Draco walked out of the room numbly, feet padding softly on the stone tile. Potter had rejected him. He'd known this was coming, but it still hurt.

Feeling the onset of tears, he headed off to the library to find Pansy.

When he got there, he scanned the perimeter of the room. No sign of a black bob. He looked toward the middle. Nothing.

He would have to weave through tables and go to the back to find her. So Draco began walking past tables, hearing whispers and seeing pointing fingers.

"Death Eater."

"Scum."

"Who does he think he is, walking here?"

"Should've died in the war with my brother."

Draco did his best to ignore the jabs, looking for his best friend.

He eventually found her, sitting smack down in the middle of the library with Blaise.

"Pansy?"

The Slytherin looked up from her homework, rolling her eyes when she saw who it was.

"I'm not in the mood for your theatrics today, Draco."

A little hurt that Pansy was calling his legitimate problem theatrics, Draco cleared his throat and made another, slightly less pathetic attempt to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry?" she echoed, eyes widening.

"Mhm."

"Sit down," she said, pulling out a chair next to her. Draco listened.

"I shouldn't have pushed you away like that when you were only trying to help. It was wrong of me," said Draco. "And I shouldn't have compared you to my mother. I'm sorry, Pansy."

Pansy's jaw went slack. Her eyes darted from Blaise to Draco, back to Blaise, back to Draco.

"I think that's the first genuine apology I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she said.

"Same here," said Blaise.

Draco laughed wetly. "Gotta start somewhere."

"Come here." Pansy outstretched her arms, beckoning Draco to give her a hug. Draco sank into her embrace, and the touch felt so soothing he almost started to cry. His shoulders shook with the effort to hold it in.

"Draco?" asked Pansy, pulling away, staring at him in concern. "What's going on?"

"I-I spoke with Potter," he said, willing his eyes to stay dry, but they weren't fucking listening.

Pansy's face immediately flashed with recognition. "Oh, Draco, honey . . ."

"H-He . . . I . . . I told him I was his soulmate."

"How'd it go?" Blaise asked.

Draco whirled around to glare at him. "How do you think?"

"At least you told him," said Pansy, and Draco turned back around to face her. "That was big of you. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, well, now he hates me," said Draco.

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

"You didn't see his face."

"You guys have been sworn enemies for years," said Pansy. "And now, suddenly, you're soulmates. It's a lot for him to take on."

"I understand that," said Draco. "But he didn't have to run away. He could have talked about it with me."

"The last thing he probably wanted to do was talk to you. Poor bloke's probably so confused," said Pansy. "Does he know how you feel about him?"

"It might have slipped out, yeah. He doesn't know I love him but he knows I feel something."

"Now he's even more confused!" exclaimed Pansy. "Why'd you go and do that, huh?"

"He figured it out when he realized that me getting the tattoo on my eighteenth meant I didn't resent him."

"Merlin's bollocks." Pansy put her head in her hands. When she re-emerged, she looked directly at Draco.

"Give him all the time he needs. This is a lot for him, okay?"

"Okay. Not like I have a say in the matter."

"You don't, mate," said Blaise.

Harry searched everywhere. He scanned every nook and cranny of Hogwarts, it felt like, and the blonde boy was nowhere to be found.

Defeated, he made his way back to the common room, unsure if he was ready to face his friends and tell them he'd failed to find him.

Who was he kidding. Ron would be relieved.

But before he could find his friends, he was being stopped by none other than Pansy Parkinson.

"I have a bone to pick with you," she said, twirling a strand of her short, black hair.

Harry gulped.

"I know Draco told you."

"This is a lot for me to take in," said Harry, thinking she was being a little unfair. "I don't have to have an answer for him right now."

"He doesn't need an answer from you," Parkinson said scathingly. "He just needs to know you don't hate him."

"I don't," Harry found himself saying, surprising himself with the veracity of his words. "And I don't think I have for a while."

"Could've fooled me," Parkinson scoffed. "He told me when he revealed his secret, you were revolted."

"Because it's him," Harry answered. "We're supposed to hate each other, and suddenly we don't, and now we're soulmates, and it's all too confusing."

"Draco isn't a bad person," Pansy said. "He's made some bad choices- Alright, some really bad choices. But he's a good person. I can tell you that for a fact."

"That doesn't sound impartial at all," Harry snarled.

Parkinson scowled at him. "You don't know half of the things he's been through, what he had to suffer in the war-"

"Erm, hello?!" Harry pointed at himself. "Know your audience."

Parkinson sighed. "You don't know him, Potter. Not even a little bit."

"Oh, I think I know him plenty. I think he's the same prat he's always been."

Parkinson narrowed her eyes at him. "If that's what you really think, Potter, then don't bother with him. He's been through enough."

Guilt coiled in Harry's chest as Parkinson spun around to walk away.

"Wait," he said.

She turned back around. "Yes?"

"I . . . Want to talk to him. Where is he?"

Parkinson cocked an eyebrow. "You're telling me how much of a git he is, and now you want to talk to him. Do you honestly think I'd let you go anywhere near him right now with the state he's in?"

"Please, I promise I won't do anything to make it worse, I just really want to talk to him," Harry said. He decided it would be best to refrain from telling Parkinson about his conversation with Luna that Malfoy loved him.

Parkinson rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Fine. Follow me."

She led him into the far right corner of the common room, where Malfoy sat rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, Draco," she said softly, reaching forward and stroking his hair. Harry was slightly off-put by the intimate gesture of affection. He had never seen anyone care for Malfoy before, and it was unnerving.

Malfoy looked up at Parkinson, eyes glistening, but they hardened instantly when they landed on Harry.

"Come to remind me that I'm too much for you?" he asked bitingly.

Harry sighed. "Malfoy, can we talk?"

Malfoy looked from him to Parkinson, back to him. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Listen, I, erm . . . I think I might've reacted too quickly. In our room."

A flicker of hope flashed across Malfoy's face, but it was gone as soon as Harry blinked.

"And what makes you say that, Potter? My dashingly good looks? My irresistible charm?" He was spitting sarcasm, Harry could tell, and it angered him, just a bit.

"Don't do that," he said, and suddenly Pansy was excusing herself from the conversation.

"Do what?" Malfoy asked.

"Talk down on yourself like that. It isn't healthy."

Malfoy shrugged. "It is if it's the truth." And he sounded so sure of it, so resigned, that Harry wanted to gather him in his arms.

"It's not true," Harry found himself saying. "I've never told you this, but I've always liked the way you look. You're . . . elegant, and posh, in a way that isn't entirely masculine. I like it. It's almost . . . pretty, in a way."

Malfoy's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Harry couldn't believe he was going to continue showering Malfoy with compliments, but here he was. "And as for charming, you have a certain way with words that leaves a bloke unsteady on his feet."

A small laugh escaped Malfoy.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling embarrassed.

"Nothing, it's just . . . You don't have to make up lies to make me feel better. I've accepted that you don't want me back, and I-" He cut himself off by slapping a hand over his mouth, while his eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of their sockets.

Harry felt his own eyes widen, and he unconsciously scooted closer to Malfoy on the couch. "What?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," said Malfoy, making to stand up. "It's nothing, just forget it, Potter." But Harry wasn't finished speaking with him. He clamped his hand down on Malfoy's wrist, preventing him from leaving.

"Wait."

Malfoy looked at him, eyes swimming in desperation. "Please don't tell anyone, Potter. My friends, they already know, but if this gets out, I'll be ruined. Please don't tell."

"Why, because liking me is so abhorrent?" Harry asked, for some reason growing angry. He let go of Malfoy's wrist, but Malfoy did not attempt to leave.

"Because it's humiliating." Malfoy sank back down onto the sofa and raked his hands through his hair. "I've done nothing but torment you for seven years, all because I liked you and wanted you to notice me. I was angry at myself that you rejected me on the train and took it out on you. There. I said it, okay? I liked you."

Oh. That was . . . A lot of information.

"How do you feel about me now?" Harry asked him softly.

Malfoy looked on the verge of tears again, if his reddening face and rapidly blinking eyes were anything to go by.

"Potter . . . I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . Wait a minute. You said you reacted too quickly in our room. Care to elaborate on that?"

Shit. Now the spotlight was back on Harry, and he burned from the force of it.

"I-I dunno," he said. "Lately, I've been . . . Feeling a different way towards you, I guess. I did want to be your friend, when we made that truce. But I was so afraid you didn't want to that I took the easy way out."

"And I was so afraid you didn't want to that I didn't speak up," said Malfoy.

"Now back to you," said Harry, wringing his hands together. "How do you feel about me?"

Malfoy's lips parted ever so slightly.

"Potter, I . . . I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"I have some dignity, you know," Malfoy said, frowning deeply. "I'm not about to lose it all over a person who won't like me back."

"I reacted strongly when you told me because I'm used to feeling revolted by you," said Harry. "But I need you to know that I no longer feel that way. Look." He showed Malfoy his right wrist, which had his name tattooed in fine calligraphy.

Malfoy gasped softly, hands flying to his mouth. He looked deep into Harry's eyes.

"You . . . You have your tattoo."

"That's right."

"You don't resent me anymore."

"You would be correct on that front, yes."

Malfoy's eyes darted to Harry's lips. Harry swallowed thickly. He found himself slowly leaning in, needing to feel more of Malfoy's warmth, to touch him, to taste him . . .

Then common sense returned to him. What was he doing? This was Malfoy. The former Death Eater, who fought alongside the monster who was responsible for killing his parents.

But before he could pull away, Malfoy's lips were on his, soft and unsure. Malfoy didn't move, hell, Harry didn't even think the boy was blinking. But he was kissing him, and it felt . . . Not unpleasant.

No. It felt good. It felt very good. Wet, and a bit awkward since neither one was moving, but good. But before Harry's lips could react and he had the chance to pull Malfoy closer, Malfoy was pulling away from him and looking at him, crestfallen.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered, scooting away from Harry. "I overstepped, I'm so sorry-"

"Hey, come back," Harry urged him, reaching for his hands. Malfoy allowed him to take them. Harry rubbed the skin softly, unsure of why he was doing this, why this felt so easy, so natural, so right.

Malfoy couldn't look at him- he dipped his head as shame coated his features, hanging off his face. "I didn't mean to do that," he murmured. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," said Harry gently.

Malfoy looked up at him with wide, grey eyes.

"Of course, I can't just . . . Snap my fingers and have feelings for you like that, but-"

"Of course." Malfoy snatched his hands away from Harry, face softening with defeat.

"Hey, I was only-"

"I get it." Malfoy fidgeted with his hands, switching between holding eye contact with Harry and the ground.

"You don't need to water it down for me. You don't want someone who's tortured people with an Unforgivable. You don't want a Death Eater. You don't want me."

"Malfoy, I was only trying to say-"

"Stop trying to make me feel better, alright?" Malfoy's tone was so burnt out it physically hurt Harry, and he didn't know why. Up until today, he hadn't cared much for the blonde at all.

Or had he?

He had taken time to notice him, he'd defended him against bullies, and they'd struck up a truce, of sorts. Maybe Harry did care after all.

Malfoy stood up from the couch. Harry stood up with him, wanting to be on equal footing. "Wait," he said.

"What."

"What I was trying to say was that I'm not repulsed by the whole soulmate thing. I was even going to ask you if you'd want to give this a go, but if you need more time to figure out how you feel about this, that's totally fine."

"You think I need more time?" asked Malfoy with a choked sort of laugh. "I've been in love with you for years."

Harry sank back down. Okay. That was a lot to take in.

Malfoy made another horrible sound in the back of his throat. "See? This is why we can never work. Besides, you were absolutely disgusted when I showed you in our room, and don't even deny it."

"I needed time to process it. It took me by surprise, is all," said Harry. "I'm not disgusted by you."

But he'd told his messenger boy that he was. Hadn't he?

Malfoy carefully sat back down on the couch, giving Harry an unnecessary amount of space. Harry found himself wanting the pointy blonde closer.

"You . . . You said you want to give this a go?" Malfoy asked, voice quieter than a pin drop.

Harry nodded. "We're soulmates. Clearly, the universe wants us to."

Malfoy wilted like a flower, frowning and hanging his head.

What had Harry said?

"Did I say something-"

"You only want to because it's the proper thing to do." Malfoy sounded so sad, and Harry was overcome by that overwhelming urge again to wrap him up in a blanket and soothe him until he felt better.

"You don't want to because it's me. You'd do it for anyone."

Harry gasped softly as Malfoy's words registered. He'd made it sound like he would have taken anyone as his soulmate, and that Malfoy was nothing but cheap destiny.

"I'm sorry," Harry rushed out, scooting closer to Malfoy again but Malfoy backed away from him. "I'm sorry," Harry repeated. "That isn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Malfoy's eyes were blazing.

"I meant it when I said I can't just snap my feelings and suddenly have feelings for you," Harry said, "but you are still important to me. I think that much has been made clear. I've paid attention to you this year and stood up for you, and I wouldn't do that for just anybody."

Vulnerability washed over Malfoy's features. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "Mhm. And about the kiss . . . I . . . I, erm, I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually. And maybe sometime we can do it again."

"Y-You want to kiss me again?"

Harry blew air out through his mouth. "Yeah, I suppose I do, turns out."

Malfoy smiled softly, but then his features morphed back into a frown.

"This is a joke," he said so coldly that Harry bristled from the force of it. "You're doing this to humiliate me because you found out I . . . like you. Well, I won't have it, Potter. I-"

Harry had closed the distance between them and put his lips on Malfoy's to shut him up.

Malfoy froze into the kiss, and Harry decided it would not be appropriate to use his tongue right now. He was just sending a message, after all. So after a few seconds he pulled away, hands coming up to hold Malfoy's face.

Malfoy was panting raggedly, and one of his shaking, sweaty hands came up to rest on Harry's arm.

"Did that feel like a joke to you?" Harry asked him softly.

Malfoy's face was so open. Harry could read everything right now. His eyes were swimming with lust, and want, and something else.

"I suppose not," he said.

Harry chuckled. "That's because it wasn't, you big git. I wanted to kiss you."

"Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean-"

"No," Harry told him. "I wanted to kiss you."

Malfoy's face broke out in a small smile, crimson coating his cheeks.

"I've never seen you this wound up before," Harry told him, stroking the side of his face. "It's sort of adorable."

Harry was hyper-aware of his hands on Malfoy's face, of their closeness, of Malfoy's breath coming out in little puffs on his face.

"You're one to talk, Potter," said Malfoy. "The way you get when you defend me . . . It gets me sorta hot."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. His anger turned Malfoy on?

"Yeah. Because it's all for me."

Harry leaned again and gave him a quick peck. Once he pulled back, he was sad to see that Malfoy looked disappointed.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I just know this is going to wear off for you eventually," said Malfoy.

"What makes you say that?" asked Harry.

"Because aren't you into girls?"

Up until today, Harry had thought he was straight. But when he had complimented Malfoy on his looks, he realized that those feelings had been buried deep inside. And maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought.

"I still am into girls," said Harry. "It's okay to like both, isn't it?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Do you like girls?" Harry prompted him.

Malfoy shook his head- shyly- And Harry wondered why that was.

"It's okay not to," he said. Malfoy only shrugged. Harry decided to let the matter drop for now, storing it in his brain to bring up later.

"So . . . Where do we proceed from here? Because I'm a little confused," Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged. "We can take things slow. Right?"

Malfoy laughed wetly. "You already know how I feel."

"Right, well . . . I suppose I am sort of sending mixed signals, aren't I?"

Malfoy only looked at him, which was all the answer Harry needed.

Harry sighed. "Maybe we should wait until I develop real feelings. I wouldn't want to pull you along, or have you participate in something that isn't real."

"Right. Of course." Malfoy sounded so sad, so disappointed, that Harry found himself speaking again,

"Hey, hey. This doesn't change anything, alright? I still liked kissing you. I just need . . . I need some time. To let all this sink in. It's a lot."

"Mhm." Malfoy sounded dejected, and Harry was racked with guilt.

But why? It wasn't like it was his fault he didn't immediately have feelings for Malfoy. It wasn't fair for Malfoy to inadvertently manipulate him into guilt for not feeling the same way.

Was Malfoy manipulating him? Harry wasn't sure.

"I mean, you . . . You understand why, right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded. "It's me. I get it."

Harry didn't like Malfoy feeling that way about himself, like there was something inherently wrong with him.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Harry told him, although it wasn't exactly the full truth. There was a lot wrong with Malfoy, if he thought about it. He was a former Death Eater, he'd fought in the war against Harry, and he was responsible for Bill's condition. But then Harry realized something. He thought of something else.

He remembered Malfoy standing on the Astronomy tower, pointing a shaking wand at Dumbledore, crying. How Dumbledore had uttered soothing promises of help. How Malfoy had lowered his wand. Before Snape had finished the job.

Malfoy wasn't a killer.

"Stop lying, Potter," Malfoy told him. "There's plenty wrong with both of us."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm only speaking the truth."

"Well, could you do it less rudely? I don't appreciate it."

"There's a difference between rude and blunt, Potter."

Harry sighed. They weren't going to get anywhere talking like this.

"Malfoy . . ."

"What?"

"You aren't a killer."

Malfoy's eyes widened.

"I mean it. You aren't."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do. I saw you that night, on the Astronomy Tower. I saw you lower your wand. You didn't want to kill him."

Malfoy sighed. "Of course you were there. In your invisibility cloak, I presume? You're everywhere."

Harry nodded. "I saw how scared you looked. I saw it in your eyes. You aren't a killer. I've met plenty of killers, and you aren't one."

Malfoy's cold facade faltered. For a moment, Harry could see into his eyes, see all his hidden anguish and longing.

"Malfoy-"

"Please don't say things like that, Harry. They aren't true."

"But they are," Harry told him.

Malfoy shook his head. "You don't know what he did when he lived at my house. You didn't see-"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said.

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course it matters."

"It doesn't," Harry repeated.

"Why are you saying that?" Malfoy asked. "Why are you trying to . . . Rip me open like this?"

Alarmed, Harry's jaw went slack. "I'm not trying to rip you open, Malfoy, I just . . . I want you to know that there's someone out there who doesn't think you're a killer."

Malfoy avoided eye contact, looking down to the ground.

"I would never lie to you, Malfoy. At least, not anymore. See this?"

Harry rolled back his sleeves to show Malfoy his old, faded, I Must Not Tell Lies scar.

Malfoy gasped softly.

"What on earth-"

"Umbridge gave it to me in detention."

Malfoy looked deep into Harry's eyes. Harry saw a fierce fury, and something else. Protectiveness?

"That snake. I hate her for this."

"You seemed pretty fond of her in fifth year," Harry said, and honestly, he knew it was mean, but a part of him wanted Malfoy to take accountability.

Malfoy frowned. "I know. And I'm sorry."

"And it wasn't fair that you- Wait. What?"

"I said I'm sorry."

This was the second time that Malfoy had apologized to him in a very short period of time. This was all too much for Harry to handle.

"You've been apologizing a lot lately," Harry told him. "What's going on with you?"

Malfoy chuckled. "Apologizing is usually what someone does when they regret their actions, is it not? Am I doing it wrong?"

"No, you're doing it perfectly, actually," said Harry. "Apologizing is very subjective, and it depends on the situation and who you're apologizing to. In my case, you've been doing very well. So well, in fact, that it's kinda freaking me out."

Malfoy smiled softly.

"Look," Harry said. "I told you I liked the kiss. I just . . . Need some time to process all this. Okay?"

Malfoy nodded, though he didn't look reassured. "Okay."

Harry reminded himself that he shouldn't feel bad about needing time. "But I want you to know that we're okay."

Malfoy nodded. "Alright."

Harry stood up. "I'm gonna go," he said.

"See ya, Potter," Malfoy said.

Once Potter left, Draco gathered his things and headed back to the library, where he knew Pansy and Blaise would be. When he arrived and found his friends, he sat down with a dramatic sigh and placed his bookbag lightly on the table.

"How'd it go?" Pansy asked.

"We kissed," Draco responded.

Blaise and Pansy both gasped.

"What?" exclaimed Pansy. "Who made the first move?"

"Well, me," Draco admitted sheepishly. "It was right after Potter showed me his tattoo, and he was so close, I couldn't help myself."

"Draco," said Pansy in that scolding tone he hated, "you don't kiss someone because you can't help yourself."

"He kissed me back!" Draco exclaimed. "Well, sorta. The first time I kissed him, he froze. Then when I asked him if all his . . . compliments toward me were a joke, he kissed me in response."

Pansy's eyes sparkled in delight. "He complimented you?" she asked. "What did he say?"

Draco blushed something fierce. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

"Did he call you pretty?" Blaise asked, and Draco groaned and covered his head with his hands. Blaise cackled maniacally. "He did, didn't he?"

"This is so wonderful. I knew you two were meant to be together," Pansy said.

"Don't get too excited," said Draco. "He said he needs time to figure out how he feels."

"Isn't it obvious how he feels?" Pansy asked. "He kissed you back. He complimented you. He likes you."

Draco's blush deepened. "How can that be true?" he asked. "Potter can have anyone he wants, surely he knows that."

"Maybe he doesn't want just anyone," Blaise said. "Maybe he wants a certain pretty grey-eyed, blonde-haired git with an aptitude for sarcasm-"

"Would you stop?" Draco asked him.

Blaise only laughed in response. The pillock.

"Like I told you, you need to give him all the time and space he needs," said Pansy. "Telling him you're his soulmate is a lot to unload on him."

Guilt bubbled in Draco's chest. He'd also let it slip that he loved Potter. That had to be double the load. No wonder Potter needed time.

"Guys, I may have also let it slip that I love him," Draco said timidly.

Pansy punched him in the arm. "You dramatic tit. No wonder you scared him off."

"Bad move, mate. Bad move," said Blaise.

Draco felt absolutely humiliated. "I know it was, believe me. But it felt right to say in the moment. I don't really know why."

"You need to stay away from him while he figures out how he feels," said Pansy.

"We can't even be friends?" asked Draco.

"Absolutely not," said Blaise. "Right now, Potter's overwhelmed because he thinks you want to be with him forever. That's a lot to ask an eighteen-year-old boy who just found out his soulmate is his ex-arch-nemesis."

Draco hung his head. "You're right. I screwed this up so bad."

"It will be alright," Pansy said. "Potter just needs to think. Who knows? Maybe he'll end up deciding he wants to give it a go."

"I've done too many terrible things," Draco said with a bitter scoff.

"Don't be so dramatic," said Blaise. "It's not like you had a choice in those things."

"Nobody held a wand to my head when I took the Mark."

"If you think that was at all a choice, then you're more fucked up than we thought you were."

"It was a choice," Draco said hotly. "I chose to do all those things."

"Draco, you didn't," said Pansy, "and we shouldn't have to try and convince you of that."

Draco sighed. Every time the war came up with his friends, it felt like they were talking in endless circles.

"Can we drop this?" he asked quietly.

Pansy and Blaise exchanged a glance. Then, they looked at him sadly.

"Yeah," Pansy said. "We can."

They returned their attention to their homework. Draco, however, had a different plan.

He looked down at his wrist, and willed the message to send.

I'm ready to tell you who I am.