DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Long time no see! Sorry for taking about a jillion years writing this chapter. It was being problematic, so I spent a while making it marginally less crappy. Thanks ever so to my betas, Liz, Lauren, and Annie, especially Liz for giving me some helpful concrit that I completely ignored, despite the fact that she was completely right and I agreed with her analysis. I chalk it up to sheer laziness. Thanks also to my reviewers, you guys rule. Especially my most recent reviewer, stoof, because anyone who knows me knows (and resents) that grammar is very important to me. ANYWAY, this is the last chapter, so … things are concluded. I know, who writes a seven-chapter fanfic? It was originally going to be a one-shot, actually, but I was persuaded into making it chapters instead. And so I shift the blame away from myself. But yeah. Enjoy. And all that.

Chapter Seven!

"Blaise! Blaise, wake up!" Draco stormed into the sixth year Slytherin boys' dormitory for the second time in as many days.

He wrenched back the curtains on Blaise's four-poster bed to find a very unconscious Blaise, with the Ravenclaw from the night before curled up against him. Feeling a distinct sense of deja-vu, he poked Blaise hard in the ribs.

"Ow! Dammit, don't do that!" Blaise swatted his hand away and attempted to go back to sleep.

"Oh no you don't…" Draco muttered, pulling off the sheets of the bed. Only to find two very naked people underneath them.

"AUGH!" he bellowed. "Does anyone wear any damn clothes anymore!"

The Ravenclaw groaned. "Stop yelling," he grumbled sleepily.

Draco ignored him, and delicately put the sheets back on. He then hopped onto the bed and began to jump violently up and down, not taking much care to avoid people's limbs as he did so.

Blaise sat up, looking murderous, and shoved him onto the floor. "What do you want?"

Draco smiled innocently. "I need your help with something."

Blaise grabbed his clock off the bedside table irritably. "It's not even six in the fucking morning!"

Suddenly the Ravenclaw yelped. "Six in the morning! Oh, bugger! I've got to get back to Ravenclaw!" He dressed at record speed, then hopped off the bed. "'Bye, Blaise!" And he was gone.

"'Bye, er… what's his name?"

"Corner, I think," supplied Draco as he stood up.

"Right, Corner. Michael. Well," Blaise said as he grinned mischievously, "I hope I've helped him out with his pitiable sexual confusion."

Draco smirked. "Turned another one, have you?" Remembering his task, he continued, "Anyway, I need your help."

Blaise scrubbed at an eye with the palm of his hand. "What with?"

Draco launched into an enthusiastic retelling of his late night adventures with Harry.

When he finished, Blaise stared at him, aghast. "He was walking around in a towel, and you didn't manage to do anything? Not even a quick grope?"

"Do I look like bloody Finnigan to you? And did you even hear anything else I said?"

Blaise waved a hand. "Yes, but it wasn't important. I can't believe you passed up such a golden opportunity."

Draco gritted his teeth. "That's not the point. The point is, you have to help me think of something for tomorrow evening!"

"I don't want to," Blaise whined, "Ask Pansy for help, girls are great at romance and all that."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Pansy, honestly. She'd never let him live it down. Besides, her idea of a romantic evening would probably be throwing first years in the lake and talking about garish clothing. He sighed. He'd have to go this one on his own.

"Fine," he said, "Thanks for being completely useless." As he reached the door, he added, "And stop bringing bloody Ravenclaws down here!"

Thursday seemed determined to go by as quickly as possible just to spite Draco. Before he knew it, he was sitting down to dinner across from Pansy and Blaise, mind completely devoid of ideas. What would they talk about? Draco'd wanted to talk before, but that had been a moment of panic and helplessness. Had he not nearly been killed by a flight of stairs, he wouldn't have really had anything to say. So what would he say now?

He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Harry and his friends were talking animatedly about something or other. Finnigan and the girl Weasley seemed completely uninterested in him and his conversation.

He turned to Blaise and Pansy, who were eating mush and talking about boys or something else stupid. "Oy. Why's Finnigan stopped with his…" He made an unintelligible sort of gesture with his hand. "Contest?"

Pansy sighed. "Well, because he lost."

Draco's heart skipped several beats. "To…who?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

Blaise stared at him as though this should have been obvious. "You, stupid."

Draco pursed his lips irritably. "Don't be a prat. I thought I wasn't even allowed to play! And if I'd won," he continued matter-of-factly, "Harry would be in my room engaging in spirited make-up sex, not sitting over there telling dumb jokes to his bloody friends."

Blaise smacked the back of his head. "Honestly, how thick are you? He's just waiting for you to say you're sorry!"

Draco blinked, attempting to comprehend. Harry was waiting for him to apologize? He could do that! This would be easy! Suddenly, Friday evening couldn't come fast enough.

Friday, accordingly, was the slowest day of Draco's life thus far. As it dragged on and on, he began to have an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Halfway through Transfiguration, he realized he was nervous. Unbelievably nervous. What if Blaise was wrong? What if Harry had moved on? What if he wouldn't forgive him?

Charms was his last class of the day. While Flitwick lectured on Merlin knew what, Draco focused all of his attention on the lake, which he could see through the window next to his seat. That lake was slowly becoming the pinnacle of his existence. Fucking lake. He glared at it, hoping it might catch fire or implode. It didn't.

He attempted to take his mind off of the source of his anxiety by thinking about what he and Harry would do after Harry forgave him. He assumed sex would be involved, but he didn't dare think about that in great detail. Charms was not an ideal place for that train of thought.

So, are you going to bottom? said a startling and yet familiar voice in the back of his head.

Draco dropped his quill. He should have guessed his inner Blaise would be back to give him thoroughly unneeded counsel on inappropriate subjects, as usual.

Why should I? he countered. Harry likes to bottom.

Come off it, the voice replied, It would be the perfect way to apologize.

Draco mentally stuttered. But I always top! I'm the domineering one, after all.

Yes, reasoned the voice, and that's what got you dumped in the first place.

But I'm taller! he cried desperately.

The voice sighed exasperatedly. But he's Harry Potter, for fuck's sake. You're being unreasonable.

But I don't want to, he thought petulantly.

You'll love it. Ooh, and if you think you're a screamer now…

He inwardly groaned in frustration. Why does everyone keep saying that!

"Are you with us, Mr. Malfoy?" Flitwick's voice broke into his silent argument.

Draco jumped slightly. "Er…yeah."

He immediately ceased paying attention once again. He'd bully a Ravenclaw into giving him notes later.

Sighing and shaking his head, Draco wondered why his conscience had to take after Blaise-goddamn-Zabini, of all people. He was losing his mind, probably, to be hearing voices like that.

Still, he knew that his somewhat irritating voices were right. Besides, bottoming couldn't be that bad. Blaise seemed to like it quite a lot.

Blaise liked lots of things Draco didn't, though. Like show tunes.

When Charms ended, Draco felt as if he might be sick. His feet, seemingly forgetting to get consent from him, led him slowly down the stairs, through the corridors, onto the grounds. It was quite warm outside, he noted.

He rounded a corner, and there stood Harry, by the edge of the lake. As only he could, he looked awkward and yet completely confident as he shuffled his feet and waited. As Draco approached him, his nerves increased tenfold. It was odd, he thought, for him to be so nervous around Harry. He'd always been perfectly comfortable before. Then again, he'd never been in a position where rejection was imminent. Harry'd done the initial asking, after all. But that was another story altogether.

"Hi," he said, feeling very ill.

"Hi!" said Harry jovially. "How's your leg?"

"Good. Better." Apparently he could only speak in one-word sentences. He mentally smacked himself on the forehead.

"I talked to Ron," said Harry, oblivious to Draco's deteriorating mental state, "and he said he's sorry for pushing you down the stairs. Though when I asked him why he'd done it, he went really red for some reason…"

"Mm." And now he was reduced to grunting. What was he, a bloody caveman?

Harry shielded his eyes from the sun. "Blimey, it's hot out here." With that, he took off his cloak.

Just what he needed. The gods had to be plotting against him.

"C'mon," said Harry, loosening his tie, "let's walk."

Draco, feeling very stupid, kept a couple steps behind Harry as they began to amble around the perimeter of the lake. Shortly thereafter, he discovered that this was a terrible, awful, terrifically idiotic idea.

Blaise was right; Harry had a very nice arse.

He was disgusted with himself for thinking these things at such a crucial moment. This was his moment for redemption!

He was so busy berating himself that he didn't notice when he walked, with considerable force, right into Harry, and knocked him over. With a yelp, he lost his balance, and fell. On top of him.

He would have continued to berate himself over what a clumsy oaf he was becoming, but at that moment his thoughts had taken a turn in a somewhat different direction. Harry was underneath him; Draco could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body heat, and worst of all, Harry was looking at him. It was a familiar position, really, and brought back memories of a lot of things he would have preferred not to think about just then.

"Erm," said Harry, "would you mind getting off?"

Draco felt heat flood his cheeks. Getting off. Mind, here's the gutter, your new home. He quickly jumped off, praying Harry hadn't caught onto his Frequently Recurring Problem, which was making another appearance.

Harry got to his feet, and smiled broadly, running a hand through his hair. Draco swallowed. He wanted to ravish him. His self-control was waning quickly. He was becoming desperate. He couldn't pounce on Harry, it would be rude and quite possibly unwanted, but the temptation was becoming too much to resist.

Thinking quickly, he went for the only escape he could find. He threw himself into the lake.

When he resurfaced, Harry was looking very perplexed.

"Involuntary muscle spasm," Draco said offhandedly, thankful to have avoided another crisis.

Harry laughed. "Need a hand?" He held one out.

Draco grinned. It was too perfect to pass up. He grasped Harry's hand for a moment before giving it a sharp yank. Harry toppled into the water.

"You little bastard!" Harry said half-heartedly. Draco cackled, and got splashed in the face as punishment. He splashed back, and soon they were shoving and laughing and wrestling. In a manly, platonic way, Draco told himself.

Harry was overpowering him by a considerable margin, so Draco dealt his secret weapon. "Hey Harry! Guess what?" Harry blinked, waiting.

Draco took a deep breath. Now or never. "I love you!" He smiled nervously as Harry froze. Draco took the moment to force his head underwater, winning the match.

Harry's head popped back up, and he wiped his face with one hand as he rolled his eyes. "Gods, only you could find such an underhanded, Slytherin way to declare your love for someone."

Draco smiled nervously. He felt as though a dozen Snitches were battling in his stomach. "I—I meant it, you know. And I'm sorry for being such a prat."

Harry's face broke into a lopsided grin. "'S all right." And after a moment's hesitation, he kissed him.

Harry, incidentally, was a fantastic kisser. Draco felt as though someone had set off fireworks inside his head, and he smiled contentedly as he realized how much he'd missed this. He sighed happily as he wrapped his hands around Harry's shoulders.

Draco missed dinner that evening. But he did discover some important new things, such as that Brilliant Plans were terribly overrated, bottoming was something he liked very much, and that he was definitely a screamer.

FIN

(Just kidding, there's an epilogue!)

(Please review! ...please?)

OH! ALSO! I mentioned a while back that Liz had drawn me some stupendous fanart, and that I would link to it when it no longer spoiled the (completely non-predictable) ending. Now that the ending has come to pass, I'll go put it up in my user profile, since they have some sort of law about links in the text. Because they're dumb, most likely. Anyway, I suggest you take a look. I'll try and repost the Ewan-in-a-kilt picture as well, though that didn't work out so well last time.