Chapter Twenty-Five

Over the next two days, Draco spent every class he had with the Gryffindors trying to catch Harry's eye to no avail. The black-haired boy was still ignoring him adamantly, and it hurt Draco immensely to have Harry do so. He had absolutely no idea where Harry had gotten the idea that he and Blaise were together, for Merlin's sake, because it was so obscenely wrong that it almost hurt Draco's head. The Blaise and Draco Ship had sailed a long, long time ago, and it was never coming back.

Draco couldn't manage to catch Harry after classes, either. Harry was one fast little bugger when he wanted to be, and he was almost always the very first person out of the classroom, and by the time Draco made his way into the crowded corridor, Harry had disappeared into the sea of Hogwarts students. By the end of two days, Draco was ready to bash his head against the wall until he blacked out so that he didn't have to think about it anymore.

After the last class of the day, Draco watched Harry disappear into a sea of black, yellow, green, blue, and red. He sighed heavily and left the Potions classroom. Once he was safely inside of the Slytherin common room, he made his way to the boy's dorm and lie down on his bed, his arm draped across his face to block out the light from the lamps that adorned the walls. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the foot of the bed dipped down with someone's weight.

"Draco, moping isn't your color," Blaise said, patting Draco's shins. Draco suppressed the urge to kick his friend in the nose and peered at the black boy from underneath his arm.

"Blaise, what do you want?" he asked, exasperated. He was not in the mood to deal with Blaise's Blaise-ness today, or really any other day for that matter. "I'm tired."

"I want you to stop moping like some stupid Hufflepuff and go talk to Potter." Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise made it sound like it was so easy, like he could just waltz up to Harry and be like,

"Oh, hi, Harry! I heard you think I'm cheating on you! Well, that's not true, and I think you should stop being an arsehole and talk to me!"

Yeah. Right.

"It's like you think I haven't tried to talk to him at all in the past few days," Draco muttered, covering his eyes again. His head was beginning to hurt, and the harsh green light from the lamps was making it worse. "If you haven't noticed, I've tried to talk to him every single time that I've been near him. He's flighty."

Blaise snorted. "That's why you jump him."

"You honestly want me to jump Harry Potter? I'll get my arse fried!" Boyfriend or not, attacking Harry, whether it be out of love or hate would probably get him killed in a matter of moments.

"Draco, stop being a pansy and go talk to your sodding boyfriend before I do it for you," threatened Blaise. Draco sat up so fast that the room went dark for a moment. His stomach lurched, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick.

"You wouldn't," he said once the room came back into view. Blaise was smirking triumphantly. "You would."

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was lurking in an alcove near the Gryffindor common room, waiting for Harry to emerge for dinner. Despite everything that was going on, Harry was still going to meals, which pleased Draco to no end. He didn't want Harry to stop eating again. Sure, he wasn't eating as much, but he was still going to meals and picking at his food.

After ten minutes of waiting and several leg cramps later, the portrait of the Fat Lady opened, and Granger, the Weasel, and Harry clambered out, along with several other Gryffindorks. The other red-clad students trooped ahead, leaving the trio behind. Harry was moving slowly.

"Harry, are you alright? You've been really upset today," Hermione said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. She was almost taller than he was. Weasley was standing off to the side, looking uncomfortable. "What's going on?" Harry shook off her hand.

"Nothing is going on, Hermione, and nothing is wrong." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry beat her to it. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up with you, okay?" Granger nodded and took Weasley by the arm. The began to head down the stairs.

Draco seized his chance and slipped out of the shadows. Harry was still facing away from him, and he managed to get at least five feet away from him before Harry turned around, startled. His eyes went shuttered immediately when he saw Draco. He began to walk away, but Draco grabbed his sleeve.

"Harry, wait. Don't leave," Draco pleaded, hanging onto Harry's arm.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" The use of his surname was like a slap in the face to Draco. He steeled his nerves as to not show his upset, but he didn't release Harry's sleeve.

"Can we talk? Please?" Draco never said please. Ever. Harry hesitated for several moments before jerking his clothing out of Draco's grasp. He turned back to the Fat Lady, who was watching them with rapt attention. "Abstinence," he said, and the Fat Lady swung open. Harry gave him a look before crawling into the portrait hole. It was extremely uncouth, but Draco followed as well, and once inside, his headache multiplied exponentially.

The room was so fucking red. He hadn't even known that one room could be so red. The only upside to the place was the fact that they had tons of squishy furniture that looked like it would be extremely comfortable. Harry cleared his throat, and Draco jumped.

"Are you coming, or what?" He had his foot on the first stair of what Draco presumed led to the dorms. Draco followed Harry silently, and they entered a circular tower room filled with five four-poster beds that looked the exact same as the Slytherin ones, sans the bed hangings. Harry sat down on one of the beds, and Draco sat down as well. Harry was at the headboard, and Draco was near the footboard.

"Talk," Harry said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest. Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Why did Harry have to be so damn difficult?

"What is going on with you?" Draco asked. "You're acting like I offended you in some extreme way, and I don't know what I did."

Harry's mouth thinned. "Being in bed with Zabini is a little offensive to me, to say the least."

"How do you — on second thought, maybe I don't even want to know," Draco muttered. "Blaise comforted me for most of the night, Harry." He looked away, unable to stare into those green eyes any longer. "I was crying, alright? I needed someone."

"Yet you wouldn't let me anywhere near you," Harry pointed out, hurt evident in his voice. Draco pulled on his sleeves automatically. It was a nervous tick he had recently developed since taking the Mark.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Draco whispered. That was mostly the truth—if Harry knew that Draco had been underneath the Cruciatus, then he would definitely ask questions, which would inevitably lead up to the revelation that Draco was now a Death Eater. That would definitely end in hurt for both of them.

"Well, I got hurt anyway," said Harry, his voice flat. "You not trusting me hurts, Draco." He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that he did trust Harry. He trusted him with his life. He just didn't want to see him get hurt, even though it was inevitable.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, looking back at Harry finally. They stared at each other for several long moments until Harry sighed deeply, and all of the tension seemed to run out of his body. He held out his hands.

"Come here." Draco crawled across the bed and settled into Harry's arms. He wanted to cry at how right it felt. He had missed it so, so much. He still wasn't sure how he had survived the summer without Harry by his side.

Harry held Draco close. His body practically ached with the wondrous feeling of having Draco close to him again. He had barely been able to function lately because he hadn't been with Draco. It made him feel almost pathetic that he couldn't concentrate without the blond around.

He nuzzled the top of Draco's head with his nose, inhaling the scent of mint and rosemary. Three words popped into his head, and they nearly tumbled out before Harry managed to clamp his mouth shut. The last time he had said those three words, he had lost the person he had said them to not more than three weeks later. He was in love though. Totally and completely.