BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA slap Okay, I'm good.

The story is going along nicely. Sorry about the delay, my life is just a wee bit unstable right now.

I love reviews and if you have Gaia online, I love gold, too. D My username on there is CleoSombra

In reply to some of your reviews:

Anon – A casualty is usually not a death, but a person who has been wounded in battle.

caz-jket – Bjorn Thwaite is a fun name to say, dont'cha think?

Wilbo Baggins – I believe that I am in love with you. You are a great reviewer and a very nice person. So I am dedicating this chapter to you!

Chapter Eight – What do you have to lose?

"Uh . . ." Harry stared. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about." He tensed up as Malfoy stood up and pulled out his wand. The door shut.

"Of luminous glow your skin shines at night, wandering fingers on your body – delight. Like Adonis you bring the highest passion, earn you in my secret fashion. read into the words, before the lines, you have now been given one of the many signs."

No.

No.

No.

This is wrong on so many levels.

"B-but y- I- wh- NO!" Harry shouted. "No. You're supposed to be a girl. A nice girl. Not a gay creep. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Do you really think I'm that stupid? How can you sink to this level? You sick freak." Harry attempted to punch Malfoy, but missed and backed away as the blonde's wand pointed at him.

"Listen, Pott-Harry. Just listen to me. Give me a chance to explain. Don't you remember the roses? I'm sorry! I changed. I'm sorry for the past five years."

"Oh. Just like you're sorry for teasing me? Just like you're sorry for making fun of Hermione? And embarrassing Ron last year? Just like you're sorry for being a complete git since the day I met you! Go to hell, Malfoy. Open this fucking door NOW." Harry said, tugging on the knob.

"No. You need to listen to me." Malfoy said firmly, lowering his wand.

"Fuck that. I took my time trying to figure out those stupid riddles and-"

"Like how I took my time writing those riddles and poems and notes? Like how I took my time running around to put those poems in their places? Like how I waited for you to get them? Do you really think I would take so much time and energy if I didn't- If I didn't like you?" Harry attempted to respond, "During our first year, I hated you. I hated you more than anyone in school. Until I realized you weren't the pompous golden boy I thought you were. Until I saw how friendly you were to people. Until I realized that my father wasn't perfect. Until I realized you weren't perfect. Up until our third year here, I stopped hating you and I was just jealous. But tell me, how can two three-year enemies just stop like that? What would you have said if I suddenly became some friendly little goody-two shoes?

"I'm not like that. I can't and I won't be like that. I finally got the balls enough to tell you all this. Haven't I been nicer? I'm trying to make up for what I did. I really am. In the roses I asked you to think about it. Think about all of this. I-"

"You're father is-"

"Was."

"Was Voldemort's favorite little toy. How idiotic do you think I am? I know you and all your little cronies would prefer my head on a plaque."

"I'm NOT my father. You're not your father, either, Harry."

"Don't call me Harry!"

"That's your name, isn't it? And my name's Draco," The blonde countered.

"I- you- think- no. I'm not like Parkinson, Malfoy. You spoiled git. I hate you. One little sorry and a few flowers? Who the fuck do you think I am? I hate you."

"I'm not asking you to like me. I'm asking you to forgive me and give me a chance. Meet me here at eleven, tomorrow." Malfoy flicked his wand and disappeared with a short 'pop.'

Harry stood there for a good minute, his eyes shut. He now had a terrible headache, most likely from every possible thought that was trailing through his mind. I can't go back there right now, not back to bed. He'll be there.

Sitting down where Malfoy had previously sat, Harry put his arms on the table and cradled his head in them. Okay, let's take this slowly. One thought at a time. Keep it simple, stupid.

Draco Malfoy of Slytherin, an enemy of six years confessed a fancy for me, Harry Potter, of Gryffindor. We are enemies who have fought for six years and have always hated each other. Draco Malfoy of Slytherin admits otherwise. The possibilities:

He's in a ploy with Voldemort, he wants to embarrass me in front of Durmstrang, he wants to hurt me, or he actually likes me.

Harry really couldn't think of any way Malfoy could embarrass him by saying that he was gay. That really did knock down the two possibilities. And if there was any scheme with Voldemort, it wouldn't be that obvious. But he couldn't like Harry. That was just wrong.

They were enemies from different worlds: The good and the bad. Malfoy was an evil ass and Harry was not. They hated each other for six years. And to top it all off, they were both guys. They were in the same dormitory. The same showers. And what if there were other gays there? The thought was revolting.

"There is nothing wrong with boys liking boys, Harry," He could almost picture Hermione lecturing to him, "It's just a preference. It's perfectly normal." Was it? Was it normal? When he was younger, he heard the Dursleys complain of 'fags' in the neighborhood. The Jones had eventually moved out, his aunt had said. Usually, whatever the Dursleys hated wasn't really that bad. But he wasn't gay. So what the hell did Malfoy see in him?

Whatever it was, he didn't want to know.

Who did Malfoy think he was, anyway? All of a sudden he's nice and dandy, so he and Harry could become friends? Not a chance. Not a fat chance. After everything he'd done to Hermione and Ron-

He couldn't tell them. He wouldn't tell them.

"Ew. I always knew that git liked other blokes," Ron would say, freckles and all. Hermione would scold him.

"Ronald," She would say, "There's nothing wrong with that. Maybe he just didn't know how to share his feelings. I've read lots of books on . . . ."

Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost one. He really would have to get back to bed. He knew very well he wouldn't be sleeping well that night. And what if Malfoy was there, watching him?

The next morning was a very tiring morning. As far as Harry knew, Malfoy had not been in the dormitory when he got back. Even so, it had taken him several hours to relax and get to sleep. And it felt as if he was only asleep for a few seconds before the day was starting.

"So, Harry, what's she like? Who is she? Is she pretty?" Ron asked over a bowl of oatmeal. Hermione rolled her eyes and nibbled on some toast.

"I told you, Ron, I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on. Hermione doesn't care. No one's listening. Come on, Harry, I'm your best mate!"

"I was stood up," Harry lied. "She wasn't there."

"What? You think it was just a joke? Maybe you were supposed to meet at another place. Or-"

"No, I think I was just stood up. So, what's our first class, Hermione?" Harry asked, changing the subject. For a moment, she stared at him before picking up their schedule.

"We have Defense against the Dark Arts first, then Potions. They don't sort us by our olds houses anymore. There's Slytherins and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in here, plus some of the Durmstrang students."

"Oh, man. A galleon says Malfoy's in there, with us." Ron said, slapping his forehead. Harry felt like doing the same, but silently poked at his oatmeal, hardly tasting the apples in it. His mouth felt awfully dry and full of bad taste.

"No, but he is in Potions with us. I asked Professor Sombra this morning if we were having the dueling club again. She said no," Hermione frowned. "I was looking forward to the first meeting. I think she was, too. She . . ."

As Harry tuned Hermione out and ate, he looked around the dining hall and spotted his blonde fan sitting at some wide table. On one side of him was Parkinson, clinging to his arm, and on the other was Blaise Zabini. Surrounding their table was also Crabbe and Goyle, as well as some Durmstrang girls. He seemed to be joking around and having a swell time. Harry wondered what he was he thinking at that moment. Was he upset? Did he forget about it? Did he care less?

"Harry! Harry, look at me." Hermione slapped him on the arm. He looked back; Ron was gone and Hermione was slightly frazzled. "Something's wrong, Harry. What is it?"

"Where's Ron?"

"I told him to get me a book from the library. Please, Harry," She scooted closer. "Tell me what's wrong. You know you can trust me." Harry sighed.

"It was Malfoy."

"What was Malfoy?"

"My admirer. It was Malfoy. I saw him last night." Hermione's jaw slacked.

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Are you sure he's not up to something, Harry? What did you say?" Hermione whispered, "What are you going to do?"

"I got pissed at him and he left. Told me to meet him tonight. I guess I'll just ignore it. He'll get the message. I think."

"No, don't do that. Maybe it's time that we stopped fighting between houses. It'd be good for Hogwarts. You should really give him a chance."

"Hermione! How could you say something like that? After everything he's done to you! After everything he's done to all of us!" Harry snapped, "Six years of insults and remarks. Six years of fighting. Six years-"

"You have to admit, we did fight back," She pointed out. "But that's not the point. Harry, I really think you should give it a chance-"

"I'm not gay!"

"You don't have to be! Just . . . go tonight. Talk to him. Try to be nice. Listen to whatever he has to say. You don't have to date him. You don't have to like him. But give him a chance. If you be careful, then what do you have to lose?"
"My pride . . . My . . ."

"Now you're sounding like Ron, Harry. You could make a new friend. You have nothing to lose! If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Hogwarts. Gryffindor looks up to you and Slytherin looks up to Malfoy. If you two start setting a good example when we get back, then maybe things will be different.

"Don't you find it creepy that there is a gay in the dormitory? Does he watch us undress? It's so-"

"There are gays in our dormitory," Hermione said calmly. "No, they don't look at us. Homosexual people are just like you and I, Harry. They aren't any different. Maybe Malfoy watches you, but he probably doesn't. Neither of us knows what he's like, so we shouldn't go judging him or anyone else."

"We know what he's like, all right. A bastard."

"We also thought it was impossible for a Slytherin to like a Gryffindor. We're not always right, Harry."

"Well there's irony," Harry muttered dryly. "Ow!"

"You needn't be so rude!"

"Rude?" Harry snapped in his whisper, "Rude is when you laugh at people for the hell of it. Rude is when you tease someone because of their blood. Rude is when you fight with them for six years and then proclaim love to them. That's rude!"
"What do you have to lose?"

"I'm not going to go into a detailed list of my rules, as I wish not to bore my old students," Professor Sombra was standing on top of a heavy wooden desk. Standing, not sitting. The room was filled with students, crammed together. Clearly, Durmstrang had yet to make room for its new students. That, however, was not the reason she walked on the desk as opposed to the floor.

"One. No distractions. No name calling, no nothing. Spell casting, especially when handling risky spells and jinxes can be very dangerous. The second someone gives hurt or falls into the chances of getting hurt because of you, I will personally punish you myself. The old fashioned way."

Okay. Maybe that wasn't true. Their professor never hit anyone, although one student (some Slytherin) was banished from another class because of setting off a prank. Harry was in charms at the time and heard a lot of colorful language from two rooms down.

"Secondly, I will not hear of any insults, towards anyone, about anyone, or anything. Discrimination is top on my list of hates; I'm sure you don't want your name up there, too. I treat people as they treat me and all others. If you find the need to make fun of someone's breed, I might accidentally point out a flaw in yours. Why? Because I can."

"Finally, I don't grade homework. I . . ."

Harry tuned her out, his eyes bouncing around the room. It was a lot darker than their old one and the only window provided little light. Three students sat each table (clearly a bit squished) and some of the larger, taller Durmstrang students looked quite comical. Ingo, the very deep rooted Bulgarian was sitting next to only other Durmstrang student and Cho Chang. Ingo was very friendly towards them and he and the trio exchanged words in passing. He waved to Harry cheerfully.

Harry ran a finger over the glazed wood on his desk. Scratched into it by random students were profane words and phrases, along with hearts and names. Notes and spells were also scribbled in, with a 'Crucio' dug in angrily. There were also other little designs, such as the muggle peace sign and the yin-yang. Quite humorously, Harry found the word 'DIIK' scribbled in. Sucking on the tip of his quill, he dried his left over ink onto a piece of scrap paper and began digging.

It took him the rest of the period, but finally he cared in 'H.J.P. was here!' It was a bit childish, but it looked cool. As the bell rang (which was a very loud 'dong,' actually,) the students rose and left for their next class.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter," His professor called, "Please don't write on the desks anymore."