A/N: You can read the disclaimer and other stuff at the beginning of the first part.
Thanks to my bèta spicykittins! xD

On the Eleventh Day

The letter arrived at breakfast just as Draco was starting to doze off again. He had spent the night restless. Many thoughts had stirred in his mind.
Although he was almost certain who had sent it, the tawny school owl that waited patiently, confused him for a moment until he remembered that Potter's Snowy Owl had died in the war.
Pansy nudged him. The glare he gave her was a rather weak attempt and they both knew it. His fingers were trembling a little, while he unravelled the piece of string.
When Pansy leaned in, in a very obvious way, he clasped the letter in his hand and gave the owl a piece of toast.
'Ah, come on, Draco,' she pouted. 'Since when don't I get to look at your fan mail?'
He scowled, knowing she was right, but not wanting her to read a word from this letter, if it really was Potter's.
'You know I haven't gotten any 'fan mail' in a very long time, Pansy,' he told her. The thoughts of fan mail and Potter at the same moment in his mind, made him a bit flushed however. It was all she needed to press for more information.
'It from that stalker, isn't it?' she whispered in a sharp tone.
'He isn't a stalker!' he reacted fiercely.
'How can you say that? You don't even know who he is!'
He held his tongue but his eyes must have given him away, because her eyes widened in surprise.
'You know!' It wasn't a question but merely a statement. Knowing Pansy often could read him like a Ligilimens, he didn't bother to deny. He just nodded warily.
'Who?' she insisted to know.
He was contemplating telling her the truth; despite what anyone might think, she would never betray such a secret about him, although she might nag him persistently.
Pansy, though, was doing a bit of thinking herself.
'You seem to trust him, which is rare, so it can't be a Slytherin. He blinded you before kissing you, and left you in the dark about his identity for more than a week, so he is obviously afraid you might not like him, or would even hex him. Seeing as you keep it a secret from me, it must be either something embarrassing like a Hufflepuff or something revolutionary like a …' Before she finished her sentence his eyes betrayed him as they glanced over to the Gryffindor table. Potter wasn't seated at his usual spot between Granger and Weasel.
' … Gryffindor?' Pansy finished with a squeal. Her expression changed from incredible to cunning within seconds. She seemed to list the boys from Gryffindor inside her head and he wasn't surprised when she concluded rather breathless, 'It's Potter, isn't it?'
He closed his eyes, not able to meet hers, and wondered, not for the first time, why people thought Pansy was dense. He should have confided in her a week ago, maybe they'd have figured it out sooner. But a voice in the back of his head told him that maybe he would have hexed Potter and then he wouldn't have gotten this chance to get to know him.
When he opened his eyes reluctantly, Pansy was watching him with an thoughtful look in her eyes.
'Well,' she said, 'what are you waiting for?' She nodded to his fist where the letter was getting more crumpled by the minute.
'Here? You must be kidding!' he exclaimed.
She rolled her eyes. 'Of course not! Go somewhere and read it. We have a free period after the first class, right? We'll talk about it in the common room then.'
He gave her a tiny smile, grabbed his bag and left, the letter still clutched between his fingers, as if he was afraid he might lose it.

Dear Draco,

Or should I start calling you Malfoy again? It will be hard – you've been
Draco in my mind for so many months now – but I'll do it if you insist.
You've obviously figured out by now that it was me all along – I wonder
what gave me away – but I want you to know that it was my intention anyway
to write you a letter on the eleventh day, to uncover my identity.

I'm genuinely sorry that I ran away like that, but I got so confused, and afraid,
and, well even angry, when I heard you call my name. I thought that you'd
known the whole time, and was trying to fool me. So, yeah, that's why I was
angry for a second or so, but then I thought – hoped – better about it, about
you.
I assume you have better reasons to be mad! Not only about the secrecy, and
blinding you, and, well, stalking you, but about how I left you. I image you
really must have been pissed off.
You promised me that you would keep an open mind and what do I do? I ran!
Well, that must have confirmed your opinion about stupid Gryffindors, hasn't
it? You know what? You were right about that; some Gryffindors aren't brave,
and they often do stupid and impulsive things. I just wished to spend some
time with you, finally get the chance to be with you, even if it wasn't your own
choice to begin with. But then I held you and touched you and Merlin, when
you kissed me back that first time … when I closed my eyes I could just image
that you knew, and that you wanted to be with me.
And, I'm rambling, aren't I?

Do you know, which thought made me run? Made me hide in the Lion's den like
a fucking coward? The thought of you, looking at me with an expression of hatred.
The idea of you, saying hurtful things. And I couldn't deal with it, Draco. Not right
after the most amazing moments I've ever had in my entire life.
Because you could, you know? Hurt me. Break me.
That's why I'm still hiding, looking for courage to face you again. Because we have
to, in some way or another. That's why I ask you to meet me again tomorrow, in
the same room. Maybe I can explain it better or maybe you want to ask me things,
or hex me.
I will wait there for you!

Hoping against hope,
Harry

PS. Just to make it crystal clear; I haven't told you anything that wasn't
genuine. I meant every word, every touch, every kiss!

The next hour passed in a haze. Fortunately, Arithmancy didn't require much of his attention, so he let his mind wander back to the letter. He wanted to take it out but didn't dare, in case anyone would catch him reading a letter from Potter. 'Harry' he supposed he should start calling him. At least in his head. Unless … he bit the inside of his lip … unless he decided to stop this madness, this thing with Po – Harry right now. That was what most of his friends would say. His parents … well, no use in thinking what his father would advise.
They would all tell him to ignore the Gryffindor for the remainder of the year and to forget all about the last ten days. Maybe the would want to Obliviate him to get rid of those memories.
The idea made his skin crawl. The thought of losing those wonderful moments he'd replayed over and over in his head. The moments in which he had felt cherished, loved, even worshipped. From the very start he'd instinctively trusted the boy. Even when the potential candidates had been brought down to only Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, he didn't back out.
He would never tell a soul – not even Pansy – but in hardly a week the boy, Pot – Harry, had captured his heart.
And yet, old mechanisms screamed not to trust the Gryffindor. Told him, it shouldn't be happening, that it could never work. The Golden Boy & the Death Eater? The Daily Prophet would have a field day as soon as they found out.

He did what he promised. Draco never saw the b – no, Harry during the rest of the day. He talked to Pansy, who reluctantly told him, just for once, to do what he wanted. Not for the family name, or out of fear, but because he wanted it so badly.
He hugged her briefly and went on with classes. From time to time he felt Granger's eyes upon him. It was obviously that she knew, at least some things.
There would have been a time, that just the thought would have made him angry about that, but this time it gave him hope.

That night as he wanked, he imagined it was Harry's hand that squeezed his cock. When he spread the moisture coming from the slit, over the head; he imagined it being Harry's tongue. He thought about how Harry had done just that the day before, how he probably had looked at him from between Draco's thighs, his hair the usual mess, his glasses awry, and those vivid green eyes looking at him with passion, while he screamed his name.
The fantasy was too much, and the feelings overwhelmed him, and he wanted … he needed … his whole body shuddered at the same moment he realized the truth.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Elf inches written
Ten fingers stroking
Nine quills caressing
Eight frogs a-jumping
Seven cherries crushing
Six questions answered
A FIVE-PETALED ROSE
Four buttons opened
Three hidden hickeys
Two nibbled ears,
And a sweet kiss, when I couldn't see.