Harry Potter awoke the following morning, briefly wondering whether the previous night had happened at all. He assumed it could have quite easily been a dream. After all, in what other world would it make sense for Draco Malfoy of all people to wake him up, crying, because he was afraid of the dark and then kiss him?
That's exactly as Harry thought.
It just didn't make any sense.
Curious, and not trusting his memory, Harry stood and tiptoed down the hallway of number four, Privet Drive, and poked his head into the guest room. There was the nightlight, still shining on, and there was Malfoy, fast asleep, and comically, with his thumb in his mouth.
Now, this, Harry found amusing. He'd exercised restraint and hadn't laughed at the upset boy the night before, but this was too good to be true. He snuck back to his own bedroom and riffled around before retrieving a camera. It was an old one. One that printed pictures immediately and returned to the guest room.
Click.
Click.
Click.
And then Harry stopped, because he felt like a stalker. Walking down to the kitchen Harry stared at the printed photos with a grin on his face. Oh, this was good. But then Harry frowned.
He couldn't show these to anyone. Even after all Malfoy had done. Besides, it was clear even in the photos that Malfoy had been crying and... well, he just couldn't do that to him. Sighing, he placed the pictures in his pocket and began to make himself breakfast, being the first one awake.
Malfoy came sauntering down the stairs around an hour later, completely dressed, surprisingly, in muggle clothes. This however was not the reason Harry had to stop and wonder if he had gone barmy and hadn't realised it. Malfoy's general demeanour suggested that nothing had happened the previous night and caused Harry to, one again, wonder if it had.
Harry was happily in the sitting room watching the telly (Dudley would not be up for hours, Vernon had gone to work and Petunia out shopping) when the blonde had made his appearance.
"Where's breakfast, Potter?" The boy barked. Harry rolled his eyes and lazily pointed toward the kitchen.
"Help yourself, Malfoy." He said with a yawn, and picked up the remote, feeling rather disconcerted by a particular image on the screen.
"Don't they have house elves for that sort of thing?" He asked indignantly.
"Muggle families don't. And drop the attitude Malfoy. We're not at school. There's no one to impress here." The grey eyed boy strutted into the living room and stood in front of the telly, purposely blocking Harry's view.
"Excuse me Potter?" Harry couldn't help but laugh at the fact that the hostility had by no means reached his rival's eyes. How had he not noticed it had all been an act by now? "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, bugger off, Malfoy. You and I both know that you're not nearly as tough as you put off. Or do you not remember any of last night at all?" Breaking his previous resolution not to use the Slytherin's fears against him, Harry had brought it up. Malfoy blushed.
"Forget about last night, got it Potter?" Harry just shook his head at the anger in his words. "It's was nothing, okay?" Harry raised his eyebrows as his tone turned defensive.
"It didn't seem much like nothing, Malfoy. Whatever the hell happened to you, I'm sorry, and it doesn't give you a right to be an arse."
"Nothing happened." Malfoy mumbled. "Forget it."
"Nothing happened? You just came into my room at the one o'clock in the morning crying for no reason? Okay, sure. Whatever you say, Malfoy. Please, get out of my way." Harry watched as Draco took a breath, seeming to lose a bit of his facade.
"I'm just... I'm just afraid of the dark, okay Potter? Does it matter?" Harry looked at him, seeing once again some of the vulnerability that he'd seen the night before.
"Well, yeah, Malfoy, it does. If something happened, then yes, it matters because whatever it was affected you quite a bit." Malfoy glared, but Harry detected a sense of nervousness in the Dragon's grey eyes. He was hiding something.
"Yeah, well nothing happened. So it doesn't matter." He snapped. Harry rolled his eyes, no longer caring.
"Okay, fine. Nothing happened. Stop being so defensive and get out of my way." He said through clenched teeth.
"Or, what, Potter?" Harry thought for a moment, and smirked.
"Or I tell the whole the school that you suck your thumb."Draco paled, but didn't give in.
"I don't... what the bloody hell would give you that idea?" He tried, and failed, to imitate surprise. Harry lazily pulled a photo from his pocket and flashed it at him.
"I hold the cards now, Malfoy. I suggest you don't test me." The blonde smirked, despite the current blackmail.
"You were watching me sleep, Potter? How perverse... why am I not surprised? And what do you want from me anyway? To be nice to you? What the bloody hell have you ever done for me?" Harry raised his eyebrows.
"For starters," He said with annoyance, "I didn't laugh at your breakdown of sorts last night. And don't go saying you hate me either. You seemed pretty chummy when you bloody kissed me, so I wouldn't go thinking you're in any position to wager with me." A look of horror crossed Malfoy's features and he drew in a shaky breath.
"K-kissed you? You mean I didn't dream that?" Harry shook his head.
"Nope. That actually happened." Without a word, Malfoy stepped away from the telly and retreated into the kitchen. Harry rolled his eyes. Something had certainly happened to the boy to cause such a dark fear. But it wasn't worth the trouble to find out.
"Do you know how to work a microwave, Malfoy?" He called after the blonde, realising that he would be entirely out of place in muggle kitchen. He listened for a response, and got none. Sighing, but knowing that Petunia would have a fit if she came home and Malfoy had managed to set the house alight he followed the boy into the kitchen.
Malfoy was standing at the counter, presumably cutting a loaf of bread, when Harry heard him sniff.
"Malfoy?"
"What do you want, Potter?" the boy snapped. His voice sounded odd. Choked. Was he crying?
"You alright Malfoy?" Harry watched from behind as the Slytherin reached up to wipe at his eyes before turning to look at him.
"I'm fine." He attempted a smile and Harry's eyes narrowed.
"What's wrong?" Malfoy turned back around.
"I could be asking you the same question." He heard his enemy mumble.
"What the bloody hell are you on about Malfoy?"Harry walked over to the boy, forcing him to look at him. Malfoy just stood and stared, with tears in his eyes.
"What's wrong with you?" he whispered. "You should be making fun of me." A sudden realisation hit Harry quite like a brick as he took in his companion's words.
"Malfoy, there was nothing funny about last night. I don't laugh when I see people cry, that's a Slytherin thing. And the kiss? Look, if you're gay or not it wouldn't matter because it would be pretty damn hypocritical of me to laugh at you for that. If you want we can pretend that never happened, but you need to know that it's okay to be afraid of things." Malfoy just shook his head.
"It's not." He whispered, sniffing again. "It's weak and pathetic and you should be teasing me relentlessly right now." He broke off. "Because I deserve it." Harry raised his eyebrows in concern.
"What on earth makes you think you deserve it Malfoy? Come here, sit down." He coerced the blonde into the living room and sat beside him on the sofa.
"Just forget it," he mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes, seeming determined not to allow them passage down his cheeks. "It doesn't matter."
"It does." Harry said gently. "More than you realise." The vulnerable expression on Malfoy's features was enough to make Harry want to cry.
"I-I cried in front of you." He whispered. "I let someone know about one of my biggest secrets. I'm so pathetic I can't even stop myself from crying in front of my worst enemy. If f-father were here..." His lower lip trembled and Harry couldn't help but notice how terrified he seemed by this.
"None of that matters, Malfoy. Your father isn't here. And from what I can tell, you don't agree with him otherwise you wouldn't even be here right now. I mean, it's just a guess, but I'm pretty sure that whatever happened at home for you to wind up here wouldn't have if you were really the spitting image of him that you try to be." Malfoy slowly shook his head.
"So does it really matter that you cried in front of me? I know you and I have never gotten along but I'm not a horrible person. I wouldn't hold something like that against you."
"The kiss." Malfoy whispered. This time a tear or two did run down his cheeks and he hastily wiped them away.
"Malfoy, I'm gay. And I'm not a bloody hypocrite. Your sexual preference means nothing to me." After staring at Harry with a look of deep distrust, Malfoy finally nodded.
"Okay." He said softly. "I guess it doesn't matter." Harry squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly.
"That's the spirit. And hey, if you ever feel like talking you know where to find me."
And with that, Harry Potter left Draco Malfoy to his thoughts, for he had a few of his own to explore.
Did he really want Malfoy to forget about that kiss?
Or had he liked it more than he thought?
Harry Potter was very confused.