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 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. That means 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

Not So Ritual Congratulations: To my dear friend KT, who swore she would never read Harry Potter and is now just as obsessed with it as I am (I win!).

A few weeks later, poor Harry's situation hadn't gotten any better. The only thing that had changed was . . . oh wait, nothing had changed. He still stared at the back of Draco's head in Potions trying to memorize the way the light reflected off every single hair. He still found little insinuations in Draco's speech that proved that Draco loved/hated/obsessed over him just as much he did. Unfortunately, no matter how convinced Harry was that Draco really did love him, he never had any concrete evidence and soon plunged into the depths of despair, a situation that made for more than a few frustrating nights. He couldn't even talk to Ron and Hermione about it, as he suspected that while they might accept his budding homosexuality, the fact that it was aimed toward Draco would inspire more than a few raised eyebrows from his best friends. Probably I'll be able to tell them some day, he thought as he went down to breakfast after a very trying night filled with dreams in which Draco was the main character, but right now I think I'd better let them get used to me. I mean it's not that they're not supportive or something, it's just I get the feeling they think I'm after anything in pants.

In fact, Harry was entirely right. It had been quite obvious to Ron beforehand that Harry had slightly different 'tastes' than his own. The only problem was that Harry was still quite obviously hiding something. After all, when Ron had told him about overhearing his dreams, Harry had very quickly asked if he'd mentioned any names in his throes of passion. It took him about a day or two (for he was not quite Hermione's equivalent when it came to puzzles and secrets) to realize that that meant Harry's homosexuality was not just in general but was actually aimed toward a certain person. In other words Harry had a crush. Ron was (surprise, surprise) rather conceited and his remarkably large ego immediately pounced on that thought and proceeded to gnaw on it awhile, until finally he was convinced that Harry's amorous feelings were directed towards none other than himself.

This presented a dilemma for Ron because he was most definitely straight. Not only that, but his attentions were quite focused on making a certain bushy-haired, (formerly) buck-toothed, insufferable know-it-all look at him in a way that was slightly more than platonic. He was coming closer and closer to this goal, and he did not want to threaten its final realization by dividing his efforts between pulling Hermione into his arms and pushing Harry out of them.

So he pretended to sleep as Harry got dressed, obviously contemplating something (probably me, thought Ron wryly). Harry cast a glance at Ron, which he saw through half-closed eyelids, and Ron was certain there was lust in his gaze. Finally to his infinite relief Harry left the room, books in hand, and Ron was able to take his shower without worrying about unexpected visitors.

Draco's chest (and pants) tightened as Harry stepped into the Great Hall. To his surprise, Harry wasn't with that Weasley child, his red headed shadow, but was in fact quite alone. He held up his hand and gazed at Harry under the guise of examining his left pinky, which was looking a little crooked lately. "Hmmm," he muttered, twisting his fingers around, now completely distracted from Ron's mysterious absence as he watched the light catch his almost perfect manicure. Suddenly a peal of laughter from a certain table distracted him from the fact that (horror of horrors!) there was a chip in his left hand's middle fingernail.

He dropped all pretense and stared at Harry, who had stolen something from Hermione and was trying his best to keep it from her grasp. Unfortunately it wasn't quite working, as Hermione had had a growth spurt, and was now almost half a head taller than he was. Draco carefully crossed his legs, as his interest in the comings and goings of a certain Gryiffindor grew more and more obvious. Finally, fearing that his trousers couldn't bear the strain any longer, he decided to take a trip to one of the more private bathrooms, and ease his frustration.

When Draco returned, feeling much more comfortable, if not fully satisfied, he discovered that the flock of owls had come flapping in, and his huge silky black eagle owl (specially tailored to his every wish, complete with the initials D.M. growing in gold feathers in its tail) had landed on his goblet, knocked it over, and spilled orange juice all over his Charms homework. Stupid bird, he thought, mock-angrily, as Salazar nuzzled his finger charmingly, and dropped the letter in his scrambled eggs.

Oh goody, thought Draco (although phrases like 'goody,' and 'golly-gee,' were among some of Draco's favorite colloquialisms, he always made sure that no one ever heard him say them. After all who would respect a Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who said 'Yippee-Skippee' whenever he was mildly excited?), news from home.

He tore open the envelope (half a page this time, they must really miss me!) and read the note avidly. His mother had written to say she had a slight head-cold, his father's friend from work, who was conveniently young and beautiful, needed a place to stay, and was currently sleeping in the guest bedroom closest to Lucius' room (Poor Mother, thought Draco, She's so naïve. 'Friend from work' indeed.), and that she was pregnant.

"What?!" he cried in shock.

"What is it?" Pansy asked with a rabid curiosity that bordered on obsession, "Tell me!" Draco stared at her dilated pupils, her flushed cheeks, and the thin line of foam that coated her lower lip, and shuddered.

"Oh, er . . . it's nothing," he said, gently removing her hand from between his legs, "just nothing."

He read the line again. Mother? Pregnant? How did she manage to distract Father from all his 'therapeutical massages?.' Then he grinned. I'm going to have a younger brother or sister! Hurray!

Having finally returned Hermione's Arithmancy book (925 pages and that was just the first chapter.), Harry sat down to devour his favorite breakfast of spinach-tomato salad covered with ketchup. I don't understand why everyone always winces when I make this, he thought, swallowing his delicious concoction. As he was thus occupied, he failed to notice that Draco Malfoy had gotten up, until he felt the delicate fabric of the Hogwarts uniform brushing his arm. He looked up curiously, and his green eyes met a pair of pale-grey ones. Draco stared down at him, confusion warring with frustration warring with desire on his delicate features, and Harry became painfully aware that his cheeks were slightly bulging from a rather large bite of his beloved mixture. Blushing, he swallowed, and Draco made a little noise like a whimper and fled away, a dazed look covering his face.

"What was that all about?" asked Hermione, looking at him oddly. Luckily for Harry, just as he was trying to think of a believable answer, Ron walked in. Hermione's face turned bright red, and she started twisting her hands nervously, Harry's association with Draco completely forgotten for more pressing matters, like how her hair looked. Harry silently thanked whichever god was looking out for him for the fact that Hermione's thought processes completely shut down whenever Ron was within the general vicinity.

After six minutes of his two best friend's mind-numbing flirtations, Harry thought his head would explode. Luckily the bell rang, and he was able to escape with his skull intact. He practically flew out the door of the Great Hall so as to avoid a repeat of the Sorting fiasco with Draco. Rushing to Divinations meant he had to deal with an extra five minutes of Professor Trelawny describing every gory detail of his incipient death, but compared to the agony he felt when he was near Draco, or the nausea he felt when Ron and Hermione played their little 'games,' it was well worth it. He climbed up to the tower and immediately the smell of cheap incense and potpourri seemed to whack him in the nose. Gasping for air by a window, he failed to see Trewlany until she'd rested one bony hand on his shoulders. He yelped and spun around, one hand immediately going to his pocket for his wand.

"Harry . . ." she said mistily, "I sense that you are troubled . . ."

"What tipped you off?" he rolled his eyes in disdain.

"Laugh if you must, but I have felt the pangs of unrequited love myself."

Obviously. As if anyone could love the old bat. But despite himself he looked up at her curiously.

"He was a Muggle, and I loved everything about him . . . his hair, his eyes, the way his toes crinkled whenever I . . . uh . . ." she broke off quickly, face going pink, "but one day I was doing his star-chart, and I foresaw that he would die if I stayed with him. I couldn't bear it. I performed a Memory Charm on him and fled into the night. Two months later I met him again at a party. He was . . . engaged."

Harry gazed up at her with new respect. He opened his mouth to say something, when the first of the Gryffindors came crashing up the ladder. Suddenly Professor went back to being misty and said, "then your legs will be eaten . . ." she looked at him pleadingly, and Harry understood.

"Whatever," he said and winked at Ron.

* * *

That little discussion was the beginning of a newfound friendship between Harry and Professor Trewlany, or Sybill as he had come to call her. Seven out of ten evenings, Harry could be found in one of the fat armchairs in her classroom, discussing something important (usually Draco-related) with her over a cup of tea. The best thing about this relationship was that Sybill seemed completely unflustered by the fact that Harry was pining over a boy, and specifically Draco. Of course the only problem was that she continued to press him into making a move.

"Listen Harry," she would say, looking down at him from her long nose, "Draco will respond admirably to your attentions. I have him for Divinations too you know, and whenever I mention you his face goes through the most amusing expressions . . . " she broke off, chuckling a little.

And as the seasons passed, and autumn gave way to winter, Harry felt his resolve weakening. Sybill's urgings, combined with his own gave him new courage, and Harry began planning his move with a strategic mind normally attributed to major generals on the warpath.

A/N Sorry this one took so long. I got distracted by homework, my birthday (presents will be accepted of course, not that I'm greedy), the fact that I finally have a life (I know, I know, shocked me too), and random other things (stupid Bio teacher). Anyway feedback will definitely be accepted. All hail the computer guy! Adios!