Somewhere Only We Know

by Kris RL

Summer of 6th year? The wizarding world is at war with itself, and secrets, hidden pasts, biological fathers, staged deaths, broomstick rescues, band T-shirts, funerals, stifled laughter, new truths, and an old rivalry's new best friendship come into play

8. Admittedly

Disclaimer: The story plot and the original characters are mine. You know what belongs to J.K., and so do I! The only thing intended with this story is for entertainment purposes.

Spoilers: I'll say the first 5 books, just to be on the safe side!

Note: Well, thank-you to the one reviewer from last chapter. Hahaha, thanks Bezzie, I appreciated it:D.

Somewhere Only We Know

Chapter Eight

Admittedly

The next morning that Draco woke up, things were... difficult. Not only had he spent most of the night trying to explain to his mother why Cornwell and his son were now going to be taking secret refuge in the Malfoy home, but he had also been prone to stubbing his foot, repeatedly, on things through-out the whole entire night and woke up with a sore, aching right foot. But, his mother was his main problem. She hadn't given her approval, even, by the end of much arguing in her private study. Nothing had been accomplished, but she also hadn't sent Cornwell and Dickie packing and on their way. But, because she didn't kick them out, Draco knew that he was going to have to be very careful. He couldn't risk anyone finding out that he and Harry had swooped in and taken Cornwell.

No one could know that Cornwell was staying in the mansion. Therefore, they stayed tucked away in an unused wing.

It was when Draco opened his front door, to take a walk outside in the fresh, crisp morning that he was knocked senseless. Once he had set his eyes on the sight in front of his home, outside of the gates in the distance, he had turned around and walked back inside, numbly, wondering idly why people were screaming things at him that he couldn't make out and shaking the latest editions of the Daily Prophet up in the air, at him, as if he should have known.

Draco walked in through the open double doors of the dining room, and then stopped.

His mother, Cornwell, Dickie, and Harry were all seated around the table. It was very awkward, even from where he stood. His mother was stabbing her fork at her eggs, avoiding even acknowledging Cornwell—who, subsequently, was too busy cutting up whatever was on Dickie's plate, hissing something to Harry, across the table, about the Malfoys having house elves who thought a little toddler could inhale big chunks of food. Harry, in return, was grinning, sheepishly.

Dickie was the only person who wasn't too preoccupied, with thoughts or eating, to notice Draco, "Draco!"

Draco smiled at him, cautiously walking closer toward the table. The breakfast at the Malfoy estate had never been like this. It had only ever been him, his mother and Lucius. But, now, it was his mother, his brother, his birth-father and Harry Potter. Thinking this over, he couldn't help but give a shiver of disbelief. He rubbed the back of his head and motioned to the curtain-covered, floor length windows to the right of him, "Who can fill me in on the angry masses?"

Narcissa sighed, loudly, and only answered the question by glaring, very hard, at Harry, and then stabbing her eggs.

Harry looked away from Draco's mother. She had been this way all morning, not that he could blame her. When Harry had been wondering around the entrance hall, waiting for some form of another human life, that morning, he had run into Cornwell, who had told him that Draco and his mother had been up arguing nearly all night. This was unfortunate, because Harry had been supposed to help Draco coax his mother into the idea of Cornwell and Dickie staying, but he had ended up falling to sleep in the estate's library, where he and Draco had been trying to pinpoint the right, most logical strategy to ease the situation.

But, as if that hadn't been bad enough, the Daily Prophet... had... taken a chunk out of her, it seemed.

Draco pointed at Harry, awkwardly, for answers, as he pulled his chair out at the end of the table.

Harry sat up straight. He reached down beside his chair and pulled up the Daily Prophet. Narcissa had tried to take it from him, but he had managed to grab it out of the trash-can she had dumped it in, earlier, in the kitchen. She hadn't wanted Draco to see, obviously. But, he had to. And, it wasn't pretty. But, it wasn't terribly horrible. In fact, Harry was proud of the front-page spectacle. He pushed it down the table and mocked misery, "Read for yourself."

Draco unfolded the Daily Prophet. For a second, he was sure he was choking on his own breath.

The front page of the Daily Prophet had Judas's face with the words "Judas Cliffdale, in love with Draco Malfoy?"

Draco's mouth was in a slight twist as he glanced at Harry, awkwardly, "Are you bloody kidding me? Is this real?"

Harry tried not to laugh, not wanting to appear suspicious, "Can you believe, with of all things going on right now, this makes the front page news? And, not even part of it—the whole page! They even have a crossword puzzle, today, with all of the words related to you, me, and homosexuals, and I'm not kidding. I found and circled the word—"

Draco had opened the paper up, to see where the article ended. It went on to the second page, and then onto the third. He flipped to the fourth page, and his eyes landed on the crossword puzzle game that Harry had, obviously, been having quite the time figuring out. His eyes landed on the word "shaft", and he coughed, "I see," he quickly interrupted, looking back at the pairs of eyes watching him. He looked at Harry, specifically, with a hidden grin. "I bet the Prophet will be getting some letters filled with choice words from parents."

Harry looked away from him and down to his own, full, untouched plate, "It's all over the news."

Draco folded the paper up, slowly. He stared at Harry, very awkwardly. And, then, he could feel a pair of eyes burning into his chest, so he turned his attention to his mother, who was sitting opposite him, all of the way at the other end of the table. She had placed her fork down and was just staring him down, her blue eyes pricked with fury and betrayal. As soon as she saw that his eyes were looking back at her, they quickly flickered to Harry, as if to ask if it were true. Immediately, Draco rolled his eyes, "Mother, not only am I not gay, but Judas was just being a loud mouth. He's not in love with me—"

"Is this true, Judas?" Narcissa asked, sharply, cutting Draco off and turning to Harry, her eyes rather cold.

Harry looked back at Draco, "Please, Misses Malfoy, I barely know Draco, now," he said, seriously, and looked back at her. It was the truth. "I never mentioned him by name. I said I was in love with my best friend—the media supposed that my best friend was Draco, and why wouldn't they? The whole world is led to believe that Draco and I are... I don't know, Draco, what do you think they think we are?"

Draco frowned, "There has always been speculation about your sexuality, Judas, but now you've tarnished my name."

"Tarnished?" Harry asked, loudly, without having to force the disbelief and surprise. TARNISH? Tarnish WHAT? He looked away from Draco, suddenly annoyed. Of course, all of the talk about sex and love the night before, though they had been drunk, was probably off limits to ever be spoken of, between them, again. Annoyed, Harry wiped his napkin-cloth over his lips. He then pressed it down in his lap, his eyes narrowing away from Draco's and back to Narcissa's. He couldn't help the liberty of the moment. He turned his attention down to his plate and only to his plate. "Tarnish, Draco? As if being gay is something disgusting and despicable to you?"

Draco blinked, but he stayed silent for a second, while Harry was. Ut oh, what was this seriousness? "Maybe it is."

Harry looked at him, with scathing eyes. He had made his declaration, the night before, as Judas Cliffdale. It wasn't like it was a lie. Harry had been looking into old articles and gossip magazines about Judas Cliffdale and his "mystery" lover, and all of the reports about him and his best friend, from back where he was from. But, he hadn't gotten any sign, yet, that morning, from the real Judas Cliffdale, that should have made him immediately dispute the article as false, "Draco, if you think being gay is such a horrible thing, then I'm a horrible thing to you. And, if I'm a horrible thing you to, and I've already tarnished my name, I'll gladly go about revoking my words—in jest though they were. And, if you feel so crammed by even being mentioned by a gay man, though I never mentioned your name and now you're linked to me, I think it'd be best if we didn't spend so much time together, while I'm here."

"Judas, it's actually true?" Narcissa asked, very quietly, staring at him, with her hand over her heart. "You're... gay?"

Harry turned away from staring at Draco, with confidence, "Yes, gay. Extremely, extremely gay."

Draco made a fist under the table, his teeth clenched together, ignoring his mother, "Don't overreact, Judas."

"Draco," Cornwell finally spoke up, "I think you should close your mouth before you upset your guest."

"He's not my guest, he's not even my mother's guest. He's his own guest, because he is in his own category."

Harry's eyes shot to Draco's, though hardly amused, "Keen memory, Draco."

Draco looked out the window, completely away from everyone at the table, "I didn't mean that I didn't support you."

"No, you obviously don't support me if you're against gays!"

Draco wanted to strangle Harry, he really did. He clutched his hands over the sides of his chair, his top lip rising in annoyance and frustration. He just wanted to throw his fork at Harry and tell him to shut up, because he actually WASN'T gay. He was making a scene! A pointless scene, there at breakfast, his first breakfast with Dickie, and Cornwell, and his mother. God, why couldn't Harry just admit who he was to Cornwell and Narcissa? Things would be so much easier. He sighed and turned his eyes back to Harry, "I'm not against anything."

Harry squinted, seriously. Suddenly, he spewed with real annoyance, "You're full of contradictions. And, lies."

"Would you just shut up and eat your eggs?" Draco asked, loudly, over Harry's snarky, honest annoyance.

"Why don't you shut up and admit you're gay?" Harry grumbled, but he didn't do it as silently as he had intended.

Draco stopped chewing his first bite of eggs. He didn't look up from his plate, his fork halfway between it and his mouth.

Cornwell had stopped chewing, and Narcissa had choked on a sip of whatever was in her goblet.

Even Dickie, completely oblivious to the situation, was staring at Draco, just because everyone else was.

Draco placed his fork down and pushed his chair back. His eyes flickered up to Harry, who was the only person sitting on the left side of the table. Okay, that was it. There needed to be rules. They needed to have a SYSTEM, here. Harry couldn't go around blurting these things out. They were supposed to be having fun with lying. It wasn't supposed to be serious—and Draco must have been looking down for a few seconds when things had turned from amused to serious on Harry's face. How could he blurt something out like that? And, what the fuck? Did it matter? Hadn't they covered this, before?

Draco pushed himself up, his palms flat on the wooden table, his eyes hooded and dark, "We need to talk, now."

Harry pushed his chair back to, unfaltering, "Here's a better idea, Draco—I'll leave, you stay."

"You're right, that is a better idea." Draco stood, fully, as Harry passed him. "On your way out, trip and die."

"Gay-basher," Harry threw at him, over his shoulder, as he strolled out of the dining room, fuming. He didn't even know why! No, he did! He couldn't believe how elitist Draco was. All Draco cared about was how he looked in front of other people. He had to be perfect. He couldn't be gay. He couldn't he against being a Death-Eater. He couldn't be himself—not even wear the kind of clothes he wanted to wear. He was stuck in this disgusting little mind-set, though he acknowledged that he didn't even agree with it. After the night before, and all of the little talks about sexuality, it had just rubbed Harry the wrong way when Draco had been so adament, even if he had only been saying it to add to their lie, about being upset that Judas had tarnished Draco's name by associating him with a homosexual.

A few seconds later, he heard footsteps behind him, so he turned around.

Draco was following him. He stopped.

Harry stopped, too, his cheeks sucked in. He spat, "You're unbelievable, Malfoy! A true, class act."

At the same time, Draco leaned forward, with hugely furious eyes and hissed, "The nerve of you, Potter!"

The small chorus in unison was followed by a very small silence.

Harry was the first to respond as he turned his back and began to walk, "Oh, come on, Malfoy—"

"No," Draco quickly interrupted him, following him down a hallway off the side of the entry hall. He was sure that Harry had no idea where he was going, because he was storming down the hallway with his head turning from one side to the other, as if to figure out which door he could open, close, and then block Draco out. But, extremely annoyed and confused, Draco grabbed the back of Harry's gray sweatshirt.

Harry catapulted back toward Draco before he turned around, battling with wiggling himself loose, "Get off!"

Draco let him go, once Harry had turned to face him, "I thought we were pulling one over on everyone, here, and you go off and pull this shit on me? Bloody—I mean, come on, what did you want me to say? Oh, by the way, yeah, I'm totally in love with Judas—fuck you! I'm not gay! And, even if I was, it's not any of your right to go on and try to out me!" But, Harry had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was looking down at the floor, appearing unimpressed and, very clearly, biting, hard, on his tongue to keep from speaking. "I don't get it," he finally gave in, frustrated, too, and sighed. "Why did you just turn something so innocent into something so... evil and real? We're playing roles, here—or is it that only you're the one who gets to play the role, and I have to be myself, and, yet, still lie to the only people I care about?"

Harry looked up after a few silent seconds between them, "I don't think this is going to work."

"It has to, because we're already buried in too deep," Draco replied, ignoring where Harry might have been going with the topic.

"No," Harry stressed, frustrated, and then glanced at him. "I think I need to do this by myself."

"How is it that you're the proclaimed, praised, brave Boy-Who-Lived if you go running every damn time we piss each other off?"

"It has nothing to do with you, believe it or not."

"Lie," Draco informed him, easily. Harry was looking at the floor, seeming very deep in his thoughts, with his hands on his sides. "What is wrong with you? You know I'm in this. If you're so interested in being gay, fucking be it, I don't care, okay? Are you listening? I don't care!"

Harry looked up at him, blankly, and quietly murmured, "Don't you?"

Draco stared at him for a long moment, his eyes furious. IMPOSSIBLE! Instead of saying anything else to Harry—Or Judas—or whoever the bloody twit was more pulled to, at that moment, he pivoted on his heel. Fuck it, he wasn't going to waste more time trying to convince Harry that he had to trust Draco. It was clear that Harry's involvement with Draco had nothing to do with any sort of loyalty. But, fuming, with thoughts clubbing over his mind, he spun around, again, about a hallway opposite of Harry, "Why are you so interested in my sexuality, anyway? Is that somehow tied into this? Here's a better question for you, because I won't pretend that it hasn't crossed my mind—how do I even know that you're not here to use me. I mean, how do I know, for fact, that you are who you say you are, or you aren't who you say you are! For all I fucking know, you're a Death Eater trying to recruit me! You're not telling me anything, and if you're done with me, mother fucker, fine—"

"Draco, fucking shut up," Harry demanded from down the hall, rubbing his hand over his head. "I'm not lying."

"Says you, king of the liars."

Harry snorted a frustrated laugh, "What is it that you so desperately need to know anyway, Malfoy?"

"Tell me where my father is, for one thing."

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, hard, his eyes hardening, "In the dining room, isn't he? Last I saw..."

"Okay, I see," Draco hit back at him, and turned away, too, walking away very annoyed and with a sneer. "Whatever you decide to do, let me know when you find the time."

Harry started to follow in the same direction, his eyes beginning to squint, "What was that? Finding the time for you?"

Draco turned around, again, and threw his hands out with a shallow growl, "You're trying to instigate a fight, Potter! You've been trying to do it from the moment you stepped your bloody savior-shoed foot into my house!" Draco shouted at him, finally. He had never shouted at Harry Potter. He mostly muttered Potter under his breath, but everything else had come out highly elevated and agitated. When Harry didn't answer, but rather stopped and put his hands out as if he had no idea what Draco was talking about, Draco threw his right hand up and then his middle finger. "You have. I could never fucking stand you, and I can't fucking stand who you're playing now! I hate it—I hate the stupid Judas Cliffdale that you are—you know, its your mask, whatever, but I know who you are! Just act like who you are, god damn—"

"I can't act like..."

Draco clenched his jaw, as he and Harry met in the center of the hallway, "Act like... who? Who are you?"

Harry rubbed his hand, tensely, over the back of his head, very pointedly glaring, "I'm Judas Cliffdale?"

Fine! Draco nodded his head, "All right, that's it. You've made your decision. If you're going to be Judas Cliffdale, completely, then don't address me as Malfoy, ever. It's Draco, thanks. I don't want to deal with any more shit from the past—not talk about Quidditch skills, about Hogwarts, about Snape, about Dumbledore—about fucking no one who Judas Cliffdale wouldn't know. You're not going to keep frustrating us both like this. You pick one character and you stick with it, got it?"

Harry's eyes were widened with surprise and a slight bit of amusement, "Sure?"

Draco took the opportunity to shove Harry, hard, before he turned around, "Next time we talk, I want answers."

"I already told you that I'm leaving."

A few seconds later, Harry was being chased down the hallway by a frustrated Draco who was bellowing about wanting to grab Harry's throat and choke him for a couple of seconds. No, no, Harry completely understood where Draco was coming from. But, what Draco didn't realize was that Harry wasn't sure, now, who he was. He hadn't a body, now. He was just a... spirit? A soul? He was Harry Potter, but he wasn't Harry Potter. He had all of these weird mood-changes. Sometimes he was sarcastic. Sometimes he was impossible. Sometimes he was a total and complete asshole. And, he knew it, but he usually didn't realize it had happened until after he had said what he had said, and most of these things had been said to Draco, which was obvious by the frustration that Draco was seething at him as Harry turned the corner of a hallway.

The chase seemed to stop, because Harry no longer heard Draco's footsteps in the hallway he had just exited.

Harry slid down against the wall, weak. He collapsed down on his butt and clasped his arms over his knees.

Draco turned the corner, but then jumped back, abruptly, startled at the presence of the floor. He rubbed his palms down over his light blue T-shirt, as if to smooth it out, though it wasn't wrinkled in the slightest bit. It was a nervous mechanism. He hadn't been expecting Harry to be sitting there, his head buried into his arms, his knees pulled all of the way up to his chest, his ankles crossed. His fingers were tensed, sticking out from over his arms, as if refusing to relax. He shifted, awkwardly.

Harry heard the small, obvious sigh. He didn't look up, "Go."

Draco stepped closer, his eyes brightening, "You're crying, aren't you?"

Harry didn't answer at first. Could Draco have possibly backed off? No. Did he have to ask? No! Could he have just turned around and walked away? Yes. Yes. There were probably hundreds of other hallways that Draco could walk and stalk, so why did he have to turn the corner after Harry? Harry hadn't had any time to process anything that had happened in the last three or four months. Once one situation happened, it was solved (most of the time), and before it could be analyzed, another situation had popped up, "Fucking Malfoy, get out of my bubble before I hex your face."

His bubble? "It's such a pretty face, though."

Harry clutched his hand over his eyes, against his arm. He said nothing, again.

Draco twisted at the silence, "I see that you've decided to call me Malfoy, which means you've violated our agreement."

Harry finally pulled his arms from his knees, not being able to take it, anymore. He couldn't take the whole, entire existence of Judas Cliffdale, anymore! It was too complicated! It wasn't easy! He was still trying to adjust to having a different body and learning how to chew differently! On top of that, he had to, basically, save their entire world. And, Draco's words were nothing but frustrations and annoyances to him, now. And, it wasn't that Draco didn't have anything important to say, it was that Harry had bigger issues to be concentrating on.

Draco watched as Harry slammed his hands into the wooden floor beneath him. He pushed himself up, furiously, hard. It was like he was some sort of heavy, metal machine. But, when Harry was finally in his face, about five seconds later, Draco couldn't find anything to say. Nothing, at all. He was speechless. Tears. Oh, no. No. No. Harry Potter was crying? But, nothing was said to him, as he stared at Harry, with his mouth slightly agape at the opposite expression. A crying, despaired, wrinkled-forehead, clumped-eyelashes Harry Potter—but, not Harry Potter! Fucking hell, "I hate your stupid new face."

And, Harry gave the tiniest of laughs, exhausted and mentally broken. How random, "I'll be in my room for the rest of the day, if anyone asks."

Draco awkwardly stood there as Harry turned around, his hands rubbing up and down his face, "Do you want... no, nevermind."

"No," Harry answered, too. He was going to sleep. All day. As for wanting something, he wanted nothing but answers.

Draco watched Harry disappear around another corner. When he did, Draco finally let out his hold of breath.

But, Harry returned back to the hallway after a second or so.

Draco didn't ask him what he was doing. He just waited.

Harry frowned, distraught, "Not that it is any fault of yours, Malfoy, but you'd never know what its like to be me. You don't know what its like. And, how I got here," Harry quietly said and clasped his hands over his chest, as if to signify Judas's physical body, "is still a complete mystery to me. I'm trying to deal with being someone else—I'm trying to deal with that fact that a HUGE part of me is dead, literally. It's not as easy as you'd think, just switching..." bodies, but he couldn't say that because, well, if anyone was listening... Well, then, again, they hadn't exactly been keeping Harry's identity under wraps in the hallway. "I'm trying to cope with a lot of things. I don't know why I say things like I did back in the dining room. I did, and it was stupid, okay? But, I'm not me, anymore, and I'm trying to figure this all out. I'll be figuring it out all summer, here. And, I'll apologize, now, for any future episodes—like the ten or so that we usually have a day."

Draco stayed still, "Maybe you could explain it to me, better, when you're ready."

A small pause washed over them. Draco was looked over by Harry's impostor eyes.

"I will."

Draco was incredibly satisfied, but he didn't show it too much, "Do you want your breakfast sent up to your room?"

Harry couldn't help the small, crooked smile that he felt trigger on his mouth, "No, but that's lovely."

Draco squinted at him, again. Harry's nose scrunched, and another silence prevailed.

Sarcasm well noted. Harry looked apologetic, so Draco let it go, "Well, all right, then. I guess I'll... go back... to breakfast."

Harry's arms crossed over his chest, almost protectively, "Okay."

Draco, a little alarmed, for no particular reason, in a warm way, glanced back at Harry as he turned, "Okay."

This time, it was Draco who turned the corner, and Harry who started to smile, entertained by the awkward adieu.

Draco wondered back into the dining room to finish his breakfast with his family. His family. Family. Breakfast with his family. But... though he was grateful to have Cornwell and Dickie there, along with his mother, it didn't feel as wonderful as he would have thought it would. Lucius was missing, and Draco was confused about... well, everything, essentially. And, it was a bad time to be confused in their society. He could pick his shoe color. He could pick out what color robe he wanted to wear, but could he pick out if he wanted to start his breakfast with eggs or with bacon? No, no, because of that other presence in his house—namely Harry Potter.

One breakfast continued, when Draco returned, it was awkwardly silent, and not in the way it had always been.

But, after hearing Cornwell stutter sighs to himself, for the tenth time, Draco looked up, impatiently, "What is it?"

Cornwell had, apparently, been waiting for Draco to look up, now poking at his food, "Nothing."

Draco dead-panned at him, saying nothing.

Cornwell looked at Narcissa, and she looked back.

Draco looked at Dickie. Dickie immediately smiled at him, a cute little smile that scrunched up his cheeks. Draco returned the cheesiest, cheekiest smile he could muster. He even closed his eyes in the process, knowing full well, by the sound of the hysterical shriek of giggles from Dickie that took over the room, that he looked absolutely ridiculous, and for that fleeting moment in the living room, he didn't care. It was his mother, his father, and Dickie! Family! Yes, family! It was making sense. Family. He opened his eyes, again, and looked straight at Dickie, not being able to help his own laughter, "Are your eggs good?"

Dickie nodded and held up his silver-plated baby fork, proudly, "Yefs!" As if to prove he was telling the truth, he dug into his eggs with his small index finger and thumb, of his free hand, grabbed a scrambled piece and popped it into his mouth. He then sucked his cheeks in, his fingertip still in his mouth, his whole face scrunched with sweetness.

Draco snorted with laughter and disregarded his own fork, placing it down beside his plate. He began to lower his hand.

"Draco!" Narcissa shrilly drilled, under his breath.

Draco smirked, ignoring her. He picked up a piece of his eggs, too, and popped it into his mouth, his eyes widening.

Dickie giggled very loudly before he, once more, dug into his eggs, this time with his whole hand.

Draco grasped a hand of eggs, as well, and rested his elbow on the table, wiggling his hand at Dickie.

Dickie leaned forward, in his dark, glossy, engraved wooden high-chair, with his nose scrunched, "Nah-nice!"

Draco's left eyebrow rose, and he leaned over the table, too, pushing his plate aside, challengingly.

Dickie's eyes enlarged, and he, too, pushed his little plate aside and held up his eggs in the air, "Ohhh!"

"Ohhh!" Draco imitated him, trying to mold his face into the cute expression that Dickie was so preciously, innocently making. Dickie obviously knew that playing with his eggs was not a very mannerly thing to do, but he didn't seem to be worried. He looked at Cornwell, with sweet eyes and a sweet expression. Draco looked at him, too, because of this, with interested eyes. The only thing Cornwell was doing was smiling to himself, looking between them with his left eyebrow hooked up, expertly. Small dimples were even twitching.

"Don't do it, Dickie," Cornwell chuckled.

Narcissa let out a short little huff, though it sounded very sweet and innocent, like she was forcing it, "Come on, now, Cornwell, you're going to make him want to do it more!"

Cornwell looked at her, with a loud, doubtful, somewhat-annoyed laugh, "You haven't changed an ounce, I see. Do it, Dickie!"

"Cornwell!" But, Narcissa's shriek of disapproval was too late.

Draco watched, in awe, as Dickie cutely threw his eggs, aiming right for his older brother across the table.

Draco instantly reacted, releasing every last bit of his eggs across the table, lightly, until they splattered over Dickie.

Dickie's laughter silenced the room's proper atmosphere, until they were all snickering.

From then on until the end of breakfast, all Draco had to do was look at Dickie to get him to hysterically laugh.

For the majority of the morning and into the early noon, Harry did nothing but lay back in his bed. His eyes stared idly at the ceiling, his linked hands usually cupping the back of his head against the pillows. His ankles crossed and uncrossed every once in awhile. A few times he even shifted his hips or dropped a heavy heel down onto the mattress just to make sure he was still alive. He had anticipated having many things to worry and fret about, as he had been for the last few days, but nothing had started to fill him with anguish. Half of him didn't move just for the sole fact that if he moved, there was a chance he would be plagued with the worries and stresses he didn't want to face.

He was getting peace, laying in the light-filled room, listening to the birds happily chirping outside the open windows.

"Bitch, this is a stick up!"

Harry haggled and tumbled off the left side of his huge bed.

Draco, who was sitting outside Harry's window on a broomstick, howled with laughter, "Hahahaha!"

Harry scrambled to his knees, his elbows and arms above the neat covers he had just superbly indented with wrinkles. He pulled himself right up until his eyes were peaking out over the top of the bed. Outside of the window, Draco, with the sun behind his frame, was covering his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other. Successfully, Harry pushed himself up, scowling to hide his embarrassment. He started around the end of the bed to get to the large, open, arch-way windows, "Son of a bitch, you are! I should—"

"You coulda-wouda-shoulda nothing!" Draco immediately interrupted him, resting against the side of the huge, open window-frame. He leaned in against the thick windowsill with his upper body, confident in his balancing abilities, not threatened by the notion of Harry approaching him, because it was without malice. "Honestly, your reflexes could use some work."

Harry rested his hands down on the window ledge and tensed his shoulders, looking at Draco, "I should push you."

"Er, no, I don't think that would be a good idea," Draco deterred this, easily. "Moving on, grab your broom, we're flying."

Harry chuckled, pushing himself back and away from the window, "I'm not flying, not today. I have a lot on my mind."

As Harry backed further and further away from the window edge, Draco knew it was going to take some convincing and coaxing to get Harry to lighten up for the afternoon, or at least for a few minutes. He rose up about three inches, on his broom, "If you must know, I wanted you to see all of the press lined up outside of the front gates. It is madness, right now."

Harry tilted his head, stopped, as Draco's head disappeared above the window, so Harry could only see his body, "What're you doing?" But, it was then that Draco slipped off of his broom, crouched slightly-down into the tall archway, and then hopped down onto the ground of Harry's bedroom floor without so much as a skipped flaw. "Done this before, have you?"

Draco grabbed his still-levitated broom outside of the window and pulled it inside. He rested it against the wall by the window, vertical, "Yeah, I perfected it at Hogwarts fifth year. Part of Dumbledore's genius, I suppose, or his idiocy, allowing for the windows to be open at night, like students wouldn't sneak out on broom—kind of a dumb bloke sometimes, isn't he?" But, before Harry could respond, Draco held up his left hand. "Forget I asked, spare me the lecture."

Harry did laugh as he sat himself down on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms over his chest, "Madness?"

Draco simply nodded, picking up an old granite paper-weight from Harry's wooden desk. He tossed it up into the air a couple of inches and caught it, again. He had always liked the feel of polished granite. It was heavy and cold, and it packed a great deal of power when held in hand. He placed the paper-weight back down and, instead, turned his attention to the open notebook on the desk, "Spare bit of writing? A journal, perhaps?"

"Or, perhaps not," Harry returned right away. He picked up his wand from his bedside table and pointed it at his journal.

Draco, who was lowering his head to read the journal, nosily, yet still openly, jumped back as the book slammed to a close. He turned around with a small smile, "Okay, then, what is it? Love letters to Weasley?" Harry glared in return. But, Draco felt too delighted to let it affect him. "Come on, admit it, you're starting to like the sexual banter. I'm gay, you're gay. I'm not gay, you're not gay. We're humans, boys kissing boys is hot, and I wear eyeliner—it's fun, isn't it? In a twisted, it's-good-to-be-the-youth-of-today sort of way—don't look at me like that, I'm saying this for the benefit of your entire existence."

Harry just laughed as he looked down at the floor, shaking his head, "You're something else."

"I know," Draco agreed, confidently, but without arrogance, as he stood in front of Harry. "And, you're someone else."

Harry's eyes rose, warningly, and he squinted at Draco as if to tell him not to bring it up, again, "I'm tired."

"I know I'm supposed to take that as my cue to leave—albeit without you."

"Wow, you're astonishingly quick," Harry easily chimed back at him, with bright eyes, rubbing his chin with his palm.

Draco watched him, though hesitant to do so when he was so obviously intending to, and Harry knew it, "Suppose I do leave you a lone for the rest of the afternoon..." He had Harry's attention. It was slightly hopeful, but Draco couldn't tell if it was a forced look or not. In some strange way, Draco knew that part of Harry wasn't against going out and flying. He just had a lot to do, otherwise, like he always had. Harry had always repressed and sacrificed certain wants and desires for the good of other people.

Draco didn't always approve, and not because he was evil, but because Harry needed to put number one, first, once in awhile. He itched at the corner of his mouth and started all over again, "Suppose I do leave you alone for the rest of the afternoon, what would you be doing? Would you be laying here, on your bed, staring up at the ceilings and trying to balance your personal check-list book in your head?"

"Regardless of what you may believe, I don't always think about my next heroic action-sequence. Don't be dense."

"I was actually referring to the emotional strain that your hero-complex has placed on your shoulders..."

Harry laughed, nodding his head once as if he should have known, "I don't know what I'd do, Malfoy. There."

Okay. Draco followed him, though at a distance, toward a small sitting area, "What do you think you'd be doing?"

Harry turned around, stopped, with a grin, "Wanking."

Draco's lips twisted, "I'm sorry, I don't like to use that word when regarding the savior of my people."

"The savior of your people?" Harry questioned this, very loudly, appalled but still, somehow amused. "You're mad."

Draco smiled, watching as Harry turned away, mumbling incoherently to himself about something, shaking his head from side to side. He had his back complete turned, but Draco could see that Harry's upper body was shaking with laughter. Good, that was all he wanted. He knew Harry hated being called savior. It was obvious. When he heard it, he got angry. He had never had an over inflated ego, it seemed, when people flat out called him a savior, and always having used it in a negative way to his face, or even about him in the press. Being a savior was nothing Harry was interested in. Draco got it, but, somehow, when Draco now called Harry savior, or commented on it, Harry didn't become angry or defensive. He just laughed.

Because, now, it was in jest. And, now... everything was different. Everything was changing.

The dynamic of their relationship had done a complete one-eighty.

Harry turned around, abruptly, and pointed at Draco, suspiciously, "You're right, I would just lay in bed and torture myself."

"Naturally," Draco responded, nonchalantly. But, Harry frowned. "Oh, come on. Your nature is to self-destruct."

"It is not."

"Ohhh," Draco returned, in a child-like voice, pretending to have been shown in his error. "Don't deny it—you've been a brooding, dark, self-anguished moody son-of-a—er, nevermind that part, you're too... vulnerable for that sort of insult right now, yes?"

"Oh, silly Malfoy," Harry returned, grabbing his broom from the floor at the end of his bed.

All right, so Draco was right. It was in Harry's nature to worry. It was his nature to torture himself over the past—which, he frequently forgot to remind himself, was impossible to change. Whatever was going to happen, was just going to have to happen. Until then, Harry needed to... take a break from being Harry. He could. He had that chance, at least for the remainder of the summer. His real mission and challenge started at the beginning of the seventh year term. The summer was just the preparations and safe-keep of the whole plan. He had the chance to just... be. He stopped in front of Draco, with a huge smile, and grasped the broad-enough shoulder opposite of him with his free hand. "You just passed up a mother-joke. I think I'm proud of you."

Draco grasped Harry's cheek, faking the same mockingly lovey-dovey voice, "Don't get used to it, dear hero."

Harry closed his eyes, as if heartbroken, and turned his head away and downward. He sniffled, loudly, dramatically, "Leave me."

Draco stroked his index fingertip down Harry's cheekbone, with an indignant huff. It danced down beneath Harry's chin, easily, like a small brushing paintbrush. He took his time, drawing it out. It wasn't too incredibly awkward, actually. He had nice skin—well, Judas did, though Harry had always had flawless skin. He was... sort of silky—mostly the work of years of excessive facial pampering and so on, Draco knew. Massages, facials, spa-treatments, Judas had had them all. Such... toned, vibrant skin. He stopped thinking these things when his index finger dipped under Harry's chin, bent, and he nudged Harry's chin upward, "Never."

Harry blinked.

Draco didn't blink. Fuck, he couldn't blink, not even if he wanted to. He could hardly even breathe.

Harry could feel a very warm flush beginning to rise up his throat, from his heart. What had started as a small little game of... well, a pair of old movie-stars in a really dramatic film, had ended with them being way too close and way too open to each other. He hadn't meant for his face to be so close to Draco's. But, when Draco had tilted his chin upward, again, it had been pulled closer just by the new angle. The closeness, therefore, was closeness they had never, ever shared—not this way, with two pairs of stunned, confused, pondering eyes. How had they gotten so close? Why was the moment so quiet? Honest? Why was there a soft spark between Draco's fingertip and Harry's finely-tended-to skin?

And, why had Draco's answer sounded so much less dramatic than it had been intended? It had sounded very heartfelt.

Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't easily freeze in these sort of situations.

Harry, of course, was never in these sort of situations—especially not ones with boys, much-less with a former foe!

Draco fought very hard with himself, but then immediately pulled his eyes away and awkwardly stepped aside, "Heh."

Harry lifted his left hand up to his own neck. He didn't know how it had acted so quickly on its own merit. It had a mission, and Harry didn't know what it was! Hey, what was going on? His hand clasped right around Draco's, just as it started to pull away from where it had been still resting under the tip of his angular chin. In result of the hand-grab, Draco, who had been pulling himself away even further, in silence, was stopped, though he kept his back turned. This gave Harry the advantage, watching as Draco lowered his head, as if he were caught.

Well, technically he was caught. In Harry—or, er, Harry's hand, at least.

Harry was grinning before he could help it, and he tugged, hard.

The force of the tug was easy to avoid. The pain, however, was not. Draco immediately turned inward, to Harry, "What?"

Harry just... started... laughing... because... it was... something... now funny? "Do you use lotion?"

Draco's expression washed over with disgusted disbelief, "What?"

Harry wasn't phased, especially because Draco was too terrified to pull his hand away, "Your hands, they're soft."

Draco felt sick.

Harry smiled, once. His smile faded, and he quickly dropped Draco's hand. He slid back, as if he were suddenly hit by a canon in the stomach. He just didn't know what to do with himself. He held his hands away from his body, as if they were not his own. Something had just flickered off inside of him, like some kind of damn switch! It had started off innocent! But, no! No, and... and... and... but... he had been complimenting the softness of Malfoy's hands! HANDS! SOFTNESS! MALFOY! Just... no! Oh, no. No, no, no. He shook his hands in the air, as if to debug them, "Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh!"

Draco watched it unfold, still perfectly frozen to the floor. He wanted to be invisible! He and Potter had shared a moment!

One that mentioned the softness of hands—was that a friendly compliment? WELL, WAS IT? WHAT DID NORMAL BOY-FRIENDS TALK ABOUT? Did they compliment each other on hand-softness? Draco had never had normal friends like Potter did! It didn't seem normal! Oh, it was just so horrible! So horrible. This was Potter, here! Draco Malfoy's hand had been held by Harry Potter's, and not in a hand-shake! Okay, not that it had been horrible—but, it had lingered. There had been eye-contact... and... and... and... words... and... Leave me. Never!

A few seconds later, they were both completely silent, staring at each other.

It was Harry who finally broke the silence, grimacing fully, "We'll never speak of this ever again."

"Yes, never again."

"Ever—"

"NEVER EVER!"

Harry walked toward the window, clutching his broom in his left hand, "Settled, then—where to, Malfoy?"

Draco followed him, keeping a very large distance. Harry seemed to be eager to jump out the window—perhaps, Draco wondered, if Harry wouldn't mind missing his broomstick and plummeting to the earth to forget what had just happened—DAMNIT. He growled in his head, thrashing around with his awkwardness. He tried to clear his head, but all he could muster for an answer was, "I don't use lotion—"

Harry spun around, "Don't!"

"But. I just need to make it clear that—"

"Don't! Stop!" Harry cut him off.

"But—" DAMN YOU, POTTER! LET ME SPEAK!

"Ssshhh, psht, putt, doot, Pufflyflit, shishkabob, super-duper, SSSHHH. HUSH, SHUSH, never EVER, EVER." NO SPEAKING, MALFOY! Quiet! JUST SSSSHHH!

Draco's left hand clasped over the back of his head, and he squeezed, looking away from Harry, immediately.

Harry sighed, appreciatively, "Where are we going?" Nowhere. Draco was going to bail.

Draco stayed silent.

Harry still couldn't bring himself to be within five feet of Draco. Again, he repeated, "Where are we going?"

Draco walked to the window and grabbed his broom, "I've just remembered, I have something to do." Er, it was called going to the nearest pub, or Lucius's bar in one of the studies, and having himself a few drinks—a few meaning just enough to get him hammered and erase the events of the afternoon. His teeth were tensed together, very tightly, so his jaws were hurting. He walked toward Harry's bedroom door, quickly, without another glance to the room's other occupant.

For once, Draco was sure there would be no bantering about who was a coward. Neither wanted to relive or discuss it.

At the door, Draco turned around, pinching his own side to stabilize the moment, "..."

Harry looked back at him and had the same thing to say, before he turned his back with his hands squeezing his sides.

Draco opened the door, very slowly, walked out, and closed the door behind him. Oh, God.

Harry tried to deny his appetite for most of the day, having missed breakfast and refusing to attend lunch. He had knocked himself out with a small sleeping spell for a good two hours. He had not wanted to see anyone—least of all Draco, and he wondered if Draco had even skipped lunch for the sole reason of not wanting to see Harry. Of course, Harry knew that maybe he was only being immature and self-centered and that there was a chance that Draco wasn't acting the same way. After all, it was his home—he knew the places he could go that Harry would not find him.

But, by the time eight o'clock rolled around, Harry was hungry and his stomach was growling. A house-elf had tried to shake him out of his deep sleep, but Harry had told her to bugger off. She hadn't taken offense, rather sighed and just mumbled something about boys getting their sleep. Oh, if only she had known! Such sleep that Harry desired! If such sleep were possible by itself, he would have been taking advantage of it. But, no, not such sleep came easily. He kept tossing a turning, even with his sleeping spell.

Harry trudged down the front entry-hall steps, drowsy. He stopped, though halfway down.

Walking toward the door under the grand stairwell was a group of about six boys his age and four girls. He had never seen them, before. Amongst them was Draco, who didn't appear to need to lead these people anywhere. They seemed to know exactly where they were going. They were definitely not from Hogwarts, no. They were a good-looking bunch, and as Harry examined them, with weakly aware eyes, he remembered that he had, indeed, seen at least two or three of them, before. And, if he didn't remember them by their actual faces, he remembered their clothing. He frowned to himself, hoping they didn't see him.

But, Draco looked up, out of instinct. His friends' eyes followed.

Harry looked back at them, all, out of curiosity. He was caught, however, though, so he forced a smile, "'ello."

Draco wanted to keep walking, but the group stopped. He forced his feet to stay still, though it was hard.

Harry trotted down the rest of the steps. When he reached the bottom, he just stood there, awkwardly, and didn't approach them. He didn't want to. He didn't want to approach Draco. These were Draco's friends. With bright clothing. And... stuff. He itched at the back of his neck, tired. Because Draco was in the back of the group, Harry couldn't see him, and, therefore, wasn't overwhelmed by the complete urge to slap himself with shame over what had happened. He was so hungry that his nervousness about even being within viewing range of Draco came second. He settled on a friendly smile to the group, "Well, uh, nice to see you all, again."

Draco stepped out about a foot behind the group, to the side, as Harry began walking toward a hallway.

He wasn't wearing socks. Or a shirt. All he was wearing was a pair of low-rising gray pajama pants. Draco scowled. And, who gave him permission to be all... shirtless? For God's sake, if his mother saw Harry, she'd probably turn bright red. It was just proper attire to wear robes around the house, and he had been wearing sweatshirts and T-shirts for the most part since he had arrived. It was hard enough for his mother to accept Draco as wearing just T-shirts and trousers around the house, but now she had to deal with Harry fucking Potter walking around shirtless—SHIRTLESS! Without shoes! And, his voice being all rough and thick with sleep—and all of that other, in-some-warped-adorable way—no!

"Judas," spoke up one of Draco's friends, from beside him.

Harry stopped, cold, hugging his arms over his bare chest. Why was he a dumb-ass AND shirtless? He turned, "Er, yes?"

Draco immediately flickered his eyes away, to his friend, blankly, trying to mentally plead against what was coming.

"Why don't you come and join us in Draco's study?"

"No," Draco immediately answered, glancing back at Harry. He felt queasy, so he looked away. "Judas is busy."

Harry motioned to Draco, though not looking at him, not even for a millisecond, "I really am," he answered, though with a very bland, even tone of voice. He was bored with Draco's friends. He was annoyed. All he wanted was to get a bite to eat, and then return to his room to... well, do something. Maybe he'd read the newspaper or go flying around the Malfoy estate just for the sake of exploring. Yes, a plan. He put his hand up in the air for about two seconds, as if to wave. "Some other time."

Though Harry continued to walk one way, and Draco toward the other, two of his friends stayed put, "But, I thought you—"

Harry turned around, "Prize friends, Draco, ones that read the tabloids. Good for you."

"Shut up," Draco spat across the huge entry hall, from the doors under the stairwell. "At least I have friends."

"You're right, I have no friends," Harry agreed, pushing his back into the doorway. He didn't want to continue the conversation. Instead of doing anything else to make the situation between he and Draco anymore awkward or unnerving, he descended upon the hallway opposite of the doors he had pushed himself through. He was on his way to the kitchens. Maybe he could get someone to cook him up a little something. And, if no one wanted to, he would ask if it would be okay for him to cook up a grilled-cheese sandwich or something... simple. Because, well, he sucked at cooking anything other than garlic bread, grilled cheese sandwiches and boxed pasta.

The kitchen was a warm, lovely, sparkling place. The colors were warm oranges, browns and tans. It felt homey.

There was no one in the kitchen. No one! He opened up the enchanted cooler-box, curious as to see if there was anything he could help himself to. But, it only seemed that the food in there was food prepared for the next day. With a discouraged frown and a forehead wrinkle, Harry let the door close, disappointed. He did have some sweets up in his trunk, but sweets weren't a meal, and he was really in the mood for something juicy and something hearty. Anything would work, really, as long as it filled up his belly. Bread, actually, sounded the best to him. Bread, with a side of... more bread.

"Oh, sir! Can I fix you up something?"

Harry turned around and looked down to see an elderly, but sweet-faced, house-elf. He grinned, "You don't have to."

The house-elf placed her fists on her sides and looked him over, as if teasingly, "Don't sound so sure of yourself."

Harry chuckled, a little embarrassed for himself, "No, really. I stupidly missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was just coming to see if there were any leftovers or whatnot—but, no, no, you don't have to fix me anything. I'd be more than willing to do it, myself." He looked around the kitchen, in a bit of distress. "I just can't seem to locate where... the... actual... food is."

The house-elf laughed, "In the cupboard, dear, just over to your left."

Harry turned to his left. There was nothing there. He looked back at her with skeptical eyes, "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Oh, I've forgotten!" She suddenly chimed in, a bit too chirpy. "We hide it at the end of the night, the cupboard."

And, she swished her hand.

Harry watched, in awe, as the appearance of a plain dark orange wall vanished and a cupboard appeared over it, "Wow, that's impressive," he offered, as he walked toward it. The doors were gigantic, reaching as tall as the high ceiling of the kitchen. They were also very wide. He reached out to the handle and pushed it aside. It slid, easily, until it disappeared into the wall. His jaw dropped and his eyes were forced upward, in awe of the sight before him. There were, literally, little ladders, like book-shelf ladders, all of the way up the wall. The house-elves must have used them to get the food on top. He looked down at the bottom of the ladder. "Wheels, too!"

"They don't squeak, either! Master Malfoy greases the track for us and replaces the wheels often."

Harry looked back at her, "Lucius Malfoy greases the tracks? I... find that strangely unbelievable."

"Oh, no, not older Master Malfoy. Young Master."

Harry's eyes, that had been eyeing some cheese-flavored crackers, immediately looked back at her, again, "Draco?"

The elf nodded, eagerly, "I'd love to whip you up something!"

Harry grinned at her, "No, that's quite all right, but do you think I could snag these crackers?" Mmm, cheese.

"Absolutely, sir! Yes, sir!"

Harry took the orange box from inside of the cupboard before he stepped back, once more, still taken in awe by the display of food before him. So much food for so few people! This must have been the stock for months and months! There were rows and columns of the same kinds of food, lined up so perfectly. Any grocer would have hired such an organized worker for twice the normal wage. It was so lovely! Flawless, really! He turned to look at the house-elf beside him, with a thankful smile and happily sleepy eyes, "By the way, I'm Judas." And, he stuck his hand out.

The elf blinked, "Sir, I know who you are."

Harry wiggled his fingers, "You're not going to shake my hand?"

"Sir, I'm not supposed to shake hands with—"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I won't tell, you have my word. Come on, I don't bite."

She took his hand, though very hesitantly.

Harry shook it, firmly, with a wide grin, bent down a small bit, "You do have a name, don't you?"

"Oh, my manners! I'm Flora."

Harry nodded, "Nice to meet you, Flora. And, thank-you so much for my cheese crackers." Really, they would hit the spot, he was sure. They seemed like the perfect food for him to shove into his mouth until they were gone. He never was good at stopping himself on a box of cheese-crackers. Though, to his fortunate discovery, the box wasn't completely full, which meant he wouldn't be downing a whole box, which was nice, because he felt better about himself if he didn't down a whole box of cheese crackers over DRACO MALFOY!

But, a half of a box? Not quite as pathetic.

Harry gave Flora another grin once he turned to leave.

"Oh, Mister Cliffdale, sir?"

Harry turned around, the box in his left arm, with right hand already crinkling in the plastic cracker bag, "Yes, hmm?"

"If you want to come down in the future and have a snack, the password to the cupboard is Pufflyflit, sir."

Harry popped a cracker into his mouth. He didn't answer her at first, just gave a small, disillusioned, amused giggle, "Excellent."

By ten, Harry had eaten his box of crackers, though his covers undeniably shared in some of the crumbs. He was sure he would hear about it the next day from one of the house-elves. He didn't mind. He liked talking to them. They weren't supposed to be seen, sure, but if he was laying in bed and refused for them to leave so they could clean, they would be forced to talk to him. Good folks, house-elves, "Yes, good folks."

Harry slept another hour or two. When he woke up, he was fully refreshed, which was miserable, because he wanted to fall right back to sleep, just so when he next woke up, it would be a brand-new day. With a check to the clock hovering above his bedside table, he learned that it was, indeed, the next day. It was half past twelve, and his windows were still open. It was chilly in the room, now. He pushed himself up, though he was still slightly dazed, and he walked to the windows. He closed them, one by one.

There was not much to do in his room.

It was time, now, to wander out of his room and brave the new day. This time, with a shirt and socks—it was cold!

Harry was snuggled in his own arms when he approached Draco's study. He hadn't ever heard of this study, before. In fact, he didn't even know if it was Draco's study. All he knew was that he could hear music coming from one of the rooms in the hallway he was in, on the main downstairs floor of the state home. He didn't know what to think. He didn't even know why he was looking for Draco and his friends. He certainly didn't want to spy on them or be nosy. Then, again, the offer had been up in the air for Harry to join the... er, party or get-together—or whatever it was that they were having.

When Harry reached the door, he listened closely, carefully, for the sounds of a good time.

No, it was mostly quiet. And, anyway, it was impossible to hear conversations, because the music was on. He debated about whether or not to turn around and find some other place to explore. But, the music was so good. It was catchy. And, fast. And, something about a Mister Lightside? Coming out of a closet? No? A cage? No... he wasn't sure. It was all muffled. He frowned, staring down at the doorknob, chewing on the corner of his mouth.

He could peak, right? And, if they saw him, he would join them. If not, even better!

Harry gave in to the temptation and wrapped his left hand around the doorknob. He turned it as quietly as he could, nervous about what was going to happen. What if they all looked at him? What if they were all watching the door handle turn? Screw it, he was fretting too much. He stressed out way too much about the stupidest, most pointless things. Sometimes, he could be so laid back and carefree, and other times, he was a very tense fellow. His eyes came up from the floor as he put a crack in the door at first. But, nothing bad seemed to happen, so he opened it a couple of more inches, and then a couple of more.

It was dark. The only light on was one above an extravagant desk in the back of the room.

There was a lounge area. Half of Draco's friends seemed to be passed out. Two of them were making out. Another two of them were doing other shit, that Harry thankfully couldn't see, on a couch that had its backside to Harry. He opened the door even more, curious as to this arrangement of friends. Hmm, such a lovely, promiscuous group, were they? He was just bitter, that was all. He stood so his left shoulder was between the door-frame and the door, and then he rested so half of him was inside of the room and the other half was outside of the room.

Where was Draco, anyway?

Harry's eyes surveyed the room, again. Had Draco bailed on his own get-together? Strange. Shrugging, still full on dreams and fogginess, as well as the acknowledgment of delicious cheese crackers settled in his stomach, he stood up more straight. In the process, the door opened a little wider, and a sliver of the room that Harry hadn't noticed, before, was visible. As he went to shimmy out of the room, just as silently as he had entered, he caught sight of a white tint in the darkness. Oh, no. He leaned into the room, a bit more, with curious eyes. Malfoy! Oh, GOD!

My eyes! My eyes! My...

Harry stood up completely straight, with parted, almost stunningly rejected lips. His hands fell from the doorknobs, in shock. He wasn't too far away from the scene in front of him. Malfoy's back was to him—a fully clothed back, yes. Wow, he was into it. Harry tilted his head, with interest. He couldn't help it! A small part of him felt proud—PROUD of Malfoy! Malfoy hooking up with a woman! Nice! But... Harry squinted, and he glanced back to the rest of the room. He felt his stomach drop into a deep, dark, huge abyss of disbelief.

The four females were all currently passed out or preoccupied with drunkenness they'd probably regret the next morning.

Harry's eyes shot back to Draco. Whatever the kisses were, between Draco and whoever he was with, they were deep and slow. Perhaps, as Harry stood there, he wondered if another girl had shown up. He wasn't being stupid. He just didn't want to believe what he was witnessing. There, against a wall, in the darkest corner of the room, yet closest to Harry's best and easiest view, was Draco Malfoy, and as Draco's head tilted to the right, the face hidden was finally viewable.

Harry's mouth was agape. It was, indeed, a boy. The one who had asked Harry to join them. Oh, Merlin.

With his eyes now adjusted to the dark of the room, he could see just how passionate the exchange was. Their mouths were moving very slowly, deeply, and Draco's cheeks were sucked in and so well-defined. The eyes of the other guy were closed, and that was really all Harry could see of their expressions. But, he could see their mouths. It was full of deep catches and throaty, unthreatening, strange groans—nearly moans of delight. And, Draco was being somewhat held, though it did look a little awkward, even to Harry, from the outside, but Draco didn't seem to mind, as his fingertips were stroking and caressing down, what seemed to be, a very pale face—wait, wait, wait!

Harry was watching Draco's make-out session. WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH HIM?

But, Harry had no time to shoo himself out.

Because, the situation between Draco and his friend—er, whoever he was—quickly escalated.

Harry felt his heart stop as they landed against the wall about five feet to his left. He prayed to God that he was invisible, and they were too enthralled in each other to notice that he was there. Oh, would that have been awkward. But, he breathed with silent relief because neither pair of eyes opened or wandered to him. No, no, instead, Draco was pinned up against the wall, with a small thump, and the kisses seemed to turn very hard, almost... needy. Desperate. Needy. Desperate. Er, maybe a little clingy—okay, so they were clinging to each other.

They moved from the wall to a couch, on which the brunette fell to a sitting position, and Draco went down with him.

Harry gasped, in horror of what he was witnessing, not having realized how long he had been standing there.

He exited the room just in time to see Draco's bleary, intense, glazed eyes open and land, though unfocused and completely obviously... on... him, at the door.

Oh, fuck! Harry did the only logical thing. He wrapped both of his hands around the door handle and pulled, hard.

Not even five seconds later, a hard tug came from the other side of the door.

It budged a little.

Draco stepped backward and released the door handle, his hand in mid-air as if it had been burned. His brain had never been so silent. The room had never been so deadened.

Harry was horrified, standing there and realizing he was holding the door closed so Draco couldn't get out. It was bad. It was so bad. But, why was it bad? Oh, it was weird. Weird was a better word. Strange? No, not strange. Terribly humiliating? No, because Harry wasn't humiliated or embarrassed. He hadn't stood there, purposely, just to watch for the sake of watching. He had just been frozen to the floor. He, also, didn't want to see Draco. He didn't want to hear anything from Draco. He just... wanted nothing to do with Draco, that night. But, if he wouldn't have held the door closed in the hallway, Draco would have been able to open the door and see Harry in the hallway.

The hallway was long. There would have been no way Harry could have escaped.

Harry's thoughts, now centered on other things for one very unfortunate, fleeting moment, were the end of him.

Draco had chosen that very moment to tug on the door-handle, again, whereas Harry hadn't been prepared.

So, the door swung open in Draco's direction, with Harry's hands still on the door-handle.

Harry immediately jumped back, away from the divider that was the door-frame. He shoved his hands into his pockets as fast as he could. He had never felt more awkward than he did, standing there, across from a swollen-lipped, flustered, messy-headed, glassy-eyed Draco Malfoy and the brunette who was standing somewhat behind him, looking just as flustered and blank. They were staring at him. But, he quickly cleared his throat and went to say something.

Words failed him, as did all twenty-six letters of the alphabet. He had absolutely no idea what to say. At all.

"Oh, JUDAS! MAN, I knew you'd show! Someone get him a beer!"

Harry looked away from the two thin-framed same-aged wizards in front of him. He just didn't know what to do with himself. His eyes settled onto the direction where the comment had come from. It was one of the girls, on the couch, making out with some other guy. From where he stood, she seemed to be in the midst of... something... very... not appropriate for how gutted Harry was already feeling. His eyebrows narrowed, though he didn't know why. It seemed that everyone, at the loud slams of the door the few seconds before, had turned their attention to the door, to Draco and Harry—and, to what's his face—Draco's lover man-boy-wizard-dude-man-guy... male.

Harry managed a weak, though horribly and obvious forced, smile, "S'all-right, I was just on my way to bed."

"Oh," came the disappointed response, "okay, but cheers, mate!"

Harry just gave them all a wide-eyed, smirking grin, "Cheers, kids... er, goodnight." He turned, immediately, awkwardly, his hands forming into fists in his pockets. He couldn't believe it! Draco had been lying to him! I'm not gay! Blah, blah, blah, blah! Full of shit! How did he expect Harry to trust him when all he did was lie? If he was lying about something like that, was else was he lying about? And, how had Harry felt that Draco was genuine enough to tell the truth to, and all he got, in return, was a bunch of lies? Of course, Draco's sexuality was really none of Harry's business, but... with the progression of their friendship or relationship or whatever it was... certain things just should have been mentioned—like the fact that Draco was a flaming fruit who was passionately attached to a brunette-headed rocker-man who definitely wore mascara—no one had eyelashes that long—JACKASS! Unbelievable!

His footsteps down the hallway were fast but quiet, because his blood was pounding in his ears.

"Wait a second."

Harry's blood boiled. He ignored Draco, who didn't sound far behind him. God, damn. Couldn't he catch a break?

Draco stopped, his vision foggy. He took the last sip out of his beer bottle, "Are you going to wait a second?"

But, Harry quietly opened the door at the end of the hallway, and closed it behind him, leaving Draco alone in the hallway.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Draco hissed, annoyed. He tossed his empty bottle onto the floor to his right and started down the hallway, pushing his hands up through his hair, from the back. He felt hot. He was wearing too many clothes for a summer night. He wasn't quite prepared to deal with anything making him follow Harry. In fact, he wasn't prepared to acknowledge what had happened in his study only minutes before. It had just happened. He was hammered off his ass. He had been vibing his friend, so he went for it. God, damnit, he wasn't supposed to go for it in the first place—much less have anyone see is—ESPECIALLY not Harry—and why?

Harry was different, that was why. Harry was Harry. Harry wasn't from Draco's world. He was... so many things, wasn't he? Indeed. He was. Harry was the one person he had always tried to level with, always fought with. He was the only person Draco had ever been offended and angry with based solely on the fact that Harry didn't approve of him or like him. No one else's opinion had ever mattered to Draco. When he had been insulted by most people, he brushed it off. It had never been like that with Harry. Ever.

But, Draco didn't have the brain function to begin clouding his buzzed high, so he let it go. He was drunk, and it was what it was. He opened the door at the end of the hallway, too, and stepped out. He looked to the right, immediately, to see that Harry was halfway up the steps, taking them rather slowly, "What'd you want me to say?"

Again, Harry only had one answer for him—and, it was complete silence.

Draco started for the bottom of the stairs, feeling agitated, "It's not what you think."

Harry seethed. Tell me what else you think I think, Malfoy. Aloud, once more, he said nothing at all, too angry to relay a sensible message.

Draco hurried up the first two steps, holding tightly to the rail, "Just say something so we can get this over with."

Harry turned around, a few steps from the top, "One more step, and I will kill you. I hate liars, and you're a liar."

Draco stepped down a step, quickly, with an innocent acknowledgment of the threat, "I didn't lie."

"Go fuck off, Malfoy, before you pop your seems, and I don't want to see your face at all for the next few days. Trust me, you're not going to want to see mine." Harry hurried up the steps, furious. He had reason to be so angry! Draco had lied to him. All he had had to do was tell the truth. He didn't trust Harry enough to be honest. Harry wasn't going to return the favor like he had been doing.

"It's like you to go and ruin something so innocent and make it into a betrayal."

Harry turned around, again, but said nothing at all.

Draco's lips were moist and swollen and they felt upset, now, and tense, "I'd never done that before."

"Whatever the case, you lied to me."

"I did not fucking lie," Draco returned, heatedly, and started up the stairs, not fearful of the consequences.

"Okay, so by telling me that you're not gay, you actually meant that you are gay?"

"I told you I didn't know, and that wasn't a lie, and still don't know—"

"I think your pants would disagree."

"Fuck you, Harry. You have no reason to be mad at me."

Harry kept his distance as Draco joined him on the top of the stairs, "Don't call me Harry."

"Why not?" Draco asked, brazenly, and sighed, his hands clutching over his forehead, "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Harry blinked at him. Furious, he turned around and took off for his room, spewing evil thoughts of Draco.

Draco followed him, taking light, nearly musical, steps against the cold floor, "What's so wrong with you name?"

Harry turned around, "How about the fact that you just called me by my name?"

Draco blinked, heavily, "What?" Come on, it was too late. He was too tired. Too drunk. Too... come on, Potter. Do it.

Even more angry, now, that Draco didn't have any idea as to what Harry could have possibly been angry about, he couldn't just stand there and... he had too many things bustling through his mind, now. With people easily around to hear what was being said between them, and Draco saying Harry rather loudly, it was not a good situation. If drunk Malfoy couldn't keep a handle on his alcohol consumption and was so obliterated that he started making out with boys, what else was he capable of doing—or, more importantly—saying, when all of his defenses were down? If Draco even told one person, it would get back to Voldemort. It just would.

"I never should have told you. I can't believe I was ever so stupid as to trust you with something so important."

Draco's eyes fell to the ground, sadly. His eyelids felt very heavy, and his body felt weak, "I didn't tell."

"You say it so childlike, like it's a secret you're going to be able to tell, like you want to tell. Do you want to tell, Malfoy?"

"A little bit," Draco blurted out before he could think it over. This, of course, was a very bad thing to say.

Harry just backed away from him, frustrated and feeling like a huge idiot. Too upset with himself, for having been so idiotic to let Malfoy in on the plan, he turned around and started down the hall, again. He didn't stay silent on the inside, though he did on the outside. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour. He needed to do some revamping of his plans. He needed to begin to sort things out. Malfoy, now, appeared to be more of a liability than a benefit, which meant that Harry had to keep an extra eye on him. He couldn't just go and leave Malfoy in the cold. He couldn't go out and do it on his own, at least not yet. He needed to make sure that Draco could keep his mouth shut, and if he couldn't, Harry had no permission, but absolutely every resource and tool, to erase what he had told Draco from Draco's mind.

The further he walked down the hallway, the more intriguing the idea of wiping Draco out of the plan seemed to be.

Whereas Harry turned away and left the hallway, Draco sat down on the top step of the stairs and buried his head into his arms. Why was he so stupid sometimes? So stupid.

The next morning, Draco knocked on Harry's bedroom door, weakly. He hadn't slept much the night before. He had done too much tossing and turning, knowing that what he had said to Harry should never have been said. He was still regretting it, as he knocked. He wouldn't lie, he was proud of himself for having the balls to knock on the door in the first place. When there was no answer, Draco frowned, "Can I come in?"

Harry, sitting at his desk, looked over in the direction of the door. But, he said nothing and looked back down at what he was working on. There were books sprawled all over the desk, most of which he had found in the various libraries on the Malfoy estate. He had put himself to work the night before, chalking everything up to one conclusion. He had to get moving on the situation, because the sooner it was all done and over with, or at least planned, the sooner Harry would be out of the Malfoy estate and, hopefully, back in his body. He had no guarantee of such a hope, but it was the only thing, it seemed, that was able to successfully keep him going.

Draco turned the doorknob, ignoring the lack of permission to enter the room. He peaked his head in.

Harry had heard the sound of the door opening. Annoyed, he placed his quill down and tilted his face up. He stared at the wall behind his desk, the dark wood polished and sparkling with a shiny, even slightly glossy, twinkles. He didn't want to look over at Draco. He just wanted to keep working, because his mind was clear, and things were making more sense. He was feeling more like himself, barricaded into a bedroom, working as hard as he could to figure out his next steps and plans of action. It was something that never failed to make him remember who he was—planning an adventure that never ended up coinciding with the schedules. No, no, never.

Draco stepped into the room and closed the door behind him quietly, "You weren't at breakfast."

Harry laughed, to spite himself. He was sure Draco didn't think it was a good-natured laugh, "What do you want?"

There was no immediate answer. Draco walked across the room, though rather slowly. He knew he had fucked up the night before. He was supposed to have been assuring Harry that his word was secret, but he hadn't given Harry that sort of answer. He did handle his alcohol well, in a physical sense, but the night before, he had been in a strange place, mentally. In a way, he had been warped. It had been a very confusing, frustrating, long night. He stopped, beside Harry's desk, to the right of it, and examined, silently, the mess of books, torn pages and the scribbling in Harry's journal which had been empty the day before, "What are you doing?"

Harry closed his journal and started to close the other books, not wanting to argue, "Work. Will that be all?"

Draco's hand grasped around one of the books. He looked at Harry, with angry eyes, "Where did you get this?"

"Lucius's library," Harry responded, ignoring the fact that Draco knew perfectly well what the book was. He stood up from his chair, scooting off of it to the left, opposite of Draco so that the chair was between them. He turned his back. If Draco wanted to go ahead and find out what Harry was going to do to him, Harry didn't care. He was going to do it no matter how much Draco protested or fought. Whatever the reaction was going to be, Harry knew it would be worth it in the long run. He had the weight of their world on his shoulders. He couldn't afford any extra mishaps or slip-ups in the long-run. He had to cut down the chance of error, and Draco's standing in the whole fib of a lie that Harry was living in was just one extra person knowing, which meant one whole person not-exempt from Voldemort and Veritaserum.

Draco leaned down and flipped open the leather-bound top of Harry's tan journal, dropping the book in his hand down onto the desk. It was a loud smack, but with the sound of Draco's fingertips ripping through the thick chunk of journal pages that had obviously been written the night before, the sound wasn't obnoxious or overbearing. His eyes stopped when he saw his name. His eyes flickered down the page to see why.

Harry watched him, his arms crossed over his chest.

Draco slowly pivoted, his mouth in a tight line. He pointed at the journal, "You think I'll let you do that?"

"You're not really going to have a choice," Harry explained, under his breath. He pulled his wand from his pocket.

Draco stood perfectly still, his eyes narrowed into bewildered half-moons, "You think wiping out my memory will help you?" He didn't get an answer, so he turned his back to Harry, even if he was holding his wand out. If he wanted to do it, right then, then he could. Draco wasn't going to fight with him, not yet, not when he was still trying to figure out what to say or if there was anything he even could say to soothe the entire situation. But, he couldn't pretend that the idea was preposterous. After the night before, Harry had reason to think Draco wasn't completely loyal to the situation, therefore endangering the mission.

Draco closed the journal and turned his full attention back to Harry, again, "Fine, do it."

Harry lowered his wand, "I can't do it right now, I have to wait for permission to finish you off."

"Permission from whom?" Draco asked, before he could hold his tongue.

Harry said nothing to answer him. He walked back toward the desk, "I really am busy."

Draco just stared, from beside the gigantic, exquisite desk, as Harry retook his seat, "Potter, you can't do this."

Harry sighed, "It's not open for discussion. Fact is, you never should have known. You're a liability."

"I'm not a liability. You can't do this by yourself, you'll drive yourself insane. You will fail if you do this completely alone."

"I've never failed when I've done things alone. If I drive myself insane, it'll be a rightful malady, won't it be?"

Draco rubbed the back of his head, "Is... I mean... it's pointless for me to try and convince you otherwise, yes?"

"Yes," Harry assured, as he opened his journal and summoned his quill into his fingertips. "It's already decided on."

Draco walked toward the door, weakly, "When are you going to do it?"

"I already did," Harry assured, though it was muffled because his back was turned.

Draco turned around, "What do you mean?"

"This morning, I slipped into the kitchen and poured some of the potion into your goblet."

Draco laughed, aloud, as a wash of relief settled over his body. As soon as it had left his mouth, Harry had turned his head over his shoulder, as if to ask what was so funny. Indeed, it was a little funny, because Harry didn't seem to be thrilled about the idea of wiping out Draco's knowledge of the situation. He seemed to have been wanting to do it for the GOOD of the situation. He meant no harm by it, clearly, by the way he had let Draco read over the journal and the way he had calmly responded with honesty. In the same respect, Draco noted the complete seriousness and dedication of Harry to the cause, and had not let himself argue and protest, "Slipped some potion into my goblet, did you?"

Harry frowned, "Yes, I did. What?" When Draco snorted with laughter, Harry felt sick. "What?" He asked, forcefully.

Draco smiled, "I didn't eat breakfast this morning, mate—meaning, you slipped someone else that potion."

Harry turned away from him, at once, and scowled at the open window beside his desk, "Fuck," he responded. He hadn't known if Draco was going to eat his breakfast. He had even had a slight instinct to doubt that, after Draco's night with alcohol the previous sundown had put into play. Regardless, the potion-slip had only been Harry's first attempt. And, had it had worked, it wouldn't have fully wiped out Draco's memory, just numbed his knowledge to certain extents. He hadn't wanted to start out with the strongest means, because it was a Cliffdale potion, one that was horribly easy to make and frighteningly strong. He didn't like messing with potions.

Luckily, the potion Harry had meant to slip Draco that morning hadn't taken much advanced skill in potions.

Harry opened his journal and crossed out a sentence.

Attempt one - Flundio Potion

Harry had, unfortunately, anticipated the failure of his first attempt, so he had come up with five others to follow. He looked back at a still-chuckling Draco. Half of Harry was amused that his first attempt had failed, and the other half of him was relieved that Draco hadn't, indeed, been hit with the potion. Having been fearing this reaction for most of the night, since he had put his plan into action, Harry turned his eyes back down to his journal. Yes, he truly did not hate Draco's company. But, for the good of their fellow wizards, Draco had to be clueless and in the dark.

Only Harry could know, now, "In case you're wondering, whoever did drink it will probably sleep for a good few hours."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, "I thought you said you didn't fail when you did things by yourself?"

Harry coughed down the urge to laugh. Instead, he stood up and turned around, with a forced frown, "First attempts always fail."

"Is that your way of telling me that you have other means of wiping out my memory?"

Harry shrugged, trying not to appear to smug. He wrapped his arms over his chest, "I don't want to do it, you know."

Draco, this time, stopped laughing. He frowned, too, with a snarl of his nose, "If you didn't want to, you wouldn't do it at all, simple as that."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry replied with, and walked around him, toward the bedroom door. "Think what you want."

Draco watched him, following him with about five feet of distance between them, "Before you do erase my memory..."

Harry opened the door, his stomach growling for the cheese crackers he was on a new-mission to obtain, "Hmm?"

Draco twisted, "For the record, though it'll only matter to you once I'm oblivious, again, last night was the first time I had ever kissed a man." Doh! How had he just said that aloud? He filled with awkward shivers at the sound of his own voice.

Harry quickly closed the door, his cheeks flushing at the thought of someone overhearing. "I don't care, Draco."

"No, no, see that's where the lie ends, Harry," Draco spoke up, his voice deeper and more serious than usual. He walked toward the boy in front of him, dropping his arms from his chest. "You can lie to yourself about whatever you want. You can try to erase the fact that, yeah, I'm Draco Malfoy, and you're Harry Potter, and we're getting along—mutually. You can try and pretend that the only reason you want to erase my memory of who you are, Harry, is so I don't blurt it out to someone, but you know I never would."

Harry squirmed a bit, twisting with his hips.

Draco stopped, in front of him, "I'm not jumping for joy to acknowledge it, Harry, but it is there." He didn't look at Harry, and he was sure Harry wasn't looking at him. If this was going to go forth, and Draco was going to be blocked out from ever remembering what he had learned in the last few days, he needed to make sure that the record was set straight and billed as honesty. "You do care, and I'm not trying to say anything more than that, because I don't know anything more than the fact that we're both dumb-asses to try and stand here and say that neither of us cares."

Harry was stony-faced, "I don't care about it that way."

Draco seethed, "I'm not trying to call you gay, Harry, so drop the look."

Harry didn't drop the look, his mouth in a tight, tense, scared—SCARED!--line, "What are you saying, then?"

Draco just stared at him for a few silent seconds, before he put his hand against his own chest and croaked, "What do you think, Harry? Who was kissing the boy last night? Oh, that's right, it was ME! Get it? I'm trying to say that I'm gay, dumb-ass!" And, he smacked Harry, lightly, upside his head, just because he was forced to have to blurt it out. Though, he still didn't feel like that was fully true, so he shifted. He wasn't sure what he was. The more time he spent around Harry, er, Judas—whoever the hell he was—the more "Harry-gay" Draco became, and it drove him nuts. He had just... gone in for the kill, the night before. Hell, if he couldn't have Potter, he could see where his loyalties were at with other men.

That was what his drunk subconscious had allowed to happen.

"Er," came in reply.

They stared at each other for about two seconds, which proved to be entirely too long.

Harry hadn't a word to say.

Draco pulled his eyes away, annoyed, and pointed at the door, "Could you move? I'm going out with friends."

Harry stepped away from the door, very awkwardly, looking out the window over Draco's shoulder, "Uh, yeah."

Draco opened the door. His chest was tight. He felt a little oxygen-deprived.

Harry watched him, but then held the door open as Draco went to close it, "Good for you, Malfoy." Harry was lame. He knew it.

Draco turned around, in the hallway, "No, no, Harry, I don't think you understand what I mean."

Harry gave an uneasy laugh, halfway hiding behind the door, his head peaking out, "Er, how could I not?"

Draco just kept his eyes, this time, confidently on Harry, unfaltering, "Thing is, last night, he wasn't so hot."

"Uh," Harry answered, once more, having no idea where the conversation was going. "That's... fascinating, Malfoy."

Draco ignored the response in order to be able to continue in the right direction, "I'm not gay, Harry."

Harry sighed, immediately frustrated and confused. He opened the door all of the way, flabbergasted. Was Draco playing games, here? "Why'd you just tell me you were gay, then, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, "I meant for you to understand that, where it concerns you, I am gay. Otherwise, no. No, I'm not."

Harry heard the birds chirping outside of the window, and that was all.

What?

Draco turned around and started down the hall. Point was, he had only wanted to get it off of his chest. If Harry was going to go ahead and erase his memory, he should have at least known. From there on out, or after his memory of the situation was erased, Draco would believe Harry to be dead, just like the rest of the world. And, Judas Cliffdale's face would belong only to Judas Cliffdale's spirit, and not Harry Potter's. He wasn't in love with Harry to the extent that it needed to be dramatic. But, whatever it was that had always pulled Draco toward Harry's presence, it wasn't appropriate to just try and forget that very magnetic pull and pass it off as nothing. They had been enemies, and then enemies with respect for each other, and then, yes, friends—or, something more monumental than friends--enemies with feelings of friendship toward the other, if that were even possible.

So, Draco had admitted it, putting to rest all of the little bantering snide remarks Harry had tossed at him in jest.

The night before, kissing his friend Bert, it hadn't been some life-changing experience. It hadn't been that great.

He had made out with a girlfriend of his, too, drunkenly, the night before, as well, and that had been... fantastic.

However, sexuality didn't matter when it came to Harry Potter. Draco thought he was amazing.

Blah, blah, years of resentment had faded into nothing more than a little-boy crush of envy. From envy to love.

Admittedly, Draco did have love for Harry, in a way he did for no one else. And, he said it aloud! And, to Harry! Sort of!

Harry closed his bedroom door, a few seconds later, pacing himself sturdy with tightly pressed hands to the door. He slammed his forehead against the door about two seconds later and growled, "What the hell."