Chapter 3 : Someone Cares
"Draco calm down, I'm only trying to help you", said Harry hoping that it would work. If It didn't he would try again until it did. He would come back day after day to Draco's corridor.
Draco looked up at Harry, he wasn't sure what to do. No one ever wanted to help him. The world was selfish and cruel and there is Harry Potter who wanted nothing more to help him. He was confused. What would happen if Harry did help him (or at least tried to)? Draco's mother was his everything, and after she died he refused to let anyone help him. He put on a mask everyday to say "I'm cold hearted and mean" when he was only sweet, kind and mostly scared.
Harry stared at the boy. He seemed to consider it. He was struggling and trying to put away his male pride.
Draco looked up at Harry and said one word "no".
Harry was crushed. He wanted to help the pathetic Draco. He was sort of enjoying his odd kindness. He was worried about Draco. But why was he so concerned? Why did he seem to be obsessed with helping him (or just Draco)?
Harry's thoughts turned to dreams. What if he did get through Draco's thick skull and was able to help him. How would he do it? What would he do? He couldn't ask for advice from anyone. He promised Draco he wouldn't tell.
Draco wish he would've said yes. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of trying to only care for him and no one else. He wanted someone to take care of him, love him with all their heart. He suddenly thought of Harry taking care of him. Kissing him, holding him, and wiping away his tears. Why was he thinking this? What was wrong with him? He wasn't gay, or had any interest in any guys (despite the rumor about Blaise and him)
Draco leaped to his feet and went running after Potter. He had no idea what time it was. He checked the Great Hall and no one was there. He was then stopped by Filch.
Draco ran away from Filch back to his private dorm. He would have to talk to Pot- Harry tomorrow.
He slept only to be met by dreams of kisses, love and holding hands. He couldn't see a face, but knew that he enjoyed it. He woke the next morning confused.
What the bloody hell was that? I don't dream of any of that stuff. What the bloody hell is the matter with me?
A/N: Sorry that was so short. Writer's block really sucks.