brows. "Fantastic. When do you think they're going to get more jam?"

~x~

Over the next couple of days, Draco had noticed that Potter seemed to be making an increasing amount of appearances wherever Draco went—most likely in attempt to get to know him better or something. Gods, it was aggravating to no end. Since his revelation, Draco had been having little, involuntary surges of attraction whenever Potter was around. It was humiliating! Honestly, it wasn't Draco's fault that Potter was exceptionally good-looking, was it? No. So why was he being punished for it? Potter's constant presence was certainly not a help, but it wasn't as if Draco could just tell him to bugger off because he was having an identity crisis of sorts. Potter would think that Draco had gone bonkers. Although, that wasn't too far off the mark. Perhaps he had.

At the moment, Draco was studying in the library. Or, 'studying'. He had really come here to hide from Potter and perhaps get a bit of light reading done, but of course, the relief was short-lived and thus was the reason for his tirade. Because just as he was about to pull out a novel, Draco had heard that familiar voice calling out his name and cringed. How perfect was that? He turned around now and gritted his teeth at the sight of Potter who was, once again, appearing at Draco's desk. And he didn't look as if he was just going to pass by. Bloody hell. Potter never fucking gave up.

"Hey, I've been looking all over for you," Potter chirped, plopping down in the chair across from him. Draco tried not to sneer; it was an old habit. He pursed his lips instead.

"Well, you found me," he answered curtly, flicking his gaze to the Potions book lying open in front of him. He had just thrown it open to this page when he'd originally sat down, and so he had no idea what was on it. Still, he perused it as if it were the most interesting thing ever.

Potter smiled, ignoring Draco's blatant hints for him to go away. "I just wanted to let you know that Blaise is taking care of Rebecca today," Potter informed him. "He said that it would help him attract all the ladies or some rubbish like that."

Draco couldn't help himself. He smiled a little. "Blaise is going to need a lot more help than that," he quipped.

Potter laughed. "That's what I told him... And then he made me leave the room, and so now I'm here. Want to go outside? It's lovely."

Draco looked out the window wistfully. The clouds were sparse and the sky was positively cerulean: a rare colour in Scotland at this time of year; the sunshine was a beautiful shade of golden—a hue coincidentally similar to that of Potter's skin tone. Well... maybe it wouldn't hurt. Potter was right, it was a rather lovely day outside. But wait... wasn't he trying to avoid Potter? Draco shook his head both at the thought and the question directed at him. "No thanks," he remarked. "I have a lot of work to do."

Potter rolled his eyes. "No you don't. We didn't even have any homework for Potions." He gestured at the book and then at the window. "Just look. For fuck's sake, Malfoy, loosen up! You're always doing work. You know that you want to go outside with me."

Draco eyed him disdainfully. Well, was it his fault that he wanted to get ahead? Draco had always been quite studious; he enjoyed being the top of his classes (aside from Granger, but hey, there was no hope in that cause) and he was fascinated with most of the subjects. But he looked at the clock on the wall, and then at his conveniently placed textbook, and sighed. He wasn't planning on doing anything else after he was done pretending to study. And the thought of going outside—even with Potter—was far more appealing than sitting inside and sulking for the rest of the day. Draco shrugged.

Fine, you've convinced me," he said, and then stood up to wave towards the door. "You can lead the way, Potter."

The dark haired boy grinned and got up too, immediately making a beeline for the library exit and not stopping at the castle steps. Merlin, Potter was quick—Draco jogged a bit behind him, having a difficult time keeping up. Potter didn't slow down until they'd reached a small area shaded by trees and covered in lush green grass, and upon arrival, Potter plopped down by the trunk of a tree to soak up the warmth of the afternoon sun. Draco joined him warily.

"I told you it was lovely," Potter remarked, lying on his back now and gazing up at the nearly cloudless sky with a dreamy expression on his face. "I live for days like these."

Draco inspected the other boy appreciatively as he closed his eyes and went silent. Fine, Potter was bloody fucking fit; Draco could admit it. With that golden skin and those green eyes... even Potter's ratty hair had a certain charm that Draco couldn't put his finger on. But so what? Draco didn't have to be ashamed of having these feelings about Potter. There was certainly nothing wrong with just looking, if Potter didn't catch him at it. Draco watched Potter's mouth curve up into a smile, perhaps unconsciously on the Gryffindor's part, and smiled himself. For all the hardships and death and terror Potter had experienced in his life, the boy was exceptionally optimistic. Before he'd spent time with Potter, Draco had believed that it had been a front to keep up the image and responsibility of being "the Saviour" and "the Boy Who Lived", but he was discovering that Potter was genuinely that way.

Draco was a bit jealous, mostly because he himself would never be like that again, no matter how hard he tried. Draco didn't like to admit it, but Potter was stronger than him, emotionally and physically, and he could handle more than Draco could. Obviously, Potter had seen and experienced much worse things than Draco had, and yet, here he was, lying on the grass and smiling to himself as if the world was smiling with him. Potter was just that boy. There was this certain innocence that radiated out of him—it wasn't a naïve sort of innocence, because he wasn't naïve in the slightest. It was just pure and strong and unwavering. It made Draco feel good, made him want to do good things when he was around Potter. He shuddered. What the fuck kind of friendship was that?

"Erm, Malfoy?"

Draco had hardly noticed that Potter had opened his eyes and sat up during his rambling thoughts. He refocused again, and now Potter was staring at him with a perplexed look. Damn. Draco blushed, realising that he had been mooning over Potter rather obviously.

"Uh, yes?" he asked.

He felt Potter studying him for a moment longer before turning back to face the sky. "Nothing," Potter said. "I was just looking at the clouds and it reminded me of the Patronus charm for a moment. Have you got one? I don't reckon I've ever seen it."

Draco sighed in gratitude when Potter changed the subject, but then he realised what the subject actually was. He tried not to flush. "Er..." he mumbled intelligently. Fucking Potter. Draco had to regain his composure, damn it. "That's... none of your business."

At the defiance, Potter looked at Draco and raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he asked. "And why isn't it?"

Draco was pinned for a moment when Potter's emerald eyes flashed, the same colour as the surrounding grass and scenery to enhance them. "Well... I just. I just don't fancy it much. It's a bit embarrassing, to be honest."

Potter leaned in with interest. "Embarrassing? I've got to know now. Ron loves to hear your embarrassing stories."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're mature."

"Oh, I was joking. Come on, tell me."

"No. You've broken my trust."

"I said I was joking—"

"So am I. Gods, Potter, calm yourself."

Potter scowled. "You're no more mature than I am. Tell me what your fucking Patronus is."

Draco sneered at him. "I would suggest that you find some fucking manners first and ask politely," he countered.

"Malfoy!"

"Fine," Draco snapped, his temper rising quickly. "It's a goddamned ferret! Go on, laugh, I know you want to. Ha ha, yes, it's me, Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret!"

Curiously, Potter didn't laugh at all. He didn't even smile. His mouth twitched a bit, but Draco was genuinely surprised at how much self-control Potter was showing. To Potter's credit, he was trying not to react like Draco had thought he would. Well that was... considerate. It was more than Draco would ever hope for. In the end, Potter just gave him a clipped nod.

"Ferrets are nice," he said. That was it. Draco was just grateful that he didn't have to hex the daylights out of the prat this time.

~x~

Potter had challenged him to wizard chess. That had been his first mistake. Everybody knew that Draco was the champion at the game, and of course, thus resulted in a crushing defeat for Potter. Promptly after losing, Potter had sulked and informed Draco that Weasley could whoop his arse at chess. Of course, that had been Potter's second mistake, and he was paying for that one with a small burn on his inner forearm (compliments of Draco's own impressive hex work). Honestly, the Weasel beating Draco at something? He snorted. He highly doubted that. After a few minutes of demanding and then complaining and lastly, glaring, the two boys were now sitting beside the fireplace, Draco in his armchair and Potter on the couch next to it, cradling Rebecca. It was strangely comfortable. Draco almost felt as if it had been their routine for years.

"So," Potter said after a while. "Did you decide if you were going to go this Saturday?"

Draco frowned. "Go where?"

Potter raised an eyebrow and bounced the baby doll gently. "The Formal Ball."

Draco hadn't asked Pansy yet, but she had mentioned it to him and he was planning on posing the question soon. But why did Potter want to know about that? Draco would have thought that Potter loathed the idea of school functions. He always seemed to in the past. "Yes, I am." Out of pure curiosity, he looked at Potter. "What about you?" he asked.

Potter gazed at the fire. "Yeah."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Blaise sitting down at a different couch near them. He was definitely close enough to hear their conversation; the conniving Slytherin knew that Draco knew this as well. Blaise smirked and winked at him from behind the novel he was holding for additional proof. Draco turned away from him and refocused on Potter. So the Gryffindor was going to attend the Ball, then. Interesting. Draco just really hoped that Potter wasn't thinking of going to the Ball with Granger. Honestly, if Draco wanted to experience another hormonal tornado, he'd have just asked Potter to take his shirt off again. Still, he had to know if Granger was an option.

"So... are you taking Granger?" Draco inquired, trying his best to sound detached.

Potter looked up at him, seeming surprised by the question. "No, she's going with Ron," he answered, as if it were obvious. "I've asked Luna."

Draco let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Perhaps the blundering redhead oaf would distract Granger from Potter, at least for the moment. Draco didn't even want to think about the reason why he hoped for that. "Oh. That's good," he said. "I'm going to ask Pansy."

Potter nodded. "Yeah, I thought as much," he remarked. "I'm hoping it will be all right. I don't normally fancy going to these things, but it is our last year, so..."

Draco tilted his head. "It should be fine. Besides, I heard that Finnigan and Thomas are going to supply Firewhiskey for the punch."

Potter grinned. "You heard correctly," he declared.

"That's not very Gryffindor of them," Draco mused. "Aren't you lot all about virtue and goodness and shit?"

Potter laughed at that. "Yes, but aren't you lot all about mischief and rudeness and shit?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Touché. He was starting to realise more and more these days that Potter's sense of humour was not much different than his own—Draco didn't know whether to be horrified or comforted by that. "Don't forget the art of the smirk," he insisted.

Potter's eyes were filled with mirth. "The art… of the smirk...?" he asked, incredulously. "I thought that was just a Malfoy thing, not a Slytherin thing."

"It is. It's patented."

Potter tried smirking at him. "Am I doing it right?"

"Oh god no, Potter. What did I just tell you?"

Potter shot him a winning smile now. "I don't know," he teased. "I was too busy being better than you. At everything."

Draco couldn't help grinning back at him. He slapped Potter's cheek in mock punishment.

"Fuck you. I beat you at chess."

~x~

Draco entered the bathroom, expecting to freshen up a little and perhaps get a bit of much-needed alone time—hanging out with Potter and the boys was entertaining, of course, but Draco could only handle so much company. However, Blaise was already inside, and he leaped for the door before Draco could turn around and escape. With the other boy blocking his way, Draco scowled and turned back to the sinks. Well, there went his alone time. He picked up his toothbrush and vowed to ignore his friend. Of course, Blaise wasn't one to be ignored.

"Hi, mate," Blaise said, greeting Draco as if he hadn't just cornered him in the bathroom. Draco snorted. How casual. "I feel like we don't get to talk much. How are things with you?"

"They're fantastic," Draco commented expressionlessly. "What about you, mate?"

"Fabulous."

Draco rolled his eyes and began brushing his teeth, attempting to avoid further conversation. Blaise didn't take the hint, because well, frankly, he hadn't wanted to. "So, you and Harry were talking earlier," he noted. "That's nice."

"I'm allowed to talk to him, you know," Draco remarked. "We are friends now."

"Not to mention husbands."

Draco spit out his toothpaste vigorously and gave his friend a dry look. "What's your point?" he asked.

Blaise just grinned. "I wonder how Harry feels about Granger. Don't you?" Blaise pretended to ponder over it.

Draco glared at him. "Who cares?"

"You do."

"I do not!"

"Oh yeah?" Blaise smirked. "Why did you ask him specifically about her, then? Just admit it, Draco, you're jealous."

Draco sneered at him. "I am not fucking jealous of Granger. That is ridiculous."

Blaise laughed. "Sure you aren't," he teased. "But if you were, I'd just have to let you know that you would have nothing to worry about anyways. A little birdie told me that Granger has a thing for Weasley, not Harry."

Draco had never thought about that possibility. It wasn't as if he'd really cared about the trio and their stupid love triangles before. He didn't know why he was even worrying about it now. Was he? Draco shook his head. He supposed that it was plausible that Granger could fancy Weasel-brain, but even if she did, she'd probably fancy Potter more. Honestly, Draco would. But who wouldn't? Potter was so fit and Weasley was—well, Draco wasn't even going to analyse that.

"Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean that I'm going to go after every attractive male I see," he insisted. He put down his toothbrush and splashed both his face and mouth with water.

Blaise raised his hands in mock defeat. "Okay, okay, you've made your point. You think that Harry is attractive."

Draco balked. "That was not my point!"

"Well, that's what I got from it. He's pretty, isn't he? Pretty Potter." Blaise laughed at his own weak joke. Draco gave him The Glare, his harshest look, and Blaise finally moved away from the door. Draco threw it open and stalked out of the bathroom, his friend trailing behind him.

Potter was in bed—oh bloody hell, with his shirt already off—by the time that the boys had reentered the room. Draco felt his ears go hot while Blaise smirked at him. Luckily, Potter didn't even glance up from the Quidditch magazine he was reading to witness Draco's pathetic expression.

"Hey, guys," Potter greeted, still not looking. "How was the washroom? Eventful?"

Draco's ears were still burning. "More than you know," he muttered.

Potter made a face at his page. "Too much information, Malfoy."

"Oh Draco, you silly git," Blaise said loudly, giving Potter an appreciative once-over before whispering to Draco, "we should call him pretty Potter, shouldn't we? It could be his new nickname."

"What?" Potter looked up from the magazine upon hearing his name. He was frowning.

"Just Blaise talking nonsense, it's nothing," Draco remarked, glaring at his friend. Nothing could stop Blaise when he was on a mission, though. And tonight, his mission appeared to be humiliating the hell out of Draco.

"Nonsense!" Blaise cried. "Really, Harry, I was just commenting on how fit you are. Draco, what was that word you used again? Ah, that's right. Attractive."

Potter raised an eyebrow at Draco. "You think that I'm attractive?" he asked.

"Especially when you haven't got a jumper on," Blaise added gleefully.

Now Draco's cheeks were turning scarlet as well. His face had obtained a permanent flush around Potter; so fiery that it would make a Weasley proud. He stuttered his protests. "I never said such a thing!" he argued.

"You did! You said that merely five minutes ago!"

"Fuck off, Zabini!" Draco shouted.

Blaise just beamed at a stunned, but now amused-looking Potter. "He's just shy. And Draco, there's nothing wrong with appreciating beauty, Merlin's beard—" He was interrupted by a flurry of objects now being hurled at him by the blond.

"Potter, I swear, I didn't say anything like that," Draco insisted, still throwing things at Blaise. His friend was on the ground now, tears rolling down his face from laughter. Draco kicked his side, hard. "I mean, Blaise took it completely out of context—"

"Shut up!" Nott screamed, from inside his bed curtains. "I am trying to get some fucking sleep!"

Everybody ignored him. Draco silently glared at the floor.

"It's okay, Malfoy," Potter remarked after a few moments, now chuckling along with Blaise. Well, apparently the Gryffindor seemed to think that they were joking around. Wow. Draco didn't know whether to feel relieved that Potter was such an oblivious idiot, or frustrated that Potter was such an oblivious idiot. Either way, it appeared that he was safe. For now.

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep," Draco retorted, climbing up onto the bed next to Potter and being extra careful not to squish Rebecca as he did.

"Goodnight, Draco," Blaise exclaimed.

"Shut the fuck up!" Both Nott and Draco said at the same time.

The lights were out in a matter of minutes, and Draco was immensely relieved for the cloak of darkness. At least nobody could see the expression of mortification on his face now. Merlin, he was going to murder Blaise for real this time. No, for real. The boy would pay. Draco shifted on his pillow and frowned. What was that warm feeling on his face...?

"Gah!" he whisper-shouted. Potter was looming over him like a shadowed blob. It was all Draco could do not to slap him across the face. What the fuck was his problem?

"Sorry," Potter muttered back. The heat from his body emanated off of him like flames in the fireplace.

Draco winced. "Go back to your spot. You're making me all hot."

Potter shifted away, but then paused. "I could put my shirt back on, Malfoy," he offered. "I didn't know that it bothered you so much."

Draco glared at him, even though he knew Potter couldn't see him through the veil of darkness. "It doesn't bother me, Potter," Draco snapped. "Blaise was just being an idiot. And for the record, I didn't say that I thought you were attractive."

Potter was quiet for a moment. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Think that I'm... attractive."

Draco paused. Again, he was glad for the darkness, because Potter couldn't see the look on his face now. "I suppose you're all right," he muttered.

Draco could practically see the smile on Potter's face. "Thanks, I think. Night," Potter whispered.

Draco mumbled something back. Honestly, Potter was such a git for asking that. Did he really need the reassurance that he was bloody fucking fit? Draco rolled his eyes. And Blaise was an insufferable bastard—that was two for two. Draco buried his face into his pillow, trying to subdue his embarrassment. Damn. What was it about Potter that made him feel so incompetent? He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! Malfoys were imperturbable, clever, and always, always, always in control. And Potter… was simply a git. Draco's eyes fluttered shut. But as he drifted off into sleep, he couldn't help feeling a tiny twinge of hope that he and Potter would end up holding hands again.