CHAPTER ONE

Harry, as of tonight, like many nights before, is sleepless. For some hours, he would simply stare into the ceiling of the lifeless dorm. On other days, of which he could not think clearly without expressing his heart, he would write into his diary. Due to his very private thoughts, which involve unlikely people, no one - absolutely, no one - shall discover them. So, he configured a special lock.

This diary was customized in a specific way. Everything in its detail was symbolic, or contained memories that were the most influential, as well as devastating.

The book's covers were completely black. He often felt trapped in his mind, which is why he chose writing for an outlet. What could be a better way of self expression, than explaining your soul through your own words? The blackness symbolizes the abyss, that metaphorically represents his hidden desire for things that cannot be said.

Embedded into the front cover was a photo of his parents. It was the only one that he had left. Anything could destroy this diary, and he would not give a care. If anything happened to this photo, then he would feel utterly lost and hopeless. It would be like losing his parents for one more time.

On the back, it had "No Good" in elegant font, and a decent size. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" should ring a bell. No explanation is absolutely necessary.

"Colloportus," he whispered into his wand. Everybody else was asleep, so his actions remained undiscovered. It better stay that way.

The first page number, which is located on the top left corner of the first page, is not "1". This particular diary did not read its pages properly. This was Harry's diary. Not a five-year-old, giddy girl's book of complaints and list of crushes, whom of which have yet to acknowledge her existence. No, the first number is "9 3/4".

Harry waved his wand cautiously, yet gracefully, above his previously written words. The first page contained his excitement during his First Year at Hogwarts. He smiled warmly. Nostalgia rushed through his bones, and created goose bumps across his arms.

He quickly turned several pages forward. There were nearly fifty blank pages. He skipped all of the romance. He skipped all of the awards. He skipped all of the personal victories. There is still one thing that he wishes to possess. He looked deeply into the naked pair of pages. The top corners had no numbers. He never thought of continuing. He did not obtain the passion to further his hobby.

The reason why he suddenly became so passionate, was due to a change in his heart. This specific reasoning will either change his life for the better, or make it a living nightmare.

He touched the tip of his wand to the left page, directly on the center. A live portrait of Draco Malfoy appeared. Harry smiled brightly, revealing all of his happy teeth. His blue eyes glistened in the only light that shined back at him. Draco's portrait got on its respectful knee, and a speech bubble appeared to the right. Inside of said speech bubble, Draco's portrait let three words escape. "I love you," and it smiled just as brightly. Harry began to write on the next page.

"Dear Draco,

I have yet to inform you how I truly feel. I'm terrified, but extraordinarily excited whenever I think about the possibilities. I have never felt this way before. Well, maybe except for right before my second Quidditch tournament. Battling against you tore my heart in half. It only split us apart even further. I don't understand how someone is allowed to love the opposite sex, but be terribly judged by someone who is completely different. I have had feelings for girls in the school, but none of which compare to you, my dearest Draco. I don't even know why I'm writing this. You'll never read it. I'm a hopeless romantic. I'm in love with the best man in the world, and he is, unfortunately, unaware."

The scratches of the quill against the paper woke up Ron. He blinked a few times, and rose a brow in confusion. Harry shut the book, and locked it without using magic. Ron surprised him by quickly removing the sheet fort.

"What's that, Harry? What's that?" He whispered mockingly. "It's not a diary, is it?"

"No, it's not! Now go back to bed!"

Ron looked at his clock by his bedside. "Bloody hell, Harry, it's three in the morning!"

"Which is exactly why you need to go to bed, Ron."

Ron looked away disappointed. "I will if you will."

Harry put his sheets back onto his bed properly. Then, he pulled his comforter over his shoulders. Just as Ron was about to get equally as comfortable, Harry turned to look at Ron. His linens ruffled with his movement.

"Ron?" Harry asked, hoping that he didn't fall asleep so soon. Actually, it would be impossible. He simply needed to vent. His adrenaline began to rush. What if Ron didn't accept him as a friend? What if everything changed after he told Ron of his true feelings for Draco?

"What is it, Harry?" He asked, half annoyed.

"If you're too tired to talk, then go back to bed."

"Firstly," he began to lecture Harry, "you're not my mum. My mum's my mum." Ron smirked. Harry smiled and giggled. "What do you want?"

Suspense rose. He was thinking twice about admitting his feelings for someone whom Ron despised. His bravery got the best of him again. He had to know how Ron would cooperate.

"Say," he stuttered, "-say you had feelings for someone."

"Okay?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry turned around. He couldn't tell Ron while looking at him.

"Say, you couldn't tell them because you were afraid of how they felt?"

Ron came to an improbable epiphany. "You don't mean m-me? Do you, Harry?"

Harry narrowed his eyebrows, and wondered how he'd come to this conclusion. Oh, no. No. It shocked him. He can't have this. It cannot happen.

"Well?" Ron asked, as impatiently as always. He kept his eyes on the back of Harry's lucius, dark hair. Ron's breathing increased and instantly became heavier.

"Ron, I'm talking about someone you don't really, well," he stuttered for the right words, but kept it simple, "like."

"Honestly, Harry, if you have feelings for someone, then I'd have to accept it. It's also none of my business. It's not like you're going to date both of us."

Harry shook in pure disgust. He couldn't think once about ever taking Ron out on a date. Let alone, merely kiss him. Almost immediately, Harry thought of Draco. His fair hair, always greased over. He longed to ruff it up, and make it unbalanced. He imagined Draco's sweaty body intertwined with his own. Unintentionally, he groaned.

"Harry, who is it?"

Harry turned around. He breathed in deeply, and then exhaled quickly. It was as if he were about to give a seminar.

"He is different from everyone I know. He is afraid to see himself for how great he can truly be. He acts tough, but only wishes to be nurtured-"

Ron opened his eyes wide. "He?!"

Harry remained serious, although the way Ron expressed that single word was overbearingly comical. There was no reason to feel offended. He nodded once, still very nervous.

"If you understood how I felt, you'd have gone mad by now. I need him like you need Hermione."

Ron was dumbfounded. A minute went by. That minute was the longest time that they had spent in a room, but only quietly.

Ron was the first to break the silence.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support my best friend and his intentions?" He smiled warmly.

"A bad one," he sarcastically remarked. They rejoiced in short laughter. "Thank you, Ron."

"Any time."

Ron turned onto this opposite side. Harry laid on his back, and rested his head on his folded hands. The biggest smile rested on his soft lips. He could finally go to sleep peacefully.