As Harry wandered up to his room, Draco stumbled back from the stairs a bit. I've just kissed Harry. I kissed Harry fucking Potter. The thought shouldn't have been able to thrill him as much as it did, but he found his heart thrumming and wildfire spreading through his bones. He couldn't stop repeating the mantra in his head, I kissed Harry. Draco felt as light as air, walking up to the drawing room. The books in their cases no longer called out to him as they normally did, though he thought he'd be able to calm himself with one. A happy dance was threatening to burst out through his limbs, and he only just curbed the action, his fear of Harry walking in on him being the only reason why.

He had never, in all his life, expected to have this dream come true. His father had told him, in less words, that there was no room for a gay Malfoy in their family, and though it had taken a very long time, Draco eventually had to accept this. Draco could understand his reasoning when it came to him being the only Malfoy heir. He was responsible for carrying on the Malfoy name, but he would've given up being a Malfoy time and again if it meant being able to live a life free of fear of his own sexuality, or what society would think if he exposed it. Harry had been what many young teens refer to as their 'dream boy,' to Draco and had been just as out of reach as most dreams are. He closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the pressure of his happiness build up in his stomach and chest.

This really needed to stop, he told himself. He was quite literally vibrating with elation and he needed to calm down. He perused the book cases despite himself and happened upon a beginners piano book. Thinking that perhaps this would take down his need to play cello a bit, he slid the book from its shelf and walked over to the now shining piano at the other end of the room. Draco sat at the piano, unsure of what he was doing, or whether it would make him settle down. His fingers shook as he placed his hands on the keys in the way the diagram showed in the book. There was a short scale beneath the diagram and he put his right thumb on middle C, his fingers hesitantly pressing the keys down as he played it.

"This is too easy," he laughed proudly to himself. Almost as easy as kissing Harry, he thought, but then told himself to shut up and focus.

Bored of the scales, he flipped the page to a full song. Beethoven's Ode to Joy. How fitting, as he was trying to curb the joy he was still feeling. The notes were all labeled, and he knew where middle C was, but as he attempted to play through the song he'd already learned years before on cello, he struggled to produce a pretty, flowing melody. Instead it sounded clunky and novice. Draco was not used to being bad at things, but he'd been horrible at the cello when he'd first started, so instead of giving up he pressed on, replaying the song over and over.

After his fifth time playing the song he decided it didn't sound too awful and, half-satisfied, he flipped to another song. Chopin's Prelude in E minor, Opus 28, No 4. He'd never heard that specific Chopin piece before, and so he was less familiar with the structure of it. He figured he could play it properly if he tried hard enough. This song had much more intricate parts for the left hand, and he hadn't practiced many chords yet, so as he began to weigh the keys down the notes were muddled. For whatever reason he was unable to make his hands work together in the way the sheet music required.

"Shit," he mumbled absently as he hit a sour note. He stopped playing and returned his hands to the starting point, determined to get it right. A moment later, "No, that's not…" Sighing, he started over once again. He spent a long time trying to figure the song out, his stubbornness refusing to let him choose a different one to play. Out of frustrated curiosity, he stopped playing after a half hour or so and double-checked the cover of the book. Yes, it was for beginners. He hummed angrily and then turned back to the Chopin prelude. This time around it sounded less terrible, but it was still far from a success.

"You are absolutely dreadful at that," Harry said from behind him, causing him to press every wrong key beneath his fingers.

Swinging around on the bench, he shouted, "Merlin's sagging tits, Potter, don't sneak up on me like that!" Draco felt his cheeks flooding with the heat of his embarrassment. Harry was standing with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the door frame. His flush changed from one of shock and shame to one of interest. The fact that Harry had feelings for him made Draco feel more comfortable soaking in his physical appearance. His lean muscles stretching the fabric of his sleeves, the obvious strength in his legs━even if the trousers covering them did no justice━and the straight edge of his jaw, which had a light five o'clock shadow. Even the teasing curve of his lips, which he'd not long ago been kissing, Draco was now able to appreciate without the fear that Harry would suspect his interests.

"I heard some ghastly noises coming from up here, so I thought I'd investigate," Harry said, breaking Draco's train of inappropriate thought.

"The only reason I'm sounding this bad is because the piano's out of tune," he defended. This was a lie, though he didn't know it; the piano had a permanent charm on it that kept it tuned at all times.

"Are you sure it's not just because you suck at playing piano?" Draco huffed, though the feeling wasn't really behind it. Now that they'd admitted their feelings for each other, he enjoyed the back and forth between them.

"I do not suck, I'm learning." He smoothed his hair away from his face and raised his chin to look down his nose at Harry. "I'm sure you're far worse than I am, seeing as you've got less talent than a blast ended skrewt when it comes to, well, everything."

"Hey, now!" Harry said with a laugh. "Think you're taking it a bit too far?" Draco smiled and patted the bench beside him.

"Here, if you think you can do any better than me, have a go at it." Harry looked slightly unnerved by this request, but slowly uncrossed his arms and sat down at the piano beside Draco. "If you tell me you've got some secret ability to play that you've never mentioned before, I'm going to set this piano on fire, I hope you know."

"Ha! No, I can't play at all, but since you're so confident that you're better than me, let's have a contest of sorts. Whoever can play the best piece wins," Harry said with a smirk, then shoved his hip against Draco's. "Scoot down, you're hogging the bench." Draco scooted down, only a few inches. The sudden closeness of the other wizard was causing his nervousness to return, but he forced himself to appear as unaffected as he could.

"What does the winner get?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the flipping of his stomach. Harry paused, looking thoughtful.

"The winner gets… I didn't actually think about it before I said it."

"Of course you didn't," Draco scoffed playfully.

"The winner gets to ask three personal questions about the loser."

"How personal are we talking?" Draco asked, sounding uneasy.

"That's for the winner to decide," Harry said, turning his attention back to the piano book with a pink stain on each cheek.

Draco felt the challenge was a perfect opportunity to find out more about Harry. There was no doubt in his mind that he should win; he'd been practicing for over an hour already and so had the feel of playing the piano at the very least. Apparently Harry had no talent for it. In Draco's opinion, Harry was setting himself up for disappointment and failure.

After flipping through the pages back to the beginning, Harry glanced back and forth at the book and his placement of his fingers on the keys. Then he turned a few more pages and landed on Debussy's Claire Du Lune. For another moment he continued to look between the piano and the book, and then started playing. Much to Draco's surprise, Harry wasn't nearly as bad as he had been when Draco had first sat down at the piano; however, he was only playing with his right hand. Draco was familiar enough with the piece from his cello knowledge to play the left handed part, and so he placed his fingers near Harry's and started a duet. A badly played one, but still, a duet.

Due to the close proximity demanded by the keys needing played for the song, their hands brushed now and then, and their arms and shoulders were pressed together. Draco found himself smiling like an idiot as the song came to a close and their clumsy fingers stopped, pinkies touching.

"That was the sorriest excuse for a song I've ever heard," Draco heard himself saying. He and Harry both turned to face each other again, and simply stared, slate steel against clover field. Harry's face inched closer to Draco's, and the latter felt his throat clog in anticipation. Their lips were nearly touching when Draco heard something tapping against the drawing room window.

Sighing, and looking defeated, Harry stood up and went to the window to let the owl sitting on the outer sill in. The large bird dropped a letter in Harry's hand and immediately flew away. It didn't look like one of Hogwarts' owls, but it did look rather official. With a perplexed look on his face, Harry shut the window again and opened the letter. Draco watched him read, disappointment causing his lower lip to slip forward into a pout. He realised what he was doing after a moment and once again masked his emotions from the other man. Since he'd come to live with Harry he'd begun losing his ability to mask his emotions at all times, so it took a conscious effort to keep it up sometimes.

While Harry read, Draco turned the pages of the sheet music to the Chopin song he'd been struggling with. Quietly, he pressed the keys and found that he was able to play the first quarter of the song much better now.

"Well," Harry said, interrupting Draco's playing. "I've been accepted as an Auror. They want me to start next week Monday."

"Is that a good thing?" Draco asked. Harry shrugged and set the letter on top of the piano, then sat back down beside Draco.

"It's a necessary thing. I don't have nearly enough money to live off of, and I've still got three months until my vault is unfrozen. Even with rent from you, I'd still need to work in order to keep fixing this place up, and to buy food, pay Kreacher━though I'm sure I'll have to force him to accept the money━and all the other things it takes to live." Harry said, appearing more stressed out with each word. "I also need a new mattress," he added, twisting his back left and right, releasing three cracks with each twist. Draco shivered, hating the sounds of bones cracking.

"You want to… pay… your house elf."

"I think Hermione would box my ears if I didn't at least try to, yes." Harry rolled his eyes in response to Draco's look of incredulity.

"You do realize how house elves work, don't you?" Draco huffed haughtily. He still enjoyed teasing Harry as much as he could about his lack of knowledge on the workings of the wizarding world.. Kreacher's a house elf. House elves don't receive pay."

"Maybe not in a pureblood household, but I'm not standing by those stuffy traditions. I've seen how purebloods treat house elves, so I'm not sure they set the best example anyway."

"You do realise I'm a pureblood," Draco said with a slight shake to his head. Indignation threatened to invade his tone of voice. "I've never been cruel to a house elf. And it isn't just purebloods who treat house elves badly..." Draco mumbled the last defense; it was a poor one, as the majority of house elves belonged to pureblood households or wizarding schools.

"The fact that you jumped to cruelty in your defense says that, even if you weren't cruel yourself, you know how purebloods treat their house elves." Harry smirked. "You've just proved my point."

"So who won?" Draco asked, changing the topic. He sensed that the argument was not in his favour and was intent on abandoning it.

"Er… That depends. Did your little tune while I was reading my letter count?" Harry looked at Draco's fingers, long and thin, and at the ready against ivory.

"I suppose it does, since you heard it. Which song do you think was better?" Draco knew for a fact that his attempt was better, but he decided that it wouldn't hurt to let Harry decide, if that would take the concerned lines from his forehead.

"Yours was most definitely better," Harry chuckled. "So, then, I guess that means you get to ask me three personal questions." Draco felt a sly smile spreading across his cheeks. He hadn't expected Harry to choose him as winner, but since he had, Draco's mind filled with all the things he'd wondered about the Gryffindor since the day they'd met.

"Only three?" Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco's question.

"Only three," he reiterated slowly. Draco considered the questions that were most important to him. He wanted to avoid the topic of Harry's sexuality for now, since it was such a new discovery. There were other things that Draco had always wondered about, though. One of them being Harry's muggle upbringing.

"Alright. First question: What was growing up like, with muggles? In detail." Harry went rigid with the question.

That was a loaded one, and he wasn't sure he felt that it was the right time to talk about that. His upbringing had not been a pleasant one, and was full of abuse and overall poor treatment. Harry was also concerned that Draco knowing his story would affect the way he perceived muggles in general, and that was concerning, to say the least. Harry's childhood was far from the best example of muggles.

"Er, well… Not good. Up until my Hogwarts letters started coming━"

"What do you mean, letters?" Draco interrupted. "The Boy Saviour is so special that he got more than one?" Harry gave him a look that suggested he'd better drop the Boy Saviour comments, which only made Draco smirk.

"That depends. Does that count as your second question?" There was humour in his tone, but Draco looked a bit panicked for a moment.

"No, no it does not. But if you're as nice a person as the world seems to think you are, you'll explain yourself."

"I don't see what me being a nice person has to do with anything, but anyway… If you really want to know, my aunt and uncle raised me. That's my mum's sister and her husband. They had a son, my cousin, Dudley. They really hated me━"

"Didn't they get you when you were a baby? How could anyone hate a baby? I mean, they're gross little creatures who do nothing but cry, drool, shit, piss, and puke, but━" Draco cut himself off when Harry glared at him. If he interrupted one more time, Harry thought he might smack the man.

"Do you want me to answer the question or not?" he asked impatiently. Draco motioned as if he were zipping his lips and throwing away the nonexistent key. "They hated me, and kept me in a cupboard beneath the stairs━"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Who keeps a baby under the stairs?" Harry's hand twitched.

"Malfoy, if you don't shut up right now━"

"Okay! Okay." He held his hands up in surrender. "I promise on my mother's finest china I won't interrupt you anymore." Harry stared at him with blatant disbelief, but kept going.

"My bedroom━not as an infant━was in a cupboard beneath the stairs." Draco seemed about to burst with another interruption, but he thankfully held it in. Harry told him about how his aunt and uncle hated magic, and how they had tried to force him into being a non-magical person as well. He told him about how Dudley had taunted and beaten him, and how Uncle Vernon had verbally abused him, sometimes even threatening to do so physically. Those two things were difficult for Harry to discuss. Not even Ron or Hermione knew the full extent of the things he'd gone through with the Dursley's, and part of Harry felt he was betraying them for telling Draco first. Though, when he'd gotten done with explaining the abuse he felt loads lighter.

Finally, he told Draco about receiving his first Hogwarts letter, and, when his aunt and uncle wouldn't let him read it, how more had come in the strangest of ways, and how Hagrid had eventually rescued him on his birthday and told him he was a wizard━and gave Dudley a pig's tail, which Draco thought was hilarious.

"How did he not get in major trouble for that?" Draco asked between giggles.

"You know, I'm not really sure. Probably Dumbledore's doing." Harry hadn't really considered it. "Anyway, Hagrid told me all about my family and how I had defeated Voldemort."

"So you didn't know about any of that?" Draco looked struck. Harry shook his head. "Oh, that's rich. The Boy Who Lived didn't even know that he was The Boy Who Lived." He laughed, then looked as though he'd realised something, and asked, "But then, how did you not realize you were magical after you actually performed magic?"

"I dunno, really. I guess I just thought that it was odd coincidences or some sort of trick. My aunt and uncle always made a big deal out of it, but I didn't understand why. I didn't know it was magic, and they didn't want me to know. Uncle Vernon always called it 'funny business.'" Harry realised Draco had asked another three questions, and asked teasingly, "So were those your final questions?"

"What? No!" Draco exclaimed, alarm overtaking his pointed features. "You're not seriously going to count those, are you?" Harry laughed. Draco was adorable when he was worried for no reason.

"No, they don't count━but you should be more careful with your next questions. Anything you ask me after this, I'm considering question number two."

"I— What?" Harry smiled smugly. He was half-tempted to tell Draco that his 'what' counted as question number two, but decided to be nice. "Oh, fine. I'm just so curious." As Draco pondered his next question, Harry admired the little crease that formed between his brows. It was subtle, a tiny line across his otherwise smooth face, just enough to demonstrate his concentration. For some reason, it made Harry smile.

"Hm. Well… How did you convince Voldemort that you were dead? There's no way you could've fooled him. I lived with him, I know how perceptive he is… and yet you did." Harry was surprised at this. He had expected this whole discussion to be a little more lighthearted, with questions about his favorite colour or where he'd like to vacation. Draco, however, seemed intent on asking the deepest questions he could think up, something that made Harry a little apprehensive. He thought back to when Draco had told him about hating his last name and although that helped him feel more willing to share the answer to this question with him, it was a different level of personal than that. Not to mention that if Harry told Draco he might think differently of him. This question lead to another question, one that Harry knew would be necessary to explain if he wanted to answer Draco's question: how had he not died of a Killing Curse? What would Draco think, knowing that Harry had had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him since he was an infant? Harry ruminated over his answer for a while before responding.

"Well, firstly, I didn't exactly 'convince' him that I died. I sort of… did… die. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, the curse rebounded on him and a part of his… A part of his soul went into me." Draco's eyes widened, but Harry continued before he lost his confidence. "So when he went to do it again, in the forest, I didn't really die. But that bit of him did. And I almost went with it, but…" No. He didn't want to tell Draco about Dumbledore and the train platform. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell anyone, ever. It felt almost too personal an experience to describe. "But I… came back, I guess? And then… Voldemort wanted to make sure I was dead, so he sent your mum to check. She knew I was alive, but she didn't care. She just asked me if you were okay and when I nodded she told them all that I was dead." There was a silence that followed his admission.

Harry wasn't sure how Draco was going to react to hearing all that, and because of his lack of reaction Harry was starting to think he shouldn't have said everything he had. Maybe now Draco would come to his senses and realise he'd been wrong in liking him. Maybe he'd be too disgusted by the fact that a part of Voldemort was a part of him to have feelings for him at all. Maybe he'd want to leave. Harry looked down at the piano keys they'd just been playing, before everything had gotten too dismal, and waited for Draco to get up and go. To his immense surprise and relief, however, Draco's response had nothing to do with that part of the story.

"Wow. My mother… She really did that? She lied right to his face?" Harry nodded and Draco let out a long exhale from between his slightly parted lips. "I had no idea."

"So… No comment on the whole Voldemort-was-inside-of-me thing, then?" Harry wrung his hands, fearing that the answer may be one he didn't want to hear. Draco started to snigger, though, and Harry looked up to see him rolling his eyes.

"Why did you have to put it like that?"

"I mean, it's not inaccurate…"

"No, but disgusting. The Dark L— no. Just no. Horrible mental image. Thanks, for that, as if I'm not already scarred for life as it is." He shuddered and Harry busted out laughing, in spite of, or perhaps because of, the warmth he could feel crawling up his neck.

"You're welcome," Harry said. "Can your third question please not be so… hard to answer?" he pleaded. Draco nodded, seeming to understand what he meant.

"I didn't mean to make you say all that," Draco said softly. "Especially not the Dark Lordt-being-inside-of-you part," he said with a chuckle. "Could've gone my whole life without hearing those words." Harry tried not to be irritated with Draco's use of that title for Voldemort, but shoved aside the feeling before it made itself known.

"But you're not, like… repulsed by me now?" Draco must have caught the concern on Harry's face because he quickly stopped laughing and his expression softened.

"No, mate. It's not like you could help it. You were just a baby." He gave Harry a warm smile, and Harry felt his concern melt away, making room for the familiar squirming in his gut that he got every time Draco looked at him that way.

"So then… What's your third question?" he asked, feeling slightly distracted.

"Oh, right." Draco sat, contemplating for a moment before he finally asked, "What's one thing━and it doesn't have to be something crazy or intense━that you regret?" This was by far the easiest question of the three for Harry to answer, and it slipped off his tongue before he even had time to think about it.

"I really regret using Sectumsempra on you in the bathroom in sixth year," he said, looking down.

"That's it?" Draco asked. He seemed genuinely shocked that Harry had told him as much.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'? I bloody sliced you open! You nearly bled out! You easily could've died! 'That's it.' Really," he scoffed.

"No, I mean… That's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of regrets?"

"At the moment, yes. Why, what were you expecting?"

"I don't know! Something about Ginny, or that you didn't go back to school this year, or… anything but that?"

"Well I'm sorry that I care about you and regret nearly killing you," Harry joked. "I'll try harder to not give a fuck next time."

"You mean you plan on almost-killing me again?"

"That depends on whether or not you plan to almost-torture me again." Both of them stared blankly for a moment, and then simultaneously burst into laughter.

Draco felt a lot better now that they were laughing instead of discussing heavy topics such as the Dark Lord, dying, killing, and being killed. It made Draco's heart pulse dramatically knowing that the first thing Harry thought of as far as regrets go was nearly killing him. He honestly hadn't expected that, hadn't even thought of that day in a long time. The fact that Harry did say that, and without pausing to wonder, spoke volumes to Draco, and his stomach did flips just thinking about it.

"Could I ask you one more question?" Draco asked after they'd calmed down a bit. Harry looked aghast.

"Are you serious? Another question? After all of that?"

"Pretty please?" he asked, trying to sound as sweet as he could. Harry shook his head and laughed in a confused way.

"No, give me one good reason why I should let you." Draco pondered that for a moment, and then it dawned on him. He was relatively certain he knew how to get Harry to agree to another question.

"I'll give you a kiss in return. And you can ask me a question, too." Harry looked as though he were considering this.

"You realise you're bribing me with affection, don't you? That's could lay a toxic foundation for our relationship." His eyes widened as he understood what had just come out of his mouth, but Draco thought it was hilarious. "I mean, as friends. Not━not boyfriends."

"Why not?" Draco teased.

"Is that your final question?" Not this again.

"No, Potter, it's not," he said, feigning weariness. He really shouldn't be joking about these things, though. Harry had just come to a life changing realisation and hadn't really even had the time to properly accept it, obviously.

"Then out with it," Harry said, interrupting Draco's internal chiding.

"Out with what?" But he couldn't really help himself when Harry was literally playing into his hands.

"Your question," Harry said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, I hadn't known you'd agreed to my terms," he said haughtily. "You must really want that kiss, then, eh?" Harry's face turned beet red, and Draco couldn't tell if it was caused by anger or embarrassment.

"So what if I do?" Before Draco could answer━and he had planned to━Harry said, "Ask your bloody question already before I change my mind."

"Fine, Mr. Touchy." Draco considered his options; he could go back on his earlier decision and ask something about Harry's feelings toward him; he could ask about something trivial, like whether he prefers down or polyester-fiber stuffed pillows; he could ask something ridiculous, like what Harry thought the world would be like if there were no such thing as a hippo. In the end, Draco decided to ask a question about himself. "What's do you find most attractive about me?"

"That's all you want to know?" Harry asked softly.

"It's important, alright?" Draco was always curious about what others thought of him, having been brought up in a way where he was forced to think of that before all else. These days he'd been trying not to think much about what others saw him as, but, seeing as he spent so much time under the impression that Harry didn't like anything about him, he genuinely wanted to know what Harry thought.

"Well, then I guess I'd have to say…" Harry paused and looked at Draco. Really looked at him, in a way that made Draco unsure if he was feeling more vulnerable or comfortable. "There's so much about you that's…" he trailed off. Draco could've begged to hear the end of that statement if it wouldn't mean giving up on getting the answer to his question. He'd interrupted too many times already."Why would you ask something like that?" Harry asked, sounding more than a bit frustrated.

"Oh, come on, that's the easiest question to answer!" Draco said with a laugh. "You really can't pick one thing? You clearly wouldn't know beauty if it hit you in the face! Which, by the way, beauty is about to do if you can't think of something," he said in no seriousness at all. Harry laughed and shook his head.

"That's just it; you're the furthest thing from hideous," he said, ignoring yet another of his quips. "How can you expect me to pick just one thing━? I don't even understand why you asked that question." Merlin, Draco did enjoy seeing Harry flustered.

"Please answer the question, Harry," Draco said insistently, placing his hand on his knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Er…" Harry looked down at where Draco's hand sat, but quickly looked back up and locked eyes with him. "I think, if I had to pick the most physically attractive thing about you, that it would be your sneer."

"How romantic," he said sarcastically. But then Harry really did look serious. "Wait, do you mean that? My sneer? Mother always told me that was the ugliest expression I used."

"Well Harry Potter has only the finest tastes," Harry said as he raised his chin in mock pride.

"Apparently so," Draco said, and before he could tell himself not to, he pressed his lips to Harry's. Every muscle in his body seemed to melt as Harry leaned into him. He reached one hand up and placed it on the warm cheek that was so close to his. The slight stubble there prickled gently into Draco's palm, and his brain seemed to lose all function, except for the cheery little voice that kept repeating, I'm kissing Harry. Because this was something he'd wanted for years and had told himself he would never have. Because this was consensual, and Harry was enjoying it, too. Because finally, after so long telling himself that one day he would be 'normal,' and like girls, but couldn't seem to make that a reality, he was being accepted. Because he was kissing Harry, and Harry was kissing him back.

With a bit of daring, Draco tested Harry's waters by slipping his tongue from between his lips and letting it paint the edge of another, softer, fuller one. It felt more delicious than bombe glacee, and twice as sweet, when Harry's tongue met his. Their kiss was a clumsy dance, one that neither knew the steps to. And yet it was graceful, the twirling and sliding of the parts of them that allowed them to speak were now keeping each other silent. The way that they had played the piano in duet was comparable; the song was easy, familiar, and the directions were in plain sight, but neither could seem to play it as it was written. Though they sometimes hit the wrong notes, there was a beauty behind their efforts that made the piece, somehow, more beautiful than it had been written to be.

Draco opened his eyes to find green ones peering, half-lidded, back into his, and with a start he realised that he might be starting to fall in love with Harry, and there was little he could do about it. He pulled away from the kiss and brought his hand away from Harry's face. It wasn't what he wanted to do, and by the look on Harry's face it wasn't what he wanted either, but it was needed. Draco had been suppressing these emotions for so long that they had just come back with the force of a derailed Hogwarts Express, and he felt lost. What if Harry didn't love him back? Of course he wouldn't, not when they had just become friends and Harry had just accepted his sexuality. What if this was just a phase for him, and the only reason he was interested in Draco now was because he didn't have anyone else? Even worse, because it would affect his pride, what if Draco was being used as a rebound after Harry and Weaslette's breakup?

"Why do you look sad all of the sudden, Draco?" Harry asked, bringing Draco's thoughts to a painful close. "Was my snogging that terrible?" Draco could tell that he was trying to make light of a situation that was heavier than either of them knew, but it wasn't helping.

"Is that your question?" Draco asked, trying to force himself to feel the happiness that he had been not long before. Harry's smile twitched, then disappeared.

"Something's wrong," he said seriously. "Did I do something?"

"No, no you're fine, and not bad at all at snogging. I actually really enjoyed it, but… what's your question?" Draco wanted Harry to ask already so he could go back to his room and think, but all he did was stare wide-eyed at him.

"My question is, what's wrong? And don't give me some excuse and go hide away somewhere." Surely Harry saw the irony in that statement, Draco hoped. "Tell me what's wrong." Draco tried to think of anything he could say to get Harry off his back, but he couldn't. Not to mention, after everything Harry had told him today, he felt obligated to be honest. He also felt fear climbing his spine, embedding itself in the nape of his neck, as he tried to summon any amount of grit he possessed. Harry had told him some very personal things, and although there was a chance he would be rejected, there was no way around it. Harry deserved honesty, and Draco thought that he could deal with whatever reaction, no matter how bad, Harry gave him.

"I think I could be in falling love with you, as stupid and horrible as that is," he said as he searched Harry's eyes. For what, he didn't know, but he thought if he looked hard enough he might find what he needed to see. Harry looked dumbfounded. "I don't expect you to return the feelings. Not now, and perhaps not ever, but you wanted so badly to know what was wrong, so there it is." Draco had spoken more rudely than he'd intended to, but didn't think about it as he stood up from the piano bench and left the drawing room to go back to his own. Maybe he was being dramatic, but his heart felt like there was a tourniquet wrapped around it, and every time he thought of Harry rejecting him, it tightened.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he thought of the week he'd spent living with Harry. So much had happened in such a short time, and yet they were only at the beginning of whatever this was. Draco knew that Harry didn't know him━the real him, beneath all the 'Death Eater' exterior━well enough to love him in return. It was too soon, and he'd only just that day accepted the fact that he was bisexual. Draco felt like a fool for telling Harry what was 'wrong,' especially knowing that. He really should've lied, he told himself, and done exactly what Harry had said not to do. At this rate, he was probably making Harry's life miserable, with all the pressure Draco unwittingly put on him, but he seemed to have minimal control over his behaviour where Harry was concerned. Although, that was the way things had always been, hadn't it? Draco would torment and tyrannize Harry to the point where the Gryffindor was forced to react. Harry had minded his own business until Draco had made him want to mind his. This was how things had been, and, Draco thought, always would be.

There was no way Draco meant what he'd said. Harry had sat at the piano bench for several long minutes and that was the conclusion he'd come to; Draco had been joking, trying to pull his leg. There was no other explanation for his strange behaviour and his admission. He wasn't being serious, that much was clear. No, he couldn't have been serious.

Harry cleared his throat for no other reason than to break the heavy silence that had fallen around him and stood up from the piano bench. After covering the keys to keep the dust away, Harry went up to his room and decided that he should probably write back to Ginny, seeing as she had written her letter more than two weeks before he'd actually gotten it. The task would keep his mind off of whatever had just happened. He sat at his writing desk, something he'd transfigured from the ugly night stand that he had been on the verge of throwing out. This was the first time he'd actually sat at the writing desk, and as he unraveled a roll of blank parchment and took an inked quill from its pot, he found himself at a loss for words. He blinked away the fog in his brain and then fished Ginny's letter from his pocket, thinking it would help to reread it before replying. Once he finished reading it for a third time, he tried again to start his letter.

Ginny,

Don't feel too bad about what happened this summer. I was acting like a prat and it's not your fault. These things happen sometimes, and relationships fall apart. I'm sorry, too, though. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or lead you on.

Listen, about your question. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you this yet, or ever, but I'm bisexual. It's a very recent discovery, but the closet doors are gone now, I suppose. It kind of feels relieving. Like, I can really understand what's been going on with me all these years…

Anyway, it probably won't come as much of a surprise to you, for obvious reasons. Also, if you could please not tell anyone about this yet, I would be very grateful. I hope school is going well for you, and that popularity hasn't gone to your head. (Only joking.) Also, is Ron still mad at me?

-Harry

He sat back and read his letter over a couple times. Once he was sure that what he had written was satisfactory he let the ink finish drying and then folded it into quarters. It was then that he realised that he had no owl and therefore no way to send the letter. He considered asking Draco, but with the prank he'd just pulled Harry wasn't sure it was a good idea to do that. Checking the time on his wristwatch he decided it wasn't too early to have dinner and called Kreacher up to ask him to start preparing a meal for him. When Kreacher had gone from the room Harry lay down in his bed, groaning as his back protested the movements. He dozed off with the thought that a new mattress would do him a lot of good.