Hi! So sorry for the long delay – I've been insanely busy, I swear, but to all the questions: yes, I will be finishing this. I've got big things planned. I've just been kind-of down because they took down my story that had 1150 reviews. To anyone who read that, thanks for the support. I've also had a few people voice disproval at this change in venue (Harry Potter slash), so I'm especially grateful for those who wrote kind things – reminds me that the whole world isn't prejudiced. Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians! Enjoy!
How was it possible for silence to be so noisy? Draco pondered this and a multitude of other things as he and Harry headed back to the flat. They hadn't spoken a word to each other, though Draco was well aware of Harry constantly looking at him as though he was expecting another collapse at any moment. So he was a little shaky, so what? Draco slipped on a patch of ice, and despite all that he was carrying, Harry's hand reached out impulsively to steady him. Draco roughly pulled his arm away and stalked on ahead. He wasn't an invalid; he wasn't weak. At least, he didn't want Harry to think he was.
Draco headed to the kitchen the moment the front door was unlocked, and began slamming the food items into the cupboards haphazardly. Long before he had run out of items to put away, his anger had faded and he was hollow again, with that horrible empty feeling rising in him, threatening to choke the very air he was breathing. He had spent so long trying to fool himself that nothing was wrong, that he had forgotten how to feel much of anything. The fear experience, and the bitterness, after so long a period of feeling nothing, had hit him so hard that the emotions were still making him dizzy. He felt, rather then saw, Harry's eyes resting on him.
" I'd rather eat first," Draco said softly, not turning around.
" Okay," Harry said simply. They ate dinner, the tense atmosphere making conversation beyond one word questions and answers impossible. Wordlessly, they rose from the table, and if Draco spent a little longer then usual washing the dishes, then Harry thought it best not to mention it.
It was Harry who mixed two rather large glasses of rum and coke, and gestured for Draco to follow him into the living room. They sat facing each other; Draco curled protectively into the armchair, Harry on the floor, his back against the sofa. Harry waited patiently, staring at a spot on the carpet. When Draco eventually spoke, Harry nearly jumped in surprise.
" Were you scared when you faced off against Voldemort?"
" Well, of course I was," Harry said.
" I can't see you being scared. I know you must have been afraid, but somehow, I don't just don't see it. I wish I was like that," Draco said wistfully. " I wish I didn't wake up afraid everyday."
" What are you afraid of?"
" Life. Death. Everything," Draco said. He smirked humourlessly, " But I suppose you want specifics, not vague clichés."
" What made you so afraid today?"
" I thought I saw my father," Draco said clearly.
" I don't understand," Harry responded.
" I spent the last two years of my life a prisoner in my own house. I know it sounds unbelievable; someone my age locked into a small room for so long by his father. You would think someone would notice, would question my whereabouts. But I had no friends to wonder at my sudden absence, and nobody was willing to pry very hard at my father's excuse that I was at Durmstrang, finishing my education. Only my mother knew where I was, and she had never intervened before on my behalf. So, my father took away my wand, took away my freedom, and kept me cold and hungry, waiting for me to obey as I was supposed to."
" What did he want you to do?"
" Be the perfect son, of course," Draco said bitterly. " If you want a specific action, then he wanted me by his side when he made his latest attempt at power, because every politician needs a smiling, happy family in the background. With Voldemort dead, Hogwart's destroyed, and the whole magic-world up in arms about the draining of magical energies, my father thought it was the perfect opportunity to advance his standing. Oh, nothing so lavish as Voldemort's 'world-domination' scheme. No, subtlety was the key. Gather a group of purebred friends and colleagues, finance their elections, have them take office, and slowly begin to alter magic policy. My father himself wants to be the minister of magic, and if nobody dares to run against him, he'll win. He's very shrewd, my father, very intelligent, a political genius, and quite insane. Once he gets the power he wants, he'll eradicate any opposition, and then he'll be unstoppable. He has the means, the opportunity, and what's worse, he believes in what he's doing."
" How did you get out?"
" Strangely enough, it was my mother. I don't know why she did it, but when she found out my father was going to kill me, she got me a cloak and a broom, and told me to leave."
" And you came here. Do I want to know why?" Harry asked. Draco jerked out of his reminisces at the hard edge he heard in Harry's voice. He polished off the rest of his drink, trying to dispel the sudden chill that crept over his skin.
" Pardon me?"
" You heard me. What the fuck do you want from me?"
The steady composure, with which Draco had managed to tell his tale, began to wear thin and crack. He had expected many reactions from Harry, but not this one of bitterness, anger, and hurt.
" I… I don't want anything from you."
" Bullshit, Malfoy, and you know it. You could have gone anywhere, to anyone. But you came to me. We were never friends; I never gave you any reason to think I wouldn't shut the door on you. Obviously, you came for a reason. So what do you want? Want me to kill Lucius for you? Maybe knock-off a few of his buddies while I'm at it? Maybe you want me to write a letter to the minister, to Dumbledore, and get Lucius put under surveillance. The 'Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort' – surely, his word would be believed. Hell, maybe you want me to run against Lucius in the elections? Or how about a protection spell? A memory charm? What the fuck is it?"
Harry knew he was yelling. He knew that he was being irrationally angry with Draco, at a most inopportune time. He knew he was expected to console and comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was tired of feeling used.
" Maybe because I thought you, of all people, would understand. People expect things from me because of who my father is. They hear the rumours and think they're all true. They think I had the perfect childhood; well, that's crap. Every aspect of my life has been planned out for me since before I could think. Who I could be friends with, what I was to wear, how to behave, when to wake-up in the morning, what to eat… The list goes on. I had money, true enough. I had a powerful name, and every advantage growing up that a wizard could have, but do you know what my first memory is? It's of my father, slapping my face for spilling a glass of water at the dinner table – a dinner table I could barely see over. I get knocked off my feet for trying to clean up the spill – Malfoy's aren't supposed to stoop to menial tasks, you know. Then I get to lose consciousness for daring to ask why," Draco said, any semblance of control long lost. He was angry, and his eyes were flashing dangerously. Harry, however, had no intention of letting up.
" That doesn't make us alike. I had a horrible childhood too, but it didn't turn me into a prick. Time you found a new excuse."
" When I said I wasn't going to follow Voldemort, my father tried to come and get me, but Dumbledore protected me and let me stay at Hogwart's. He said I'd never have to go back, but he lied. When my father saw that Voldemort was going to lose the war, he sold every secret he knew in return for protection, and when he did that, there was no reason to keep me from his side. They sold me out for the stuff my father knew; I was used, and I know you were too."
" But that's where it ended for you, didn't it? They used you, maybe, but then they forgot about you. Do you have any idea what it's like to be 'Harry Potter'? I hate it. I hate that I can't ever truly get away from it, and that everything I'm ever told is only a semblance of the truth. I'm still being lied to, still being used," Harry snapped back, arms crossed over his chest tightly.
" The only truth I've ever known is that I hate my father, just as you hated Voldemort," Draco said emphatically. " What was it like, when you killed him?"
" I don't have to answer that. This isn't a deal we're making: you tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine."
" Damn it Harry, if I knew you were this fucking paranoid…"
" Fine!" Harry exclaimed, anger bolstering his flailing confidence. Besides, he had always wanted a chance to explain, and maybe, Draco really could understand.
"I don't suppose you know much about the end of the war, since you were locked up for most of it, but it went like this. Voldemort, knowing he was doomed to fail anyway, decided on one more big battle, just to secure his immortality as the worst villain ever. He concentrated his attack on Hogwart's, our headquarters, where he knew I would be. If I'd know beforehand, I would have drawn him out to battle elsewhere, away from the school where so many students were still seeking refuge. But I didn't know, and he came so quickly that there was no option left. Hogwart's was packed with people, all waiting for me to set things right again. Waiting for me to kill. And I did. I'd like to say it was skill on my part, but by the end, I was so exhausted that I doubt I was even thinking straight. One lucky shot, and he went down, along with the rest of Hogwart's. The war was over. At least my part of it was, but the aftermath… I awoke in a makeshift infirmary, and heard all about it from my bed. How Hogwart's was razed to the ground because of the battle, that people had dies within its walls when it fell, and that it would take years to rebuild. I listened as the exhausted medical workers bemoaned the draining of the earth's magic. My battle with Voldemort caused a sort-of magical vacuum, sucking some places completely dry, so that magic could only be performed around certain hotspots. Even now I'm told the magic is spread pretty thin", Harry said, his voice monotone.
" It's true, but it's not too bad anymore. Malfoy manor was on a hotspot anyway, as was Hogwart's. They were able to rebuild very quickly because of that. Students went back last year."
" I know that. I still get the Daily Prophet delivered. Besides, Ron was thinking of attending and finishing up his schooling there, he still might this year. Hermione took correspondence instead. But I'm getting off track. I was still in that bed when I heard there were still hundreds of witches and wizards missing and presumed dead. I got to watch as people came in to the hospital and left with tears in their eyes. Death, sickness, hardship, suffering, and pain, was all we were left with."
" That's the finale of any war", Draco said. He felt exhausted, drained. Somewhere during their quasi-argument, having finished their first few drinks, they'd grabbed a bottle of wine. Draco returned to his seat, and took a deep gulp from his glass. He was shocked when he heard the sound of a glass breaking. Harry had squeezed his goblet and shattered it, the pieces of glass cutting into his hand, the burgundy wine and blood running down his wrists in thin rivulets onto the carpet.
" Maybe. But it was not the way people expected this war to end. They came to me by the thousands, their eyes shining with emotion, waiting for me to make things better. It didn't matter to them that I was merely one among an entire army; it was me they came to for salvation, for absolution, me they wanted to blame when it didn't come. They looked at me imploringly, wondering why I hadn't saved Hogwart's, asking why their husband, or their wife, or their daughter or son had died when Harry Potter was alive and well. I wasn't supposed to just win the war; I was supposed to save the world. Being Harry Potter meant that, after the war, I was supposed to make everything go back to how it was, and be even better then before. They wanted me to perform miracles, but they didn't realize that I was only human; that what they were asking was impossible. Gradually, the adulation slowed. I left the hospital. I tried to help with the repairs, and yet everywhere I went, they saw the scar, and waited for me to live up to some impossible standard. They were so disillusioned that I wasn't perfect, that it killed me every time I had to look into someone's eyes.
And if you think it was different with my friends, you'd be wrong. Ron shook my hand, told me I'd been 'bloody brilliant' and all the time his eyes were asking why I hadn't saved his father. Hermione cried when she saw I was okay, and yet she already had plans to get away, to move on. I wasn't the saviour other's had claimed me to be, and she was just as disappointed as everyone else."
" We're more alike then I thought then. We both thought we'd be long dead before we had to deal with the consequences of our actions. I did some mighty stupid things, trying to live up to expectations, acting on beliefs that weren't even my own, and I was counting on the fact that I'd be dead before any of it mattered. And you're the same, even if you deny it. You spent your whole life gearing up for a battle you thought would kill you. Must have been a real kick-in-the-head to realize life goes on; to wake-up and realize people resented the fact that you were still living, when so many were dead. I understand that; the fear that comes with the realization that you're expected to come to terms with something you've never really faced and then to move-on from it," Draco said, the epiphany of uncovering where his fear actually stemmed from strangely soothing. He wondered if Harry felt the same relief, or if the damage done to the 'Boy-Who-Lived' was simply too severe.
Harry let the pieces of his former glass fall from his grasp. He picked a few remaining shards free from his palm, before daring to look up at Draco. He had never told anyone about such feelings, hadn't even known that he felt most of it. That he resented being made to feel a failure. That he felt hated for doing exactly what they had told him to do. For all his power, for all his potential, in the end, what had he accomplished? He had not brought back his parents, and he was still alone. It wasn't necessary for the world to blame him; he could do that well enough himself.
Draco ventured to break the silence, wishing he knew what was circulating in Harry's head that could make him look so very frail and isolated. He wanted Harry to know that he wasn't alone anymore, that they could sort each other out now. He spoke carefully, knowing the subject was going to be a sensitive one, " So maybe we're both running scared, and maybe I'm here because you've never lied to me or used me."
" I'm not running away," Harry interjected.
" Then why are you here?" Draco asked gently, already anticipating the answer.
" I had to leave the people who saw me as a disappointing hero, as a pathetic little puppet. I had to leave because the concept people had of me, was ruined whenever they met me. Because they didn't want a real person, they wanted some immortal superhero. So I came here where I was simply Harry Potter. Here I'm the Harry Potter who has a little flat on Cheshire road, who pays his bills on time, who works in a small bookshop, who talks to the postman, watches wrestling on television, who wrote an interesting paper on marginalized literature, and who occasionally goes out on Saturday night's, clubbing with his friends. Nobody here expects me to be perfect, and nobody gets hurt when I fail. I'm not letting anyone down here. I'm happy here because I'm that Harry Potter, and it's enough."
Draco's eyes were dark, their gaze fixed on the wall, yet seeing something else entirely. Harry watched his movements as though they were in slow motion, seeing him lift his glass to his lips, the perfectly red liquid staining his cavernous mouth, lowering again, and still not a whisper, not a sound from him.
" Are you even fucking listening?" Harry practically screamed at him.
" I'm thinking I envy you."
" Don't envy me. Don't tell me you wish you could be me, because that trivialises what I'm feeling. Makes me think I have no right to feel bad about anything at all," Harry said tersely.
" You want me to feel sorry for you? To tell you that everyone was wrong not to drop to your feet and praise the ground you walk on?"
" That's the last thing I want", Harry muttered. He was angry that the one person he opened up to, the one person he thought would understand, couldn't see why he was hurting.
" I know that's not what you want. It's why I'm trying so hard to understand what you're going through. Because nobody on earth will ever go through what you are, and I don't know how to help you."
" Like hell. You're thinking I'm a pathetic waste of space, that I ought to suck it up, and stop feeling sorry for myself."
" Don't ever tell me what I'm thinking", Draco said coldly, eyes narrowing. " I admire what you've done. You could have lived off their respect and praise forever, but instead you wanted to make it on your own. You carved out your own niche, worked at it, got on with a real life. The only thing you've got wrong is this fucking self-loathing you're carrying around. Shit, you're allowed to be happy, Harry. Nobody's going to come around and take it away from you. Don't tell me you still have some damn useless 'fear of abandonment' issues."
" The whole world has already gotten rid of me – they're still admiring someone who doesn't even exist. I'm tired of throwing myself into things, and getting nothing back. It hurts too much."
" That's not the problem, and you know it. You were expecting to die, and now that you're alive, you don't know if you can. You're afraid."
" Yes, I'm afraid. Okay? Does that satisfy whatever sick sadistic pleasure you get from seeing me suffer? I'm scared that it will always be like this, that I'll always feel like a failure who hasn't lived up to his potential, that because I'm not perfect I'll always be alone." Harry could feel the tears starting to form in his eyes, and he hated it. He hated Malfoy for making him feel all this pain. Hated him.
" Open your eyes, you fucking idiot, and realize that for once, you're not the worst off. I feel the same fear you do, the same pain of being alone, but you don't need to go making up all this other crap just to make yourself feel worse. If you don't want to be alone, then don't be. You have a choice, I still don't", Draco said, voice so loud it rattled in Harry's ears. He could see Draco's pulse-point racing, the anger in his eyes shining forth like he meant to freeze him on the spot. And it made Harry see red. He lunged at Draco, knocking the flimsy coffee table away, and slamming into him.
" I was wrong, what I said to you before, about not owing me anything for staying here? Seems to me if you get to yell at me, humiliate me, then there ought to be some compensation", Harry said.
Draco was struggling, trying to keep Harry's hands from circling his throat, to keep his body from sliding across the floor and into the wall. It was a lost cause as Harry became like a man possessed, his strength more then enough to keep Draco pinned to the ground. Draco grunted as a fist connected first with his stomach, and then his ribs. They rolled into the wall, and Draco's head hit the baseboard with a thunk. Growing desperate, he swung his fist, connecting hard with Harry's nose and face, and spinning his glasses to the floor. A trickle of blood formed and ran down Harry's chin. Draco made to strike him again, and Harry grabbed Draco's slender wrist and pushed it up against the wall, where it bent into an awkward and painful position. Draco thrust his hand up and tried to relieve the manacle-like grip, but soon, both hands were pinned above his head, and Harry was bearing down on him, green eyes alive and half-crazed. Draco closed his eyes, waiting for a fist to the face.
Rough lips descended, against his own, hard, bruising and punishing. It hurt. The pressure around his wrists and over his prone form increased, digging him into the floor. The lips slammed his again, opened and nipped with sharp white teeth, damaging him, even as he opened his mouth to the invasion. He couldn't help it; the feelings were too powerful, too overwhelming. Draco felt himself surrendering, even as he continued to struggle weakly against Harry. A tongue brushed the inside of his mouth, batting his own tongue aside as it devoured him, pulled him apart, and made him whimper. As though coming out of fog, Harry's tongue retreated, and Draco let go of a breath he didn't know he had been holding. In that moment, Harry bit down hard on Draco's lower lip, drawing blood just before he pushed himself away in disgust.
Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing. Draco watched as Harry drew himself into a ball, wrapping his arms over his head as though he could physically push the feelings back into the forgotten recesses of his mind where they belonged. Draco lifted a hand to his lip and winced. He rubbed the blood away, and sat up,
" Why?"
" Because I'm not perfect", Harry said, dropping his head onto his knees. He began to shake and shudder; the fact that Harry wasn't crying was somehow worse then if he'd been sobbing his heart out. Draco knew he had a choice to make: whether to put himself into that unknown void and take what he wanted, or to keep safe by staying away from all that was Harry. This was his chance to be someone again, to face life again. The sight of Harry's soul bleeding onto the floor, made the choice easy.
Draco stood up and walked towards Harry, sinking down next to him on the floor. Putting both arms around Harry's shoulders he held him, all the time rubbing soothing hands up and down his back. He felt Harry freeze up and begin to panic, but Draco just gripped him tighter, forcing him deeper into the embrace. With a tiny mewl of need, Harry felt himself give in, to turn slightly in Draco's arms and to brace himself against his chest. Draco still said nothing, giving Harry time to work out what he wanted.
Harry buried his head into the crook of Draco's neck, as though if he made himself small enough, he could disappear forever into Draco's warmth. When he spoke, his voice was depleted, worn-out.
" I hit you", Harry said.
" You did", Draco replied calmly.
" I yelled at you, I bit you, I kissed you", Harry said, almost disbelieving he had done those very actions.
" All of the above", Draco returned.
" Then why didn't you leave? You were supposed to leave", Harry said plaintively.
" Since when have I ever done what you told me, Potter?" Draco said arrogantly. Harry, unbelievably, almost felt like laughing. " Oh, and believe me when I say I'll be getting back at you for the undeserved thrashing you gave me. Not now, of course, but someday. I think I know why you did it, want to tell me your version?"
" I don't know why."
" Yes, you do", Draco said forcefully.
" Because I wanted to show you I'm not perfect, maybe. Give you suitable excuse to leave, because I hate the things you make me feel. Hell, maybe I did it just to see how you'd react, how the fuck should I know?"
" Maybe it was just hatred," Draco suggested. " I hate you some days, more then anything. Hate that you make me weak, hate that you make me want things I can never have, hate that I'm powerless against you. Most of all I hate you for giving me hope – I'd have given up a long time ago, and happily become nothing, if it hadn't been for you. I hate you for making me alive. And thank you for it too."
" This is really going to hurt later, and I don't mean the bruises," Harry said finally.
" Yeah. It's going to all fall apart, probably. We're too screwed up for anything else."
" Then I guess… we'll have to try really hard not to fail," Harry stuttered. He knew that he was asking Draco to trust him. He knew how hard it would be for Draco to do so, and what it would mean if he did. He knew that he was setting himself up for rejection, but he couldn't seem to stop the words flowing from his mouth.
" I never fail," Draco said with sudden conviction. He saw Harry's eyes widen in surprise at his tone, and Draco took advantage of the unguarded moment to run his fingers down Harry's face, which was beginning to bruise.
" I really nailed you," Draco said suddenly, breaking the moment. He grinned maliciously.
" Please, I let you hit me. It was too embarrassingly one-sided," Harry said.
" I bet I could take you down right now, easily," Draco boasted.
" You definitely could," Harry said. Draco glowed, satisfied, and Harry grinned impishly. " Because I'd let you."
Draco snorted contemptuously, and surprised Harry by pushing him flat to the floor. " See? I win. Just be glad I have no intention of adding to the destruction on your face."
" Why not?"
" Because your face is bad enough as it is, even without the bruises," Draco smirked. " You know, I think this is the cliché moment where I'm supposed to kiss you."
" Oh?" Harry said, trying to sound unaffected.
" We're emotional, adrenaline is running high, and I have you pinned to the floor. Yes, it would make perfect sense to kiss you now." Draco revelled in the small spark that lit up Harry's green eyes briefly. " But this fight wasn't about sex and I don't want to further confuse the issue."
Draco pushed lightly against Harry's chest as he got to his feet. He reached out a hand to help Harry up off the floor.
" And what is the issue exactly?" asked a befuddled Harry. One moment he wanted one thing, and the next moment he wanted something at the other extreme. Confusion ruled his mind to the point where he felt like a child needing someone's hand as guidance. He rubbed at his eyes, hoping it wasn't still noticeable that he'd been fighting tears.
Draco seemed to think about his question for a moment, before saying quietly, " That you don't want to be who you are, and that I don't know who I am."
Silence greeted his assertion, until Harry muttered a sombre, but highly sarcastic, " Deep."
Draco took one look at Harry, who was trying to keep a straight face, and couldn't help smiling also.
" That's what you get for buying such cheap wine," Draco said.
" In vino veritus," Harry muttered.
" Time for bed," Draco said. He took Harry by the hand, leading him towards the bedroom. Harry followed mutely; content to let someone else make the decisions and relieve him of the burden. Some dim corner of his mind insisted on recalling the current sleeping arrangements. " I'm on the couch, remember?"
" Do we really need to maintain that illusion anymore?" Draco asked. " You did kiss me Harry, albeit very badly. I know what that means, even if I'm too pissed at you now, due to the condition of my lip, to reciprocate."
Harry blushed, and ducked into the bathroom to change into his pyjamas before Draco noticed. He brushed his teeth and successfully avoided looking in the mirror – he had had more then enough self-introspection for one night. He climbed into bed, while Draco went to brush his own teeth. Draco was gone quite a long time.
" I swear you preen more then is healthy for a normal human being," Harry said, when Draco slipped into his side of the bed. Unconsciously, they both held themselves to the very edges of their respective sides, no matter how indifferent or disciplined they claimed to be. Just because their altercation had opened up a new door for them, didn't mean they were prepared to walk through it just yet.
" The 'I just got out of bed after a particularly good wet dream' look for hair may work for you, but not all of us are that fortunate," Draco said, voice drowsy.
" You know, that's not the first time I've heard my hair described that way," Harry said. Draco snorted, burying his head in his pillow. Now was the time for sleep, and yet Harry wasn't picking up on the not-so subtle hints.
" I should have shut the door in your face when you arrived; it would have been the smart thing to do."
" Nobody ever claimed you were smart," Draco said, the insult coming almost automatically. " Now, let me sleep, or I'll make you go back to the couch."
" How would you make me? With those girly arms of yours?"
" If anyone's a girl here, it's you, because you won't shut-up."
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, " Goodnight, Draco."
" It would be if a certain inconsiderate lout would stop talking," Draco muttered. He pulled his pillow over his head, and effectively put a stop to any further conversation.
Harry stared up at the ceiling, trying not to smile. Still, it was uncanny how close he had come to predicting the way in which Draco would say goodnight. Maybe he knew Draco Malfoy better then he had realized.
When Harry woke-up the next morning, he was in his bed, which was a novelty he had not experienced for quite some time. He could also smell the makings of breakfast, and contemplated getting up. After twenty minutes of dozing in the cozy confines of his bed, he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen.
Draco was rather lost in thought, and didn't hear the sounds of Harry getting up. When Harry yawned widely and slumped into a chair at the table, still dressed in the boxers and t-shirt he had slept in, and without his glasses, Draco nerves sent so many messages all at once that it was hard to stay standing.
Draco recalled when he had said to Harry that he had never truly felt an attraction for someone else. It was as if his entire life he'd been blindfolded while everyone else had perfect vision. He remembered walking down the hallways at school, noticing how his companions would turn to watch a girl go by with rapt attention, but never being inclined to do so himself. He could remember with perfect clarity those occasions when his friends would talk about how good looking some celebrity was, how much they'd like to date someone they knew, how hot, sexy, cute, some person was. And he was always left feeling vaguely confused. He simply didn't understand how it was that mere attraction could occupy so entirely the minds of his classmates. Love was even harder to figure. He had never understood how it was that people could do such insane, silly, idiotic things for the sake of some emotion. Draco had always felt like an outsider: observing the habits and rituals of the people around him, but never being able to join in.
Because he hadn't understood attraction. He hadn't understood that heart palpitating moment when you see first catch sight of the object of your affection. He hadn't felt that same giddy rush of emotion, which made you feel incapable of thought, and brought the most ridiculous of smiles to your face, by merely recognizing someone's voice. He had never experienced that mind-alternating state of being completely infatuated with someone else, of being willing to do anything to please them, to protect them, and to just be near them. He hadn't – until now.
The blindfold had been suddenly and savagely ripped from his eyes, and he blinkingly stepped into this dazzling new world. For he felt everything he'd been oblivious to before: every reaction, every strange urge, every lustful thought, every passion, and desire, and need, all at this moment, and all because he was looking at Harry.
Harry looked up, saw the strange expression in Draco's eyes, and shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He had the sudden impulse to run fingers through his sleep-matted hair, and to straighten the rumbled shirt he was wearing. He swallowed the toast he was munching on, crumbs falling thickly to the table, as he said crankily,
" What? Something wrong with my face?"
Draco wondered if he could be heard over the pounding of his heart, if he could speak past the sudden ache of longing that lodged in his throat. His voice, when he eventually spoke, came out hoarse as though it wasn't accustomed to use.
" There's nothing wrong with you, Harry," Draco paused, collecting his thoughts. " And I've only just noticed."
End of Part 4
