Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N Thanks to those who reviewed...Narcissa1, ChocolateCoveredChaos and Rani-Panthera.
There wasn't many but some is better than none!

Yes, Draco is a bit OOC. It's hard to keep him in character in this situation, but I'll try, although I can't promise anything!
The love/hate scenario in this fic may be a bit complicated. Draco believes he's incapable of love so therefore he thinks he doesn't really love Harry. He might not love him. He's always had these feeling for Harry but it's taken him a long time to realise them and even longer to accept them.
Suppressed emotions and all that. Perhaps it's a Malfoy trait? Who knows?
Cheers again!

*****************************************************************************

I'm not going to look at him. I won't. I can't. I actually sent that letter to him last night. I tied it to the leg of a school owl, not my own of course. If he had recognised my owl he might have sent it straight back without reading it. Which could have been a good idea. But I tied my letter, the letter containing my deepest feelings and thoughts from the very bottom of my heart, to the leg of an owl, addressed to "Harry Potter, Gryffindor Tower."

I realise now it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done. I'm not sure what was wrong with me last night. I've had that letter written for months, after finally realising it wasn't just hate I felt for the Gryffindor. What exactly possessed me to send it last night I do not know. But it was a grave mistake. There is so much in that letter that can be used against me. Everything in that letter can be used against me. Not just my confession that I don't really hate Potter. But the confessions about my life. About my family. About everything. I'm dead. It's official, I can feel it, today is going to be the worst day of my life and as usual it's because of a certain green-eyed Golden Boy.

I'm hoping, praying that Potter's Gryffindor traits will shine through and he won't copy that letter and hand it out to people as they walk into the Great Hall at breakfast. He would have got it just before he went to bed. I wonder if he slept at all? I certainly didn't. I was up all night fretting over what he was thinking. What he was doing. He would have read it by now, how many times I do not know. But that means the next time I see him he will know the secrets of my heart and I'm not comfortable with that in any way, shape or form.

It's time to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. I reluctantly leave the comfort and safety of my Common Room and lead the rest of the Slytherin 7th years along the halls leading from the dungeons. I couldn't exactly say I wasn't coming to breakfast, that I was going to hide in my room all day. That would certainly raise too much suspicion. Draco Malfoy hiding? Certainly not plausible. So, today, depending on Potter's reaction of course, I'm going to pretend nothing has happened and that nothings changed. That's my great plan. I'm dead, it's official.

I chance a look at the Gryffindor table as I pass through the doors, narrowly avoiding his gaze before I sit down in my usual seat. I still can't believe I sent it. I told him everything. Absolutely everything. I feel my heart sink and my stomach churn as I think about it. I am not at all interested in food today but I dish some eggs onto my plate. I won't eat it. I doubt I could hold anything down but I need something to look at while I'm trying desperately not too look at him. I can feel his eyes on me. I always can when he looks at me. Those eyes, constantly taunting me.

Herbology with the Ravenclaws passes too quickly for my liking. I'm dreading lunch. I'm absolutely terrified of the time when I will finally have to look at him. When I'll have to look into those emerald eyes. I know I'll have to. It's inevitable. But I'll avoid it for as long as possible, so I walk painfully slow back up to the Castle. Crabbe and Goyle are not at all rejoicing my reluctance to go to lunch. But even being a mindless bodyguard has its drawbacks.

Lunch. I feel my body stiffen as I enter the Great Hall. He's there already, obviously, as I'm there late. Late. I didn't think of that, which means everyone is already seated, which means that he has a clear view of me walking to my seat. I mentally cringe, feeling his eyes on me yet again but after years of practicing my cold facade stays in place. I'm determined not too look at him but the only seats left are those which face the rest of the Hall. I silently curse and sit down, fixing my cold sneer into place and stare around at my fellow Slytherins. My eyes refuse to leave that of my own table. Lunch is an excruciatingly slow ordeal, considering I have nothing to do except keeping my eyes glued to the table because I refuse to eat.

Potions. Double Potions at that. Double Potions with the Gryffindors. I've always liked Potions and not just because I'm good at it. But because *he's* in that class and us Slytherin's are always favoured. Particularly me because I have an odd aptitude in Potion-making. I arrive early and sit down the front in my usual seat. This may not be as bad as I first thought. He will sit in his seat up the back, which means if I don't have to turn around for anything my gaze can remain at the front of the room. I still feel sick. I feel sick in anticipation of what's going to happen. If it happens. When it happens. Not knowing when its going to happen is driving me insane. I think I must be insane. Yes, it's official, I'm insane. Insane because last night I sent my arch-nemesis a letter containing my deepest desires and fears. I sent the letter last night, after having written it months ago. I decided last night, for some desperate reason that it was about time he knew. Insane. I think the generations of inter-family marriages amongst the pureblood families are finally starting to take its toll.

Snape's eyes are on me, obviously curious to my rather early arrival. But before there is time for questions a herd of voices appear outside the door and people pour into the classroom. My eyes remain stubbornly on the blackboard. It's easier avoiding those eyes in class. Not just because I have my back to him, but because I have something to do. Today's task is a Sleeping Draught. I am seriously considering making a stronger version and downing the whole lot. It's a rather simple Draught thankfully. Although it's evident from the whispers at the back of the room that several Gryffindors, and much to my disgust, Slytherins are having trouble making it. I ignore it best I can and begin cutting up ingredients.

It's all going rather well. It was going rather well, of course until I hear a whispered voice from directly behind me, "Draco. Psst. Draco." No, no, no, no! Not today Pansy. Not today. My eyes remain resolutely on my ingredients. I would normally help her complete her Potion, don't ask me why. I don't even know. It's probably house pride and not letting Gryffindors beat us in potion-making along with everything else. She is one of the dizziest girls I've ever come across. Her Potions, without my help, would be worse than Longbottom's. And that is truly saying something. But today, unfortunately, she is insistent, and I can still hear her whispered voice. "Draco. Please. I need your help." A shudder courses through my body. She will not relent. She does not want to feel the wrath of Snape, neither would I. But if she doesn't stop the incessant whispering I will not be able to finish my Draught.

Why me?

I decide to do this as quickly as possible. I spin around in my chair, fixing my eyes on the pug face before me.
"What?" I hiss at her, my icy stare sending a shiver through her. She tells me she can't cut up her newt liver the correct way. She tells me she needs the fifth instruction explained to her because she doesn't understand it. Doesn't understand it? I feel my anger building. She can probably see it in my eyes and that's probably why she is looking worried. If only she knew what she was really making me do.

My eyes are focused on her ingredients as I cut up her newt liver. I know he 's watching me. I feel his stare on me and it takes all of my self-control to not look up. Not to sneak a look at the Golden Boy. But I don't. I won't. My hands are shaking even after my attempts to hold them still. This is not good. Potter may not know it, but he is killing me. However indirectly, he's still killing me.

I hear my name in a whispered under-tone come from the back of the room. I know it's Weasley. This fact alone makes my heart sink to my feet. Do Weasley and Granger know about the letter? Did they read it too? Clearly I didn't think all the consequences through last night. I hiss the instructions at Pansy with such venom that she looks as if she were actually stung by my words. I turn back around and continue my Draught, my mind wandering over the consequences.

If he had told Weasley and Granger I doubt whether Weasley would have passed up the opportunity to tell the whole school and humiliate me. Perhaps he didn't read it to them? Perhaps it has remained, like I hoped, between me and him. I'm praying that is the current situation. But, then what was Weasley whispering my name for? Was it simply because I was helping Pansy? Because Snape was aware I was helping her but chose to say nothing? That was probably it. Weasley hates Snape almost as much as he hates me, that is a well known fact.

"Potter, I'm growing tired of hearing your voice. Do you really think you are so high above the rest of us that you can talk during my class?" Snape was obviously bored and looking for a fight. But where did that leave me? That was my cue to turn around and snicker at him. But I can't. I won't. There is no way in hell I am looking at him, not today. I can picture the look etched into his face right now. I know exactly what it would be like even though my back is too him. I have studied his features so thoroughly that the image of his face probably dances across my consciousness before he even has time to look angry, frustrated or irate. All the things he is looking like right now.

He's taken Snape's bait as he usually does. I probably would too. "Well then, in that case you can sit up the front. Next to Parkinson. Move. Now." It's official, I think my hearts stopped. Or it may just be beating so fast I can no longer feel it, it's just one continual drone. The scrape of a chair on stone. The sound of books being stuffed into a bag. Heated undertones of muttering and cursing. A cauldron being dragged to the front of the room, and then stops right behind me. The scrape of a chair. A fire being re-lit. Silence.

My hearts definitely working again. It's almost hurting my chest it's beating so hard. The silence is deafening and I'm seriously wondering if anyone can hear my heart as it continues to pick up it's pace. The bubbling of thick liquid in cauldrons and the scrape of a knife on stone is all that can be heard in the room now... and perhaps my heart. My hands continue to make my Draught, thank Merlin they still work, no matter how much they may be shaking.

It always seems to happen when you think everything is going fine. When you think you can make it through the class it always has to happen. Maybe not to everyone, but definitely for me. "Draco. Psst. Draco." Oh Merlin! This is the end. I may have to hex Pansy after class. "Draco. I need your help again." I feel my chair nudge forward as someone kicks it, obviously tying to get my attention. Three guesses who. No one, no one kicks my chair. I am positively fuming, and praying that the red flush of anger hasn't tainted my skin. I spin around, and glare at the poor excuse for a Slytherin sitting behind me.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I think I almost scared myself with the deadliness of my voice. Pansy audibly gulps. I feel two emerald eyes boring into me. But I won't look. I'm tempted, but I won't do it. My eyes remain stubbornly fixed on Pansy, no matter how terrified she looks.

"I-I-I just need you to see if it-it's right. I d-don't think it is." I can only just hear her stuttering but act immediately on what I hear. The less time I spend helping her, the less time I have to spend almost looking at him. I peer into her cauldron and just as I feared, she has well and truly stuffed it up. I snatch her knife out of her hand and begin cutting up the vital ingredients she has missed, plus adding more of some ingredients to even out her mistakes. As I begin throwing her ingredients into her cauldron my eyes find hers again. "Next time read the bloody instructions. It's not that hard. You can't possibly be that dense." The last of her ingredients are hauled into the bubbling mess and I turn abruptly back to my own Draught.

No eye contact. I will be congratulating myself later on how well I did that. However, my time spent helping incompetent fools means that I am now behind with my own Draught. I just get it finished when the class ends. I hastily put it into a vial and put it on Snape's desk. But now I have to clean up. A Malfoy really shouldn't have to clean up but this is what it comes down to at Hogwarts. The rest of the class are filing out of the room. I can hear their footsteps quickly retreating. I let a long sigh escape me and there is nothing I would like more than to bury my face in my hands, then dig a hole and live in it until it's safe to come out. But I can't really do any of that. I know Snape is standing outside the classroom and he wouldn't appreciate his favourite and most treasured student looking helpless and trying to dig through the floor at the front of his classroom.

I wipe the table clean and put my hands on my cauldron to take to the sinks but hear a loud scrape of metal against stone that stops me. I was positive everyone had already left. I turn around fast, without thinking, my robes billowing around my legs. I really shouldn't have done it because I am met with pools of emerald. Those eyes I have been desperately avoiding all day. I try and brace myself for what's to come. I have no idea what will come but I try and be ready. My whole body tenses and I'm positive he must be able to hear my heart.

He stares intently at me. I am too stunned to move. To speak. So I simply stare back. Those eyes I have been afraid to look into now have me mesmerised. The two of us staring at each other is not an uncommon occurrence. But this time it's not because I've insulted him and he's ready to hex me into oblivion. This time it's because he's looking at me knowing exactly how I feel. Not just about him, but about my whole life and it's absolutely terrifying me.

He moves closer to the table, the only barrier between us, his eyes never leaving mine. His sudden movements are not entirely successful in pulling me out of my trance but I am now aware that hexing me is just what he might do. I know he can draw a wand faster than me, I've experienced it too many times. But as of yet his hands have remained at his side. I am wishing now that we had of made a potion to read someone's mind because I am aching to know what he's thinking. My entire body feels like a lump of lead, frozen to the spot, incapable of movement. We are perhaps three feet from one and other, the closest I have been to him for sometime as I have avoided such confrontations with much rigor. He leans forward, closing the gap further and reaches up with one hand to his face and pulls away his glasses. My heart feels as if it's trying to escape my body but still there is no possible way I can move. This is pathetic. I'm pathetic. People shouldn't be able to have such a powerful effect on me. I'm a Malfoy!

Just as I make my decision to turn around I find something in his eyes that denies me movement. I cannot for the life of me find the hatred, the loathing, the despise that I would normally find in his emerald depths. He leans forward once again, studying me as if he's trying desperately to find something. I'm lost. Lost in his emerald orbs. Those emerald eyes that have no trace of hatred. I know they are certainly not filled with the warmth Weasley and Granger see but there is something else. Understanding perhaps? That is the only thing I've ever wanted.

Before I can put a finger on what is exactly contained in those green eyes of his he suddenly pulls back as if he had just found what he was looking for. He turns abruptly and hurries out of the room, leaving me standing there with a feeling of absolute elation. He granted me my wish. He took off his glasses and let me look into his eyes. I looked into his eyes and found no trace of hatred. He granted me the last thing I asked of him in my letter.