Author's Note: Thank you guys for the reviews! I love all of your reactions. I appreciate everything and I love you all for it! Draco's POV.

Chapter 12

Draco sighed. He drummed his fingers against his thigh anxiously and tried to look interested as he pretended to listen to Blaise, Potter and the Weasel banter about who-knows-or-cares-what. Why was he in here anyways? What the hell had he been thinking? Draco had allowed himself to be sacrificed into enemy territory, that's what it was—trickery, damn it! Draco glanced around at his surroundings with distaste. The Gryffindor common room was garishly red and it made him want to hurl.

Blaise was laughing really hard. Draco glared at the back of his friend's head, annoyed that the boy had dragged him into this. Of course, Potter had been the one to suggest that Blaise and Draco come visit Gryffindor with him, with the argument that they should all acquaint themselves with each other as new friends. Draco had protested vehemently, of course, but Blaise had kicked him and replied that they would both love to go. And so now here they were, Blaise giggling along with the Gryffindors, and Draco feeling completely and utterly out of place. Honestly, he had been surprised that the Weasel was so calm about the visit, not even attempting to throw any insults at them—the redhead opted to shoot Blaise the occasional tight smile and ignore Draco completely. Draco was fine with that, but... it was strange how well Blaise was getting along with Potter and Weasley, laughing with them as if they were all old friends. Draco raised an eyebrow. It was a wonder that Blaise hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor first year. He would've made a good one.

Potter suddenly poked Draco, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Hey Malfoy," Potter said. "Ron wanted me to ask you how good Pansy Parkinson was—what?" The Weasel had interrupted by punching Potter's arm, his face pink. Potter was grinning. "You said to go ahead!"

Weasley looked as if he were choking a bit; his face had become a shade close to that of an overripe tomato. "Merlin's balls, Harry, I didn't mean it!" he exclaimed.

Potter just chuckled at that and turned back to Draco, eyes sparkling. "Well?" he asked.

Draco grimaced. He and Pansy had never been in a romantic relationship; he had never looked at her as anything but a close friend. At first, they'd become friendlier with one another for public image and their families' wishes, but now, it was just second nature, and both he and Pansy had grown much too comfortable with their arrangement to stop or change anything. Anyway, Draco was a virgin. But he wasn't about to tell Potter and Weasel that—like they needed to know.

"That's none of your business, Potter... And neither yours, Weasley," Draco retorted, perhaps a bit too coolly. Weasley bristled and Draco suddenly regretted his response.

Blaise cleared his throat, breaking the almost-tension. "Draco and Pans aren't in that sort of relationship," he explained. "They've always been friends." Draco smiled gratefully at Blaise. Who had ever said that Slytherins didn't have each other's backs? "Besides..." Blaise was smirking now. "I'd say it's just as well. She's too feminine for him."

Potter and Weasley each looked perplexed from Blaise's little hint, but Draco was fuming. The fucking prick. Leave it to Blaise to dangle his Gryffindor side in Draco's face just to pull a stunt like this, reminding Draco which House Blaise was really meant to be in. For good reason, Draco thought bitterly.

"Feminine?" asked Weasley, clearly still befuddled. "Obviously. She's a girl."

Blaise's smirk grew. "She is, isn't she?"

Potter stared at Draco.

Draco gulped. "She's just not my type, all right?" he justified. "What is the big deal?"

Potter raised his eyebrows. "What is your type then, Malfoy?" he asked.

Before Draco could say anything, Blaise cut in. "Draco just likes his partners more, let's say, defined... Chiseled, if you will. I'm talking about a body. And he's got a thing for dark hair and gre—"

"You can shut the hell up now, Blaise, I think they've got the picture," Draco snapped, interrupting before Blaise could embarrass him further, if that was even possible. Why? If he had let that sentence go on for just a moment longer... Gods, his life would be over. Potter would murder him. Draco wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear, his heart was thumping loudly in his chest—and that damned flush was already forming, he could feel it.

Blaise just laughed. "Okay, Drake," he cooed, using Draco's hated nickname. Draco gave him The Glare. Fuck you, Blaise.

"Um, anyways," Weasley piped up, looking uncomfortable.

This was his chance to transition the subject elsewhere. Draco gave Weasley a clipped nod. "You going to the Ball tonight, Wease—Er, Weasley?" he inquired.

Weasley paused and appeared shocked that Draco had acknowledged him, but he nodded all the same. "Yeah, I'm going with Hermione," the redhead announced, looking proud of himself for some reason. Draco could see Potter smiling for his friend. Hm. Well, he already knew that Potter was going with Luna Lovegood and they all obviously knew he was going with Pansy. He frowned. He had yet to ask Blaise if he was going, but since he was still furious at the boy he decided not to, at least right now.

Luckily, Potter was a curious lad. "Who are you going with, Blaise?" Potter asked.

Blaise just grinned. "I'm going dateless. You beat me to the punch, Draco, asking Pansy!" He pretended to sulk. But of course, he was fully aware that Draco had always taken Pansy to school functions, as he if had an unspoken claim on her. They all knew that. Draco just shrugged. He was still mad. Blaise would need to grovel.

Potter looked at his Muggle watch and shook his head. "Oh shit, speaking of, we've got to get up. The Ball's in an hour."

Draco practically bolted towards the door. "One hour?" he shouted. "That's hardly enough time!"

"Calm down, Malfoy," Weasley remarked, although he looked close to laughing. "All you've got to do is throw on your dress robes."

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Are you serious right now?"

Potter laughed. "You should see him get ready in the morning. It's not a hairstyle... It's a lifestyle," he teased. Weasley and Blaise chuckled along with him.

"Go ahead and laugh, Potter," Draco scoffed. "This hair doesn't just happen, you know; it takes skill and time, neither of which you would know anything about. You don't even own a hairbrush, for Merlin's sake. Won't you at least let me buy you one?"

"Nope," Potter answered cheerfully.

Draco scowled at him, and the other boys just snickered.

"Fine," Draco sniffed. "Just go ahead and show up looking like a prat. See if I care."

~x~

Approximately one hour and twenty-three minutes later, Draco was heading down the steps to the Great Hall where the Formal Ball was to be held, Pansy on his arm and Blaise on his other side (Blaise had done his apologising back at the dorm and Draco had grudgingly accepted it. No matter how badly Blaise had embarrassed him, he could never stay mad at the wanker for long). Draco grinned as he saw many heads turn at their arrival. They looked fantastic, no doubt. Slytherins never delivered any less.

They complimented each other perfectly. Blaise donned rich, dark green robes, and Pansy wore in a silver floor-length gown with a plunging neckline. Draco himself was wearing sleek onyx dress robes that his mother had picked out for him a while back... He had never worn it before, but it fit like a glove and was both tasteful and alluring at the same time—he noticed a couple of Hufflepuff girls looking him over and blushing. He smirked. Yeah, he looked good in his dress robes. Honestly, how could he not? Dress robes were simply the high aristocracy of wizard apparel. But of course, the barmy Headmaster had allowed Muggle formal wear with the argument that as long as the attire was appropriate, students could wear whatever they wished to. Draco thought that this was ridiculous. Who wouldn't want to wear dress robes? He wrinkled his nose distastefully as he studied a Sixth year wearing a so-called tuxedo... So faux pas.

Pansy glanced over as well. "Distracted, Draco?" she inquired.

"Not at all," he muttered, shaking his head. "There is absolutely no one on this planet that could make that Muggle atrocity look appealing."

Blaise snorted. "You've spoken too soon," he remarked. "Look."

As soon as Draco glanced up, he knew that Blaise had been right. Because there was Potter, all decked out in a form-fitting black Muggle tuxedo and a slim green tie around his neck. His cheeks were glowing and his hair looked as if he had attempted to tame it but had given up halfway through. Oh, fuck... Potter cleaned up well. Draco swallowed, hard—How could Potter make something so simple look... sexy?

Pansy followed his gaze and smirked. "Still an atrocity?"

Draco didn't even look at her, refusing to tear his gaze away from Potter. "Absolutely," he breathed.

Just then Potter glanced around, noticing Pansy, Blaise, and Draco in the crowd. He grinned immediately and waved at them before unlinking his arm from Lovegood's and heading over to where they were all standing—Draco squirmed at the sight of Potter's legs in those trousers; he was glad that his robes billowed away from his body. When he reached them, Potter nodded at Blaise and Pansy before turning to face Draco with a beatific smile.

"I see you've worked on your hair," he remarked, gesturing at Draco's head.

Draco tried not to smile. "I see you haven't," he countered.

Potter laughed. "That's not fair," he argued. "I did try."

"Oh really? With what hairbrush?"

Potter almost smirked. "Yours."

"You've let your mangy locks touch my brush?" Draco exclaimed, scandalised. "Fantastic. I'm going to have to burn that now, thanks."

"You're welcome," Potter teased. Then he gave Pansy a once-over and shot her a polite smile. "By the way, you look beautiful, Parkinson."

Pansy smirked at him, but Draco could tell that she was pleased. "Don't I know it, Potter?" Pansy quipped. "You want this."

Potter laughed. "Maybe."

"What about me?" Blaise piped up. "Don't I look beautiful as well?"

"Gorgeous," Potter assured him. Blaise grinned.

Lovegood walked up then and took Potter by the arm, gazing about dreamily. Draco resisted the urge to snort. "Come on, Harry and friends," Lovegood said. "Let us go in together."

Luckily, neither Pansy or Blaise (or Draco) had snickered at the girl. Potter and Lovegood led the way while Draco held Pansy by the waist; Blaise trailed behind with Finnigan and Thomas. As soon as they walked in, Draco felt the music pulsing throughout the room, his temples already throbbing from the work. He inspected the area—well, it looked like the typical school function. Potter shouted something over the music about sitting down, and soon, they were all gathered about a table of drinks, laughing. After about an hour of conversing with Potter and the Gryffindors, Draco was surprised when Pansy pulled him up to dance. He hadn't even realised that she and Blaise had left.

Pansy led him to the dance floor and immediately took him by the hips, swaying to the music. "Why are you still sitting there with all of them?" she hissed. "It's time to get a move on."

Draco eyed her. "You don't usually ask me to dance with you."

"I don't mean with me," Pansy responded, as if it were obvious. "I meant with Potter."

"Oh sure," Draco retorted. "Shall I also pen 'I'm a fucking queer' in black ink on my forehead?"

"Ha, ha," Pansy deadpanned. She ground her body against his. "I'm serious. Don't you wonder if he can dance?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "He can't. We both saw him at the Yule Ball."

Pansy grinned. "People learn, Draco. Give him some credit. Wait here."

Before Draco could protest, Pansy had dropped her arms and scurried off into the crowd of oscillating bodies. Draco scowled and looked at his feet. There was no way that he was going to dance with Potter in front of all of these people. Of course, he could do nothing about stopping Pansy now; she was on a warpath, and Draco knew her well enough not to cross her on one of those... But it didn't mean that he had to dance. He wouldn't.

"Draco!" He whirled around. Pansy was back, now with Potter and Lovegood. "I've brought a surprise!" she exclaimed.

Potter looked uncomfortable. "I'm not a good dancer," he protested. It was clear that he had been aptly persuaded to get up and join them on the dance floor. Draco tried not to grin. It was so typical Potter. He had to wonder just how Pansy had gotten the couple to follow her there.

"Oh, just trust me, Potter," Pansy remarked. She grabbed onto his hand, and then Draco's. "Follow us."

Draco (reluctantly) sidled up next to both Pansy and Potter as an upbeat pop song began to play. Potter seemed to eye Lovegood enviously, as she was in her own little world fluttering her hands and arms about a little ways away from them, as they all swayed in unison. Draco silently cursed Pansy for dragging him into this. It was embarrassing! The surrounding sea of people made it difficult for them to stay in a group, but at least it had made it less obvious that they were dancing together like this—Draco would suspect that they looked rather foolish at the moment.

"See? It's not so hard," Pansy encouraged. "Just go with the music."

Potter didn't have rhythm. He didn't have grace. His dancing was utterly dismal... But by Merlin, somehow, Draco still thought it attractive. Damn it. He hoped that his palm wasn't sweating... As if on cue, Pansy let go of both of their hands, and ever so casually (except Draco had noticed), she began to grind a bit away from them. Potter hadn't seemed to realise it, though, and he was still looking at his feet, most likely counting in his head.

Draco could hardly believe that he was so close to another boy right now, their bodies moving in sync with the music. Potter's hip brushed against Draco's thigh in reminder every so often, gently, and he bit his lip. Fucking hell. Somehow the music had slowed down in tempo in his brain, and they were pressed up against each other; warm, rough, tense. Draco gulped—damn his raging hormones. The urges were already beginning to take over his thoughts. But of course, Draco knew that it wasn't Potter that was causing them, that was for certain.

As if the band had read his mind, the music actually began to get slower and slower, until it was close to that of a formal ballroom tune. Draco froze as people began to pair up and wrap their arms around each other, and now, it was painfully obvious that he and Potter were the only two on the dance floor that weren't doing the same. Awkward. Draco looked at Potter, who had glanced up from his feet at the change of tempo, with an expression of surprise on his face. Draco wondered whether or not Potter had realised that he had been dancing with Draco and not Pansy. They stared at each other for a few moments before Potter looked towards the door.

"It's getting a bit stuffy in here," he remarked. "Perhaps we should go outside for a moment."

"What?" Draco asked loudly.

"Merlin, you can hardly hear anything over this music," Potter complained, but a smile was blooming on his face now. "I said, let's go outside!"

"What did you say?" Draco teased. He was grateful for the lighter mood.

"Just follow me, you prat," Potter said, and Draco laughed.

They walked out of the double doors and down the corridor into the courtyard, Potter leading the way and staring up at the large, luminous moon in the sky. Draco watched his eyes widen and light up at the sight.

"Merlin. So beautiful," Potter observed, never taking his gaze from it.

"Yeah. Beautiful," Draco agreed, staring at Potter instead.

They stopped at a small bench and Potter suddenly sat down and patted the cold stone beside him for Draco. Draco made a face, but he sat down anyways. They were silent for awhile. The courtyard wasn't empty at this time, but Potter had picked a rather secluded area away from the snogging couples, and it was quiet enough so that they could still hear the blasting music from the Hall. Draco was grateful for that, at least.

"Thanks for teaching me how to dance," Potter said, breaking the silence.

Draco looked at him and shrugged. "It wasn't me, it was Pansy."

Potter gave him an odd look, as if Draco had said something absurd. "She left after about a minute." He paused. "Or didn't you notice?"

Draco fought the urge to cringe and leave. "Of course I did," he muttered.

Potter was quiet again. He leaned back on his hands and let his head fall back to face the sky once more. Draco didn't understand it, how Potter was the way that he was. He really didn't. Potter never seemed to let the uncomfortable things get to him like Draco always did; it was strange. Maybe it was a Gryffindor thing? Or maybe it was just Potter. It was always just Potter... He was rather mature for his age.

"Do you remember the other day when I asked you about your Patronus?" Potter blurted again.

Draco frowned. "I'd rather not."

Potter turned his head and gazed at Draco with half-lidded eyes. "I know that it's a touchy subject, but I just wanted you to know that I don't think it's funny that your Patronus is a ferret. I'm sorry that I laughed when you got turned into one."

Draco snorted. "Don't lie, you thought it was hilarious," he said.

Potter cracked a smile. "I suppose that it was just a little bit funny, at the time," he confessed. "But still, it's nothing to be ashamed of, Malfoy. The Patronus charm is a really complex one, it's rather impressive that you've done it. Besides, ferrets are cool."

Draco's heart leapt a little. Potter thought his Patronus was cool? Did he think that Draco was cool? Did he—Draco almost slapped himself. What was he, a fourteen year old girl? He needed to get a fucking grip. "Thanks, Potter," he managed.

Potter turned away again, still smiling. "Of course," he murmured. "Anyways, what happy memory do you use?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, but he decided that it was okay to talk about it with Potter. They'd already shared so much. "When I was fourteen, my mother took me to France—just me and her—for the whole summer," Draco said quietly. "It was the first time I'd ever truly been alone with her. We used to eat the best cuisine and walk around the shops and then come home and sit in the yard for hours until nighttime and watch the fireflies come out and dance in the fields... She used to tell me then that I had to do what my heart told me, and not what anyone else said—because I wouldn't ever be happy otherwise. I never forgot it."

Potter was staring straight up. "I'm sure she misses you, Malfoy," he murmured. "Wherever she is."

Draco just nodded and looked at the ground, not trusting his voice to answer. He didn't want sympathy from Potter and the boy seemed to know it. That was the nice thing about Potter. He just knew, for some reason.

"Mine is of my mum and dad," Potter said softly, after a pause. "Talking to me. Telling me that they loved me; being with me always. That's it."

Draco couldn't answer again. His insides felt wobbly and all of the sudden, he wished that he were hidden deep down under the wraps of his duvet, curled up in a ball with his eyes squeezed shut. He and Potter were so alike sometimes, it was astounding. But then again, Potter was so pure, so good. And Draco... perhaps not. Potter's parents must have been quite something, Draco thought. They must be so proud of him, wherever they are. Could Draco say the same of his own parents? Could his mother really be proud of him now? He wrapped his arms around his torso and shivered from the thought. Potter looked at him now, obviously mistaking the movement as one from cold. The Gryffindor straightened up and slung an arm around Draco's shoulders, leaning in for warmth.

"Did I ever tell you that your mother saved me from Voldemort?" Potter asked.

Draco looked up in question. "No. She did?"

"Yeah."

Draco could feel the corners of his mouth tug upwards, and he let them this time. "I'm really glad," he admitted.

Potter smiled too, and flicked a couple of blond strands of hair away from Draco's forehead. Draco froze. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable... their bodies were far too close and the conversation too intimate for his taste. He got up, brushing off his robes and looking back down at Potter, who was still sitting as if he were holding someone up.

Draco cleared his throat. "Thanks for this, Potter," he said. "It feels good to talk."

Potter offered him another brilliant smile. "We should do it more often."

Draco willed himself not to react stupidly. He tried to smile back, but he probably looked like a strained monkey. "Of course," he agreed. "Well... I'm feeling a bit knackered all of the sudden. I'm going to go back to the dorm to get some sleep." He turned and began to walk away quickly.

Potter was right behind him. "Want me to walk you to the dungeons?" he offered.

Draco's chest flooded with an overwhelming amount of surprise affection for him. Honestly! It was classic chivalrous Potter. Who else would offer to do such a deed? It was almost... endearing. Draco felt the unexpected urge to grab Potter's face and snog him silly. Oh gods, that was not good. He had to snap out of it! Draco managed a smirk despite his unstable condition.

"I think I can handle myself, Potter," he drawled. "Go back and have fun for the rest of the night."

Potter hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't make too much noise coming in. You know how Rebecca hates that."

Potter grinned and turned around. "I'll be quiet," he promised. "Night, Malfoy. See you later."

Draco waved him off. But as soon as Potter was safely around the corner, he bolted out of the courtyard and through the corridors, not stopping until he had reached the Slytherin common room and his own dorm. Draco stalked forward and instantly sank onto his bed with a frustrated sigh. Gods, what were all these feelings? He was uncontrollable and blushing and shaky all over. It was completely inappropriate. Draco tried to push them out but they stayed, firmly and stubbornly. Kind of like Potter.

Draco threw a pillow at the floor, now angrier than ever. "Fucking bastard," he growled, glaring at it. When he turned back to his bed, he noticed Rebecca sleeping peacefully in her blanket, wrapped up with tender precision. Potter! He was so considerate! And charming! And fucking fit! Draco shouted off another string of obscenities to nobody in particular. He couldn't deny it any longer—it was painfully obviously now. He, Draco Malfoy, had the hots for Harry Potter. And he had them bad.

Draco groaned and fell faceforward onto the duvet. He was so fucked.