Golden rays of light streamed through the uncovered window in Harry's bedroom. His eyes opened and the day before immediately shot into his brain. Groaning, Harry pulled his blanket over his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Why was he so stupid? Why couldn't he have just faced Malfoy and gotten over the awkwardness he felt around him? Two chances, he'd had, after Malfoy had dumped blistering hot tea on him, and he'd passed them up in fear. Fear of being confronted by the feelings he couldn't seem to shake.

"I'm not gay," he whispered to himself. Not that being gay is a bad thing, his brain spoke. It's just that I'm not gay. And neither is Malfoy, so even if I was gay━which I'm not━I couldn't have him anyway. Not that I even want him in the first place.

"Potter, are you even alive in there?" Harry heard Malfoy call out, knocking smartly on the door. "I'm actually starting to get a little worried." What time was it? Harry checked his watch, which was still on his wrist. He usually took it off before bed, but he hadn't even changed into his nightclothes before falling asleep the previous evening. He had simply stared up at the ceiling in the dark, alone with his thoughts, until he had fallen asleep. Half past eleven. How on earth had he slept that long? Maybe he actually was sick.

"Potter?" Malfoy called again. Harry groaned in response. He didn't want to get up, but he supposed he would have to face Malfoy sooner or later.

"Come in," he yelled, not bothering to sit up. Malfoy made an odd noise on the other side, paused, then opened the door slowly.

"I thought you said—" Malfoy started, but Harry cut him off.

"I know what I said. I only meant without permission."

"Oh. Right." Malfoy stepped in the room, looking around at the high ceiling and elegant curtains. His eyes fell on Harry and his brow furrowed slightly. "How come your room is so much bigger than mine?"

"I didn't really━why are you even here?" he asked, sitting up, now. He didn't ask the question in a rude way; he was genuinely curious. Malfoy seemed a little hurt, however, so Harry continued, a little more kindly, "You don't have to worry about me so much."

"I'm not— I don't worry about you." It was obvious to Harry that Malfoy was doing his best to sound snappish, but the feeling was absent.

"You just said you were worried about me, though," Harry retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"Just making sure you didn't die, is all." Malfoy tried to act casual, smoothing out his clothes. Harry noticed that he did this most when he was nervous. "I don't know what the public would do if precious Potter croaked on us. They'd instantly blame me, I'm sure." Harry rolled his eyes. There it was again, the ever-present sarcasm. Aside from, maybe, the last part.

"Well, you know I'm not dead now, so problem solved, right?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Malfoy asked, suddenly changing the topic. He seemed almost… angry?

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've been ill, you dolt," Harry lied badly. He had been avoiding Malfoy, and he could tell that Malfoy was aware of this.

"Well, still, you've been odd… cold, even, and that's my job, so you can stop any time."

"I'm actually quite warm, thanks," he said, gesturing to the blanket that was still covering his lower half. Malfoy's face went vacant of all emotion, aside from the glare he shot at Harry.

"You're shoddy, mate." He had called him mate again. Malfoy apparently noticed, too, because a slight tinge of pink crossed his pale cheeks.

"Yeah, well, takes one to know one, mate,"Harry replied coolly, purposefully inserting the endearing term. He paused. "Why do you call me mate but still address me by my surname?"

"Why do you still call me Malfoy?"

"You're the one who started calling me mate."

"I hate that name," Malfoy said, swishing his wand and summoning a stool. He sat on it and crossed one of his long legs over the other, so that his foot rested against his thigh, then laid his hands gracefully against his leg. Harry pulled the blanket off and scooted to the edge of the bed, perched in a more attentive position.

"Mate? But you're the one who started calling me that." Harry was beginning to get confused by the constant changing of topics, and he wasn't sure what they were even talking about anymore.

"Not mate. Malfoy." He pursed his lips, and a shadow crossed his eyes.

"Why?" Harry could tell that the subject bothered Malfoy, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"It just—" Malfoy sighed. "It reminds me of last year, and how I'm connected to all of this stupid riff raff. To me, 'Malfoy' always felt more like a title than a name, and not one I connect with anything pleasant. It reminds me of my father, and all the expectations that everyone placed on me, and the way the other Death Eaters would spit it out like some kind of poison. It's a reminder of how I'm not good enough, how I never was." He looked down and for a split second, Harry saw a man much older than the one who sat before him, one who had faced the consequences of war firsthand.

Harry felt ambivalent about the information Malfoy—or Draco, rather; after knowing how Draco felt about his own surname, Harry actively made the switch— had told him. He could easily commiserate: He, Harry, knew what it felt like to be seen as one thing and, no matter how hard you tried, be unable to change that. His own name had been used as a title rather than a name since he was eleven. To the world, he was more of a symbol than a man, and his scar only reinforced the idea with people. At the same time, Harry also felt a secret satisfaction that Draco was finally opening up to him, showing him who he truly was. That was a gift that Harry had never hoped to receive, and yet…

"Well, er, Draco," Harry said, smiling a bit. It felt weird sliding off his tongue, but was oddly gratifying. "I don't think you're very much like your father, and I don't see you as a Death Eater. Not anymore."

"And… how do you see me, then?" Draco asked slowly, adding, "Harry," at the end. There was something in his voice, almost like a plea, but more harsh.

"I suppose━that is, I think that you're━" Harry didn't really know how to explain how he felt toward Malf— Draco. Damn. That was going to be difficult to get used to. "I guess, I like you. As a person. As a friend." God, he was a fucking idiot. He exhaled loudly and tried to force his thoughts into words without sounding incoherent. "I think you're a lot more than anyone gives you credit for. I think that, inside, you're a lot like me." Draco snorted.

"But with much better taste in clothing." Harry couldn't help it. He smiled.

"Yeah, probably." Becoming more serious, he said, "Joke all you want, Draco, but I really think there's more to you than this snobby git you're always trying to come off as." Draco's grin faded, and he looked thoughtful.

"I like you, too, you know," he said, meeting Harry's eyes. There was something there, mingling with the silver of his irises that gave Harry the impression his statement held weight to it. Again Draco added, "Harry." Harry ignored the butterflies rummaging around annoyingly in his gut and stood up from his bed, wincing in pain as his vertebrae aligned.

"I need a new mattress," he grumbled. He crossed his bedroom and pulled out the top drawer of his dresser, grabbing up the first raggedy tee he could find and old pair of jeans. Draco looked like he wanted to comment, but fortunately refrained from doing so. Instead Draco stepped closer to Harry and his bed, waved his wand, and verbally placed a cushioning charm on the mattress.

"That should help a little, at least. If you want, I could get you another mattress," Draco said thoughtfully. "You'll be paying me back, of course." The last sentence was more forceful, as though Draco had only added it as an afterthought.

"That's okay, I think I can manage until I get the job acceptance letter from the Auror Department," Harry said, feeling a bit strange about the Slytherin's helpful offer.

Draco wasn't supposed to be generous. He wasn't supposed to be kind to Harry, and he certainly wasn't supposed to put cushioning charms on his mattress. Not that Harry wanted him to revert to his past behaviour; it was rather nice seeing this side of Draco. He only wished he understood why Draco was acting this way and doing these things. Remembering the clothes in his hands, Harry cleared his throat and lifted them so Draco could see, signifying that he was waiting patiently for him to leave, but, after a few seconds, assumed that he didn't get the hint.

"Uh, Draco…" Draco looked up, caught sight of the clothes in Harry's grip, and jumped up.

"Oh!" He hurried out of the room, embarrassment still tinting his cheeks.

Harry dressed slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the strange conversation they'd just had, but was distracted by the loud rumbling of his stomach. Because he'd slept so late, he'd probably missed breakfast, but he made his way down to the basement anyway. Grabbing two slices of bread from the pantry, Harry began making toast, hoping that would fill his stomach enough until lunch. The Floo activated, causing Harry to jump and nearly drop the butter knife he held. When he turned around, Molly and George Weasley were stepping through the hearth and into the kitchen.

"Harry!" Molly said cheerfully before crossing the room and wrapping him in a tight hug. "How have you been, dear? I've been worried about you, you know. You never sent any word about how you're doing." As she stepped away from the raven-haired wizard, he saw that her look of excitement had turned into one of disapproval.

"Sorry, I've been…" Busy? Distracted by Draco? "Cleaning a lot," he settled on. "And I don't have an owl." Molly tsked.

"There's the post office," George pointed out. He looked around the kitchen, and seemed to approve of the state of it. "Not quite the trash heap it was before," he mumbled in appreciation. Molly gave a soft pat on George's arm and glared at him in the way Harry had seen her do every time her children misbehaved.

"Yeah, Kreacher's been helping out a lot." Molly looked rather surprised at that. Harry had forgotten that she hadn't been there to see Kreacher's change after being given Regulus' locket. He took a bite of his toast, unable to distract himself from his empty stomach. Molly looked at the toast in his hand and gasped as though she'd just remembered something important.

"Food," she said, crossing to the pantry. "Oh, goodness, there's not nearly enough! I was afraid you'd starve to death here, with your vault being unreachable. Why didn't you ask me for help, Harry dear?" He could've said that they were just as badly off as he was, but that wasn't the case. At least they had access to the money they owned, even if it wasn't much.

"I didn't want to bother you, after all you'd done for me already."

"Nonsense. We're family, Harry. If you need help, you should say so." Molly patted her robes and then pulled out a piece of parchment. "Ginny left this for you," she said, handing the paper to him. Harry eyed it suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, she's asked me not to read it." Harry still didn't open it, and instead put the folded paper in the front pocket of his denims.

"Probably just letting you know she's got three boyfriends now," George said with a smirk. "Since school started I hear she's gotten quite popular with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws."

"George!" Molly admonished. "That's impossible, anyway; she gave me this before school had started, so keep your tasteless humour to yourself before I send you back to the Burrow."

"Er… alright," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. "She could've just owled me," he pointed out. "Thank you, anyway." The three stood uncomfortably in the kitchen, and Harry thought about inviting them upstairs, but didn't want to risk her running into Draco. He didn't want to have to explain why Draco was living with him, not after what happened at the trial. "Would you like a some tea?" he asked, finally, when the silence had stretched too long.

"Oh, that would be wonderful, dear. There's so much we need to catch up on. Why don't we go up to the drawing room and have a chat?" Panic rushed through Harry's blood.

"No!" he exclaimed, then at the shocked look on her face said, "It's still under repair. There's, erm, mold. And rot." Molly scoffed.

"So then it's just as bad as before," George said with a slight laugh. Harry was glad he was able to laugh, now, but it still didn't sound right. It didn't sound like George's laugh, more like someone else was laughing for him so he didn't have to. "Come on, then, mum's made me skip breakfast. Tea sounds great!"

"I did not make you skip breakfast," Molly said shrilly. "You skipped breakfast yourself when you refused to come downstairs!"

George shook his head, then began walking towards the stairs. When he passed Harry, he whispered, "She made me," and then began climbing up.

It was obvious that they weren't going to listen to him, and he considered making up a better excuse, but had already given one bad one and didn't want to make it worse. Molly started up the stairs and Harry followed after her, hoping that this would be one of the rare times Draco wasn't in the drawing room reading. They passed through the first upper floor and Molly had a look around.

"This is very nice, Harry! It looks so much more… livable than it did. You've done a wonderful job fixing this place up." She paused, looking like she was considering whether or not to say her next words, but then said, "Sirius would be proud of you."

"Thank you," he said, unsure of if that was true or not, since he had an ex-Death Eater in his home. Molly continued up the stairs and to the french doors leading to the drawing room, which were closed, giving Harry no peace of mind. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to have tea in the dining room?" he asked, his voice cracking. He had a gut feeling that the drawing room wasn't empty, and really did not want to have the conversation they were bound to if it wasn't.

"No, I'd rather be in the drawing room, if that's alright, dear. The dining room's a bit formal. Besides, it always feels so empty without the rest of the Order here." Molly wore a sort of sad expression at that, and Harry wondered if she had been in touch with any of the Order members since the Battle. What was left of them, anyway. He hesitantly pushed open the doors to the drawing room, peeking for any sign of Draco. To Harry's surprise and relief, Draco wasn't there. Molly gasped at the renovated space.

"Oh, it's lovely! Is this why you were acting dodgy? I didn't know you had put so much work into it already!" She looked around, apparently flabbergasted, and part of Harry wished he could tell Molly that it wasn't his work. He felt awkward about receiving credit for Draco's skill, but brushed the feeling aside.

"Yeah, there's still a little more to do. I was kind of keeping it a surprise." Harry dragged his foot on the floor nervously.

"It's lovely, dear," Molly said, embracing him.

"Yeah, didn't know you were much of a decorator," George added. He looked around at the walls, which had been stripped of a few paintings. "Didn't toss out the old family tree, I see."

"Nah. Couldn't remove it," he said, keeping silent his thoughts on how hilarious it was every time Draco looked over at it and scowled at his own face.

"Eh. Figures," George shrugged. Molly was still gawking at the repaired furniture and neat wallpaper. Harry wasn't sure exactly what to do. He had never hosted before.

"Er, go ahead and sit down," He said, realising as soon as it left his mouth that it sounded vaguely like an order. He quickly added, "Make yourself comfortable." The two Weasleys gladly took up one of the sofas and Harry called for Kreacher.

"Yes, Master Harry?" Molly stared at Kreacher in shock. She had never seen him so clean and responsive.

"I was wondering if you could get us some tea, please." Kreacher gave Molly and George a strange look, but thankfully said nothing. He merely Disapparated, reappearing moments later at the doorway, carrying a tray laden with teacups and biscuits. Keacher set the tray down on the cherry wood table that Draco had transfigured from a small chip of wood, bowed, and left them to enjoy each other's company. Harry settled down on the sofa opposite Molly and George, grabbing a biscuit.

"My, my," Molly said softly in awe. "He certainly has changed."

"Yeah," added George. "He doesn't start furiously muttering every time he sees us anymore. How kind of him."

"I can't tell if you're serious," Harry said with a laugh. "But yeah, he's improved a lot since I gave him that locket."

"Locket? What locket?"

Harry didn't quite feel like bringing their day down with Regulus' tale, so he simply said, "It was something of Regulus'. Sirius' brother. He was apparently really attached. It's a long story. Ever since I gave him that locket, though, he's been a lot more tolerable to be around. It also helped that I was nice to him." Harry's conscience twinged at the idea of not setting them straight about Regulus, but he eased it by telling himself that he would explain later.

"Apparently," Molly said. Her face became more serious when she spoke next. "Ron was hoping to see you before he left for school, you know. I think he wanted to patch things up."

"He could've easily stopped by, if that were the case." He wasn't still mad at Ron, though his best friend had hurt his feelings by ignoring him, but he thought it ridiculous that Ron had wanted to see him and then hadn't. "He knows where I'm living."

"Maybe he was afraid you'd profess your love to him, and he'd have to let you down easy," George joked. Harry felt himself becoming defensive, but remembered what had happened the last time he'd overreacted to one of George's jokes about his closeness with Ron.

"Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't put it past him, honestly." Harry thought that wasn't the proper answer, if George's face was anything to go by. A moment later, however, Harry noticed that George wasn't looking at him and followed his gaze.

"Are you talking to to yourself in here, Harr━" Draco's voice came from the doorway, but halted. Harry's heart plummeted at the sight of the blond at the entrance to the drawing room.

"What's he doing here?" George asked, nearly choking on his tea. Molly jumped at Draco's voice and turned to see him as well. Shite. Shite. Shite. Why? Harry's mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with a good enough reason for Draco to be here. He considered lying for a moment, but then decided that the truth would be the easiest way around this situation.

"Come on in, Draco," Harry said stiffly. Draco shook his head, discomfort on his pale face. "It's alright, we're just having tea."

"What the hell—" George started. He looked from Harry to Draco and back again, his mouth open.

"He—" Harry tried to find some way to explain Draco's situation without making Draco feel like a charity case. "He's living here, er, because I can't afford to live alone, what with my bank vault being frozen, and… Malfoy Manor's been seized, so it's been beneficial to the both of us…"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Draco stated simply. Harry stared at him. He couldn't believe it. Draco had admitted his own helplessness. He had been honest, and with the Weasleys at that.

"But it was me who practically begged him━" George's eyes snapped to his, his jaw dropping further. "Well, not beg, I didn't beg him." Fuck. "It was more like…"

"After the reporters found me camping, Harry came to find me and invited me to come and stay with him. My Aunt Andromeda doesn't trust me enough to live with her. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and so Harry asked me to stay here with him. He saved me, really," Draco added with a smile in Harry's direction.

"I didn't save you, you said so yourself." Harry wished that Draco hadn't phrased it that way.

"I am so bloody confused right now," George said, looking back and forth once more between Harry and Draco. "So Malfoy can't go back to the Manor, his aunt doesn't want him… but you did?"

"I couldn't just let him be homeless!" Harry tried to justify his actions.

"Why not? It's not like you liked the git in the first place."

"George, dear, you're being a bit rude," Molly said sternly, but quietly. It was the first time she had spoken since Draco entered the room and Harry was grateful that it had been polite.

"I'm just really confused," George said, leaning back on the couch shaking his head with pale eyebrows raised. "I don't see why you asked him to live here after everything that's happened. Unless… unless you two…" Harry didn't like the tone in George's voice, nor the suggestive glint in his eye. He wanted to change the subject, but his brain seemed to have clogged.

"Well, I think it's very kind of you, Harry, dear," Molly piped up with a smile that didn't quite reach her voice.

"I do, too," Draco said, coming to sit next to Harry on the second sofa and patting Harry's leg. "Really, I don't know where I'd be now if it weren't for Harry, here." Harry didn't understand why Draco was being so soft, or why he was touching him unnecessarily. Not only did Draco admit to being desperate for a place, he was also making Harry out to be some sort of champion. It didn't calculate.

"Okay, this is too bloody weird," George said. "Mum, can't you see what's going on here?" Molly narrowed her eyes at her son, and Harry wondered what exactly the two of them thought was happening.

"What's so weird about two blokes living in the same house?" Draco asked innocently. Harry was beginning to suspect that Draco was up to something, and he did not like it. Not one bit. Draco seemed to be playing off of George's suspicions, whatever they were. Harry tried very, very hard not to think about what they were.

"Well, nothing. It's not that, exactly." George still had that same look on his face. Molly looked back and forth between all of them, apparently as confused as Harry was. Draco smirked and scooted ever so slightly closer to Harry. Harry stood, abruptly, bumping the tray on the table with his knees as he did so.

"I don't know what the hell you two are playing at, but I don't want any part of it." Harry went to exit, not looking any of them in the face. He threw the drawing room doors open, storming down the hall and back down the stairs.

Once in the privacy of the dark kitchen, he settled into one of the wobbly chairs and placed his forehead in his palm. What the hell were George and Draco going on about? Struggle as he might, he couldn't seem to place his finger on it. Whatever it was, he didn't like it, and he wasn't about to let them team up on him like that, wasn't going to let Draco sit so close that his insides started to squirm and his skin start to feel electrified by Draco's soft hand… No. He wasn't going to let them manipulate him like that. Not in his own home.

As he watched Harry's slim figure slide out of the room, Draco smirked and raised his eyebrows at George. He knew what he was on about. George just gave him a small confused look before his mother jumped on him.

"What was that all about?" She asked, her voice dripping with all the sternness a mother's voice could possibly carry, to the point that even Draco felt a little uncomfortable.

"Isn't it obvious, mum?" George asked, spreading his hands in a gesture that said it was. He waited for his mother's response, and Draco watched as what George was saying slowly dawned on her.

"It— wait, you're not suggesting—"

"You guessed it," he replied, clapping his hands together. Draco leaned against the back of the couch, his arms and legs crossed in a smug manner.

"And what gave you that idea?" She asked, thrown off of her reproving manner.

"What, that he likes blokes? Or to try and whittle it out of him?" The woman's eyes widened and she smacked her son's arm.

"Is that what you were doing?" She dropped her voice. "I think we need to have a little talk." She returned to her commanding tone. "Dining room. Now."

Draco stayed where he was until he could hear the sound of their footsteps fading, then stood up and cast a silencing charm on his feet so he could follow after without them knowing. As he approached the hallway on the lower floor, he could hear their muffled voices from beyond the doorway. Sneering at the fact that they hadn't even cast a charm on the door, he stepped closer to listen.

"… would have thought that you would have the sense to leave the poor boy alone," came the Weasley mother's voice, soft yet audible. She had a certain fire in her tone, and Draco briefly thought to himself that he wouldn't want to cross her when she was truly angry.

"He's obviously way in the closet, mum. I'm just trying to get him to recognise his own feelings."

"For what purpose, George? So that he can be more confused than he already is? Even if you're right, even if he is gay, he doesn't need that right now. He's already going through so much. And it's not your job to confront the matter, in any case. That's a very personal subject, one he has to come to terms with himself, without anyone pushing him to do so, and that includes you and Draco." At this, Draco felt a sudden pang of remorse. Maybe she was right. Perhaps he had been pushy. Harry would still be grieving, after all. George spoke again, interrupting Draco's thoughts.

"What's a little pushing going to do? If he's gay, then he's obviously in denial. If he's not, then it shouldn't matter anyway!"

"It isn't your responsibility to make Harry come out with it! If he is, he'll do it in his own time, and I'm not sure this is good timing, anyway. Draco seems to have an interest in him, and Harry doesn't need to be involved in all that. I think it's lovely that Harry has offered him a place, but we hardly know the boy." Draco could feel the heat rising to his face. So that's what it was about, whether Draco was trustworthy or not.

"No, you're right. Don't want him to be messing around with that slimy git. This could be some Death Eater trap, after all."

"George!" She sounded both embarrassed and cross, but George merely laughed. Draco had heard enough. He stepped away from the door and hurried up the staircase, approaching the landing just as the dining room door creaked open. He turned around, pretending he had just exited the drawing room. George looked him up and down swiftly, but said nothing. Mrs. Weasley, however, turned and spoke to him.

"We're very sorry, Draco, but we should probably be going soon. I'll just have a quick word with Harry before we leave." And with that, both Weasleys made their way down to the kitchen, leaving Draco on the steps to contemplate everything that he had overheard.

Harry caught the sound of approaching footsteps and quickly composed himself. A moment later, Molly was entering the kitchen, George following cautiously behind her.

"Why don't you go on back ahead of me, George? I'll be just a moment." George nodded, giving Harry a small wink as he tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace, called out, "The Burrow!" and was whisked out of sight. Harry frowned. Molly seemed to be busying herself with her handbag, not looking at Harry. Finally, after finding nothing else to distract her, she looked up and spoke.

"I'm really sorry about all that, dear." Harry wasn't entirely sure what she was apologising for.

"Sorry?"

"For George, I mean. I'm not sure why he feels the need to act that way. If you felt disrespected in your own home, I'm terribly sorry." Confusion swept across his features and his eyebrows squinched together.

"Acting what way?" He wished she'd just be clear about what was going on, as he had absolutely no idea.

"Well, I only mean that—" She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "You seemed a little bothered, that's all. I know that George can be a bit, er, bold, but you don't need to prove anything to us." Harry just stared. Why was she being so evasive?

"I really don't know what you're going on about, Molly." She just gave him a weak smile.

"Well, anyway… It was lovely to see you. Perhaps sometime you'll join us for dinner." She paused for a moment, then turned toward the fireplace, tossed in the powder and was gone.

With nothing else to do, Harry took Ginny's letter from his pocket and simply held it in his hand for a moment. He felt an odd trepidation, now that he was secluded enough to have the opportunity, about opening the note. He didn't know what to expect. Coming from Ginny, it could be anything. His mind flitted to the fact that she had been invited to the Slug Club in his sixth year because of her adeptness at Bat-Bogey hexes, and part of him considered tossing the note in the fireplace without reading it for fear that it might be cursed or something of the sort. After a short debate in his head, however, he gently pulled apart the tiny seal and began to read.

Harry,

School is going to be starting tomorrow, so I figured I should probably write and tell you this before I go. I would visit, but I'm not sure you really want to see me.

I'm really sorry about everything that happened over the summer. I didn't mean to react so badly. I hope you can understand and forgive me. I was a bit rash and you probably didn't deserve my temper. It's just been hard, what with everything that's happened and then us fighting and you being distant all the time. I don't really blame you anymore, though. I know it's been just as difficult for you, too.

It's strange, you not being here. I keep expecting you to pop up. I know it's stupid. It's kind of lonely here without you. Ron and Hermione are always busy (with each other, I expect. If only you could see my eyes rolling.) and George doesn't really talk to anyone much. Dad is at work a lot still because of all the stuff the Ministry has to do, so mum's the only one who I can talk to most of the time. I'm super busy with packing, so that keeps my mind off of things sometimes. I'm nervous for this school year. I've flipped through my new textbooks and it looks like really complicated stuff. I'd feel a lot better if you were going to be there, too, but I guess I understand why you won't be.

There's something I wanted to ask you about, Harry. It's something I've been wondering for awhile, now, and I'm not exactly sure how to bring it up, but I need to know if it's true. Do you like men? I mean, are you gay? George once mentioned it in passing, and at first I thought he was joking, but then it kind of just clicked. It would make sense, and I understand if you are. I want you to know that I wouldn't judge you. I just want to know because it would make some things a bit clearer.

Anyway, I hope you won't take offense to this letter, or my question. If you don't want to answer me, that's okay, too.

Much love,

Ginny

Harry skimmed the letter over a second time. Ginny had said that it "clicked" that he might be gay. What did she mean? Why was everyone acting so strangely towards him lately? Why was Draco suddenly being so touchy-feely with him? Why was he beginning to think that he might be gay? Or at least something in between straight and gay. He needed to talk to somebody about this, and he wished Sirius was here to do so. Nothing was making any sense anymore, and he needed somebody to tell him that things would be okay.

He understood now, at least, what George had been on about. George thought he was gay. The fact slowly congealed in his mind. Draco hadn't helped anything, what with his strange behaviour, but Harry felt the need to talk with him. He was the only other person there, and the only person Harry felt comfortable discussing this with, as odd as that may be, even to him. It wasn't ideal, but he needed someone to talk to or he felt his head might burst from all the thoughts and worries and new information now swirling inside it.

Gathering what resolve he could find, Harry stood up from the kitchen table, intent on searching Draco out, but there was no need. As soon as he stood, Harry heard footsteps coming down the stairs and a moment later, Draco was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Oh," Draco said, seeming tense. "The Weasels have gone, then?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call them that, but yeah, they have." Harry sunk back into his chair, sighing and placing his head in his palms with his elbows on the table. There was long pause, and just when Harry thought that maybe he should say something to break the overwhelming silence that was creeping in on him, Draco cleared his throat.

"Listen, I'm sorry for— for being so close. I could tell it was making you uncomfortable. Not that I don't enjoy seeing you squirm," he added haughtily, before returning meekly to his apologetic state, "But I may have taken it too far." Harry saw that there was something there that Draco had wanted to say, but he didn't continue.

"It's fine." Harry didn't know why he was saying it. It wasn't fine, not with everything that had been bothering him for the past day or two and, more specifically, within the past hour. Silence pooled down on them again, but Draco didn't have anything more to say and Harry didn't think he was ready to say aloud what he was thinking. He gathered his Gryffindor courage━what little he had━and decided that no good would come of keeping silent.

"Draco…" He looked up, trying to spy some sort of confirmation in Draco's gray eyes, some message that it was okay to continue. "Am I gay?"

"How the hell would I know, Potter?" A pause. "Harry?"

"I just— well, do you think I'm gay?" Draco looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I mean, I kind of suspect you might be… or at least bisexual. I think George suspects it, too."

"Ginny, too. Look at this." And Harry handed him the letter. Draco read it through, a small frown of concentration set on his lips, then handed the piece of parchment back. Draco didn't seem upset at all, something that Harry was very appreciative of.

"Well?" Harry asked.

"Well…" Draco repeated hesitantly, propping himself against the marble countertop. "Do you think you're gay?" When Harry didn't say anything, Draco continued. "I can't believe I'm asking this, because anyone in their right mind knows she's not, but was Ginny attractive to you? Have you ever been attracted to another man?" Harry blushed, then, because the only man he'd ever been attracted to was asking him this. Did that really make him gay, though? Being attracted to one man? Sure, he'd been able to appreciate the handsome features of other men, but he'd never had the desire to snog them. He didn't even have the desire to snog Draco. But as that thought crossed his mind he realised that he wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea. Perhaps bisexual was a better term for what he was feeling.

"Not really," he lied, not making eye contact with the man in front of him. "I mean, sort of…"

"What d'you mean, sort of? You can't be sort of gay, Harry." Draco said seriously. "Who have you been 'sort of' attracted to?" Harry thought this was a very difficult question to answer, and he wasn't sure he wanted to answer it at all.

"I—" Harry gulped."Cho Chang, for one, and I was attracted to Ginny, but they're both girls, so I s'pose that doesn't really count, does it?"

"Why wouldn't that count?" Harry began to understand he was digging himself a hole, here.

"I don't know!" he said in exasperation. "Because every time I look at you I feel like… I feel like I might not be as straight as I once thought." He paused and looked into Draco's wide sterling eyes. How would he fix this? Draco seemed to be very uncomfortable, and he'd basically just confessed his feelings for the man. "I think I might like… some blokes. I think I am 'sort of' gay," he said suddenly. And it fit, then. It didn't sound untrue, or feel that way at all. "I'm bisexual."

"Glad you're finally out with it, mate," Draco said with an awkward chuckle. Harry chewed his lip a little.

"So… You're not—you're not… angry, or anything?" Draco outright laughed at that, and Harry felt a little bit the tension in his body ebb away.

"Angry? Why would I be angry?" Harry grinned sheepishly as Draco stared at him with a raised brow. "Do you not realise—" He looked at Harry's face and faltered a little. "You don't, do you? Mate, I'm gay." Harry took this in. The thought had never actually occurred to him. Draco Malfoy, gay?

"But what about—"

"Pansy Parkinson? Cover up." Draco sneered a bit, and Harry found himself not disliking the way his lips curved with it when it wasn't directed at him. "If my mother ever found out…" He shook his head. "Father told me not to tell her."

"Oh." For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking clock on the wall, but something felt different this time. Without the tension of all his unsaid thoughts surrounding him, Harry didn't mind the quiet.

"Then what about you?" Harry asked finally.

"What about me?"

"You're not— It isn't a problem that I— That I sort of… Like you?" He had said it aloud. It had been itching in the back of his mind, but he hadn't known if he should say it. Draco looked at Harry with disbelief, slowly shaking his blond head.

"You're absolutely clueless, aren't you?" Draco drawled. "Since the day you didn't take my hand I've actively sought your attention. Didn't you ever wonder why, or was your Gryffindor brain too concentrated on my evil schemes?" Harry shrugged off Draco's insult. He hadn't even thought of it that way. He'd thought, all these years, that Draco had hated him and had done the things he had just to spite him, not to get his attention.

"I mean, I wondered, but I assumed you only did that to irritate me."

"Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Harry didn't need him to, but he wanted him to, if only to hear him say it. "I like you, too." Draco said the words softly, and the way it made Harry feel hearing them reinforced the realisation he'd come to only moments ago. "I was so mad when you didn't take my hand first year, so angry that you chose others over me every single time, that my father quite literally put a ban on me speaking your name." Harry laughed a little too hard over the idea. In his mind's eye, he saw a young Draco writing their initials with a heart around them in a diary.

He didn't know what to do with this information. It made him happy to hear that Draco liked him, too, but it also made him feel bad for not having noticed Draco's feelings sooner.

"So what should we do? What does this mean?" Harry asked quietly. When Draco responded, his words were slow and measured.

"It means that you've just come to terms with your sexuality—congratulations, by the way—and I think you should probably take some time to think things over." Draco paused. "As for what we should do… I honestly have no idea. I would be happy just knowing you return my feelings, if you genuinely do like me, but I think you need to work it over on your own. I'm not about to have my heart broken by Harry Potter, The Boy Who Rejected My Friendship…" Harry thought that 'heartbroken' was a bit of an exaggeration. Surely Draco didn't feel that strongly about him.

"Alright, then… I should probably go. Upstairs, that is. To think. Like you said." Draco laughed at Harry's awkwardness and Harry stood to leave. He walked up the steps and made it all the way to the hallway above, only to rush down them again, stopping at the end and grasping the banister with both hands.

"Do you really mean it? That you like me? I mean, it's not some sort of joke or…" Draco smirked, something that Harry was allowing himself to enjoy more and more.

"I told you that this morning, you sap. Does it look like I'm joking? It's not my fault you're so slow about everything." Harry gave him an expression of uncertainty.

"What, do you want me to prove it to you?" Harry wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He looked calm, sounding almost bored as he asked. Harry, on the other hand, was nowhere near calm. His heart was beating uncomfortably in his throat and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

"Er━what do you mean, prove it?" Draco strode to meet him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Harry was beyond confused, now. How was Draco going to prove that he liked him? He didn't get the chance to ask, however, because Draco then leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Harry's. He felt himself stiffen at the connection of mouths, but soon he was relaxed and enjoying the feeling. In fact, it felt more right than any kiss he'd shared with anyone else, passionate and smooth and gentle all at once. He sunk into it, feeling his concerns and inhibitions of not even an hour ago start to slip away.

Too soon, the kiss was over. Harry felt the desire to return his lips to Draco's, but instead he found himself simply gawking blankly at the man before him. He really was lovely, with one elegant eyebrow raised a bit.

"How did that feel?" Draco asked quietly.

"Pretty good, yeah," he breathed. "Can we do that again some time?" Draco laughed, a sound that Harry enjoyed quite a lot.

"I think you should mull things over and maybe get back to me on that." Harry disagreed entirely. If it were up to him, he'd spend the rest of the night kissing Draco, but it was clear that the feeling wasn't mutual. Not yet, at least. As he trod up the stairs, his lips still tingling with the memory of Draco's and a hot feeling in his abdomen, he felt a small weight lift off of his shoulders. Maybe this was okay.