Hey guys…remember me? First of all, I'm so, so sorry about the long wait. Truly, there is no excuse. It's been a crazy year, though, a lot of stuff has gone on in RL that kept me away. But then, to be completely honest, I sort of lost confidence in my writing ability, as it had been so long. I guess I kind of psyched myself out. But I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, and hoping to have this story finished before the year is out. Thanks to everyone who has hung in there!

Chapter Eight

Draco woke up the next morning with a start, covered with a fine sheen of sweat as always. After gasping for a moment, he felt a renewed sense of panic as he remembered class - was he late? But then he remembered it was a Sunday, and flopped lazily onto his back in relief.

He spent a few moments rehashing the previous day's events in his mind. One event stood out, of course - Harry had kissed him. However, as exhilarated as he'd been at the time, the thought now made him slightly nervous. What had it meant? Had it been, say, a friendly gesture? Draco didn't suppose Harry greeted his friends in such a way, but then he had been raised by Muggles. And their ways were said to be drastically different…

Draco wished he had the courage to simply ask Harry what he'd meant by it, but for the remainder of the night, he'd been unable to. The words had stuck like treacle in his throat, squirming back into his guts like a particularly nasty worm that festered and gnawed. He simply couldn't.

Sighing, Draco rose out of bed, wrapping his bathrobe around himself to ward off the chill. As he made his way to the kitchen, he smelled coffee, and was slightly surprised to see Harry, similarly clad and sitting at the table as though waiting for him.

"Good morning," Harry said, looking a bit apprehensive himself. He bit his lip. "I made coffee, if you want some?"

"Please," Draco said, nodding. "Thank you," he added as a steaming mug was placed in front of him. He wrapped his cold hands around the mug, shivering in pleasure as the warmth permeated his skin. Stealing a glance at Harry, he nervously took a sip, then nodded his approval.

"Not bad, Potter," Draco said carefully. "Never knew you could make anything." He winced the second the words were out of his mouth - for once, his purpose had not been to hurt or cut down, but simply to express his curiosity. Luckily, Harry didn't appear fazed by it.

"I can make all sorts of things, actually," Harry said wryly, taking a sip of his own coffee. "I'm quite a good cook, actually…in fact, if you ever want me to-" He cut off, flushing slightly.

"Well," Draco said in a careful drawl. "If I've survived you as a Potions partner thus far, I think I could brave your cooking at some point. Who taught you to cook, anyway?"

"My aunt," Harry said quietly, frowning unpleasantly for a moment. He shrugged. "Hated learning it at the time, but I guess it has its uses."

"She made you learn to cook?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Among other things." Harry sighed, smiling feebly at Draco. "No offense, but I really don't like to talk about them - the Dursleys, that is. I don't like to think about them, for that matter."

"Oh," Draco said, at a loss for words. "Sorry." He absentmindedly swirled the liquid around in his cup. He found himself, for a moment, wanting to know the story of the Dursleys…or about anything Harry had to offer, really. He wanted to know all the subtleties and nuances that made Harry Harry - then realized it didn't really matter. What mattered was the person sitting in front of him, real and in the flesh. A person was always more than their story.

"So," Harry said, "I thought last night went rather well. What do you think?" His eyes sought Draco's in that same beseeching manner as the day before, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat.

Gathering his nerve, Draco drew in a deep breath. "Harry, I wanted to ask you-"

But just then, Ron Weasley decided to join them, his hair tousled and eyes shiny with sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, rubbing at his forehead. "Fuck me, what a night." And without so much as an invite, he plopped himself down at the table, placing his head into his hands and groaning.

Harry gave Draco an apologetic glance, then patted Weasley on the shoulder sympathetically. "You alright there, mate?"

Weasley made an unintelligible sound, then wearily raised his head. "Harry, please tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me that George didn't dare me to run around starkers in front of everyone we know."

Draco cringed. The memory was one he would happily Obliviate from his own brain, were it possible. Harry smirked.

"I'm afraid so. But he only dared you…you seemed more than happy to oblige."

Weasley groaned. "Oh, Merlin's fucking balls, Harry. I bet you he spiked my drink - he'd been talking about a new product he wanted me to test…I told him no bloody way…"

Draco laughed. "Hate to tell you this, Weasley, but I'm pretty sure you were just giving into your innate desire to flash your junk to all and sundry." He grimaced. "Believe me, it wasn't pretty. In fact, I feel kind of bad for you - do you have some sort of birth defect that discouraged growth in, er, certain regions of your person?"

Weasley flushed bright crimson. "Shut up, Malfoy. I'll have you know I haven't gotten any complaints. So piss off."

Harry coughed, covering his face with his hands. "Too much information, Ron. Really, really too much information."

Weasley chuckled at that. "That can't be worse than knowing you and Malfoy are-"

Harry coughed again, this time with obvious intent, and Weasley's eyes widened. "Er, right. You and Malfoy are…drinking buddies. Right." He flushed again, then yawned rather loudly. "Well, I'm actually knackered. I think I'll just go back to bed." He stood shakily to his feet, clutching his head with the motion. "If Hermione comes by…well, tell her I'm sorry. About the whole everyone-seeing-my-bollocks thing, and all. Well," he looked back and forth between Harry and Draco, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. "Right."

Without further ado, Weasley stumbled back to his room, the occasional explitive ringing out through the flat.

Harry smiled at Draco. "Well. That was interesting."

Draco groaned. "Honestly, I'd tried hard to purge that image from my memory…I didn't even know one could have so many freckles on their arse! I mean, I wasn't aware it was humanly possible…"

Harry was laughing, clutching the table for support. "Draco…you should have seen your face, though."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you must know, I would hope to find my own face a vast improvement over Weasley's pasty, underdeveloped, freckled body." He shuddered, but found himself laughing as well. It really had been quite funny.

"Hermione was mortified," Harry managed to choke out. "And then Luna had to make that comment about how there wasn't anything wrong with the naked human body…I think we all about lost it, then."

"Right after I'd lost whatever I'd eaten for the day, that is," Draco replied, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. It felt good to laugh…he hadn't laughed like this in forever, years, probably.

Harry grinned at him from across the table, the laugh lines at his mouth contrasting dramatically with the tell-tale dark circles beneath his eyes. At that thought, Draco felt his smile fading, and once again took a breath of resolve.

"Harry, I want to talk to you about the potions you're taking."

Harry's grin faded as well, and Draco felt an unpleasant stir of regret at being the one to make it so. He'd liked seeing Harry laugh - more than he'd ever care to admit.

"Okay," Harry said, biting his lip nervously.

"Well, I'll spare you the lecture," Draco began, "because despite my many inferences to the contrary, I know you're smarter than this, Harry. But also, having studied at Potions…a little more intensively than you through the years - I think it's safe to say - I know how particular potions can interact with each other, how they can build up like poison in your system. So I have to know…need to know, that is, what you're taking, how much, that sort of thing."

Harry sighed, looking down at his fingers for a moment. "You remember how I used to disappear at night and nobody knew where I was?"

Draco nodded, remembering all too well. "Yeah."

"Well, sometimes I was visiting my godson, Teddy. That's how I cleared it with McGonagall, you see - the whole leaving the grounds thing. But usually, once I'd visited for awhile, I'd make a stop in Knockturn Alley."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Are you stupid, Potter? Do you have any idea who could still be creeping around there, just waiting for their chance to get at the Boy Who Lived?" Fenrir Greyback, as usual, popped to the forefront of Draco's mind - the thought of Harry at his mercy, being torn to shreds, was unbearable.

Harry closed his eyes. "I know. But believe it or not, I did take precautions. I used my Invisibility Cloak to get around, until I'd get to wherever I needed to go."

"And where was that, exactly?" Draco asked scathingly, hoping to see Harry flinch. It didn't work. Harry simply stared at him, his face resigned, impassive.

"Various apothecaries. Places where I could get stuff…discreetly, without the bloody Daily Prophet getting wind that their hero can't sleep…can't stay awake, either. I don't know the name of all the potions - I just know they help. I can't sleep, you see - nightmares," he said softly. "And as much as I hated the idea of Dreamless Sleep, I did use it a few times, but then Madam Pomfrey told me I was getting too dependent on it, and she couldn't give it to me anymore. So I use whatever it is they give me - it keeps me up for days, sometimes, and I don't feel tired. Then when I do finally crash from it, my body's too exhausted to dream. So I didn't lie to you, Draco. I did throw away all my Pepperup potion."

Draco sighed. Harry was staring at him, those big fucking green eyes of his begging, cajoling Draco not to judge him…and Draco didn't. Who was Draco, after all, to judge anybody?

Bravely, Draco reached across the table for Harry's hand, which Harry grabbed like a lifeline. "Have you considered going to St. Mungo's? Or explaining the entirety of your situation to Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "You're the only person I've told. And I didn't even want to tell you…I don't want people to worry about me."

"Why?" Draco asked hoarsely, rubbing his thumb along the back of Harry's hand. "Don't you think you deserve - as much as anybody - to get help, to be happy?" Draco was keenly aware of the irony of asking that question to another person - but unlike Draco, Harry actually did deserve those things, and so much more.

When Harry's haunted eyes told him all he needed to know, Draco sighed. "Well. Right, then." He rubbed at his eyes with his spare hand. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to attempt to make a potion for you, one that will help you sleep, give you nothing but good dreams, all that fluffy shit. And best of all, it's decidedly non-addictive. I say attempt because I can't promise it will work - it's a tricky potion to make, takes about a week to brew…and I'm sadly lacking in the ingredients. Now, I wouldn't be above raiding Slughorn's personal stores, would you?"

Harry smiled, looking inexplicably close to tears. "Am I ever above breaking the rules, Draco?"

"Good point," he conceded, watching Harry carefully. Draco shook his head. "I can't believe you'd trek about Knockturn fucking Alley…by yourself, no less, when all along you've had other options."

"It's hard to ask for help," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, it is," Draco agreed. They sat in silence for a few moments. Draco drained the remaining dredges of his coffee, grimacing slightly in the process.

"Do you want more?" Harry asked eagerly. "Or maybe tea? Or I could cook you something if you'd like-"

"Harry!" Draco interrupted. He shook his head, bemused. "I'm fine, really."

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling sheepishly. "I'm sort of…that is to say…" He snorted derisively. "Fuck, I'm horrible at this. Always have been."

"At this?" Draco asked, holding his breath.

Harry nodded, looking supremely uncomfortable. He then took a deep breath, appearing to draw on every ounce of that famed Gryffindor courage. "You know…this. I - I really like you, Draco." He let out a lengthy sigh. "There, I've said it. Wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I assume that was a rhetorical question," Draco said shakily, still reeling.

Harry laughed, sounding on the verge of hysterics. "Well, are you going to, er, say anything else?"

Draco laughed as well, uncomfortably. "I…" He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I think you're mad, quite honestly. But…I guess I do. Like you - a little."

Harry smiled. "A little, huh? It's always nice to feel appreciated."

"You know what I mean," Draco said, his words coming out more snappish than he'd intended. Making sure to soften his tone, he added, "it's hard for me-"

"I know," Harry cut in. "Draco, I know." Reaching across the table, he joined their hands once more. "This will sound fucked up, I know, but I've fancied you for months, I suppose. Ever since I saw the visions - through my scar - of Voldemort making you torture people-"

Draco frowned, nearly snatching his hand away. "You're right, Potter. That is fucked up. Extremely so."

"Let me finish! What I meant to say was, I'd remember your face. What it looked like."

"I was terrified," Draco said quietly, looking down at the table.

"Yes, of course," Harry persisted. "But Draco, I could look at you and see that you hated every second of it - you hated hurting people." Harry gulped. "Hermione's often said I have a bit of a saving people thing, and I reckon she's right. Because I thought about that a lot, at first. Saving you. But then…I just started thinking about you. I couldn't get your face out of my mind."

Draco was silent, looking down contemplatively at their joined hands. "And now?" he said finally. "Do you still want to save me, Potter?"

Harry smiled, somewhat sadly. "I don't think life is that simple anymore. There aren't real heroes, real villains…just people in various degrees of fucked up."

Draco chuckled at that. "I wonder where we'd fall on that scale?" Then, because Harry suddenly looked so uncertain, he took a chance. Sprawling across the table, he gently brought his mouth to Harry's, bringing up his hands to cup his face. Harry made a low murmuring sound, his mouth opening to Draco's. Draco moaned his approval, his hands threading through Harry's hair, smoothing down to his neck. The mouth against his was hot and wet, tasted of coffee, and Draco felt a jolt travel down his spine when their tongues brushed against each other.

The fear set in unexpectedly, just as Draco became aware of the straining erection trapped between his body and the table, and of Harry's hands, which had traveled down his back and were now gripping his arse. Immediately, Draco slid off the table and back to his chair, his breathing rather unsteady.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, appearing slightly dazed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Too much," Draco managed to pant, hoping the explanation would suffice. "I just…can't, right now, Harry." Face burning, he stared at the tabletop.

"It's okay," Harry said. He grabbed Draco's hand again, and Draco grudgingly looked up. Harry's pupils were dilated, yet his green eyes were as open as Draco had ever seen them.

"It's okay," he repeated. "For the first time in my life, I can say we have all the time in the world."

"Not to mention it would have been rather awkward, had Weasley walked in," Draco added quickly, still reeling slightly.

Harry smirked. "Yeah. You've got a point." He cleared his throat. "So."

Draco swallowed dryly. "Right." He glanced down at their joined hands, feeling suddenly incredibly awkward and self-conscious. "Sorry," he said, pulling his hand away.

"For what?" Harry asked. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Right." He gave Draco a small smile. "Well, at least you didn't cry."

"What?"

"Sorry, bit of an inside joke. Er, with myself."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're so weird, Potter." He sighed. "So, how long have you been, you know, interested in men?"

Harry chuckled, looking a little uncomfortable. "I don't know that I have been. It's always been girls - but I did find Bill Weasley attractive when I was fifteen."

"A Weasley?" Draco asked incredulously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, a Weasley. They don't have the plague or something, Draco. I'll have you know Bill was very fit, very attractive, before -" Harry trailed off, eyes widening slightly, and Draco made a sickening realization.

"Is that the Weasley that Greyback tore up?" Draco asked, somehow able to keep his voice steady.

"Er, yes. But-"

"I didn't know, okay?" Draco blurted out, then cringed. For some reason, it was important that Harry understand this. "I didn't know Greyback was going to be there."

"I know," Harry said softly. "And we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Good," Draco said, steadying his breaths. "Because I don't want to. Not right now, anyway. Kind of like how you don't want to talk about your Muggles."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. So, have you always liked men? Oh, and by the way, that bit about finding Bill attractive - please keep it to yourself."

Draco smirked. "Trust me, I'd rather forget it completely. And yes, I've known since third year."

"How did you know?"

"Oh, the usual. I started fantasizing about seeing Hagrid naked, that sort of thing," he deadpanned. Harry snorted.

"Seriously, though. I just…knew. It was never really an issue for me. What was an issue, though - and I guess it's safe to tell you now - I had quite the crush on you during fourth and fifth year. I would never have admitted it on pain of death, mind you."

Harry snorted again. "Really? But you…you hated me! You were a complete and utter bastard to me!"

Draco chuckled. "Well, yes. I did hate you. But if you'd pushed me into an empty broom-closet and started snogging me senseless, I doubt I would have objected."

"No, you probably would have just figured out a way to use the situation to your advantage. Secretly photographed said snogging session or something."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Potter. What could that have possibly accomplished, other than outing myself along with you? You're lucky you weren't a Slytherin."

Harry cleared his throat, looked surprisingly thoughtful for a moment. Draco wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Actually," Harry said, finally. "I nearly was. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I begged it not to."

"Why?" Draco asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"Well…because of you." Harry bit his lip, smiling sheepishly. "I guess you've always had an influence over me, whether I liked it or not."

"You too," Draco breathed, looking down. Truer words had never been spoken, for everything in his life, since age eleven, had always come back to him. To Harry. Draco nearly opened his mouth and spilled everything - how he'd wanted to be his friend more than anything in the world, how he'd spent many a sleepless night in the Slytherin dormitories thinking about him, how everything he'd done up until sixth year had been to gain Harry's attention - but didn't. Once again, it was too much.

But Harry captured his hand, squeezed it, and Draco supposed that on many levels, he already knew.

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