A/N October 1st: So I know it's been a little over five months since I first posted this chapter, but I've only just come up with an idea for what's going to happen next (and frankly, I'm surprised I came up with anything at all). With that in mind, I've added on to this chapter, more than doubling the length, and I've started a third chapter. I don't know when that'll be done – probably not for another week, maybe a little more.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything and still don't mean any copyright infringement or anything, so don't sue me, 'kay?

Thanks to everyone that reviewed this story before, and I hope you enjoy the new version of this chapter!

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With a snarl, Draco drew the curtains around his bed shut and warded them for privacy before flopping backwards onto the soft mattress. He had finally gotten away from Pansy and Blaise's pestering. Those two just couldn't seem to get it through their heads that he wanted to be left alone. He was a Malfoy, he deserved his privacy.

Frowning, he tried once more to figure out just what the bloody hell he'd been thinking the night before. Or, for that matter, if he'd been thinking at all. He had drank more than he intended, and had left his dorm to try and clear his head in the fresh night air. His wanderings had eventually brought him to the Quidditch equipment shed, where he had (almost literally) run into Potter. Then they had argued over… something. For the life of him he couldn't remember what. It must have been something big for it to have… escalated the way it did, right?

Groaning, Draco flung an arm over his eyes. Well, he thought to himself, at least I'm not having a crisis over my sexuality. He had already known he was bisexual, and Potter wasn't even the first guy he'd slept with, though he usually preferred girls. But just because he was bisexual it didn't mean that he was attracted to Potter, because he wasn't.

He wasn't. He couldn't be. He –

Calm down, Draco, he thought sternly. You're panicking. That won't help anything.

Sitting up, he rested his hands on his knees and closed his. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly and slipped into the meditative state he'd learned to analyze and control his emotions.

First, how did he feel about Potter? He examined his feelings carefully. There was some lust, yes, but that was understandable, he supposed. He was a teenager after all, and Potter was, while not the most attractive of the boys in their school, wasn't hard on the eyes from an objective point of view. Besides the lust there was the years old hatred, carefully controlled to be used to his advantage. Contempt for the Gryffindork's muggle-loving ways. Some jealousy over his fame and all the attention he received. Some shame over last night's events. Also some….

Was that fear? Draco looked at it more closely. Yes, it was fear. Fear of what Potter would do. Potter was the Gryffindor Golden Boy, while he was Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince. Of course Potter would use what had happened against him. And damn him for not thinking straight enough to extract a promise from the other boy not to speak of what happened. He didn't think the other wanted that… incident to be public knowledge, but Draco had no doubt that the Mudblood and Weasel would know soon enough; it was common knowledge Potter told them everything. And when they found out how the evil Slytherin had tainted their Saint Potter… He could handle anything they could dish out themselves, but given the Weasel's temper, Draco figured he'd blurt out everything sooner or later. And that was not something Draco wanted to happen.

He couldn't trust them to keep the information to themselves, Gryffindors or not. He was a Slytherin, he trusted no one. In order to ensure their silence, he'd have to either enforce it himself, or give them something else, something bigger, to focus on.

Draco came slowly out of his trance. He had to do something before his name and reputation were damaged. To say nothing of what his father, or even worse, the Dark Lord, would do to him if they knew he'd had sex with the Boy Who Lived…

Opening his curtains, he idly allowed his gaze to wander the room, looking for inspiration. He focused in on the letter folded neatly on his desk. Picking it up, he lightly ran his fingers over the delicately inked script. His father had sent it to him several days ago, despite the risk that it would be intercepted and his escape from Azkaban revealed. His father…

Draco's lips twisted into a smirk. Yes, that was what he would do…