"Ron, what's wrong, you look like you've seen a ghost," Hermione said as Harry slowly turned around, releasing Draco's hand. "Hello, Harry, we were just looking for you. We'll be late for Potions in a minute."
"'Mione... they were... holding hands!" Ron choked out, looking horrified at the very prospect.
Hermione cocked her head. "So Draco's the one you've been staring at these last few months."
Draco smirked, looking at Harry. "Months?" he asked, as Harry turned a bright red.
"You're shagging fucking Draco Malfoy? Harry, what happened to six years of torment? Six years of insults and duels and—"
"Pretense?" Draco interrupted. "Facades? Nothing happened to them, Weasel, and—"
"Draco."
Draco turned to Harry. "Did you even hear him?" he demanded.
"Yeah. 'Mione, since you seem to approve of all this, or at least not hate me, maybe you better go." Harry's eyes were closed; he leaned against a wall and didn't look at Draco or Ron. Finally, when Hermione's footsteps had faded away, he stared into Ron's eyes. "Ron, do you think I don't remember? I remember fine."
"Then what happened to your rivalry? Why don't you hate him? What happened to six years of the Golden Boy, Mudblood, and the Weasel?" Ron demanded. "What happened to six years of insulting us—insulting me?"
"Shut up, Weasel."
Harry looked imploringly at Draco, his eyes saying Don't.
"If you want to know why those six years happened, here's the truth. I was jealous of you—a Mudblood and a Weasley gaining the friendship of Harry Potter—and I couldn't?"
"There's more to friendship than having a Death Eater as a father, Malfoy!"
"Yes, Ron, there is. You know, you could be questioning him as much as you're questioning me. What happened to putting Lucious in Azkaban? What happened to the Amazing Bouncing Ferret? What happened to—" Harry fought down a laugh "—what happened to turning his hair pink?"
"I could have killed you for that, Potter," Draco said lazily.
"I just can't take this anymore! If you'll choose him over us, Harry, then fine! Consider our friendship over!"
Ron stormed away, but just before he was out of earshot, Harry muttered, "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm going to start hitting on you, Ron. Is that what you're scared of?"
Ron froze, then said coldly, "Don't presume to know me, Potter."
Harry sighed as Ron stalked away, sliding to the floor with his head in his hands. Draco sat beside him, watching Harry silently for any signs of life.
"Wonder what they wanted to tell me," Harry muttered bitterly.
"I don't know," Draco said honestly.
"It doesn't matter anymore. Unless there's someone you want to hide it from... Those two were the ones I was most scared about."
Draco successfully recognized the change in topics, and wrapped his arms around Harry. "He'll come around," he said softly. "He's your best friend."
Harry shook his head. "Ron's thickheaded and stubborn. The day he accepts this is the day Lucious announces his love for Snape."
Draco smirked at that, suppressing a snort. Harry looked up warily. "What?"
Draco smiled. "Sweet, I seem to remember my father telling me about a certain greasy-haired Slytherin who was—despite appearances—a fantastic lover."
Harry blanched. "Don't tell me he already did," he muttered weakly.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but he did." Draco pressed a kiss softly into Harry's hair, and then tugged him to his feet. "Come on. We'll be late for Potions."
Harry shook his head. "I don't care."
"Come on, unless you want to lose fifty points from Gryffindor."
"It doesn't matter, without Ron to gripe about how unfair he is."
"Harry, come on. Please?"
Harry allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and down the corridor to Potions class in the dungeons. Snape looked up when they walked in.
"Half an hour late," he sneered. "Fif—"
"He's with me, Professor," Draco said tiredly, pulling Harry over to a seat near him. Snape looked appropriately shocked for a moment, but quickly recovered.
"Very well then."
Draco smiled at Harry. "You know why he favors me?"
Harry shrugged. "Other than you're the prince of Slytherin?"
"He's my godfather. H'lo, Sevvie," Draco said to Snape as he came over to get them started on their potion.
As Snape talked, Harry shot a glance at Ron and Hermione. Ron was glowering into his cauldron, angrily slicing willow root, while Hermione sat calmly powdering dried cobra fang. When Harry looked over, Ron shot him a withering glare. Hermione looked up in time to see this, smacked Ron over the head, and said something to him, to which Ron felt it necessary to turn around and hiss, loudly enough for the classroom to hear, "He's a fag, Hermione!"
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for that outburst, Weasley," Snape said calmly, then went back to explaining the potion to Draco. Harry returned his attention back to Snape's lecture just in time to hear "Do you understand, Draco?"
"Yes. Thanks, Sev." Draco, assuming Harry had been listening, started pulling out ingredients. "I'm out of cobra fang, Harry, do you have any?"
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "What're we making?"
"Poison antidote."
"Good. Now I'll have something to defend myself against Ron."
"He'd probably use Longbottom's potion if he were going to poison anyone," Draco said, wrinkling his nose in a very cute fashion. Harry hardly noticed, only coming out of autopilot when Ron dropped something in front of him on his way to drop his and Hermione's potion off at Snape's desk.
Come in late to show off your new boyfriend, Potter?
Harry frowned, and hastily scribbled a note on the back.
No, I came to learn about Potions, Malfoy.
He handed the note back to Ron and ignored the look of hatred coming over Ron's face. "Look at this!" he heard Ron hiss to Hermione. "Malfoy! I could never compare to that git!"
"You are acting like him, Ron. Maybe there's a difference between the Malfoy we know and the Draco Harry knows."
"If you're going to talk about us, then you might want to do it where no one can hear," Draco drawled lazily, adding the hippogriff feathers to the cauldron, waiting five seconds, and then stirring it counterclockwise three times.
Ron flushed with anger, but from where they were sitting, neither Harry nor Draco could see.
= = =
"Harry," Draco said later, "Why do you associate with him?"
Harry shrugged. "He's my friend—well, he was. I know for a fact he's not against gays, because one of his brothers is. I think..." he paused to collect his thoughts, "I think it's just that he can't believe I'm with you, of all people." He looked around the empty room at the top of the tower and sighed. "Kind of sad to think that we won't just randomly agree to come here anymore. All of Gryffindor will know, and with Lavender and Parvati, everyone else will know soon."
"You know full well it wasn't random, Harry."
"Yeah." Harry sighed again. "Maybe we shouldn't have, maybe—""Maybe I love you and that's all that matters." Draco pressed his lips against Harry's and pulled him close, but frowned when Harry pulled away. "Harry?"
"I'm sorry, Draco. I just... I can't help but feel that maybe Ron's right."
"And I'm an insufferable git who finds no more joy than in tormenting the Golden Boy and his friends?" Draco snapped. "Ron is most certainly not right, and I—"
Harry looked up when Draco suddenly stopped. "What, love?"
"I want to spend my life with you."
Sighing dejectedly, Harry pulled out his paints, immersing himself in the silvers and golds, whites and blacks, reds and greens. A canvas rested on the un-shrunken easel, and after a few moments, Draco went to sit beside him and look.
Harry was painting a dark background, accented with patches of white moonlight. He smiled and flicked his wand at the canvas to dry the background, then started painting again.
The darkness was soon recognized as the very tower they sat in, as Harry painted each brick in the stone floor they sat on, melting away into blackness. Soon enough, there was an empty Astronomy tower room on the canvas. Harry frowned, muttered something to himself, and kept muttering incomprehensibly as he started painting a lean body wrapped in thin arms. The black of the two robes melted into each other as he painted, making it look as if the two people were simply extensions of the other. Both remained headless until both bodies were complete, and then Harry slowly painted in his own head first, then Draco's in front of him, and finally, the lavender. He frowned, puzzled for a moment about where to put it, and the Draco's hand reached out and brushed the canvas over their clasped hands.
Smiling at Draco, Harry opened two previously unopened, unlabeled jars. "When I started painting you, I bought a lot of pale green, pale violet, and purple, and mixed them with white and gray to get the right shades. These are my lavender colors, and I don't use them for anything else."
"Why do you always paint it last?" Draco asked.
"Habit. It's become my signature, and everyone knows you never sign a painting until it's done."
Draco leaned his head against Harry's shoulder. Harry slipped his arm around him, brushing the canvas again before whispering Scourigify and tapping the brushes with his wand. "It's lovely," Draco said softly as Harry used one hand to put all his things away, shrink his easel, and slip it all into his bag.
"I haven't painted much else but you, so I guess I'm getting pretty good at it."
"Just out of curiosity, sweet, why did you call Weasley by my name?"
"I didn't. I called him Malfoy. You're Draco--my Draco." Harry turned his head and pressed his lips against Draco's.
"I think I see now," Draco murmured.