Harry Potter, aged nine, was in his cupboard, doing homework when Uncle Vernon snatched open the door, almost ripping it off its hinges

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).

Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks

Harry Potter, aged nine, was in his cupboard doing homework, when Uncle Vernon snatched open the door, almost ripping it off its hinges. "You," he said, pointing one sausage-like finger at Harry's chest, "and I need to have a talk."

Trembling, Harry followed his uncle into the living room, where Dudley was already sitting on the couch. He lowered himself onto the floor, and waited. As Vernon seated himself in the armchair on the other side of the room, Harry noticed that he was avoiding any eye contact with Dudley and himself, and had, in fact, turned an interesting shade of red. 'Is he embarrassed?' thought Harry curiously, What could make Uncle Vernon go all scarlet like that?

He found out all to soon.

"Boys," said Vernon, still not meeting their eyes, "let me tell you about the birds and the bees . . ."

What followed was one of the most bewildering moments in Harry's life. Uncle Vernon would just not stop talking about things like, 'nocturnal emissions,' or 'hair in strange places.' 'What kind of strange places?' wondered Harry, then he thought of pictures he'd seen on T.V. of men with hair on their chests. That must be what he's talking about. After all, where else can hair grow?

When he was finally finished, Vernon wiped his brow, and said, "now, do you have any questions?"

At these words, Harry's curiosity began waging an internal battle with his common sense. As had happened so often before, curiosity won out, and Harry asked timidly, "Er . . . do boys ever like . . . other boys? You know, the way they like girls?"

Uncle Vernon glared at him, and turned redder, if that was possible, "I should've known you'd ask something like that," he growled, "Well . . . yes. It does happen. It is not normal, no matter what anyone tells you. It's called homosexuality, and if I ever catch you, either of you, engaging in that sort of thing, let me tell you, you will get the beating of your life! I'm saying this especially to you," and he pointed at Harry, "because that seems like it would be right up your alley. Dudley I'm not too worried about, he's a real man. But you . . . Do you understand me?"

The two boys nodded, Harry sighing a little as he did so, thinking of the oh-so-delectable young blond who sat next him in math class, and resigning himself to life without him.

Uncle Vernon left the room, leaving Harry and Dudley alone together.

"I can't believe you said that!" Dudley said, sneering at Harry, "I'll bet you're a ho-, a ho-, you know, what Daddy said."

Harry just left the room, ignoring Dudley, and wishing that it wasn't so abnormal to like other boys.

Six years later, Harry was right in the middle of the aforementioned puberty. As Vernon had prophesized so many years before, hair was beginning to grow in strange places. Different feelings were coursing through his veins, and most importantly, he was beginning to have those dreams his uncle had spoken about. Harry wasn't sure how many times he'd woken up and had to change his sheets, but he knew it was an awful lot.

Now it wasn't the fact that he had these dreams that worried Harry. After all, hadn't Uncle Vernon said that it was all perfectly normal? No, what was worrying Harry was the subject of his dreams. He often woke up sweating and excited, however slightly confused, for his dreams always seemed to feature, not only Harry (obviously) but someone else. Specifically a male someone else. Harry remembered the little talk he'd been given, and most importantly, how adamant Uncle Vernon had been against homosexuality. But even that only composed about two percent of what was bothering Harry. What was really disturbing him, was that the main character of these dreams was increasingly blond and pale, and usually had a strong resemblance to a certain Draco Malfoy. This was annoying, because, as Harry had so often thought before, if there was anyone he hated more than his cousin Dudley, Draco Malfoy was it. But if he were wrong . . . well then that changed everything.

Across the country, Draco Malfoy was suffering from much the same problem. Harry had become a regular participant in his wet dreams about a year ago, and as they became increasingly explicit and X-rated, Draco had become increasingly embarrassed and confused. What kind of Malfoy, wondered Draco, thinks about his worst enemy like this? he asked himself after the fifteenth or sixteenth such dream. He had also had the 'birds and bees' talk with his father, minus the sausage-fingers and other 'charming' details Harry had been made to suffer through (it is a well-known fact that all Malfoys have fingers and toes like the branches of a willow tree, slender, pale, and beautiful. If they had been Muggles, they could have been hand and foot models.). Having asked his father about whether or not boys ever liked boys, Lucius had answered a lot like Vernon had, and Draco had been made to understand the need for children, so as to continue the Malfoy line. While he had many cousins, Lucius assured Draco that none of them was his equal, and the need for descendants from their particular branch of the family tree was of the utmost importance.

So Draco learned to rid himself of troubling thoughts of the beautiful boy next door from the Malfoy's townhouse in London. Feeling a sense of duty, he'd promised his father that he would pay attention to that Parkinson girl, named Rose, or Ivy, or something similarly botanical.

That all changed when he was being fitted for his Hogwarts uniform in the robe shop, and saw the boy with the glowing green eyes. A tremulous, fiery feeling had run down his body, while a shiver ran up his spine. This all combined to make Draco feel very confused, so he did his best to cover it up by trying to make friends with the boy. Unfortunately he hadn't reacted quite like Draco wished. Instead of being flattered that Draco wanted to talk to him (even though he was sure that the boy hadn't changed his shirt in years), he had seemed almost annoyed, and certainly not admiring.

It doesn't matter. He's just a poor little peasant, thought Draco, and put it from his mind. Or at least tried to. But more often than not, Draco found his thoughts returning to the scruffy young man from the robe shop all summer long. And what made things even worse were that the Boy Without a Decent Haircut, as Draco had come to call him, turned out to be the Boy Who Lived. Not only that, but he had spurned Draco's company for that . . . Weasley boy. Lucius Malfoy had had certain things to say about the Weasleys, and pleasant, charming, and remarkably good company, had definitely not been among them.

So now Draco had a dilemma. On the one side was the need for a Malfoy heir, but on the other side were Harry's leaf-green eyes that made Draco's hands tremble whenever he saw them. On one side was the fact that he was Harry Potter, Voldemort's (and therefore Lucius') greatest nemesis, but on the other was Harry's deliciously creamy skin, topped by blue-black hair that hung just so on his forehead in a way that made Draco's perfect toes curl. What was he to do?

The natural product of this dilemma was that the two young men were very much dreading their next year at school. They knew that it would be much harder to be around each other without feeling some kind of tension (sexual or otherwise), but they also knew that when this year was over, they would be that much closer to their final parting. So it was with heavy hearts that the two stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Harry grinned with delight and almost forgot his troubles when he saw his best friends, Ron and Hermione chatting with Mrs. Weasley and her daughter Ginny. Walking over to where they were talking, he noticed how close Ron and Hermione were standing, and how they kept 'accidentally' touching, whereupon they would both blush and jerk away. Harry watched all this with great interest, and visions of bushy haired redheads danced through his mind.

"Hi Harry," Hermione called, waving.

"Hey guys."

"Hi Harry," Ginny said, blushing slightly.

Poor Ginny thought Harry, If only she would realize there was no hope. But Ginny remained naïve, and continued to have her silly little crush on him. However, it had come to Harry's attention that Colin Creevey always stammered around her, and couldn't seem to stop smiling when they spoke. Harry foresaw great things for those two.

They boarded the train, catching up with each other, and sharing anecdotes from their summers. Harry regaled them with tales of sixteen-year-old Dudley's attempts at blind dates, which usually began (and simultaneously ended) with the poor girls eyes widening with shock and horror as Dudley tried to get out of the door without breaking the frame (again). Soon they were all rolling on the floor with laughter, and Harry, full of confidence; decided this was the time to let them in on his secret.

"Ron, Hermione, I have something important to tell you."

"What is it?" asked Hermione, looking worried, "Does your scar hurt?"

"N-no, I – um – I want to come out of the closet."

Hermione gasped while Ron just looked confused.

"What're you doing in a closet?"

Sighing, Hermione whispered something in his ear. A look of sudden understanding crossed his face, followed by, strangely enough, relief.

"Oh!" he said cheerfully, "No offense Harry, but I've known that for a long time."

"You have?"

With an embarrassed chuckle, he said, " Harry, I – er, you talk in your sleep sometimes."

Harry looked aghast and covered his mouth with his hands in horror. "I do?"

"Yes, you'd already made things quite clear."

Recalling some of the dreams he'd had over the years, Harry turned bright red and looked at his feet.

"I – I didn't mention any names, did I?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. You were, uh . . ." now it was Ron's turn to go scarlet (in the midst of all this confusion, Harry suddenly realized that there'd been an awful lot of blushing going on, but as his face was still vivid crimson, he didn't think this was the best time to mention it.) "calling out instructions."

There were a few moments of silence, then Ron stood up and said, "Enough. Thanks for telling us Harry, we appreciate it."

Secretly Ron was thinking about how wonderful it was that he and Harry would no longer be vying for Hermione's affections. However rather than choosing to give voice to these thoughts, he started a conversation about Fred and George's new joke shop in Hogsmeade in an effort to lighten the mood.

When Draco entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he felt a thrill go through him at his first sight of Harry. To cover these confusing thoughts, he snapped his magnificent fingers, and called to the porter to bring him his luggage. Spying his friends Vincent and Gregory, he hurried over to greet them in his slow, drawling voice, the one that positively oozed blue blood.

They got on the train, and within five minutes, Crabbe and Goyle had already gotten into a rather violent 'discussion' over which of them was the handsomest, which ended, as most of their discussions did, with Crabbe holding Goyle on the floor and shouting, "Say uncle!" Draco looked on with faint amusement and wondered what Harry and his friends were doing.

* * *

Harry and his friends clapped loudly as the newest Gryffindor sat down at their table between Seamus and Dean, who grinned wickedly down at him. Sneaking a look over at Ron and Hermione, Harry felt a bubble of joy slide up his throat. I can't believe they took it so well! I don't have to worry anymore! He felt like shouting with happiness, but as Dumbledore was still in the middle of his annual speech, he didn't think it would be appreciated. So he contented himself with beaming all over the place and scaring the poor new Gryffindors even more than Dean and Seamus had.

Draco glanced at Harry, who for some reason was grinning like a madman. A shock of tenderness filled his throat, and his eyes became suspiciously damp. It's moments like these, he thought with a sigh, that make me feel so confused. He massaged his temples and stared up at the black ceiling dotted with stars, like pearls on velvet. What am I going to do, thought Draco, shaking his head, Oh god, what am I going to do?

As soon as the feast was over, everybody began heading for his or her respective beds. Harry felt like dancing and practically leapt towards the doors, where the mass of people leaving conveniently crushed him against Draco's body. He felt his ecstacy slipping away as Draco's warmth pervaded his body. Draco carefully ignored him, and he slid deeper and deeper into depression. So close and yet so far, he thought with a sigh, it doesn't matter if Ron and Hermione accept me or not, as long as Draco doesn't. I wish . . . I wish the Sorting Hat had put me in Slytherin! Maybe Draco and I would have at least been friends then. I think I could stand it if we were at least friends. His feet, previously so light, felt like blocks of lead as he trudged his way up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower.

A/N Well, now you see what to much Comedy Central will do to you. Actually I've just been drooling over the guy in that computer commercial. You know the one where he's making a video and holding up all these signs? (He's so pretty!) Anyway, poor Draco and Harry. What'll I do to them next?