a/n: I don't own any of the characters (if I did, Harry Potter would've ended with entirely different pairings, trust me!)

Draco

Draco was pretty familiar with the term 'quiet'.

He also knew that silence could be deafening.

The first time he experienced such a thing, was when he first told his father that he thought he had a crush on his friend Theodore Nott. There had been a silence that followed, a deafening silence, with his mother staring at him, her cup of tea fallen shattered on the ground, and his father looking as if he'd had an heart-attack.

Draco had been seven years old at the time.

The second time such a silence happened, was when the Dark Lord first ordered him to do.. that, in his Sixth Year. His mother had only stared at him, her nails scratching the wooden table, unable to even breathe. His father hadn't even been there to say nothing.

Now, however, when Draco leaned back and saw the wide but shy grin spreading on Harry's lips, the silence that had fallen to their little group was the loudest he had ever heard.

But, Draco thought with a smirk he couldn't suppress, this was not a silence he minded.

And he certainly would not be the first to break it.

If Harry wasn't still smiling at him, his breath leaving him – as if the kiss had rendered him speechless, imagine that – Draco would've looked around to see everyone's baffled faces. He'd easily pay a hundred galleons for someone to take a picture of Blaise's shocked expression, and maybe one of the Weasel's fainted one.

Though at this moment, Draco was perfectly contend just staring at him.

Harry

I just kissed a villain, Harry thought, his heart still beating like a maniac and a loud thumping in his ears. He couldn't hear a thing – his friends were probably screaming, or they'd fainted. (Ron probably fainted.)

But he's not a villain, he firmly reminded himself, staring at the pink and puffy lips of Draco, to the white strands standing out at the bottom of his hair and the grey eyes fixated on his.

He's just a boy.

I kissed a boy.

Harry exhaled, for the first time being able to do so, for Draco's kiss had stolen all the air from his lungs earlier on.

I've kissed a boy, he thought, his smile widening, and I liked it.

Draco

"Right," A voice suddenly called, and both boys startled, suddenly reminded that there was an audience close by. "Never Have I Ever expected this to happen."

A laugh broke out, and instantly, everyone took a sip.

Harry, blushing from head to toe, grinned at Draco one last time before he stumbled away, ungracefully flopping himself back on the couch in between his friends. He just waved his hands when Hermione whispered something to him, and he immediately took a sip of his Firewhiskey.

More people laughed.

All Draco could do was stare.

Did it really happen?

Or was it just a very lifelike, and very torturous, drunk hallucination?

"Blaise," Draco whispered under his breath, and turned to his best friend for the first time. Blaise's skin looked almost white, as still shocked as he was, and his eyes looked too wide for Draco's liking. "Did Harry Potter just really kiss me?"

Blaise blinked. "He did. For a very, very long time. Merlin."

Seamus coughed loudly, and everyone's head turned from either Draco or Harry to him. "Question. Does this mean, Harry, that you've fantasized about Draco in a sexual way?"

This was the fifth time Draco felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. This was preposterous, he did have a reputation to keep, contrary to popular belief.

It did help, however, that Harry was blushing so, so much more. His cheeks were probably redder than his best friend's hair, which was saying something. "I did the dare, didn't I?"

"But.." Dean started, very slowly. "Draco? Why him?"

"Excuse me," Draco snapped, arching his eyebrow. He was happy to hear that his voice didn't shake like Harry's had done. "Don't sound too shocked, please, I do like to remember you that I'm right here and can hear everything you say."

"I wouldn't bother doing as he says," Blaise said with a grin, "his ego is much too big as it is anyway."

Draco nudged him, growling – maybe he was a bit tipsier than he'd thought, he'd never really growled before – and ignored people laughing at him. "Sod off."

Blaise smirked.

"I get it." A girl suddenly called, and everyone's head snapped in her direction. The Weaslette was toying with her drink, and she winked at the still blushing Harry. "He's quite handsome."

Her brother groaned loudly, his head still buried deep in his arms. "Don't you start, too! Did he brainwash you two?"

Draco was about to retort something, when Harry suddenly said in a soft voice, "He didn't brainwash me, Ron."

Well, then, Draco thought with a cold feeling in his stomach, who did? The Savior couldn't possibly have meant it. Harry basically just came out to the entire school – and hadn't run away after. He must've been cursed somehow.

"Then tell me," Ron said, his voice equally low – yet loud enough to be heard all around. "Why didn't you say something before?"

Harry glanced around, and said, "I don't want to do this here."

"Why not!" Ron's voice got louder with the word, and his hands were flying around in agitation. "You were perfectly happy to kiss the ferret in front of the entire school, why not have your coming-out conversation with your best mate in front of them all, too?"

"Ron, this isn't –"

"This isn't what, exactly?" Ron's face was red now, too, though for an entirely different reason. "Been out of the spotlight for too long so you'd thought this would do?"

"Ronald!" Finally, finally, finally his girlfriend interrupted him, and she slapped him on his arm – hard enough for the slap to be heard on the other side of the room. "Leave him alone!"

"No, no," Harry suddenly said, and his voice was calm. His smile from before had gone, and it felt as if Draco's stomach had disappeared, too. "Please, continue."

This voice. This was the voice Harry'd used when he was facing the Dark Lord all those months ago. This was the voice that rendered everyone speechless, that made everyone believe Harry might've been a dark wizard, too. It made Draco want to run, hard, and even though he was infuriated with the Weasel, he kind of felt sorry for him now, too.

Because not a lot of people would've stood where he was standing now, facing a furious Harry Potter with glowing green eyes.

"It's not that.. that I'm bigoted, or anything," Ron said.

"It sort of looks that way.. mate." Seamus said softly, but was ignored.

"Oh, no?" Harry cocked a brow. "Then what the hell is your problem?"

"You can kiss around all you'd like! Merlin, Harry, I don't care if you snog the entire male population of the wizarding world!" He pointed at Draco, his expression turning into one of disgust. "But why did it have to be him?"

Draco opened his mouth, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Blaise slowly shook his head, and mouthed; not now.

Harry balled his fists, red sparks flying around them.

Hold up.

Draco's eyes widened, and for the first time since the beginning of the fight he felt something of excitement.

Was Harry actually performing wandless magic?

Holy mother of Merlin – and he'd been drinking too.

Just how powerful was Harry?

"I didn't choose – oh, fuck it." Harry pointed his finger at his friend angrily, his whole body shaking from withheld anger – and probably disappointment. "Fuck you, Ron. Just.. fuck you."

And without a second glance at the audience staring at him, he ran off, red sparks and all, and the dungeon doors slammed close with a loud and theatrical bang.

"Well," Terry Boot said after a moment of silence. "This certainly isn't a night to forget."

And Draco, gazing at the closed doors with his insides churning, couldn't help but agree.

Harry

Ron was a tosser.

Maybe a bit right.

Still a tosser, though.

"Goddamnit!" Harry finally yelled out, and he slammed his fists against the wall opposite of him. He'd run all the way to the Fourth Floor, pacing like mad in front of the place where the Room of Requirement used to be. It hadn't appeared, which was why he was taking out his anger on the wall. "God – fricking – tosser – doesn't –" With each word he took a swing, not caring how his knuckles were protesting, not caring how the wall got more and more painted with red. "- know – what – he's – talking – fuck –"

"Potter?" A voice suddenly called. "Are you all right?"

Harry stilled, his right fist leaning on the wall. His knuckles were burning, but the pain in his chest felt worse. "Dandy."

"Then what on earth are you doing on a –" Professor McGonagall suddenly gasped, one hand hovering above her heart and the other clasped in front of her mouth. "Potter! What are you doing in the middle of the night fighting with walls? You should be asleep!"

"Minerva?" Another voice said, and quick footsteps. Professor Slughorn – in a fancy pair of green robes, matching those of McGonagall's, and with white puffy sandals at his feet. "What's all that noise? I thought I heard – oh, my!" He jumped, his eyes widening positively at the sight of Harry. "Mr. Potter! What on earth are you doing?"

Something inside Harry snapped, and he started laughing. Hard.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said sternly when Harry doubled over, his bleeding hands clutched to his stomach. "This is no laughing matter."

Harry looked up, the air wheezing out of his lungs, and he started laughing at again. This whole situation was so effed up, it was hilarious. "I'm sorry," he breathed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I've just had a rough night, that's all."

"Minerva," Professor Slughorn carefully, his eyes fixed on Harry. "The boy is hurt."

"I know he is, Horace," she replied snappily. "Potter, let me look at your hands."

"Oh, it's fine," he breathed in deeply one last time, waving his hands around as it to show her. "See? Doesn't hurt."

"We all know you've got a high tolerance for pain, Potter, and a whole lot of stubbornness issues." she said, but held out her wand anyway. "Now hold out those hands."

He sighed, at held them out.

Her face was pulled into a grimace when she saw the state of his knuckles, but just said a soft, "Episky," and pocketed her wand.

"Thanks," Harry said, rubbing his hands, and gazed at her and then Professor Slughorn awkwardly. "So.."

"So, indeed, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall's worry had disappeared completely and had made way for her stern self again. "Are you finally able to tell us what exactly you are doing here?"

"I was.. taking a walk." He grimaced. "Couldn't sleep."

She just arched a brow. "I know that being an Eight Year is something quite special and unique, though I'd hoped you wouldn't abuse your privileges. Students have never been granted this, to finish their education, and I can't have you wandering the walls at three in the morning, setting a bad example for every other student just because you couldn't sleep –"

"I know," Harry said softly, rubbing his fringe from his face. It was clear that she didn't know about the interhouse party, and he wasn't going to be the one to tell her. "I'm sorry."

Professor McGonagall's face softened, and she looked at Professor Slughorn for a moment before leaning in towards Harry and whispering; "You know where to find me, dear boy, when you're ready to tell me what's really going on." She then leaned away again, and continued with a louder voice, "Off to bed with you, then, Mr. Potter. Next time I see you out of bed it's a hundred points from Gryffindor!"

He smiled at her, nodded his head when she winked at him. "Thank you, Professor." He turned to Slughorn. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night," Professor Slughorn said weakly when Harry sped off again, "my dear boy."

When Harry'd turned around the corner, he turned to the Headmistress and said; "You'd think he'd seen a ghost, by the looks of him."

Professor McGonagall sighed deeply, before turning to Slughorn with a small smile. "Let's hope, for all our sake's, he hasn't."

It was nearly seven am when Harry finally found his way back to his dorm, and he jumped down on his unmade bed without even looking at his sleeping roommates.

He'd just wandered restlessly around the premises for two hours before he'd finally just sat down by the lake and screamed.

He couldn't believe that his best friend, the one who'd stuck with him all those years, would turn his back on him for being gay.

Harry didn't even know if he was gay or not. He'd kissed Cho and Ginny, didn't he? (Although, if he was honest with himself, kissing Cho hadn't felt that great, and even though kissing Ginny had been loads better, it still hadn't felt the same as kissing Malfoy.) Maybe he was bisexual. Maybe he was Malfoy-sexual. He didn't know.

All he did know was, that whatever he was, Ron couldn't stand it.

He'd been disgusted by it.

Tears filled Harry's eyes again, for the thousandth time that night, and he hit the hardest surface within reach with all his might.

"Harry?"

He instantly stilled, staring at his hand less than an inch from the wood. "Ron."

"Mate." Some ruffling, a grunt or two, shuffling – and then Harry's whole bed shifted. "Mate," Ron put his hand on Harry's rigid shoulder carefully. "I'm sorry."

Harry didn't even breathe.

"Listen," Ron continued when Harry didn't say anything, "I'm sorry I yelled. And called you an attention-seeker." The grip in his shoulder tightened. "I shouldn't have."

"No," Harry whispered, "you shouldn't have."

"Though you've got to admit, nobody had seen that coming. Dude, you should've seen everyone's faces, it was mental."

Harry turned around, and saw Ron smiling at him. For the first time in hours, some feeling came back in his stomach. Maybe Ron didn't hate him, he thought. Maybe he wasn't disgusted by his weirdness.

"I'm really sorry," Ron blurted out again. "I just hadn't – I mean, you and Malfoy always, you know.. I'm just sorry. You can snog anyone you like, dude, even that... I just shouldn't have.. have told you not to snog that ferret."

Harry cocked his brow.

"Fine," Ron laughed, rolling his eyes, "Malfoy, then. Just don't do it without warning in front of me, again, okay? I won't survive a second heart-attack."

A grin broke Harry's face in two. "Thanks, mate."

"It's fine." Ron waved it away. He looked at Harry for a while, before blurting out a quick: "I love you, you know that? No matter who you like. You could've told Hermione and me, we wouldn't have judged."

Harry just stared at his red-headed friend for a few seconds, taking in his sleep-lidded eyes (he probably hadn't slept all night) and his too-short baby-blue pajamas. Ron looked ridiculous, and hopeful, and suddenly Harry couldn't hold himself back anymore, and he launched.

"Merlin!" Ron gasped, but he returned the unexpected and powerful hug nevertheless. "It's all right, mate."

"Don't," Harry said, burying his head deep in Ron's shoulder. His eyes were tearing up for the thousandth time that night, but right now he didn't really mind. "Just shut up for a mo', okay?"

Ron patted his back awkwardly. "Okay," he replied softly.

During breakfast the following morning, there wasn't a single soul that was eating, for various reasons.

One third of the students was still in bed. ("Weaklings," Seamus had called them, chucking down an entire bottle of milk and swiping his mouth with his gown.) They had been either too tired or too hungover to even bother coming down.

Another third was too tired or too nauseated to eat, most of them just staring at the food, clutching their stomach with white faces.

The rest of them, however, were all too happy ignoring their plates to stare at Harry, mouths agape, whispering and pointing.

And Harry was all too happy to hex them all – if it wasn't for Hermione, who'd confiscated his wand that morning in case he did.

"You should eat something, Harry," Hermione said worriedly, staring at him.

"Not hungry." He was pointedly ignoring all the stares, and looked at the Slytherin table. No sign of Malfoy yet. Where was he? Hungover? Did he remember last night? Merlin – what if he didn't remember?

"Then at least drink some milk."

"No, thanks."

Maybe Malfoy had run away. Maybe he was too sick to the stomach to eat, disgusted by what Harry had done.

Hermione waved his caldron around, her voice getting desperate now. "Pumpkin Juice?"

"No."

"Tea?"

"I'm fine, Hermione!"

A deep sigh. "No, you're not."

This made him turn his head again. She wasn't even glancing at the Daily Prophet, something she always did during breakfast, and she hadn't even scolded at Ron for eating like a madman. Her focus was all on Harry, and worry had wrinkled her forehead.

"I am."

"You're not." Her eyes filled with tears.

Is she crying? Harry's eyes widened, and he quickly looked at Ron for refuge. He, sadly, looked too flabbergasted to be of any use, too. "Hermione, what's –"

"You didn't tell us!" She said, very quickly, her cheeks flushing with shame. "You were walking around.. dealing with, with whatever feelings you felt, without telling us! God knows how confused you were, how hard it must've been.. Oh Harry, you could've just –"

"Hermione," He interrupted softly, and he grasped her hand. "I didn't know what I felt, so I couldn't have told you. I didn't know how badly I wanted to kiss him until I did. I couldn't have.."

She took a deep breath. "Harry, just tell me this honestly. Were you just curious, which is okay, or are you actually in love with him?"

Harry's cheeks suddenly felt very warm. "I don't know,' he admitted truthfully, his eyes scooting over to the Slytherin table again. Blaise was sitting alone at breakfast, grumpily smashing one egg after the other. "I don't know what I feel when I'm around him. Maybe he's cursed me or something, I mean, I always thought he was a prick before, so what changed?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look. "Do you feel more on edge around him?" Hermione asked, leaning forward even more. "Like the world is suddenly so much more sharper?"

"Yes!" Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's probably his doing."

Another look. This time, Ron was the one to ask. "When he looks at you, does it feel like your stomach has disappeared? Like there's this empty feeling in your tummy, a cold and warm feeling at the same time?"

"Yes!" He turned to his friends excitingly. "Is it a spell he's done?"

"No, it isn't, you daft idiot." Hermione laughed. "That's love!"

"Love?" He looked at the table again, fully knowing Dra- Malfoy wasn't there. He still felt disappointed. "Are you sure? I mean, I've been in love before, and it hadn't felt the same as now."

"I do sincerely hope you're not talking about me?" Ginny suddenly said, grinning at Harry. Apparently, the entire table had fallen silent to listen in to their conversation, and she'd heard everything they'd said. "We weren't in love, Harry. We just loved each other, that's all."

"That's the same thing!"

This time, it was Ron who laughed. "Mate, I'd hate to break to you, but it isn't. Loving someone is like you and me. You'd lie to a teacher for me, you'd be my best mate at my wedding, and you'd toss a bucket of water over me if I woke up hungover on a Monday morning. That's loving someone. Being in love, however," he grinned sheepishly, nudging Hermione, "is an entirely different thing. Much scarier, feels so much more nauseating and horrifying – yet it's so much better."

Ginny whistled. "I think that's the wisest thing you've ever said, Ron."

"She's right," Seamus said, blinking rapidly. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ron Weasley?"

Ron started spluttering.

Harry, however, wasn't listening.

Because if Ron was right... if feeling like this meant he was actually, you know... in love, and not just frustrated... That basically meant he'd been in love with Draco Malfoy for years. In love, with that stupid bigoted git who'd frustrated him all those years. In love, with the boy who had always insulted him, his friends, their families – everyone. In love with the Slytherin.

"Merlin," Harry cursed, interrupting Ginny right in the middle of her sentence. "I need to see Draco."

The quieted his friends again. "Why?" Ron said finally.

"Why?" Ginny rolled her eyes theatrically. "Because he wants to snog him again, of course."

"Sod off, Gin," Harry snapped, but he was smiling at her. He hadn't smiled at her in months.

"No, you sod off," She replied with a grin, "and take the blonde ferret with you if you can."

"Off you pop, then," Hermione said, and she gave Harry a little push. "Good luck."

He smiled at all his friends. "Thank you." He wasn't just thanking Hermione, though. And they all knew it.

Ron waved his seventh piece of toast around. "Please just go, Harry, before Hermione starts crying again."

And before Hermione could turn to Ron and slap him for good measure, Harry'd walked away, his eyes set on Blaise Zabini.

Walking through the Great Hall on his own had always been a challenge, with great hordes of giggling girls stopping him here and there, and the occasional offer to spend the night with someone. (Or people even giving him chocolate, surely dosed with a Love Potion.) Now, however, there were an awful lot of guys winking at him, too, and Harry had no idea how to feel about it.

"Potter," Zabini said before Harry could say anything when he'd arrived at his table, and he looked up from his breakfast. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

Harry ignored that. "Where's Draco?"

Zabini quirked a brow. "So, it's Draco now?"

"Just – tell me where he is."

"He's not here."

Harry sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He knew the entire Slytherin table was staring at him. (Didn't people ever get bored of staring at him? Couldn't they ever focus on someone else's drama for a change?) "I can see that, strangely enough."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Zabini pointed at the empty seat beside him. "He isn't here, because he's not even at school."

Of all the things he could've imagined as to why Draco hadn't shown up for breakfast, this was the last. Harry took a deep breath, and sat down. "He's not at school? Why?"

Zabini shrugged. "Not a clue. He left a note he had to go home at the manor for an emergency, that's all."

This makes zero sense. Harry looked around, his eyes not actually seeing anything. Had Draco took a run for it? Had Harry actually scared him so much, he'd rather be back at the manor than at school facing him?

Or, Harry thought with a sickening feeling returning to his stomach, had he actually disgusted Draco so much he couldn't stand the sight of him?

Because the blonde Slytherin had never given any indication of liking him back, had he? He'd kissed Harry first, sure, but Draco had been drunk. And under pressure. And probably a lot of shock. He couldn't like Harry back, he just couldn't, or he wouldn't have run away home. (And, if Harry was totally honest with himself, why on earth would someone like Draco Malfoy like him?)

"Merlin," Zabini sighed suddenly. "I can basically feel you beat yourself up. How do your friends manage it? You're even worse than Draco."

"Huh?"

Another sigh. "Never mind."

They sat in silence for another while. He probably hates me, Harry thought, but the least I could do is make sure Draco knows I don't feel the same. "He's at his old manor, right?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yeah," Zabini said, breaking his toast into little pieces. "His mom first wanted to move due to, well, stuff, but Draco didn't – wait a second." His eyes squinted to look at Harry, suspicion breaking through. "Why do you want to know?"

Harry quickly held up his hands. "No reasons. I just remembered I've got to go, to.. uh, well.. um, enjoy your breakfast."

"What?"

He got up, hands still in the air, as if to make sure he wasn't about to hex them all. "Thank you, Zabini. I've got.. I've got to do something."

"To do what, exactly?" Zabini said, but his words were lost, as Harry had sped off again, this time heading towards the big doors. They slammed close behind him, and as soon as they did, whispers turned to shouts.

Draco

"Draco, dear," his mother called from downstairs, "Could you open the door for me? I'm in the bedroom."

Draco groaned, his head still pressed firmly against his pillow. He was in the exact same position as he had been for hours now. He hadn't been able to face anyone in his common room after Harry had fled the room – much less was he able to look either his mother or his father (who was on wandless house-arrest for good behavior and a good testimony given by a certain Mr. Potter) in the eye. "I am also in my bedroom, mother. Make father get the door."

It was silent for a couple of seconds, with just the sound of Draco's ticking clock to be heard. Then, "Lucius, dear? Could you open the door for us?"

"Of all the –" came a muffled reply, and Draco couldn't help but smirk.

His father hadn't been all that.. well, he hadn't proven himself to be quite adaptable as they'd hoped to living as a muggle. He wasn't allowed to use his wand, nor wandless magic (as if his father was capable of doing so), and he could never again be in charge of any lesser being to do his bidding, such as a house elf. He'd had to live with taking care of his mother and the house all on his own, and the only thing Lucius Malfoy had learned so far was an excessive amount of unique and quite impressive swearwords.

At first Draco had avoided being in the same room as his father, due to various reasons he didn't even want to start thinking about. Now, however, he'd take the company of the man who'd put him through all that misery to the boy who had made him feel like he was in heaven.

"Draco?" His father called. His voice sounded odd – as if he was choking. "There is a guest to see you."

This made Draco sit right up. "A guest?" He called back.

"Come down, Draco. Now."

Even after all that happened, it was nearly impossible to ignore a direct order from his father. So Draco put on his night gown, muffled his hair as if to make it more presentable, and went down to the hall to see who had visited him at this ungodly hour at his so-called impregnable manor.

"Father?" He asked, while walking down the stairs quickly, "who on earth is –"

And he froze.

Because his absolute nightmare had come true.

"Hi," Harry said with a smile, waving at him awkwardly. He was standing in his muggle clothes – the ugly, baggy ones that Draco so desperately wanted to rip off him – with his muddy trainers dripping on the marble white floor. Everything about him was ruffled and muddy and wet, as if he'd just taken a flight through a blizzard. And, looking at the broom Harry was holding in his left hand, this was probably the case.

"Potter," Draco muttered, his breath leaving him. "What in the name of Merlin's soggy pants are you doing here?"

"To say hi." He smiled again, and something in Draco's chest pounded painfully.

"You've flown," Draco said slowly, "from Scotland, all the way to southern England, just to say hi? Merlin, Potter, you're mental."

Harry's smile grew wider, if that were even possible. "It's not the first time I'm accused of being so, I've got to admit that. D'you mind if I come in?"

Lucius muttered, "I'd mind, to be honest," but both boys ignored him, too preoccupied with each other.

"Yes, come in, you absolute prick," Draco said, running down the rest of the stairs until he was standing in front of him.

"Thanks." Harry stepped in – the mud was nearly a pool now – and closed the door behind him. "Lovely evening, this."

Draco ignored that. "C'mon, you need to warm up. God, Potter, you really ought to take care of yourself more."

Instead of coming with him, like he should, Harry stared at him.

"Don't just stand there," Draco continued, and he grasped Harry's hand to pull him along. His hand felt cold, but everything inside Draco flared hot. "You'll catch a cold if you keep wearing those clothes, even you should now that." He turned to his father, who was gaping at him with his mouth hanging open. "Father, you can leave now."

Lucius' mouth snapped close, he quickly held up his hands, and left.

Harry's eyes followed him, and didn't say anything until the door of the living room closed behind him. "Your father," he began slowly, "he's not like he used to be."

"Azkaban." Draco just said as an explanation, pulling Harry behind him on the stairs, quickening his pace now he knew Harry wasn't letting go. (If Harry didn't let go, they'd be holding hands forever, because Draco surely would not stop doing so first.) "I'll have my mother make some tea to warm you up. I think I have some freshly warm clothes for you –"

"Malfoy.."

"- in here," He pointedly ignored Harry, and pulled him along into his room. "Your hand is freezing, Potter, ever heard of a warming charm?"

Harry chuckled, and Draco almost started sobbing at the beautiful sound. "I didn't bring my wand."

"You what?" His head snapped around, and he fought the urge to slap the other boy. "You ponce!"

"What?"

"Have you got any idea how much danger you could've been?" This time Draco did let go of Harry's hand, and he ignored the disappointed look on the other boy's face. "My father could've hurt you, instead of calling me downstairs. He could've brought you downstairs, tortured you for the fun for it, called for his old deatheater pals –"

"Malfoy.."

"- you could've fallen off your broom on the way here, I mean, you flew for hours you absolute prick, in the dark, who knows what could've happened?"

"Malfoy.."

"What?"

Harry's eyes were shining as if a light had just turned on behind them, and all Draco could do was stare for a moment. When had muddy clothes and ruffled, unruly hair become beautiful? Or was it just Harry? (Harry had always been beautiful.) "Draco, just shut up for a moment, okay?"

He called me Draco. Instantly, he obeyed.

"It's true, I've flown for hours without a wand. Probably stupid of me, but, as you've been saying for years, I am a reckless Gryffindor am I not?"

Hard to argue with that logic, to be honest.

"Secondly, I had to get here as soon as possible."

"Why?" Draco sat down on his bed, one of his hands in his hair. "What is so important that made you fly across the entire length of England to an enemy's house? In the middle of the night? What was so important, you bespectacled prick, that you needed to see me this badly?"

"Draco," Harry said softly, staring at his entwined hands for a moment before focusing on the other boy again. "I think I'm in love with you."

And the earth shattered around Draco with a deafening heartbeat.

a/n: if you enjoyed it, please, review!