A/N: Another update? Yes, I know. I'm insane. But this fic is really stuck and my mind, and hopefully, you guys will enjoy it too!
Anyway, onto chapter 2!
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Malfoy,
So, if our first kiss didn't mean anything, what did that mean?
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Potter,
What are you talking about?
Oh, and, good job in potions today. I've never seen anyone blow up as many cauldrons as you.
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Malfoy,
I'm glad you appreciate my talent.
And you can't seriously not know what I'm talking about. You were the one that pulled me into the broom closet, remember?
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Potter,
Yes, I remember. But I do remember you telling me not to say anything. I was just following your wishes.
Am I not allowed to be nice? God, Potter, you can't have it either way, can you?
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Malfoy,
I meant not telling anyone else. Why would it matter if we talked about it?
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Potter,
How should I know? I have a hard enough time trying to figure you out, I can't believe that I used to think–
"Harry!" A voice called loudly at his ear. Harry jumped, quickly flipping the letter over. He grinned wearily up at Ron.
"What?"
"Who have you been writing to?" Ron asked, looking at Harry seriously.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've been writing all these letters lately! And getting a bunch back, but you never say who they're from or what they say–"
"It's not important, Ron," Harry said quickly, though half of him wanted to scream that it was important. He didn't know where that feeling was coming from, however, so he ignored it.
Ron raised his eyebrows at him.
"If it's not important, then–" He cut off, and then, grinning wickedly, made a lunge for the letter in Harry's hand.
Harry stood up quickly, pushing Ron away with one hand, while using the other to hold the letter safely against his chest.
"It's doesn't matter right now," he said, trying to ignore the hurt look on Ron's face. "It's only that this person just started writing me, and I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. But I promise, once I figure it all out, I'll tell you. Okay?"
Ron nodded, but still looked doubtful. Harry pushed away the guilty feeling in his gut, and walked towards the door of the common room. Pausing to grab his book bag, he called out to Ron behind him.
"I'm going to go for a walk," he said. "I'll meet you at dinner, all right?"
He didn't wait to hear Ron's answer.
Sitting under a tree next to the Black Lake, Harry unfolded the letter that he had been reading before. He skimmed through the beginning, until he found where he had been cut off.
I can't believe I used to think that you were predictable.
But don't let that comment get to your head. And don't try to say that it wasn't going to, I know you better then that.
Wow, maybe you are still predictable.
Harry shook his head. He could practically see the smirk on Draco's face as he wrote this.
At least he wasn't the only predictable one.
He opened his book bag and withdrew a spare sheet of parchment, and a quill.
Malfoy,
Sorry, I guess I just figured that you would have enough common sense to realize that I meant not talking about it with anyone besides me.
But enough stalling. I think we need to talk– and by talk, I mean actually talk, not just throw sarcastic sentences at each other. What is happening between us? Last time I checked, I hated you.
And now I'm kissing you in broom closets.
Does this still mean nothing?
Sighing, Harry finished the letter, and stood up. He didn't really want to walk all the way up to the owlery, but it wasn't as if he could go back to his dormitory and use Hedwig. Someone would notice if Malfoy got a letter from Harry Potter's owl. That was something that Harry could stand to avoid.
He stood and faced the Black Lake, allowing the still sea water to calm him. Harry didn't know what was going on with him and Malfoy, or, more importantly, why he didn't want it to end.
"Potter," A voice said quietly from behind him. Harry jumped. He spun around, and found himself staring at Malfoy, who was a couple of feet behind him.
"Malfoy," he said, holding out the letter to him. "You just saved me a trip to the owlery."
Malfoy paused, before walking forward and taking the letter from him.
Harry watched him read it, feeling the distance between them like a physical ache. Harry was surprised to find himself thinking about how tantalizingly perfect Malfoy looked right then, and about how much he longed to kiss those too pink lips.
But before Harry could act on those wishes, however, Malfoy finished reading, and looked up slowly at him. His eyes were guarded, and Harry couldn't read them.
"Do you still hate me?" He asked, his head tilting the smallest bit to the side.
Whatever Harry was expecting, it wasn't this.
"What?"
"I said," Malfoy said, taking a step closer to Harry, so that they were almost touching, "do you still hate me?"
Harry was having a hard time answering him; his mouth had gone dry a couple of minutes ago. He swallowed with difficulty.
"I don't think so," he said, shaking his head.
"Good," Malfoy said, and Harry was shocked to see that he looked relieved.
"And you?" Harry asked, slightly nervous.
But Malfoy smiled at him, a genuine smile, not a smirk like Harry was so used to seeing. The sight of it made Harry's cheeks warm.
"I don't think I hate you anymore either," he said thoughtfully, the small smile still on his face.
"Good to know," Harry said.
And then he kissed him.
Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be found when Harry returned to the common room after parting from Malfoy down by the lake. Harry was secretly glad, he really just wanted to go up to his dormitory and just think about what was happening.
But when Harry got up there, there was a small sheet of folded parchment on his pillow. Harry smiled at the owl who was sitting on the windowsill, obviously waiting for a reply.
Harry picked up the letter somewhat eagerly, opening it quickly.
He felt his heart stop as he read the letter.
Harry,
I think this just might mean something.