A/N: Hello again, everyone! I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story so far. Without your efforts to let me know what you think, I'd feel like I shouldn't bother to update the story. So, here's chapter three! Um, yeah. Chapter three...

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Chapter Three

"If you find your family, don't you cry

In this land of make believe, dead and dry"

"So Cold," Breaking Benjamin

Draco would never admit it becausehe couldn't, but he enjoyed watching Potter sleep. It was the only time that Potter was vulnerable. When he was sleeping, Potter was an open book. Draco reached out and ran his hand slowly through Potter's tousled hair, watching his face intently. Potter's innocence showed in his relaxed position, his breathing deep and even.

Draco moved closer to Potter, stroking his raven hair rhythmically. Potter's lips parted as he leaned minutely into the touch. Draco nodded as if Potter had given him a command and continued what he was doing, occasionally letting his fingertips brush the nape of Potter's neck. Draco frowned slightly, wondering what he looked like when he slept. He couldn't ask Potter; he made sure he always stayed awake.

Potter shifted in his sleep, moving so he was lying on his back, his glasses reflecting the dim light from one of the small library windows. Draco scowled, reaching out and removing Potter's glasses. They annoyed him; they hid Potter's eyes. Sure, you could still see his eyes through them, but you couldn't really see them. Potter's glasses stole away the brilliance of the unbelievable color of his eyes, partially masked his emotions. Every time Draco took off Potter's glasses, Potter would complain and eventually put them back on, despite the fact that there were plenty of spells that would fix his lack of vision.

And why did Draco care about Potter's eyes? He didn't really know. Maybe it was the innocence that radiated from deep inside them. Maybe it was the spark that ignited in them when Potter was angry. Draco liked to make Potter angry. Because when Potter was angry, Potter was real. Which was probably why Draco had always antagonized him; he wanted to show the world the real Golden Boy. He wanted to show the Golden Boy the real Golden Boy.

Golden Boy. The name made Draco shiver. One day, Draco would have to face, if only indirectly, the Golden Boy. The Boy Who Lived. And when the time came, would he still be the Boy Who Lived? Voldemort and the Death Eaters were getting restless, Draco knew that much. Who would support Potter on the battlefield? Dumbledore? The Weasel? The Mudblood? They'd been there for him before, but when the real war came, would they continue to be strong, or would they run away? Draco knew that the odds of the Death Eaters remaining loyal to the Dark Lord if Potter got the upper hand were slim to none. Draco didn't even know which side he would fight for. Which was pathetic, since the war was so close he could almost taste it. People were already starting to evacuate, moving to Ireland, Germany, Spain, Sweden, even the United States. So they'd cheer for the Boy Who Lived, but they wouldn't fight for him. Typical. Who were the people that started and praised wars, anyway? The people that wouldn't have to be a part of that war directly, of course.

Draco realized he'd been clenching his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. He wasn't really sure how he felt about Potter's living or dying in a war against his father's master. Master. Lucius Malfoy was just as much a slave as their house elves. When the war was over, if Voldemort died, Draco's father would be lost. He'd probably try to keep his master's crazy dream alive, and get killed in the process. But what if Voldemort won? Would he kill Potter, or make him some kind of slave? Draco stopped moving his fingers through Potter's hair. Potter would never accept being a slave. He was too opinionated, too free. Then again, he'd been a slave to the wizarding world, to himself, for years. Draco reached out and took Potter's hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. Potter was cold tonight. He was probably in the middle of some particularly terrible nightmare. What about? The war? The lie? The truth? His parents?

His parents. If Voldemort had killed Draco's parents, Draco didn't think he would have reacted too strongly. He would have felt loss, but not the heartwrenching kind that people said they felt when they lost a loved one. He would have just felt alone. Draco knew Potter ached for his parents, and he didn't even really know anything about them, other than what he was told. And were they being honest when they told him about them? Or were they glorifying them as heroes for defying Voldemort? People tended to do things like that without knowing it. Draco tried to keep his opinion of someone as realistic as possible, but he occasionally found himself exaggerating. A small tear formed at the corner of Potter's eye, and then Draco knew that he was dreaming about his parents. Draco wiped the tear away, feeling the anger burn inside him at its presence. If Potter was crying, then that meant he was closer to the truth. Draco didn't want the lie to end, but he knew that it was dying, and fast.

Draco's grip on Potter's hand tightened. Potter was like a living oxymoron tonight; his skin was cold, but his features were calm, his breathing was deep and even. Draco realized he'd have to start pulling away soon, bracing himself for the end. He'd be there until the end came, too. He had to keep Potter's lie alive as long as possible.

And what would happen when it ended? Potter would be the one to decide; if he wasn't, then he'd never leave Draco. Potter had to be certain about the end of what they had. If Draco pushed Potter away, then Potter's pride would convince him that he still wanted more. So Draco would wait for Potter to leave him, and he'd see if Potter would really try to make himself out as the victim. But in the meantime, Potter allowed himself to believe in the lie, gratified and devoid of real happiness at the same time.

But did Draco honestly want it to end? At the end of the day, after he and Potter had sex, Draco felt complete. No, not complete. But the void inside him felt less bottomless. And then the impossible dreams of having something with Potter after they left Hogwarts lit up again in the back of his mind. Draco shook his head, clearing them away. If he ever suggested continuing what they had, Potter would be more convinced that it should end. It was just Potter's way. So Draco would do what he'd known he'd have to do since day one of their arrangent; allow Potter to play the part of the victimized Gryffindor and push him away. It was okay, Draco could live with it. Everybody he knew pushed him away.

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A/N: Did you think this chapter was kind of choppy? You know, like it didn't quite blend together? I tried to make it run more smoothly, but I thought something just missed the mark or something. Let me know what you think (please).