Chapter Two – Hate or Love? Anger or Empathy?

Days went on and cloudless nights passed, and yet the continuous verbal attacks on Harry persisted. Being almost used to it and ignoring them, Harry grew bored of it. All Malfoy did was verbally call Harry gay, but never did anything physically.

Harry stopped.

What did he mean by Malfoy never did anything physically? Physically? Harry thought, why would I think of him doing something physically?

He was in the common room, still thinking about his pursuer. It was evening, and everyone was down in the Great Hall eating dinner, but Harry didn't go. Thoughts of his questioned sexuality and that blonde-haired Slytherin filled his stomach to the brim as he sat in the comfortable arm-chairs by the crackling fire. The sun was setting, casting luminous orange, pink, and yellowish tints in the sky. In the opposite side of the sky, the creeping darkness grew.

The common room itself was tinted by the colors the setting sun gave off as a golden-yellowish light in shape of the windows reached the maroon carpet. As a result, an effect of quiet peacefulness was given off. Lately, whenever Harry was thinking, his surroundings always provided the right environment. He blankly stared at the carpet, delving in his thoughts of that cruel yet pleasurably torturous boy – his blonde hair -- his lean body – Harry and Draco being alone – being in a room – undressing –

He shook his head.

He was once again entering the restricted area of his imagination and his thoughts. He consistently censored and blocked out those thoughts should they ever arrive – in which they often did. Finally deciding to take his mind off of things, he took out his Potions homework --Write a response on the usages of Dragon blood in various Potions.

The green-eyed boy sighed, lied on his stomach on the ground with his Potions textbook open, a piece of parchment, quill, and his bag all in front of him. Forgetting his ink bottle, Harry rummaged into his bag to find it, and as he did so, slightly sticking to it was a note.

Wanna' fuck tonight, Potter?

The same note Draco had humorously thrown at Harry reappeared. Harry stared at the note, re-entering into his thoughts. It had been many days since Malfoy gave that note, and other minor notes as well, but this one affected Harry the most. He began to regret not meeting Malfoy that night – What if he was serious? Harry thought.

His eyes moved from the cursive writing down to the drawing. It wasn't much, just stick-figured Draco and Harry performing the act of forbidden love. The detail of the drawing was obscure, but even simple pictures held a thousand words.

Harry began his usual musing, but he forced himself out of it.

Shaking his head again, causing his messy hair to fall in a more disorganized manner over his forehead, the scarred boy began to write his response. To avoid thoughts Harry didn't wish to think about, he began to do his schoolwork much more earlier than usual, which came to Hermione's happiness and Ron's curiosity.

"Harry, have you become like Hermione?" Ron would sometimes whisper.
"What? I'm just trying to do my work," Harry would respond peculiarly.
"You're doing schoolwork before everyone starts it! She must've hexed you or something," Ron would say as he would glance at Hermione.
"Shut up Ron," Harry would respond again, trying to focus.

This time, though, Harry was alone to do his work. He looked at his text and back at the parchment, composing a long response for Snape. The longer the response, the less he would have time to think, Harry assumed. Eventually, he ran out of what to write, as he already completed a parchment and a half's worth of a response. Such hard work, Harry knew, would probably be a waste, since Snape hated him.

The sun set further by the time he was done, and dinner time was almost over. The creeping shadow, bringing its dark blue domination of the sky as the moon rose and the stars twinkled, pushed the sun back, leaving a disappearing golden tint in the common room now. Yawning, Harry put his stuff away. Unfortunately yet fortunately, Harry was done with his homework.

Putting his stuff away and dropping his bag off in the boy's dormitory, Harry serenely walked down to the Great Hall. His footsteps echoed in the hallways as he went down the moving staircases alone, passing moving paintings on the walls. Reaching the Great Hall, he encountered students making their way out of dinner in small groups, laughing and chatting while he began to look for Ron and Hermione. As he searched among the many students leaving, he heard the laughter of several Slytherins.

It was Malfoy again.

Trying to avoid looking at him, Harry ignored Malfoy and his gang all together. He tried to make his way into the Great Hall, but luckily ran into Ron, followed by Hermione, who were arguing.

"Hey guys," Harry said, smiling.
"Hi Harry," they both said together, forgetting about their argument.
"Where have you been, mate?" Ron asked, as they began making their way upstairs, "You haven't eaten."
"Yeah, I was upstairs . . . er . . . doing Potions homework," Harry said uncomfortably, thinking the better of saying that, but saying it anyway.
Ron had his mouth open, and Hermione clapped a bit.
"Oh Harry, I'm so glad," Hermione grinned.
"You two are nuts," Ron said, still surprised.

All three of them made their way up, but Harry caught something in the corner of his eye. Malfoy left his group of friends and went towards the boy's bathroom. Falling to his temptation so he could be with Draco alone, Harry excused himself.

"Er, guys, I have to go to the bathroom," he said, rushing off without a response.

He made his way out of the hordes of people going to their common rooms and stepped in the bathroom. There was Malfoy, by a mirror, looking at himself. He caught Harry entering.

"Oh, is it you, Potter?" Draco sneered with no interest. He looked back at his reflection again.

Harry glared at Malfoy, and then simply went to one of the sinks – keeping one sink between the one Malfoy was at and the one Harry was at so there was distance – and washed his hands although he didn't need to. Harry desired to start conversation.

"Why did you write that note to me in Umbridge's class?" Harry blurted out as he shut off the faucet and glanced at himself in the mirror above it.

Draco looked at him for a moment and then smiled with evil intentions in his mind.

"Why Potter? Thinking about it, were you?" Malfoy snarled as he continued to smile while looking at Harry.

Harry said nothing as he went to dry his hands. Malfoy was right after all – Harry was thinking about that for a while. But to cover up his growing insecurity, Harry assumed seriousness in his actions and words.

"Shut up Malfoy, before I make you run to your father," Harry said under his breath, though enough for his Slytherin counter-part to hear.

Immediately, and to Harry's complete surprise, Draco had pinned him to the tiled wall. Face to face, breath to breath, yet mouth's separate, Draco gave an angry look at Harry. Clearly, Harry offended him greatly by insulting him and his father – even indirectly. Now staring at Draco, Harry took notice of his facial features -- his pale skin contrasted with his deep brown eyes, and above them on his forehead, rested his pin-point straight blonde hair. Malfoy's face structure, being a bit long and sharp, complimented the features that Harry began to question himself for.

Face to face. . .

Malfoy grabbed Harry by his robes tightly, holding Harry against the wall. Harry looked at Draco as Draco glared back, and feeling threatened and violated as he forgot all soft spots for his hated enemy, Harry managed to punch Malfoy right in the jaw.

Malfoy staggered back, holding his jaw and flashing an angry look at Harry. Pulling his wand out, the blonde-hair boy yelled out, "Conjunctivi—"

"Expelliarmus!" said the scarred boy with a swift hand motion his wand-hand did, apparently pulling out his wand before his rival and saying his spell much faster.

The Slytherin's wand forcibly flew out of his hand, landing near a toilet stall. Being disarmed, Harry still pointed his wand at his predator, who now held his hands up in fear and confusion. Managing to give a weak yet fake smile, Malfoy began to laugh lowly.

"DON'T MAKE GAY JOKES ABOUT ME NEXT TIME OR IT'LL BE YOUR NECK!" Harry yelled in anger, his face turning bright red and his eyes piercing into Malfoy's. The boy who mused a lot was sick of it, he was sick of being confused, of questioning his orientation, of falling in love with the one who he was facing.

His wand was still raised as he stood there perfectly still, as if he was stunned.

Malfoy seemed to lose his courage again, and staggered a, "I won't."

Harry then slowly lowered his wand but still breathed heavily, lashing his green eyes at his hated yet loved enemy. This time though, Harry was determined to forget all the weak points he had for Draco, now that he promised he won't make fun of Harry anymore. With determination and confidence, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Malfoy, as he tried to calm down.

Harry could finally stop worrying.

Or could he?

That same night, Harry curled in bed, regretting what he did to Malfoy. Now he'll never like me, Harry thought. The moon rose and the sky glimmered with stars as the cool and still air kept the outdoors unusually quiet. Wrapping his blanket tighter around himself, Harry ignored the snores of Ron and the quiet breathing of the others. He began to ponder about Malfoy, his rudeness in the bathroom, the fight, and his out-of-nowhere attraction to Draco. Harry wondered also if all hope was lost now. He could never be with Malfoy.

This time, Harry didn't stop himself from thinking about what he originally didn't want to think about, for the thoughts came back to him. He stepped into his fantasy again, drifting off to sleep.

Draco and Harry – alone in a room – gazing into each other's eyes – undressing each other – wrapping their arms around each other's bare bodies – kissing --

Slowly, Harry fell into a deep sleep of a wonderful dream.