Draco's minor head injury cost him a Saturday night spent with Madam Pomfrey. "For observation purposes only," she'd stated as she flitted about mixing medicinal potions. Potter- Harry, rather, had aided Draco into bed and helped him get settled before leaving.

"Do you need help changing into your hospital robes, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey had asked innocently once Draco was settled. Turning a fiery shade of red, the boys glanced at each other while Draco hurriedly refused and Harry smirked. That was when Harry left, planning on joining the rest of Gryffindor at lunch.

"Are you going to be okay, Draco?" He asked before turning to exit the hospital wing.

Draco smiled a small smile, soft and sweet. "I'll be fine, Harry. You can go."

The Gryffindor blinked, taken aback at the sound of his own name coming from that mouth. Draco widened his grin, laughing quietly to himself. Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, but smiled all the same. He shook his head, understanding washing over him as he chuckled in return. "Alright then," he replied, "I'll see you."

"Alright, yeah." Draco rubbed his neck, a blush creeping over his cheeks as he realized his smile had not depreciated, even as the door to the infirmary swung shut.

He laid back in the hospital bed (Madam Pomfrey's orders) and tried to make sense of what the fuck had just happened.

Where did these feelings come from? Since when did Draco catch butterflies at the sight of Harry bloody Potter? And since when did Draco catch butterflies for anyone, at all, ever?

Draco had never really crushed on anyone in particular. It wasn't that he hadn't had the chance to fancy a girl or two; the Slytherins all knew his status as the Malfoy heir and were eager to oblige. At the forefront was Pansy, who'd had this damn bloody prophecy that she'd believed was about her and god damn...

Draco halted for a moment, contemplating on that last thought. Since when had Pansy ever been right about anything? And the Sight, really? It was a fucking joke, and even if it was true, did Pansy of all people obtain it?

No, it couldn't be true. This whole thing was a misunderstanding. That look in Harry's eyes, those emerald eyes... that was a misinterpretation as well. Maybe he just wanted to make up for the past the two seekers had shared. Maybe Potter wanted retribution for being such a git all those years.

...but hadn't he just accused Draco of being a death eater only a few moons ago? How did the mood change from pointing fingers to, Well, to whatever the mood was today, so quickly? Something was definitely odd here.

Maybe Harry figured out the truth, that Malfoy was innocent after all. But how?

Draco had questions, so many questions. And even through all of the unknowns, he couldn't help but wonder in the back of his mind if it had actually all been real. And what he was finding harder to swallow was the fact that he found himself hoping the latter to be true.

Harry took his usual spot at the Gryffindor table across from Ron and Hermione and readied himself to dig in to the pork pie before him. To tell the truth, after all that had happened in the last few hours, he was absolutely famished. He ignored the bewildered looks of his two best mates as he took the first bite of his lunch, and then the second, and third...

"Harry!" Hermione finally exclaimed, unable to wait any longer and causing him to drop his fork mid-bite.

Ron looked at Hermione and then back at Harry. "We were just wondering, mate, if you'd tell us why you decided to go all hero on Malfoy this morning?"

"Oh, that," Harry swallowed and took a sip of juice, clearing his throat. "I don't know, he fell, and I just sort of, saved him."

Hermione grunted. "Harry, any one of the teachers or students in the stands, myself included, could have used an arresto momentum charm on him, and he would have been fine." She paused, unsatisfied with Harry's dumbfounded expression. "The other day you were just trying to convince us that Malfoy was working for You-Know-Who, and now you're his savior?"

Harry didn't speak, glancing between the two as Hermione's speech sunk in.

"We're just confused is all, mate," Ron added, trying to keep Harry from becoming hot.

"I don't know, 'Mione, I wasn't really thinking about alliances when I thought he needed help," Harry snapped back. "Plus, I'm not so sure anymore about that."

"About what? Malfoy?" Ron inquired, trying to catch up to Hermione's wit.

"So you're actually being rational and dropping the Death Eater theory?" Hermione retorted, annoyed at her inability to figure out her best friend's intentions.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. I'm just not sure about anything anymore." With that, Harry picked up his fork and continued to eat his lunch. Ron and Hermione knew the conversation had ended.

He loved his friends, but damn they could be a buzzkill. Harry's walk to the great hall had been giddy, forcing down laughs and trying to keep a straight face as he re-visited his and Draco's earlier conversation. Harry couldn't explain how hearing his own name could cause such a ruckus inside of him, and how that smile had turned his stomach into knots. He could barely contain himself, let alone explain such an oddity to his friends. So he'd once again remained silent while Hermione reminded him of the more serious issues at hand. Like that boy who had melted his insides...quite possibly wanted to hand him over to Voldemort. Maybe.

He shook the thought from his mind, confusion bubbling at the edges of his psyche.

"Wonder where Snape's at? He hardly ever misses a meal any more," Ron observed, single-handedly snapping Harry from his thoughts.

"Hmm. That is strange, isn't it?" Hermione added.

Harry didn't say a word as gears began to shift in his mind. Snape was missing; Draco was missing... Harry sifted through images and memories of Draco conversing with Snape at the astronomy tower. Draco, crying. Harry, longing to console him. Snape, stoic as always... and then Harry knew. He knew where Snape was, and he knew he had to hurry if he wanted answers amongst all of today's confusion.

"I have to go." Harry announced, and without another word (or bite), he exited the Great Hall.

Draco was halfway finished with the soup the house elves had brought him for lunch when he heard the door to the infirmary open. His senses were still heightened from earlier and some lost portion of his brain hoped that it was Harry coming back to answer his unknowns.

But the deep voice calling out before him confirmed that it wasn't The Savior at all.

"Hello, Draco. I trust that we are alone." Professor Snape took a seat in the empty chair adjacent to Draco's bed.

"Yes, sir. Madam Pomfrey is in her office. No one else is in the infirmary."

"Good. I am going to help you write a response to your father."

Draco's mouth hung wide, agape. "My father? You're supposed to protect me from my father!"

"And if you knew what's best for you, you'd keep. Your voice. Down." Snape spat, and then paused to let Draco catch his breath. "You will tell your father that you have a plan to do the deed, and that it is going well. Make it believable."

Draco audibly swallowed. "But what are we actually doing?" He whispered, his voice coated in fear.

"Dumbledore is providing protection for you. But we need time. And I need you to not blow your cover for now. Or we'll all be at the mercy of your father."

Snape pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from his robes. "Now. Write."

Draco nodded, pulling the parchment towards him and pushing the soup away. That's when there was a creaking sound from the direction of the entrance. Draco and Snape both perked their heads up, but there appeared to be no one there. The door remained closed. Assured, Draco began to write.

He explained to his father that he'd already put a plan into action for the Dark Lord that he couldn't discuss through letter. He'd spill the details over break in a more intimate setting. He thanked his father for allowing him to uphold the honor of the Malfoy name, and nearly gagged while doing so. Never had he lied to his father so explicitly, so openly. Plenty of times he'd left out the truth, omitted details, but this? This was commitment. He really had switched loyalties.

Snape proofread the letter, nodding as he went. "Well done, Draco. I suggest you see that it gets sent as soon as you are released as I do not want to be seen sending it for you. For now, you need keep it safe."

Draco nodded, folding the note and placing it beneath his pillow.

Snape rose, turning to leave. "By the way, Draco, maybe try keeping your eye on the game at hand instead of Potter? That should keep your head from hurting."

Draco gulped, his blush returning vividly. Was is that obvious?

Snape exited the infirmary, and Draco relaxed backward onto his pillow. In the reclined position, sleep didn't sound like such a bad idea. He welcomed the inevitable, eyelids drifting shut and allowing him to fade once more from consciousness.

Harry held his breath as Snape left the infirmary. He was perched against the wall, draped with the cloak of invisibility. Luckily, Professor Snape had forgotten to latch the door completely upon entering the room. When Harry arrived, he was able to slip inside with minimal disturbance and make his post for eavesdropping. Harry was determined to get some answers, and his impatience was driving him mad. It appeared that Draco had written something- a note, maybe?- under the scrutiny of his Godfather. And that something was located right beneath that soft-looking blonde hair...

Harry had never been one to respect privacy, and he waited earnestly for Draco to sleep. Surprisingly soon, he heard snores drifting from the direction of the blonde, who was still. Seizing the moment, Harry crossed the room and paused at the sight of Draco's sleeping figure. He was so...peaceful. Harry's insides lurched, and he found himself wanting to curl up next to him and feel that body pressed against his once more. There was so much he wanted to say to the boy, but even more important were the things he wanted to do with him. Things he wanted to discover about him, thoroughly, intimately, wholly. Remembering his purpose, Harry kneeled beside the bed and slipped his hand from the cloak to slide beneath Draco's pillow. He grunted, rolling over in his sleep to face Harry. In response, Harry froze, only inches from Draco now. He marveled at the face before him, close enough now to see every freckle, to trace the contour of his cheek, to taste the breath that was present upon each exhalation...

His breath was minty, fresh, just like Harry had dreamt. So many things were surreal, as if he was dreaming. Harry drew in a breath, re-focusing as he gripped the paper and withdrew his right hand. Hesitantly, he stood to read his newfound evidence. Somehow, he didn't want to move.

Harry unfolded the parchment, recognizing the elegant cursive immediately. His eyes scanned the paper, connecting dots and clueing himself in as he realized that this was a letter. A letter to Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

And, it was true. Oh my god, Draco was planning something. Something truly evil...

Harry didn't understand why his eyes were hot with tears as he continued to read. He was incapable of reason as a solitary tear escaped and landed on the parchment before him, smearing some of the ink. How stupid could he have been, to think that the boy before him was anything different than the monster his father had bred him to become?

If Draco was planning to bring something to the castle, something that benefited Voldemort, then there was no reason to believe he wouldn't hand Harry over next. That was the goal now, wasn't it? To have Harry dead? Slain by those silvery eyes... Harry felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Something had to be done. He couldn't protect Draco or defend him any longer. Here was the proof, the answers he needed smeared on the page before him. He placed the letter back carefully, inconspicuous as before. The worst part of that moment was that even though he felt betrayed and used, his heart still skipped a beat at the sight of sleeping Draco Malfoy.

"Lemon Sherbert." Harry had barely caught his breath, running from the infirmary to the headmaster's office. As the stairs appeared, he skipped steps in a hasty effort to talk to Dumbledore. He wasn't sure if it was professional, an attempt to serve justice for all of the wrong doing in the world, or if he really just needed a father figure to mend his broken heart. The truth was, he was hurting. He hadn't thought much since reading Draco's letter, running on adrenaline alone. He wasn't crying on purpose, but tears streaked his cheeks and stained his dignity. He'd been fooled by the git's charm, that was all. Malfoy, he must be the distant relative of a Veela or something. It must have been delicately planned to have Harry fall for him. Wait...fall for him? Did he just think that?

"Hello, Harry. What is the matter, dear boy?" Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, as if anticipating his arrival.

Harry found himself speechless, unable to do exactly what he came here for. He opened his mouth, but his accusation was stuck in the bottom of his throat.

"Harry, why don't you sit down?" The head master gestured toward the chair In front of his desk. Harry nodded, taking a seat. There was a moment of silence before Harry found his voice.

"Professor," he started, realizing that he wasn't afraid to tell Dumbledore at all what had happened. His problem ran much deeper. His fear was of what would happen to Draco if he revealed his secret. Harry swallowed. How many innocent people would he save in the process, regardless of what happened to the Slytherin? Harry found rest in this thought, the hero in him igniting his will to continue.

"It's Malfoy. He's planning something. I don't know what, but it's bad. It's got to do with Voldemort. And Professor Snape."

"That's quite an accusation, Harry. Upon what do you base your words?"

Harry came clean about everything, from stalking Malfoy to stealing his quill and eavesdropping at 3 a.m. beneath the astronomy tower. He confessed about the letter, trying to assure Dumbledore that his intentions were pure. The only thing he didn't mention was the way his heart raced at the sight of Draco Malfoy. Or the way his stomach fluttered when he smiled. He definitely didn't mention the way he craved for those thin pink lips to mesh with his own, testing the waters of something unknown. Because none of that mattered, not anymore.

"Well, that's quite a lot of work you've been up to, Harry. What have Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger thought of your recent findings?"

"They don't exactly know, sir. I didn't think they'd believe me."

"Ah, I see. And why is that?"

"Hermione says that if Malfoy was a Death Eater, that you would know."

"A smart one, that girl. Do you agree with her?"

Harry stopped, puzzled. "Well, I do, I just... there's just so much evidence, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, adjusting his spectacles. "Things are not always what they seem, my boy. My trust in Professor Snape is unwavering. As is my trust in Draco."

"But sir, what about the things I've just told you? What should I do?"

"You know, Harry, trust is a funny thing. I hardly find that I have put it in the wrong places." He knotted his fingers in the fibers of his floor length beard. "Let me ask you something. What is your gut telling you to do?"

Harry blinked, shocked by the turn of the conversation. His gut? He wasn't sure exactly where that was in the sea of thoughts lapping at the edges of his brain. What did his gut have to do with any of this?

"Ill make you a proposal, Harry. I will worry about Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, if you promise to get a good night's rest. You look as if you could use it."

The headmaster tilted his head forward, eyeing harry from beneath his spectacles.

At that, Harry knew from years' experience that the conversation was over.

"Yes, sir." Harry replied, somber.

"I saw today's match, by the way," Dumbledore continued, "that was very noble of you to save someone you suspected to be working for Tom Riddle himself. What exactly was running through your mind at the time, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Erm," Harry gathered his thoughts. "I suppose, nothing was, sir."

Dumbledore grinned, pleased with himself, and raised his index finger. "Exactly!"

Puzzled, Harry frowned as he tried to piece together the professor's symbolism.

"Alright, Harry. Remember my proposal, you hear?" He gestured toward the door, signaling the end of their meet.

"Yes, sir," Harry rose from the chair, making his way to the exit. "Thank you, Professor."

"Anytime, Harry. Anytime." And Harry made his way down the spiral staircase, much slower this time. Unable to process Dumbledore's trust in the two Slytherins, he left feeling more confused than ever.

Empty and drained, Harry headed to Gryffindor Tower. He knew his friends would be worried, and he prayed they wouldn't pry for a detailed explanation of his absence. To be truthful, he just didn't feel much like talking.

Draco was released by Madam Pomfrey the following morning with orders to take it easy the rest of the day ("and no more quidditch for now!"). His first deed involved heading to the owlery to post his father's letter. It was chilly out, almost scarf weather. Time at Hogwarts was flying this term, and Draco wished it would freeze, if only providing a moment for him to think. As he sent an owl to Malfoy Manor, he wondered what would happen the next time he and Harry crossed paths. Would they speak, have a normal conversation? Would they lock eyes again, those pools of emerald able to stop time in their own way? And what if, well, what if something else happened entirely?

Draco had hardly had time to quantify his feelings for the bloke, but he had to recognize their presence. It was quite obvious really, as Draco had never experienced feelings for anyone like this. None of his suitors, girls that would make great Malfoy heiresses according to Lucius, met his expectations. They all seemed to bend at Draco's will, desperate to be by his side. Draco hated that. He wanted a partner, someone who would stand with him back to back, he and Draco against the world. And that's when it occurred to Draco that he'd automatically thought of his mate as a male. And not just any male, but the epitome of everything Draco had once been against. He could see them together, blended robes of red and gold, green and silver...

Draco snapped from his false reality as he found himself colliding into a face-full of heavy wizard robes.

"I wasn't watching where I was going-" Draco looked up to realize exactly who he'd run into. "I'm so sorry, Headmaster."

"Not to worry, Draco," he replied mercifully, "No harm done. Coming from the owlery I presume?"

"Yes, sir." Draco nodded.

"Ah. I'm glad to see that you are feeling quite well after yesterday's incident. And that you and Mr. Potter seem to be on better terms than I'd last recalled." Dumbledore always had an omnipotent air about him, as if he knew what you yourself were unaware of. Draco felt a blush creep to his cheeks at the observation.

"Erm, Yes sir. I suppose we are." Draco cleared his throat, trying to hide his shy embarrassment. Merlin, it was as if he was a school girl! Draco attempted to compose himself, masking his own frustration.

"Good, good. If I were the two of you, I would see that this doesn't change. Sometimes it's better to have friends where your enemies once stood." He nodded at Draco knowingly, and then was leaving, his robes sweeping away behind him. Dumbledore was an odd one, that was for sure. Draco's father had been more explicit in his feelings toward the headmaster, stating that the man was "clearly insane" and a "danger to himself and others." Draco had once again begun to question his core values when he took the time to observe Dumbledore, who, in Draco's opinion, was clearly not a danger to anyone.

Draco shook his head, accepting the puzzling vagueness that was conversing with Albus Dumbledore. At that, he continued the journey back to the slytherin common room, where he would spend the rest of his Sunday convincing Pansy his head was fine and slaughtering Blaise at chess.

When it was time to sleep, Draco stared at the ceiling of his four poster, allowing thoughts of Harry to finally take over. If he rolled into his side, he could almost insert yesterday's memory of his body into the space beside him. And it was nice. Across the castle, all the way up in Gryffindor tower, Harry Potter dreamt