A/N: So originally this plot was going to be generally angsty. But as I'm writing it it's coming out funny. I wish it would stop because I feel like I'm going to get to a certain point in the plot and all of a sudden it'll become sad. Well, for now I guess this will just do whatever it's going to do. I posted the first chapter earlier today and I've already gotten as many hits as my first story has. Huh. Now that it's posted, I should probably figure out how this is going to end at some point. Oog. Beta: Courtney and some other people. Wooooooooooo o o o o.

Chapter 4

The next few days after Harry and Draco's little chat passed without great incident. Draco noticed, however, that Harry was acting extremely odd. At least once a day and usually more, Draco would look around to see Harry staring intently at him. As soon as they made eye contact, Harry would blush furiously and look away. Draco was very disconcerted, especially because this was coming—his stomach flipped over every time he thought this—from the boy whose sole mission in life was to destroy Horcruxes...to destroy Draco.

Walking back from Potions a little ahead of Harry on a day nearly a week after they had last spoken, Draco decided it was time for more direct intervention. He ducked into an empty classroom and aimed a jinx at Harry's bag.

He missed, but what happened was better than the bag splitting. Harry stumbled and looked down to find a split up the side of his trousers, running from hem to above his knee. Draco grinned as he spied a flash of snitch-patterned boxers before Harry whipped his robes straight to cover the offending pant leg. It felt strange to smile; Draco hadn't had much cause to do it in the past few weeks, and it came out as more of a slightly amused grimace.

Harry sighed, very flushed. "Go on," he told Ron and Hermione, who had been walking with him and were both chuckling discreetly. Just as Draco had hoped, Harry slouched into his empty room.

"Potter," Draco began purposefully, stepping into view.

Harry jumped about three feet and pulled his robes tighter around him. "Malfoy!" he yelped. "Don't...do that."

"Potter, this madness must stop."

"What madness must stop?"

"You have to stop staring at me. It's strange and irritating and rather counter-productive, I think."

Harry was so red Draco was surprised he wasn't smoking. "How d'you mean, counter-productive?" he asked, sounding unconvincingly casual.

Draco tried to keep his voice level as he said, "You have to kill me in the end, remember, Potter?"

"I don't want to kill you," muttered Harry, looking at the floor.

"Yes, you've made that quite plain. I do so appreciate it," said Draco, with a touch of a sneer.

Harry blushed harder. "I'm sorry...it's just...I never, er, noticed—"

Draco smirked. "How devilishly attractive I am?"

Harry was now faintly green. "Maybe."

Draco almost laughed. "Get out of here, Potter."

"Gladly," muttered Harry, looking anywhere but at Draco.

"Don't forget to mend your trousers!" called Draco as Harry hurried away. Chuckling grimly, he gathered his things and set off for lunch.

Draco's journal

Potter's finally stopped staring at me. Quite the opposite, actually. We never make eye contact any more. He doesn't speak to me or look at me, and if he sees me in the hallway, he runs away.

It's funny, but now that he's stopped, I realize just how much I liked him staring at me.

It was a lot, I think.

So, Merlin, I'm bloody strange. What am I? A pouf with a bit of the Dark Lord's soul inside me? That's got to be some sort of record.

I sincerely hope I'm not a pouf, though.

Because if I am, that means it's for Potter. And that's the last thing I need right now.

Harry's journal

Merlin! What the fuck am I doing! Bad Harry. Down, boy.

I can't take much more of this. Maybe I'll just...go...for...it? No! What am I saying? Go for what? I can't...it's Malfoy, Harry. Get a grip.

...fuck.

Harry and Draco continued to be extremely awkward around each other for the next week or so. Draco continued to have nightmares and hear screaming and wake up with his insides aching. Harry continued to worry about the various things that lay in store for him. These included the prospect of what he might say or do to Draco the next time they were alone together, and the prospect of perhaps having to kill Draco in the not-too-distant future.

This new private pattern of life was strange, but publicly, things were the same as ever. Draco was snide and pale, and Harry was awkward and desperately trying to ignore Draco.

It wasn't working.

"Look, Malfoy," he said, pulling Draco aside as they exited a Potions lesson, "can you...er..."

Draco tapped his foot, sneering, though his heart was really pounding.

Harry was crimson.

"Spit it out, Potter."

"Can you...um, can you meet me...um, somewhere? In the entrance hall? Tonight?"

Draco stared.

"I'm not sure that would be in my best interests, Potter."

"No, no, it would!" said Harry, sounding a little panicky. "I...er, remember that...er, talk I wanted to have the other day? In the Quidditch stands?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."

Harry continued cautiously, "Well, I've...er...pulled myself together a little more—"

"That remains to be seen."

Harry ignored him. "—and I...er...we should talk," he finished lamely.

Draco pretended to think it over. "Well...fine. But no wands."

"No! Of course not! I don't want—"

Draco glared. "Fuck off, Potter. I'll see you in the entrance hall at nine."

That night, Harry hovered nervously in the entrance hall, draped in the Invisibility Cloak. It was five minutes to nine. Harry's leg jiggled uncontrollably. His eyes were fixed on the door to the dungeon, from whence Draco would hopefully be exiting in five minutes' time.

At nine o'clock sharp, Draco stepped out from the dungeon corridor. He looked around cautiously, his wand secretly clutched inside his cloak.

"Potter?" he said softly.

"Um...hi," said Harry awkwardly. He looks good. I mean, what? thought Harry stupidly.

Draco blinked.

"Er...do you want to go outside?"

Silence.

"I just thought that maybe we'd do better to have our...er, discussion, somewhere more...er, private."

Draco swallowed dryly. "Very well. Er, shall we?" Dammit! Now is not the time to stutter, Draco!

They walked out into the grounds without speaking, and sat down in the stands.

"So," said Harry. "Er...how...er, how are you?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Sorry."

There was another tense silence.

"Potter, why did you drag me out here?"

Harry didn't answer for a second. He collected himself and took a deep breath.

"Malfoy, there's something I really want you to know. I honestly never would have wished this. On anyone. I don't want anybody to get hurt and it kills me that it has to be...you."

Shit, thought Harry wildly. I did not just say that.

Draco, apparently, had not noticed this slight slip of Harry's tongue. He was immediately incensed at the repetition of what he perceived as an empty apology. "Don't give me that righteous bullshit, Potter. We all know you only care about your...your quest—" he placed a delicate sarcasm on the word—"and all that other garbage. You don't give a damn," he spat, turning away.

Oh no, thought Harry. Why do I keep doing this, it just makes him angry. Well, don't just sit there, dammit, say something! Say something...er, comforting!.

"Malfoy, I swear, I don't want anybody to get hurt. It's not my fault," Harry stammered.

"I didn't say it was your god damn fault, Potter!" growled Draco, his hands balled into fists.

"I didn't ask for this," whispered Harry, eyes locked on Draco.

Draco went suddenly pale. He turned slowly to face Harry, who drew back instinctively.

"You know what, Potter? Go to hell. Fuck you and your righteousness, your holy mission, your bloody saintly guilt. I don't need you. It doesn't matter in the end." He stood up and began to stride away off the Quidditch pitch, very white, shaking slightly.

Harry watched him walk away, desperate, not wanting him to go. Not like this. He did the only thing he could think of to regain Draco's attention.

"Draco!" he called desperately, darting after the other boy.

Draco froze, halfway across the grounds. Draco? Not Malfoy? Just...Draco?

Harry ran to him. "Draco," he said again, having reached his quarry. Draco didn't turn, but stood motionless, not quivering or indeed doing anything. He seemed to be holding his breath.

Harry grabbed Draco and spun him around to face him.

"Oh, fuck," groaned Draco, right before Harry kissed him.

It was probably years before Draco pulled away, once again pale and trembling.

"No," he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," whispered Harry back, pulling him close again.

"Potter."

"Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry. Mmm."

"Oh."

"...Malfoy?"

A moan.

"Can I call you Draco?"

"Shut up."

A/N: I hate Broadcast so god damn much, god dammit. And I've been watching too much god damn Kyou Kara Maou and now I keep wanting to say "kso" instead of "damn" or whatever. So don't blame me if Harry or Draco start talking in Japanese. Feh, I'm sick sick sick, I hate being sick, why am I doing this, I could be making my Broadcast paper not as ridiculously terrible. Oh dear god. Where in the world is MATT LAUER! I fucking hate Matt Lauer. Go to hell, Matt Lauer! I really, really wish I made more sense. I suppose writing fanfiction in a feverish state isn't necessarily the best idea. Oh jesus. I shall attempt to update more consistently, I apologize. AND! I must desperately thank just-human, a reviewer who gave me (gasp) an idea for a plot! Helps to have one of those. Yeah, so thank you so much, just-human, you own me. Best idea everrr. Dear god, I really want to go to bed. It's not even nine. SO SICK, JESUS. Aaaah ok so we're getting there on the whole plot thing, by the way. Thanks to Kät and Liz and Maddy and Courtney and others and I'm not killing Ron, Maddy, at least not...no no shut up. And I'm not killing Draco, Courtney, well not really, and shut up, bed bed now shut up goodbye.