His toe had caught stone, but his heel missed, forcing him out into open air. For one glorious moment, he was in sky, with nothing between him and the air. Cold breeze whipped across his bare back, and he would have flung out his arms if not for another. A hand not his own, a third hand, gripped his elbow in a tight, painful grasp. The hand yanked hard, as another arm snaked around his waist. Combined, they were strong enough to reverse his direction.

He now fell forward, back onto the tower, away from the five stories of absolute bliss. His momentum brought him crashing into another body, pressing the other against the stone floor of the tower. His wildly beating heart pushed hot blood through his entire body, reliving the rush he had felt as he had realized he was falling. Only when his breath had stilled did he realize exactly whose body he was on top of.

The Gryffindor was trembling violently, his hands resting on each of Draco's arms. "Potter?" Draco panted, propping himself up on his elbows, "What the hell did you do?"

Seemingly stunned, the Gryffindor could not reply. He merely shook his head, and settled it to the side where he didn't have to look at Draco. His chest shuddered, with a sharp intake of breath. Draco looked at him curiously, "Potter? What the hell is it?"

"P-Please…" Draco's eyes widened at the shake in his voice, "Please… Not another… Not another one!" A drop of water slipped from Potter's closed eyes, streaking down his cheek in a glittering trail that was easily visible, even in the darkness. Harry Potter was crying.

"Potter… what the fuck?" Draco gasped, fidgeting nervously. "Why are you crying?"

Potter glared at him finally, tears freely spilling from his sparking eyes, "Nobody deserves to die. Nobody!"

He shook hard, with suppressed sobs and fear. He didn't want to see any more death. He was nearly broken, after Cedric. The death of another classmate before his eyes would have crushed him.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco comforted him the only way he knew how. He leaned down and ran his tongue along Potter's cheek, tasting the bitter salt of anguish. Potter's hands tightened at his arms, and his body lurched under the blonde. "Shh," Draco murmured, kissing away the rest of Potter's tears, "You're okay. Stop crying."

What a wonder. All through his seven years of school, he had tried to make Harry Potter, everyone's favorite, cry. And now, as they neared the midpoint of their seventh year, he had succeeded somewhat accidentally. Who would have known that Draco's life would make Harry Potter, the wizard who had defeated Voldemort as a child, cry.

He planted a soft kiss on each of the wet eyelids, and one on the forehead. Unconsciously, his body went to action. His fingers laced themselves into a mess of soft black hair, adjusting to a body that did not want it rough. His eyes closed, as his lips moved to capture the other's. He knew just how to breathe, to keep him from getting dizzy, and when he came up for air, he noticed the smell. The incredible smell of pure spring air mixed with cinnamon. Nobody in the entire school had this scent.

"Draco…"

Draco froze at the casual use of his first name. Okay, he was kissing Potter, but that didn't give him the right to use first names. "Potter," he acknowledged coldly, reminding the Gryffindor that he was on the bottom.

"Draco," the brunette persisted, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Draco barked, exasperated with Potter's stupidity.

"It looks like you're kissing me," the other said, point blank, "You're straight."

"It's not my fault you move and feel like a woman," Draco growled. Even in the dark, he could see the angry blush crossing Potter's cheeks. The Slytherin grinned. "What does it matter to you if I'm straight? After tonight, it goes back to how it used to be. It's just my pet peeve to hate seeing people cry. I'd rather they scream in pain and die, instead of cry and beg for mercy, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't make a good Dark Lord at all."

At the mention of tomorrow, Potter grasped his arms tighter. "No," he pouted, twisting his lips into a childish frown.

"What do you mean, 'no'? I suppose I should be grateful that you saved me, but I don't intend to make a habit of this."

"Then tomorrow night, change it around. I'll be on top."

Draco sat up so fast he fell over backwards. Potter propped himself on his elbows, staring in confusion at the other. "Are you out of your bloody mind!?" Draco nearly yelled.

"I wouldn't be talking," Potter spat, "I'm not the one who came up here to jump." The words stung, faintly but surely. Potter had seen his moment of greatest weakness, and he was going to use it against him. Draco did not move as the other crept up, sitting in the space between Draco's sprawled legs. The white-blonde allowed Potter's mouth to find his, closing his eyes in resignment. He was already in too deep. Potter had made the mistake of crying for him, and nobody had ever done that for him, ever. Not his mother, not his father, not his friends, his many lovers. Naught but this one Gryffindor.

And, whether he would admit it or not, Draco had fallen in love with his smell.

Perhaps Harry wasn't so bad, he thought as he found himself easing the shirt off the brunette's lithe frame.

A/N- That's it, thanks everyone!