A/N: I am sorry. Living in Hong Kong has gotten to me. If I swap from American-English to British-English, please don't kill me. Be happy I don't write in Chinglish.

Yes I am trying for a new look for Draco. I'm sick of all that stuff about his hair being 'loose', while still at the same length. Let it be loose with a slight difference.

To Tsuyuno: I'm sorry; I know Harry beats Draco up. A lot. He's supposed to be violent and uh… impulsive? Not quite sure if that's the word I'm going for. Explosive temper. I know it sucks, just bear with it for a while more. I didn't make any Draco-beating in this chapter, so… yeah. =)

To Kitori: Thanks for the review on Pansy ^^ I'm sick of reading all those stories where she's portrayed as some mini-ogre (I don't have a problem with them, I just want a change). Regarding them telling the teachers… erm, just assume that the teachers know, please? 'Cuz I don't want to have to waste time writing about it. Assume that Hermione went and told the teachers already. I realize I'm being a lazy pig. Sorry. ^^;;

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed! I do read the reviews; I just respond to the ones that I feel need explaining. I know this is has a somewhat confusing plot. Many sorries again.

Disclaimers are annoying. Everyone belongs to Ms. Rowling. Hopefully she won't send her rampaging lawyers to impale me on pitchforks if I don't write disclaimers for later chapters.

After shooing Pansy away and insisting that he wasn't going to die if he didn't put an icepack on the bruise, Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, thinking.

Why couldn't he remember why he had left Hogwarts? It had only been one and half years ago after all, and if there one thing Draco prided himself on, it was having a perfect memory. He could remember meeting Harry on the train when he had been eleven… why not something when he had been sixteen?

He could remember what had happened earlier that day. The Quidditch match. The moon. He could remember his child-self prying into Harry's room, ramming the wand into the lock of the chest, taking out something and putting it in his pocket…

He frowned. He had taken everything out of his pockets when he had taken a shower, and the note hadn't been there. So where was it?

Draco sighed. Oh well. What did it matter? Probably was some pathetic little note that Mudblood had written him.

He frowned. Why did it feel like a major part of his brain had been erased? Like there was something he had to do… get away, for ask for help, or something… but he just couldn't remember it.

What was stranger was that he didn't remember telling Pansy that he would return, but he knew he had. He knew it, but didn't remember it. Like it had been erased as well.

He didn't know what to do. Here he was at Hogwarts, without a clue why, when he knew he should know what to do, but he didn't. He remembered earlier… just yesterday in fact. He remembered his talk with Hermione, sitting beside the Great Lake. He remembered his talk with Ron, the playful manner in which the two had talked, Draco taking Ron's words and repeating them, twisting them slightly to turn them into a question. It had been a game he had enjoyed playing with Pansy as a child; the two would normally end up giggling on the floor. The aim of the game was to keep talking –meaning, not leaving a pause after the other had spoken and speaking immediately- without stammering, stopping, repeating the other person entirely, and while they were at it, confuse the other person by turning everything they said into another question. He remembered how he had always won, and how in return Pansy had once clobbered him with a pillow after shrieking that it was unfair and how he had been born with the gift of a smooth tongue and naturally quick mind. He had laughed and replied that if he had a smooth tongue, did it mean that it was slippery, and then how did it stay in his mouth?

Draco's mouth tugged at the corners. The rumors he had heard circulating about him were laughable- his childhood had been fun all the way. Lucius had never tortured him in any way, not with the curses, not even with the cane. He had never been beaten, hit or abused by Lucius. Lucius was a naturally cold man, and the fact that he was also a Death Eater still didn't make him a cruel man to Draco.

His childhood… fun, but short. Draco still remembered that day; the day that his childhood had ended… he had never been the same person since. He was thankful for Pansy, for her sticking with him through everything. When the 'incident' had been over, he had lost all his friends immediately because of the way he had become. But Pansy had eventually come back to him, and stuck with him through everything, and in time he had come to trust her and depend on her again, as he had done before.

He didn't blame Lucius for the incident… not fully. It had been partly his fault, but how did he know? He wouldn't have known… after all, Voldemort was a very tricky person.

Draco shook his head. No, don't think of him. Don't think of that bastard.

Lucius had been very sorry, after all. It was apparent, the way he spoiled the blonde. Anything he wanted he got, and anything he didn't like, Lucius got rid of. There had only been one thing he didn't like that Lucius forced him to do, and that was become a Death Eater. It wasn't that it was difficult; spell casting and potions had always been one of his best subjects when he had been young. It was what the job required that he objected to.

Killing people. Making them suffer.

Basically, that was it. It sickened him slightly that it was what Lucius did every day, but it was something that he accepted. What was the worst, the thing that he couldn't stand the most was that he had to work for Voldemort. He had no respect for the man, and resented that Lucius was a high-ranking Death Eater, as it meant that Voldemort would pay visits to their family. Draco could remember the first visit. Lucius had brought Draco out to see a 'special visitor'. He had gone out, seen Voldemort and had felt the most powerful feeling of fear he had ever felt in his life. He hated it. He didn't like feeling like that, so scared, so vulnerable.

That had been just before the incident.

He had heard of the rumors that he was a Voldemort worshipper; that his whole family was Voldemort worshippers. Lucius and Narcissa may have worshipped Voldemort, but Draco did not. He hated him, hated him to the core and especially hated him for what he had made him become.

The door creaked open and Draco's head jerked up. Goyle walked in and jumped, startled by the blonde lounging on the couch.

"Is somewhere there?" he said, his voice slightly slurred. Draco frowned. Goyle hadn't seen him clearly.

"What time is it, Goyle?" he asked.

"Time?" Goyle looked confused. Draco sighed.

"Look outside. It's almost daybreak. What have you been doing all night; drinking? I would have thought better of you"

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Are you telling me what to do, Goyle?" Draco said, his voice very pointed and clear. Goyle blinked and came closer.

"Oh! Draco!" he said, finally recognizing the blonde. Draco glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's almost five AM. Where've you been?"

"Gee Draco, you sound like my mom" Goyle said, grinning stupidly.

"I'll have to be your mom if you stay up all night drinking"

"Not all night" Goyle mumbled.

Draco's mouth twitched into a momentary smile. "Go to bed"

Goyle walked heavily to his room, his line of movement swaying a bit from the alcohol and tiredness. He turned around to Draco. "We missed you," he said. Draco couldn't help the smile breaking out on his face this time, and only just managed to turn it into a smirk.

"Go to sleep, Goyle" he said. Goyle trudged into the room, slamming the door behind him. Draco took this moment to let the smile erupt broadly on his face. As imbecilic as Crabbe and Goyle were, he had to admit- he had missed them too.

The next morning, Draco woke up to hundreds of staring eyes.

"What?" he asked irritably and they scattered. Draco sat up and stretched, yawning, and winced as a pain from his cheek reminded him of the bruise from yesterday. He went to Pansy's room and knocked.

"Leemealone" the girl mumbled loudly.

"It's Draco. Can I come in?"

"Warrever"

Draco walked in. "I need to use your toothpaste"

"Mmph" Pansy turned over in bed, facing the wall. Draco went to her bathroom where on the counter lay his toothbrush; an extra one that Pansy had never used. Draco had smirked at that. Trust Pansy to keep all sorts of extras. Draco washed up and showered before drying his damp hair off with a towel and giving it a quick brush, the ends flicking up. Draco curled some of his hair around his finger at the ends. He briefly contemplated cutting it short.

Why bother? I like it this way

With that, Draco tied up his hair, leaving a few strands loose over his forehead and near his ears and walked out. By this time Pansy was up, playing idly with a pendant hanging from her neck. She took one glance up and shrieked.

"Your hair!"

"What about it?"

"It's…" Pansy struggled. "Long!"

"It's shoulder-length" Draco was amused.

"Well, that simply won't do… it looks sloppy"

"It does?"

Pansy went to the toilet. "Let me wash up first, then I'll cut it for you"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you can?"

"Of course!"

"After all, I still remember the butcher job you did on my hair the last time…"

"Butcher! I was eight!" Pansy said indignantly, brushing her teeth at the same time.

"I ended up with a Mohawk"

"Entirely not my fault. The scissors slipped"

Draco shrugged as he sat down on Pansy's unmade bed. "Alright then…"

"Morning Harry! Had a good night's sleep?" Ron asked cheerily. Harry sat up in bed, his hair more ruffled than normal and yawned loudly.

"Brilliant" he said in a monotone. In fact, he hadn't slept a wink all night. Ron could see this.

"It's a Saturday… want me to go?" he asked.

"No, it's okay, I need to get up anyway"

Ron grinned. "Liar. Bet you didn't sleep at all last night"

"Oh, maybe five minutes or so…"

Ron mimed immense horror. "Harry Potter, not sleeping? Acute case of sudden insomnia? Or was he up all night thinking of his girlfriend, Hermione Granger? Rita Skeeter reports!"

Harry hurled his pillow at the redhead. "Don't remind me of that woman… her face alone is enough to give me nightmares. And besides, Hermione's not my girlfriend"

"Or so he claims!" Ron carried on. He brought his face close to Harry's. "Is it true then? Were you up all night, thinking of Ms. Granger? Or was it insomnia?"

Harry responded by pushing Ron away with a "bugger off!"

"Or extreme halitosis!" Ron gagged. "Getting dark… can't see… life passing before eyes…"

"I swear Ron, you're getting worse than Fred and George"

"Am not" Ron got up, grinning. "And really Harry, your morning breath is enough to make a Hippogriff keel over"

"Yours would probably kill a dragon straight off"

"Hey, I resent that!"

"Don't. It's a terrific form of self-defense, morning breath is"

"And you sound worse than Malfoy. When did you become so cynical?"

The grin on Harry's face was wiped off instantly. He went to the toilet and closed the door without a sound. When he came back out Ron was sitting on the bed cross-legged.

"Why do you hate him so much anyway?" he asked, as if there hadn't been a pause in their conversation at all. Harry didn't reply, and then when he saw that Ron was still waiting expectantly, sighed.

"I'm sure you love him ever so"

"Ugh! Harry, don't make me vomit all over your bed. And you're hedging" Ron said.

"Why are you even asking me? What are you, some sort of Malfoy worshipper now?"

"No!" Ron said indignantly. "I just wanted to know. I mean, when he was little. He's a buggering arse now, but he was pretty sweet as a kid, don't you think?"

"Annoying"

Ron looked thoughtful. "Well, yes, that too. But you were pretty mean to him, don't you think? He didn't even know what he had done"

"He was still Malfoy"

"But you didn't even want to admit that he was Malfoy!" Ron said. "So why couldn't you have been… nicer to him?"

"Nice? What are you, some sort of priest?"

"No! I just wanted to know-"

"Sticking up for Malfoy now? And I thought you hated him too?"

"Harry, would you let me finish? I don't like Malfoy, alright?" Ron said in exasperation. "I just wanted to know why you were so harsh to him when he was little! He hadn't done anything- he wasn't even aware that he had done anything wrong! He was just an innocent little kid!"

"Harsh?" Harry said. "You call that harsh? Dammit Ron, the bastard's been torturing us for years and you call how I treated him harsh?"

"He was just a kid!"

Harry stared at Ron. "What's wrong with you Ron. I thought you were on my side"

"What's wrong with you?" Ron shouted. "Bloody hell, I just asked you a simple question! And who said anything about taking sides? I just wanted to know why you insisted on treating him like that when he was just a small child and hadn't done anything wrong to hurt us in the slightest!"

Harry's features darkened as he frowned. He walked straight for the door.

"You've changed Ron. The fact that he was a child wouldn't have mattered in the least before" he said, before walking out and slamming the door. The redhead stared with quivering anger at the door before sighing, slapping his forehead and lying back on Harry's unmade bed.

"Fabulous, Weasley. That went brilliantly," he said.

"And… voila!" Pansy held up a hand mirror. Draco frowned.

"What's the difference?"

"You don't see the difference?"

"No, I don't"

"Everything about an inch shorter, for one"

"Oh" Draco looked at himself in the mirror. "It's alright"

"You're welcome" Pansy said. Draco ran a hand through his silky hair and expertly tied it up, then looked at himself again the mirror.

"I really don't see the difference"

"Men. They don't appreciate true art" Pansy huffed.

Draco's mouth quirked up. "Women. Always in denial"

"Denial in a man's eyes?"

"In a man's eyes, and in a woman's?"

"Women are perfect" Pansy said factually.

"Perfect in a woman's eyes?"

"You mean they're not in a man's?"

"In a man's, you mean a Casanova, a drunkard or a man who has found his one true love?"

Pansy frowned. "Does it matter?"

Draco shrugged. "Does it?"

"I prefer to be seen as perfect to any man, thank you very much"

"Even to a drunkard?"

"Depends on the drunkard"

"On how drunk he is, or what type of man he is?"

"On- how did we even get onto this subject?"

Draco smirked and mimicked Pansy's voice. "Does it matter?"

"You- oooooh. Impossible" she said, shaking her head. She went to the door. "I'm going to the Great Hall for breakfast… coming?"

Draco paused. "You go ahead first"

"Alright then" Pansy said and left. Draco stared at the closed door for a few minutes before getting up and following after her.

Harry stormed down the corridors.

How dare he? Harry thought. How can he even say that I was harsh to him? He doesn't even know what I've been through!

He remembered Draco, the other day. Him looking at the Gryffindor with such soft eyes, saying those words… "I would never lie to you Harry"

Liar, Harry thought. Such a fucking liar.

He turned the corner sharply, bumping straight into someone. He staggered back then glared at the person with enough fury to burn a village to the ground. "You!"

Draco was slammed against the wall, his feet dangling a few inches off the floor.

"You never told me where my wand was," Harry said.

"Wand?"

"Don't play games with me Malfoy!"

"We're back to that old unfamiliarity again then, are we?"

"Where is it?" Harry yelled. Draco smirked.

"So much fuss over a stupid piece of wood… don't you have the money to go buy another one? Or has that little beggar used it all?"

"Don't talk about Ron that way you bastard"

"Did I say anything about that Weasel?" Draco said in mock surprise. "How strange that you go straight from beggar to Weasley… so I'm right, aren't I?"

Harry realized he had been tricked. His face darkened. Draco looked at him and reached down, touching his cheek gently.

"You're angry," he stated softly. Harry flinched involuntarily and scowled, but he couldn't answer as he looked into those piercing, magnetic ice-blue eyes. Almost hesitantly, Draco moved his hand up to twirl his fingers delicately in Harry's raven-black hair. He touched a curl, smiling slightly as it sprung around his finger. Harry couldn't help it.

He shivered.

"I've missed you so much… and you go and grow on me," the blonde said softly. "Here I was thinking I finally wasn't going to be a midget"

He traced a finger lightly down the Gryffindor's face; touching so lightly that it was like skittering spiders. He brought his finger down to Harry's mouth, pressing lightly on the Gryffindor's warm lips.

"Velvet emerald" he murmured. "Do you remember?"

Harry remembered.

Oh god, what am I doing? Harry thought suddenly, but he just couldn't tear his eyes away from that mesmerizing blue. It was as if Draco had cast a spell on him, and it would rip his heart out to break it.

It was then that one of the weirdest thoughts ever came to him. Long blonde hair is nice.

Draco brought his hand back slowly and touched his own soft mouth, as if he had transferred something from the Gryffindor back to himself.

"Silken sapphire" the words burst from Harry's mouth in the form of a whisper. Draco landed lightly on the balls of his feet as Harry's grip weakened and he was released to the floor. He smiled.

"You do remember," he said. He stepped forward, very slowly; placing a cool hand around Harry's neck, thumb in front of the Gryffindor's ear. Then he tilted his head upwards, using his hand to move Harry's head down towards him. He tiptoed up slightly, and slowly, very slowly…

Their lips touched.

Ron walked into the Great Hall and sat down next to Hermione, who was chewing her toast and happily arguing (if such a thing was possible) with Lavender.

"No way!" Hermione said indignantly. "It is definitely more useful than Divination"

Lavender shuddered. "But Snape is so creepy" she said in a whispered undertone, as if afraid Snape would suddenly pop up from behind her.

"True, but- oh hi R…on is everything alright?" Hermione asked concernedly, noting the expression on the redhead's face.

"Fan-bloody-tastic" Ron said, in a tone of voice that stated just the opposite. Hermione raised both eyebrows at him, her gesture for 'Harry?'

Ron rolled his eyes; 'Who else?'

"So are you two going out or something?" Lavender asked, amused.

"What?"

"You two have your own sign language… that's so sweet!" Lavender giggled.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Uh… right, about Snape?" Ron asked.

Harry moaned softly. Had he ever had a kiss this good? Not for years, from what he could remember. It was gentle, soft and sweet as chocolate, sending excited tingles up his spine, causing him to arch his body against Draco's, the shorter boy tiptoeing higher to reach. Draco parted his lips slowly and delicately licked Harry's top lip, running his tongue along the whole part and retracting, as if he were tasting Harry's peppery mint toothpaste and trying to get it into his mouth. Harry's eyes closed seemingly of its own accord as Draco slid both his arms around the brunette's head as he deepened the kiss, making it more passionate.

It was the explosive sensation of the Slytherin's tongue sliding in between his lips to his mouth that snapped Harry back to his senses. His eyes jolted open and, pulling back sharply, he pulled back his fist let it fly at Draco's face. For reasons unknown, his fist splayed out into spread fingers, changing direction so that instead of giving Draco another bruise, shoved him hard in the chest. Draco, being on tiptoe, easily lost balance and fell over.

"What did you think you were doing?" Harry demanded. Draco stared at Harry, his face carefully blank but his eyes full of hurt, which quickly turned to fiery coldness.

"You're asking me? I thought you were enjoying it"

"Well, you were wrong" Harry said. Draco looked at Harry's emerald orbs, his own ice blue piercing, searching.

"Yes" he said getting up, not breaking eye contact. "I suppose I was"

With that, he turned and walked to the Great Hall leaving Harry in the corridor alone.

Harry skipped all the classes that day. He shut himself up in his room, with a locking spell so complex that as soon as Hermione started to tackle it, immediately gave up, knowing Harry wanted his privacy. Ron had tried banging on his door and hollering, but Harry hadn't responded and so the redhead had given up, pissed off and muttering something about how immature some people could get and how Harry seemed to think he could just throw away his friends like that. The dark-haired teenager sat in his room all day, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, mixed emotions swirling like angry, battling souls inside him. How should he feel? Angry? Happy? Upset? Did he want anything to do with Draco anymore? Weren't they over?

Throughout the day, different people came to knock on his door to tell him it was time for lessons, time for meals…

Finally, late at night, he got up and walked to his desk, mostly fixed up by a quick magic spell by Hermione. He took a piece of parchment, a quill, an inkwell, and started to write.

Dear Harry, he wrote. I don't know why I'm writing to you. I just feel that I have to write to someone. I… he paused. I don't know what to do. How do I react? Dra -he stopped and crossed out the word- Malfoy's returned to Hogwarts. He seems to be under the impression that everything can return to normal. I don't want to let him… do I? Should I? After all he's done to me…

I suppose I should ask the question 'do I love him' first. It's a clichéd saying; that 'love conquers all'. Maybe it does. I don't know. If it does… I should forgive him, right? But I don't want to… yes I do. Today… I don't know.

I guess love is like a drug. It puts you on this incredible high… then everything crashes down. It's dangerous, it's painful, and yet there are all these stories about how people get through it all, these couples, their love getting them through everything. But those are just fairytales, aren't they? They're just not real. Are they?

I suppose the real question is does he love me, or is he just playing one of his games. I want to believe him so much… but I don't trust him. He's such a damned good liar I can't tell the difference between truth and lie anymore. He could probably tell me my head was on fire, and I –being the gullible moron that I am- would believe him.

Harry set the quill down and bit his lip. He had never done this before; let out as much about him on paper. Rita Skeeter had shown him on paper yes, but those had been horrible untruths. Not like this. This… it came from the heart.

It had also been the first time he had ever written to himself.

He picked up the quill again hesitantly and dipped it into the inkwell, accidentally splashing a few droplets onto the table. He continued, skipping to a new line.

The only thing I can do I guess is to wait it out.

He paused then scribbled, Me on the bottom, underlining it sharply. Satisfied, he returned to bed.