AN: To the bitch who said that if I'm regularly receiving hate then that means there's something wrong with my work, never once did I fucking say I was regularly receiving hate. YOU are the only one sending me hate, and you don't even have the balls to do it in a way where I can respond. If you're reading this, I'd like you to know I think you are a clown for hating on my story and then coming back to it to read it again. If you'd like to come to my inbox and talk to me like an adult and actually TELL me what the fuck you think is wrong with my work, instead of just, you know, hating on it, I'm open to that. But until then, stay the fuck away from my page.

Draco felt Potter's words linger above him like a dark grey storm cloud ready to pour.

"You do?"

His voice came out hoarse and half-hearted.

Potter paused at his apathetic attitude, frowning. "Yeah," he said. "Don't you want to know what's going on?"

"I suppose," said Draco, dragging his hand across his desk, smoothing over the parchment with dried ink. Or what he thought was dried ink.

"You suppose?" Potter echoed, and Draco sighed, because were they really going to play these theatrics? And Potter was taking steps closer to his desk, his space, and Draco found himself freezing up.

"I have valuable information. That could get him expelled."

In spite of himself, Draco found his ears pricking.

"I'm not interested, Potter," he said flatly.

"Okay . . . I'm . . . Alright. You do understand that I know who they are, and have the means to get them expelled. Right?"

Draco nodded, slowly, as though he were speaking to a child. "Yes."

Potter looked even more confused. "And you understand that you're denying yourself the right, no, the honor, to get them thrown out?"

"It's not that simple, Potter." Draco made sure to maintain eye contact for this part. If there was one thing he wanted Potter to understand, it was this.

"If I throw them out, I'll be a snitch, and then their friends will make my life miserable."

"Or they'll leave you alone because they saw McGonagall was serious," said Potter. "It's worth it to try."

"You don't know what you're asking of me."

"You don't know what you're missing out on by shielding yourself from the truth."

"Is the truth really so great, Potter?" Draco asked boredly, tilting his head to the side.

"You're unbelievable."

"Because I'm protecting myself against something that could legitimately kill me, I'm unbelievable?"

"No, you're not listening! I'm . . ." Potter sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Then he fixed his eyes on Draco. "I'm saying you should try because you need to stick up for yourself. You can't let this go unpunished. It was too terrible. And I don't want you to worry about anything like this happening again, because I'll . . . I'll follow you around. As much as I can. I'll be like your bodyguard, until this whole thing dies down and then maybe after if you want. I'll protect you, I swear, I won't let anything happen to you."

Draco was very overwhelmed with the change of pace. Potter shifted from his snippy, final tone into something open, something flexible, tangible, reaching for Draco.

"You don't have to bother," he settled on after a brief silence.

"It's not a bother," Potter responded, rather quickly.

Draco nearly reeled back at him for how strange he was acting. He couldn't seem to make up his mind on whether he wanted to be nice to Draco or scream in his face about how monstrous he was.

"Look," Potter continued, face falling more serious, "I know I was kind of a dick earlier, and I'm sorry."

Draco wasn't used to apologies being thrown in his face so directly; he didn't quite know what to do with it. He nodded, smiling softly and softening his gaze at the other boy. "Thank you for apologizing. It's okay."

"Malfoy . . ." Potter still sounded pained, uneasy, as though Draco's words had done nothing to placate him.

"I mean, if you don't want to accept it right now, I wouldn't exactly blame you. I just wanted you to know how I felt."

Now Draco felt bad. He didn't want to be a jerk and not accept Potter's apology just like Potter thought he would and . . . Wait a second. Was this manipulation? He narrowed his eyes at Potter.

"What are you pulling?" he asked coldly.

Potter had the nerve to look confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You're trying to get me to accept your apology for some reason. I'm not sure why, but that's what it feels like you're doing."

Potter's face fell. "That's not what I'm- Malfoy, do you seriously think I'm trying to control you? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you because I know you've been through a lot these past few days, and I want you to know you're not alone."

Oh no, not with this crap again.

Draco strained his smile this time even more, crinkling his eyes just right. Potter changing his mind over and over again was getting to be too much for him. Which was it? He may be acting nice right now, but in two days would Draco wake up to Potter having started a rumor to the whole school that Draco was his mysterious beau behind the wrist?

"Malfoy?"

Draco realized he was supposed to speak, and hadn't, and so he decided to play it off sheepishly, as though he were actually affected by Potter's inadvertent apology which he frankly thought he could have done better on all things considered, but anyways he smiled softly and intentionally flitted eye contact with Potter.

"I- That's- Thank you."

Potter seemed very pleased by Draco's reaction, if his pinkening cheeks and fluttery smile were anything to go by. He took a step closer to the desk, and Draco, feeling a sudden rush of magnetism, knew he had to act quickly to halt it.

"I'm busy right now, though."

"Of course."

Potter instantly backed off, straightening his posture and yawning, appearing completely unaffected by Draco's sudden flinging. "I'll let you get to it, yeah?"

Draco found himself squirming in place at that sexy voice, that could reduce him to ash, that could suck every color out of him until he was a muted sepia like an old photograph.

"Wait," Draco found himself saying, because he wanted to know something, and because he didn't want Potter to go.

Potter halted packing his backpack.

"Did you mean it when you said you're sorry for how you treated me when I got injured?"

"Yes," Potter said without hesitation, "and I'm sorry for how I treated you before. I was pissed at you, yeah, but that's no excuse to . . . call you those things I called you. Say the things I said to you. It's no excuse."

Draco felt his mask begin to collapse. It was a light thing, like a twig fluttering down from a nest. Nonetheless it startled him, and he focused his look at Potter.

His green eyes were startling this evening, and they were fixed directly on Draco.

"I overstepped with you, and I'm sorry," said Potter. "Will you forgive me, Malfoy?"

Draco already knew the answer in his heart before Potter had even posed the question. He found himself nodding, as his shields slowly sank like battleships. Potter may have hated him, but if he felt truly remorseful, then maybe they could work on things.

"I'm the one who overstepped," Draco said. "I'm the one who went about things the wrong way."

"Well, then I overreacted."

"Rightfully so. That was quite the ride I took you on."

"It was. But it's nothing that can't be forgiven."

"Are you saying you forgive me?"

"I believe I asked you first."

"Oh, so we're playing it like that?"

"Just answer the question, Malfoy."

"Why are you so sudden to forgive me and move on?"

"Am I not allowed to have realized I made a mistake?"

"A mistake. You really think it was a mistake?"

"Of course I do. I treated you terribly and I wasn't fair to you. You're so much more than your last name, Malfoy, I promise."

Potter's words were beginning to get to him. He wanted desperately in his heart to believe him. But something, whether it was intuition or some other force in the universe working against him and Potter, stopped him from it.

"How do I know you're not going to wake up tomorrow and change your mind? Considering how consistent you've been so far, I wouldn't be surprised."

Potter's gaze softened, and he took a cautious step closer to the desk. "I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and change my mind, Malfoy. I think I'm pretty set here."

"But I don't know that," said Draco, "because of past experience."

Potter sighed, and Draco could tell it was taking a lot for him not to roll his eyes.

"I understand that you may be apprehensive, but I want you to know I'm genuinely sorry, and will do everything in my power to show you that."

Draco shrugged. "Do your best."

Potter relaxed his arms. "You want to know about those people?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"We've already gone over this."

"I think there's something else you're not telling me. I think a part of you doesn't want to tell because that would make it real."

Anger flared in Draco. How dare Potter accuse him of such nonsense?

"Excuse me?"

"It was just a thought."

"I already told you why I don't want to tell- there's no need to psychoanalyze it."

Potter sighed. Draco took a closer look at him, noticed how his lips pinched in, how his dark brows furrowed. He was disappointed in him.

"Potter, I-"

"Why are you always so quick to write yourself off? Like you don't deserve peace and happiness just like the rest of us?"

"You haven't done the best job of telling me that's what I deserve."

Potter pinched the bridge of his nose. "You shouldn't need me to- Never mind. That's not the point. I already apologized to you. Twice. How many more do you want?"

"You say it like it's a chore."

"Malfoy, that wasn't what I-"

"You need to make up your mind with me." Draco had had enough. He stood up from his desk and walked closer to Potter, clenching his fist. "One minute you hate me, the next you're kissing me, then you're back to hating me and calling me this vicious monster who's worse than Voldemort, like, really? That's the best you can come up with?" Draco refrained from telling him how much the words had actually hurt- he was wounding his pride enough here- "And all this going back and forth has got me really confused."

"I know and I'm sorry," Potter said, looking as though Draco had finally struck a nerve. He looked stricken, like Draco's words genuinely distressed him, and Draco was suddenly not so sure if saying it had been the best idea. Now he had to deal with Potter's reaction, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to encounter all those emotions.

"Like I said, I haven't been fair to you. You're not a monster. You don't deserve all the hate that's being thrown toward you, and you certainly didn't deserve to get stabbed. I guess all I'm trying to say is I wish you were a little more adamant about yourself, that you stood up for yourself more, because I really think you'd see some of the bullying stop."

The 'if you do something about it' went unsaid, though Draco knew it was there. It lingered in the wake of Potter's words like a baby cub trailing after its mother.

He swallowed. "It wouldn't be fair to tell them to stop when I did much worse than them during the war, Potter."

"Did you want to do those things?"

"Well, no, but I-"

"And do they want to bully you?"

"It seems so."

"Then there's your answer."

Draco was shocked that Potter had managed to reduce it so smoothly.

At seeing the look of dismay on Draco's face, Potter continued. "You're better than every person here who bullies you."

Draco scoffed. "There's simply no way that's true."

"You think you're worse than those guys who voluntarily took a knife to you?"

Draco paused. He was smart enough to know that objectively no, he wasn't "worse" than those guys, but he had committed far worse crimes. He had humiliated people. Called them Mudbloods and blood traitors. Tortured them with a smile on his face.

"You think you're less deserving of compassion and kindness because of things you did while you were mentally imprisoned?"

Draco had never looked at it that way before, especially considering that Potter had never shown interest in looking at things from his side before.

"I thought you were against everything I did in the war."

"I am. Thoroughly. But that doesn't make it your fault."

"So now you're saying it's not my fault. I'm confused. Is it, or is it not?"

"Jesus, Malfoy, you're being difficult. It's not. Alright? It's not."

Draco sighed. "I'm exhausted with this conversation. It's not leading anywhere and I'm getting a headache."

"I guess after the way I treated you I can accept that."

"Stop guilting me, Potter."

"Sorry."

"You're still doing it."

Potter sighed. "Malfoy, I . . . I wish you'd let me tell you who attacked you."

"You have to promise me you won't tell McGonagall," Draco said, suddenly desperate, for the idea of Potter going behind his back and telling was hammering away at him, and he couldn't have Potter meddle in his affairs. He would never live it down.

"I won't," Potter said, sounding as though he were talking to a small child. "I just-"

"No," said Draco. "It's not about what I 'think I deserve' or whatever. I will actually have a big, red sign on my back if I tell and I can't handle that. I don't know what they'll do next, I can't . . ." As he envisioned those guys cornering him down again and calling him a tattletale, the column of his throat narrowed to the size of a needle.

"Malfoy, I told you, they won't hurt you anymore, I won't let them. Next time I see them . . ." To Draco's surprise, Potter actually sounded angry. "Next time I see them, I won't be so nice."

"You saw them? How do you even know who they are?"

"I overheard them talking about it. They picked a good, private place to talk about it, just bad timing."

"So you just inserted yourself into the conversation?"

"I wanted their names. And their years. So you could go to McGonagall with the information and expel them."

"McGonagall wouldn't expel them. There's no proof they hurt me."

"Someone hurt you. If we come forward with names, she'll question them, and there's a chance they might not be able to cover their tracks."

Draco sighed. "It's just not worth it."

Potter frowned. "You mean you're not worth it."

Draco was endlessly angry that once again, Potter was able to see right through him as though he were nothing more than a panel of glass.

"I don't think that I'm not worth the trouble- the trouble is just not worth it at all, because if they have a single brain cell between the three of them, they'd have disposed of the knife by now."

Potter's eyes widened. "There were three?"

Draco nodded.

Potter, if possible, grew angrier. "That's not fucking fair. They can't just . . . Hurt you like that. Diminish you to nothing more than a scapegoat. You're a human being."

Draco shrugged. "That's what you get when you choose the wrong side."

Potter shook his head. "Don't tell me we're back to this. That you think you chose."

"I did choose," argued Draco.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"Malfoy."

"Can we talk about something else?" Draco was aware he sounded slightly pleading, and pathetic, but he didn't think he'd be able to keep up this emotionally taxing conversation any longer.

Potter's eyes softened. "I just want you to feel safe here. Like everybody else."

Draco wanted so badly to laugh, but the muscles in the back of his throat tightened.

"I can't remember the last time I felt genuinely safe, Potter. I think I can manage."

This, impossibly, made Potter madder. "You shouldn't fucking have to."

"I do, though," Draco said, and it came out small. "It's punishment, the price I have to pay, for-"

"Stop telling yourself you need to be punished," said Potter. "Is that why you got stabbed? Because you let them? You could have hexed them, you could have messaged someone for help. Why didn't you message anyone?"

Draco hung his head. "You know why."

Potter looked grim. "Malfoy . . ."

"How was I supposed to? What was I supposed to say? 'Help me, someone's finally come to put me in my place but I'm scared'?"

"You think that's your place?" Potter sounded too concerned for Draco's liking. "Getting hurt by others?"

"You're forgetting, which is odd since you seemed to have no problem remembering earlier, that I've hurt people."

"I know you have," said Potter. "And I'm saying that you didn't want to do that. That was all Voldemort, and your parents. You didn't know any better."

Draco shook his head. "I did, though." He felt an onset of tears, but he couldn't afford to lose his cool right now. He had to maintain emotional stability, because if Potter saw him cry he would pity him, and if there was one thing Draco hated more than anything, it was being pitied.

"Do you really feel that way?"

Draco didn't know anymore. He didn't understand why Potter was still bothering, he didn't understand what happened with their kiss; did Potter want to kiss him, or not? He shrugged in response, but that seemed to be the wrong answer, for Potter rushed forward and closed the distance between them, placing his hands on Draco's shoulders and shaking him hard.

"Are you in there somewhere, Malfoy? You've got to be. Please don't tell me I've lost you. You have so much more to live for, so much more you can be. If you'll just let yourself. If you just see that there's other people who care about you and want you to succeed."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, like who? My mother?"

Potter's hands slid off his shoulders, but did not leave his body. They traveled down his biceps, stopping just before his elbows, fingers curling slightly against his skin. Potter was touching him. And he didn't seem repulsed by it.

"Me," he said quietly, and Draco wanted to be surprised, but he had kind of seen it coming. He sighed, though it came out shaky.

"Potter . . ."

"Why won't you let anyone help you?"

Now the hands were gone again, leaving his skin cold.

"It's not that easy."

"It can be."

"Easy for you to say," Draco snapped, feeling his defenses rise. "You've had everything. Everybody loves you. You were raised in such a loving home-"

Something happened to Potter's face just then. Something strange. His jaw went slack then snapped shut, as though he were going to say something then thought the better of it, and there was a look in his eye, one Draco had never seen before. It haunted him, but he continued to speak as though he had seen nothing, "and you Gryffindors, for how brave you are, don't have a whole lot of pride. So of course it's easy for you to ask for help."

"I see your point," said Potter, though the words sounded rough and gritty, like sandpaper.

"You're the hero, the one everybody loves. I'm the Death Eater. Do you see where we're in slightly different positions?"

"You're only a Death Eater if you say you are, Malfoy."

"That isn't true," said Draco, and now he really wanted to cry. "Do you not see this mark on my arm? It's permanent."

"You're going to let your life be defined by some mark?"

This conversation was treading into dangerous territory, because Potter was beginning to develop a point, a pretty good one at that, and Draco couldn't have that. If Potter outsmarted him, he would have to confess his attackers to McGonagall.

"You're really going to let the mark of a madman stop you from being who you want to be?" he continued, and he sounded genuinely angry on Draco's behalf, which startled him.

"I mean-"

"Because that's all it is, Malfoy. A mark. It doesn't define you, or shape you in any way unless you let it. And if you're genuinely remorseful for your decisions, for the way you acted before the war, you can make up for it- It isn't too late."

"You think I can do that?" Draco asked.

Potter nodded, taking a step closer to him. "Without a doubt."

"I dunno where to begin," Draco said honestly.

"You apologized to me, Hermione and Ron. That's a pretty good start."

Draco shrugged. "Could've gone better, though."

"Ron'll come around. I'll talk to him."

"Why do I have the feeling you're only saying that?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "His family was hit really hard by the war, alright? Give him some slack. Considering what you did to Bill, it's no wonder he . . ."

But Draco had stopped listening, for Potter's words about Bill had slashed him wide open. He averted eye contact and stared as the ground began rippling in his vision with the movement of unshed tears.

Potter must have noticed a change in Draco's expression, for his eyes immediately softened and he changed tones, "Shit, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I really didn't. I wasn't trying to say that what happened to Bill was directly your fault, but-"

"No." Draco all but choked out the word, folding in on himself, crossing his arms defensively and swallowing past the lump bubbling in his throat. "It was."

"Malfoy . . ."

"I chose to let Death Eaters into the school. I knew what would happen."

"You were under so much pressure. You can't possibly regard that as your choice."

"Does it matter?" Draco asked dryly, to combat the torrent of emotions flooding inside him. "I did it."

"I was only saying, you're technically responsible. Only technically. That's all I meant. It was poor wording, and I'm very sorry. Please try to understand that you've actually already changed so much, and I admire you so much for that."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Draco asked. "Why do you suddenly care so much?"

"Because I know deep down, under all that frost and bitterness, you're actually quite a soft person who just needs a little love."

Draco wanted to laugh at the irony at all, but instead he was attacked by a surge of emotion so strong he nearly gasped, and he clamped his jaw shut tight to prevent his chin from wobbling.

"And who's going to love me?" he asked rhetorically, ironically, sadly, pathetically.

Potter took a step closer to him. "You know you can't make me love you overnight, after the way you hurt me-"

"Hurt you?" Draco scoffed. "I inconvenienced you at best. I did not hurt you. You did not have a knife jabbing in and out of your skin. You did not have parents who criticized you for every little thing. You did not have a monster living in your house for a year. What is hurt to you? Aside from your parents being dead, who you never even knew, what do you know about hurt?"

"What do I know about hurt?" Potter exclaimed, eyes widening. "Really?"

"If anything you've benefited from not having parents- just look at you."

Potter looked at him as though he had grown two heads. "Are you mental?"

Draco sighed. He was exaggerating, of course he was; he was also trying to rile Potter up and get a rise out of him because that was easy, and familiar, not this back-and-forth, intense, emotional dialogue that had him both wanting to cry and lean in to close that small distance between them and snog the ever living daylights out of him.

"Look, I'm sure you've had your struggles, but can you honestly tell me you haven't benefited at least a little bit from your social status? You can't honestly tell me there hasn't been one time you've used your name to your advantage?"

Potter's eyebrow twitched. "Just because I'm famous, doesn't mean I like all the attention, Malfoy. If you really believe that about me, you're more ignorant than I thought."

"So first you think I'm deserving of human compassion, now I'm back to ignorant?"

Potter shook his head. "You really think I don't know anything about being hurt? Malfoy, I've been tortured. I've been starved. I don't have a loving family, at least not by blood. The Weasleys are my family. But my blood relatives starved me and forced me to do all the housework and locked me in a cupboard under the stairs for days."

He had to be lying. There was no way. Draco's limbs froze, and he suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.

"What? Potter, I-"

"So before you go making assumptions about people's lives like you always do, maybe stop and think for a second that not everyone got to live off their daddy's trust fund."

Draco felt incredibly guilty. He had made an arse out of himself assuming that Potter had had a golden childhood, perhaps fueled by jealousy, but now it seemed as though Potter's childhood was worse than his. Which was saying something.

"Money doesn't mean happiness," Draco said quickly in defense. "Just because my parents took care of me doesn't mean they treated me well."

"Oh, your life must have been so hard," Potter said in a fake-whiney voice. "Riding brooms when you were a child, getting to perform magic whenever you want. Multiple meals a day. Terrible."

"You don't know anything about my life."

"Likewise," Potter snarled.

Draco knew why he was angry. He had fucked up. Majorly.

"I'm sorry," Draco said limply.

Potter shook his head. "You're something else, you know that."

"Yeah," said Draco, flippant. "I dunno why you waste your time."

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy, that isn't what I meant." He raked his hand through his hair. "You always twist everything I say."

"Then tell me. What did you mean?" Draco asked.

"I meant that you . . . Of course you're going to assume that my life is perfect. Everybody does. I suppose I can't fault you for that, but acting like you had it so terrible as a child is pretty pathetic."

Draco decided it wouldn't be smart to tell Potter about the bruises his father used to leave him when he came home with less-than-satisfactory marks, when he'd catch wind from Mother about Draco's latest male crush, how he'd spell the clusters of purple clean before Mother could see them, because Mother didn't know any better, and he didn't want her to, but the memories were overtaking him, and he knew Potter could see it on his face.

"What is it, Malfoy?" he asked.

Shit, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it. But the more Draco tried, the stronger the memories became.

"Malfoy?"

Draco walked away from Potter and plopped down on his bed, running a hand through his hair. He needed to calm down.

"Malfoy, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just- did you have a point to this conversation, or are you just trying to break me down?"

Potter's eyes were wild. "I-I'm not trying to break you down, Malfoy, I'm just worried. You aren't yourself, and I want to help you."

"I don't need anybody's help," said Draco. "Besides, I don't even know what you want from me. Do you like me, do you hate me? Who knows?"

"Malfoy . . ." Potter stepped closer to him. "I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me either."

"It's complicated."

"How? You either like me or you don't."

"You manipulated me through a wrist for weeks."

"I didn't mean to," Draco said, and he really needed Potter to know it was all a mistake, that he should have never started messaging him, and regretted it immensely. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you saying sorry because you mean it, or because you know I'm angry with you about it?"

"I dunno, Potter, I could question the motives behind your apology as well. Like I said earlier, you're most likely only trying to make yourself feel better."

"Oh yeah?" Potter was coming closer to him, and Draco felt a mixture of fear and excitement bubble up inside him. "You think that's why I kissed you, too, then? Because I felt bad for you?"

"I don't know why you kissed me," Draco all but hissed. "It gets pretty fucking confusing when you remember how it ended."

"If I recall correctly, I told you I needed time to process. You did not give that to me. Instead, you drop this bomb on me that you're my mystery penpal, and you can piece together the rest."

Draco sighed.

Potter shook his head. "Look, that isn't why I brought this up . . . If you want the truth, Malfoy, I kissed you because I wanted to. That's all."

"You wanted to."

"I wanted to."

"Not a pity kiss?"

"No."

"Oh. Erm . . . I'm not sure what to do with this information," Draco said honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

Potter's face did something else strange, but this time his brows relaxed, at last.

"I'm not going to be your little experiment," Draco soldiered on, partly because he thought it needed to be said, but mostly because he wanted to fill the silence and get Potter to stop looking at him like that.

"You're not an experiment, Malfoy," said Potter. "And you're also not a helpless victim. There are steps you can take to help yourself, and it starts with letting me tell you who hurt you."

"We're not talking about this again," Draco said coldly, to combat Potter's kinder tone, because if Draco looked like the words were affecting him then Potter would have power over him.

Potter looked forlorn. "Just think about it. Please."

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

"Yes, you can, you're just scared. Which is normal. But you can do this. I'll help you if you want."

"I'm fine on my own, thank you very much."

"You're clearly not fine," Potter all but growled, stepping closer to him. He took a seat on Draco's bed, close enough to touch him. "Just look at you. You're thinning out, you're withering away."

"It's hardly appropriate to make these types of comments to another person," Draco pointed out.

"I just want you to- I just want-"

"What? What is it?"

Then Potter was kissing him.

Draco froze, unable to react, respond, give any of himself. He had already handed out so much of himself that he didn't know what all was left. His lips began to move in tandem with Potter's and he whimpered into the kiss as Potter's hands trailed from his jaw up into his hair, pulling gently on the blonde wisps. It felt so good, kissing him again, he tasted sweeter than last time, and unlike last time when he had been hesitant, Potter kissed him with fervor, with intensity, with grace.

Draco didn't want it to end. But he had to make sure that he and Potter wanted the same thing. If this was just an impulse thing for Potter, Draco wasn't sure he could handle that.

So with great effort he untangled himself from Potter's hold, pulling away. Potter had the nerve to look confused.

"So . . . What was that all about? Thought we weren't ever going to kiss again?"

"Maybe I changed my mind," was all Potter said.

"Why?"

"Aside from the reasons I've already given you?"

Draco supposed that was fair. But it didn't explain why Potter was all so suddenly willing to put everything behind him.

"But you told me-"

"I know what I told you," said Potter, sounding annoyed now. "But I see good in you, and I'm willing to give you another chance in spite of what you did."

"In spite of what I did? I was only trying to be your friend, and if I remember correctly, it worked."

"That's not a friendship," said Potter. "The pillars of friendship are trust and honesty. I may have trusted you, but you were not honest with me. You deceived me. You manipulated me. And whether it was on purpose or not doesn't matter, Malfoy, because you did it."

"So why are you kissing me?" Draco asked, thoroughly spent.

"Because I know why you did it, and I know that you're sorry about it."

"Thought you didn't believe my apology. Has that changed?"

"Yes," Potter said. "Please let me kiss you, Malfoy."

That was all the permission Draco needed. He leaned back in and this time, planted his hands on Potter's shoulders for support. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

"Okay," he breathed, unsure whether this was the right idea.

And Potter was kissing him, harder and rougher, impatiently finding his way into Draco's mouth and exploring it with unabashed enthusiasm. Draco knew his hands were shaking, and once Potter began leaving a trail of kisses down the contour of his jaw and across the silky expanse of his neck, Draco's cock began to stir.

**Gotta stop here, you know the drill. Adult version is up on my ao3, same username

When he collected himself, he found Potter looking at him with lust clouded in his eyes.

"Malfoy, that was . . . That was the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen."

They were back to Malfoy now?

"Would you . . . Would you like me to return the favor?" Draco asked, because he was pretty sure how that was supposed to go. Was sex supposed to be transactional? He didn't know, and he wanted to be safe.

Potter looked at him closer then, eyes softening. "Malfoy . . . It isn't about reciprocity. That was about you. I'm fine."

"Are you . . . Are you sure?"

"No . . . But yes. I'm sure. I don't want this to be a transactional thing."

"So what do you want it to be?" asked Draco, tucking his flaccid cock back inside his boxers and redoing the buttons on his pants.

"I dunno, Malfoy, it just sorta happened . . . Can I have some time to process?"

"You need time to process," Draco echoed.

"Well, yeah. This gay stuff is all still really new for me, and-"

"And you don't know if you're ready to commit to our obnoxiously flamboyant lifestyle," Draco finished bitterly.

Potter's face softened. "Malfoy, no, it isn't like that, I just-"

"I told you I wasn't going to be an experiment."

"What, so do you just expect me to instantly accept all this without any hiccups?"

"Well, actually, yeah, that's what you're supposed to fucking do."

Potter looked uncomfortable. "Malfoy . . . I suppose you're right. I can't just use you and then run off to have a sexuality crisis. But I'm still confused. I don't even know if I still like girls or not."

"You know you can like both, right?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes because Potter was grating on his last nerve. "There's a word for that."

"I've heard of that," said Potter. "But there's a stigma attached to that word. People think you can't make up your mind, that you're greedy for wanting both."

"I don't see it that way, and who cares what they think? As long as you're happy, that's all that matters, right?"

Potter nodded. "That makes sense."

Draco gestured between the two of them. "So . . . ?"

Potter sighed. "I just don't want to rush into anything."

"So you're perfectly fine with sticking your hand down my pants, but you don't want to rush things."

"Malfoy, please don't be difficult about this."

"How am I being difficult?"

"You're misconstruing my words. I want to be careful with this, with you."

Potter wanted to be careful with him?

"What do you mean?"

"I don't . . . I don't know what I'm doing, Malfoy. I may have some sexual experience, but I'm completely out of my element here."

"It's okay to not have everything under control," Draco said, somewhat quietly, for Potter's anxiety about not knowing what he was doing was something he could relate to. "That's kind of the point, actually- We figure it out together."

"All I know is I'm attracted to you, really attracted to you."

"That's it?"

"Well, no, I mean . . . You aren't exactly the walking poster child for all things good, but . . . You're a pretty decent person, Malfoy."

Draco would take it, but something still bothered him.

"But you wouldn't be with me if you weren't attracted to me."

Potter sighed. "Jesus, Malfoy . . ."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Well, you are attractive, so why does it matter? Why argue something that can't be changed?"

"I'm allowed to speak in hypotheticals," argued Draco heatedly. "You are basically saying you only want me for my looks."

He wrung his hands together, tightly, feeling incredibly insecure all of a sudden. He wanted to ask Potter why he'd said his name while they were intimate, just to revert back to the sour, unpalatable Malfoy, but he knew that would come across incredibly pathetic.

Potter sighed. "I realize how that came across, and I also should say that decent is sort of an understatement. I just didn't want to stroke your ego too much, but maybe you need it more than I thought. But I don't just like you for your looks."

"Do you even like me at all?" Draco asked, and after the way Potter had been treating him prior to this conversation it was a valid question.

"Can I kiss you again?" Potter asked him quietly.

Draco knew there was more they needed to talk about, knew it was a bad idea to let Potter kiss him and hold him and touch him in intimate places without formally discussing where they stood, but right now he couldn't bring it in himself to care because Potter was leaning in, breath ghosting on his cheek, and Draco felt his heart begin to palpitate. He had never been kissed so tenderly, held so firmly, touched so intimately. He needed more. He nodded.

Potter closed the distance between them, lips brushing against Draco's before capturing them in a passionate kiss. They kissed languidly, softly, with all of the urgency from before evaporated like mist, and Draco exhaled heavily through his nose, and as he relaxed Potter's hand found its way around his waist again and squeezed, pulling him closer until Draco was practically in his lap. Deciding to be bold, Draco swung a leg over Potter's and situated himself in his lap. Potter moaned in approval, hands traveling to Draco's hips and squeezing, kneading, rubbing.

"Mmm, Draco," Potter moaned again, and Draco felt as though his heart was stabbed. That was when he realized. They needed to stop.

"Potter-"

"You're so fucking pretty all perched in my lap like that, like a white dove-"

"We need to stop-"

"You're so- Wait, what?"

Potter's brows furrowed in concern. Draco gulped.

"We should- We should stop, Potter."

"Why?"

"Because you- I- You don't know what you want."

"I want you," Potter said, and it sounded automatic, but Draco didn't know if he truly meant it.

"But do you want this?" Draco asked, gesturing between them. "There's a difference between wanting me and this."

Potter sighed again. "Draco-"

"And why are you calling me by my name all of a sudden?" Draco asked, he knew it was pathetic but he couldn't help himself, couldn't keep it in any longer, it was like a water pipe on the borderline of exploding.

"I dunno, it just slipped out. Do you not want me to?"

"No, I just . . . I don't want you to only consider me as Draco when we're having sex."

"We didn't have sex. Only one of us got off."

"I thought sex wasn't supposed to be transactional."

"That was poor wording. I meant, there was no penetration, so it doesn't technically count."

"It counts to me!" Draco all but threw himself off Potter's lap. "I told you that was my first time doing anything with another person, so it counts to me."

"Fuck . . . You're right." Potter's tone had shifted. "I can't do anything with you, not before we . . . I can't take advantage of you like that."

Draco nodded.

"But I'm not ready to- I don't know if we- if it's just a sexual thing, or-"

Potter's words drove a wrench in his heart.

"Well, it sounds like you need to figure some things out."

"Yeah." But he sounded distant, as though the idea of taking time to figure out these very important things were too cumbersome for him.

Feeling very dirty and used, Draco hung his head. "I guess you know where to find me when you're ready to talk."

Potter nodded. "Yeah."

Draco returned to his desk, though he couldn't concentrate on his homework. He wanted to step back into that role of pretending Potter was his friend through the messaging system. Ironically, the only person he wanted to talk about Potter to was Potter.