Draco collapsed against the wall, sure that he was finally safe. They wouldn't follow him so deeply into the dungeons even if they hadn't bored and scattered long ago. Still, he had no desire to sprawl in the middle of the hall, wounded or not. Panting and holding his side, he braced on wobbly legs and hauled himself further into the recess of the darkness.

Light was spilling from around a corner, gradually growing stronger. He tensed, searching for places to hide, but the dungeons were not feast to paintings, armored knights, or magic doorways like the bright alcoves of the rest of the castle. Here, there was only blunt stone.

He was not in the good graces of his house. He shuffled, fearing he was making far too much noise, and propped his shoulders against the wall. Utterly vulnerable and pathetic, he aimed his wand and shivered.

"Draco?" Severus Snape called, a dark, beaten robe thrown over his nightshirt and trousers. Draco's blond hair, even matted with sweat, was probably as brilliant as a beacon. "What are you doing so late?"

Draco expelled his breath, his hand shaking as he lowered his wand.

"I was in the library, sir," he lied.

He was sure it would be all over the school come morning, but he couldn't face Severus and tell him he'd been in the Gryffindor common room, playing chess with Ron bloody Weasley. He hadn't expected to be so evenly matched against the Weasel, and he hadn't wanted to lose. He was foolish. He knew it was dangerous to walk about after hours, especially since his position as Prefect had been renounced.

Severus appraised him beneath the wandlight, taking in his drawn face and the way his hand clutched his side.

"Come."

Draco followed him to his personal chambers, carefully arranging his feet on the stairway so as not to plow into the man's back. Severus' chambers were at the bottom of the stairs, strategically before the Slytherin dormitory so as to monitor passersby. The wooden door was reminiscent of the thick, ancient oaks that barred entrance to prison cells. The antechamber served as a more private office than the one behind his classroom, dog-eared novellas and torn journals organized lovingly on the shelves while cabinets stored the more sensitive and expensive of his potion stock. It was a modest room, Spartan but filled with the life of well use.

Draco sat gingerly on a second-hand sofa, not meeting his godfather's gaze. Severus pulled the chair from behind his desk and leveled a patient but demanding stare.

Draco squirmed. "It's a bludger hex. You know I'm bad with bruises."

Indeed, Draco had a nifty hand at healing cuts and abrasions. Some of his first accidental magic had been repairing his skinned knee. But bruises had always been a weak point, and no matter how he studied and practiced, he could never get the hand of healing them.

With precise cutting spells, Severus removed Draco's shirt. All of his left flank was purple, shifting in angry shades and crawling into yellows. Testing the area revealed that the bones were not broken, but the area was certainly swollen. Draco suffered the inspection with his head bowed, chastised by Severus' silence.

He summoned a bruise salve from his stores. The paste was oily and cold on the inflamed flesh. Draco hissed, his fingers digging into his shoulder. Severus felt the manicured nails make perfect crescent indents through his robe and shirt.

"Who was it?" he asked as Draco bore the salve.

"I didn't see," he breathed out, making small whines in the back of his throat like a mongrel.

"How were you not aware of the danger of roaming the halls alone and at night?"

"I'm sorry, sir," he muttered.

After a moment in which Severus said nothing else, Draco relaxed enough to rest his head on Severus' shoulder. While his father had always been political and his mother social, Severus had been the one to watch after him when he was sick with summer colds. He was his most constant sitter, and the only person to ever want nothing more from him than intelligence and honesty. Severus was always warm, his natural temperature running a few degrees higher than the norm, though his hands were often cold.

His shoulder was a familiar presence, almost as comforting as his bed in the manor. The one he could no longer return to, he thought. Severus would not tolerate crying, but he allowed certain touches. Draco thanked Merlin, Mordred and Morgana that this was one of the times Severus seemed inclined to indulge him. He breathed in the scent of clary sage and lavender, which on anyone else he would have considered feminine. It was lined with smoke, the product of years of his most common potion ingredients. Severus never bought new cloaks.

It might have been the poultice, but his muscles loosened. He preferred though to think that it was this scent and the hard warmth of that familiar shoulder. Severus did not move, but Draco was used to that odd, stationary comfort. Severus was most comfortable with handling emotions that did not require his participation. So rare were the moments that Severus offered his shoulder that Draco did not mind that absence of a hand on his back like he would have anyone else.

When at last Draco started to consider risking his hand around Severus' neck, the man spoke, making him jump.

"Your late night escapade wouldn't have anything to do with Potter, would it?"

His side was now pleasantly numb, but he still tensed. He met Severus' eyes and looked quickly away. He'd always liked the darkness of Severus' eyes, and he'd stare into them for inappropriate amounts of time before Severus informed him of the vice. He consoled himself when he realized that it wasn't just Severus' eyes but dark eyes in general that he found attractive, but even with his beaus', he had to consciously keep track of his gawking.

Severus grabbed his jaw. Draco resisted the pull just on instinct, but Severus had strong, cruel fingers and forced him to look at him.

"What are you hiding, Draco?"

Feeling very much the rabbit, Draco tried and failed not to be slightly scared. It wasn't that he feared Severus would strike him. In eighteen years, when Severus had every reason to, he'd never laid a hand or wand on him. But Draco never forgot that Severus was formidable, a trait that he displayed in every motion, expression, and word. He didn't forget either that Severus had the power to force answers from his mind as easily as reaching into a bag.

Even his questions sounded like demands. Draco believed that Severus would release him if he asked, but he didn't. Because it was the perfect excuse for staring into the blackness of his eyes, wild in a face as pale as new yarrow. Severus' fingers bruised him, daring him to turn away, but it had always been like that. Draco was old enough to understand it and relax when the child-him would have simply been terrified.

"I'm not hiding anything."

The denial made Severus angry. Draco gave him an impatient glare and hastened to continue before Severus responded.

"I mean it. It's not that I'm hiding."

Severus dropped his hand. He obviously expected him to explain though. Draco knew that his mind wandered. Severus had spent years trying to teach him to focus, but Draco remained consciously capricious, and it took him a few seconds to transition between his thoughts about Severus to Harry.

Instantly, he felt uncomfortable. Normally, it wouldn't bother him that he'd been admiring one man while seeking another, but Harry was different. His attentions could not be half-hearted or schemed, and it made him nervous, even inside the privacy of his own mind.

But it was Severus, his oldest and most trustworthy confidante, and he could only feel somewhat guilty for an admiration that had clung to him for years.

"Draco," Severus snapped.

Draco sighed. "I like him."

Severus' scowl spoke for itself, making Draco press down a grin. It was silent as Severus disgustedly processed this information, staring at Draco the whole time as if he'd confessed an affair with a frog. He resisted the urge to defend his choice, if only because he didn't want to give Severus the opening.

"I trust you haven't revealed these feelings," he revealed at last.

Draco squirmed. Severus' breathed in quickly, the air seeming to go straight to his eyes.

"You haven't."

Draco shook his head. "But… I'm going to."

"Draco," Severus said in a long-suffering tone, "have you completely taken leave of your senses?" The concern for his mental health seemed very genuine and stung a little, though he tried not to show it.

"You can hardly tolerate each other," he continued, "and I doubt he would so easily forget who you are."

"He hasn't," Draco said bitterly. "But… I mean… I'm more than that. And he knows it."

He wasn't so sure on that account, but Severus didn't jump on the weakness so he assumed he hid it.

"Do you even know if he is attracted to you?"

Draco winced. "I think so."

Severus gaped at him until a flush ran up Draco's neck.

"It will never work out."

The sting elevated to a slap, and he was quick to jump up. "You don't know that!"

"I don't?" he said with mordant humor. "You both are so incompatible it makes me want to laugh."

Draco flinched, not sure where his reactions where coming from and too injured to care. "You don't mean that… You don't even know him!"

"You think you do?" Severus stared at him with those cruelly intense globes, and Draco did not need to see the sneer to feel how they burned. "You think the great Harry Potter will share anything with you? We are so far below his notice, he'd hardly even grace you with pity. Why would he even bother with people like us? You think you've won his favor by acting like a besotted fool? He's just laughing at you."

"He's not like that," Draco said, knowing he was losing the argument and feeling like he was beating against an ocean.

"Of course he is," Severus snarled caustically. "Just like every other bloke and bint you've charmed into your trousers. You'd just be an adventure for him."

The one word was spoken with enough loathing to leave Draco in tears. Having his doubt brought to reality was so much more painful than he'd imagined.

"Fine," he snapped, pretending he wasn't on the verge of bawling. "That's just fine then. I'll just make him love me."

For a second, Severus' jaw dropped. Then, he erupted into fury. "He's not a game, Draco! Do you realize what that boy could do to us?"

"I'm not scared."

"Well you should be, you little brat! You can't play around with him!"

"Is that what this is about?" Draco said breathlessly. "Severus, I swear. I'm not. I wouldn't do that."

Severus gave a single mad bark of laughter, making Draco cringe. "You, the school whore?"

Draco flushed and scowled back.

"At least I don't have to pay for my trysts."

"Yes, brilliant, Draco!" Severus snapped. "Let's turn this into another game of insults! Let's add your brilliant wit! Haven't you grown up at all, you stupid boy?"

"You're the one yelling at me!"

"Yes," he snarled, slamming his hand down on the desk. "Because you continue to act like a rutting fool."

They stared at each, the room full of hurt.

"I spent so much effort trying to keep you safe," Severus said. "And you," he broke off to laugh. "You want to fuck Harry Potter."

"I told you it's not like that," he said quietly.

"And I should believe you?" Severus said, glaring at him.

Even Draco knew it would be silly to tell him that he'd never felt this way before.

"You… bloody child," Severus whispered, hanging his head.

"I'm not playing with him," Draco said. "I swear it."

"I suppose you think you're in love," Severus chuckled, and Draco gasped at the amount of cruelty he'd put in the statement.

"How long do you suppose those feelings will last? Another week? A month?"

"No," he said weakly.

Severus looked up at him, and for once, Draco found nothing beautiful in the sight of his eyes. "Don't they always?"

Draco slapped him. For a moment, they were both too stunned to move. Then, Draco fled, going fast enough that he failed to close the door.

It was silent and the air seemed to shiver and ache. Severus collapsed in his chair, cradling his head in his hand. He'd said more than he meant to, revealed more than Draco would ever be able to grasp. As much as he loved him, Draco was dense. He had the intelligence for potion making but little in the art of language. He'd mistakenly believed that Severus' intent had been to lead him away from danger. Certainly, that had been part of it, but he'd lost his head tonight. If he hadn't, he was sure he could have convinced Draco that Potter was using him, that the crimes Draco had committed could never be understood or forgiven by that boy. He was sure, but instead, he'd lost his head and blown it all.

He stood and summoned a decanter of brandy from the lowest drawer of his desk, pouring the lukewarm liquid into a transfigured glass. He wanted to think that this… crush on Potter was just that, a crush. Merlin, the boy was a slag. It shouldn't have been hard to convince himself that Draco was just a self-destructive tool, that the infatuation was his play with a knife's edge or a clumsy man's bid for pride. Seducing The Boy Who Lived, Severus knew many who would have liked to try.

He knocked back the bourbon, grimacing and baring his teeth after it reached his palate. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to ignore each other. They were supposed to drift apart, go on into different worlds, different lives and met sometime when their children shared the Hogwarts Express. None of them were supposed to realize that they existed as anything other than foils.

Severus knocked the shot glass against his desk. The sound it made was empty and ordinary, but he listened to it long after it had stopped.

He had always thought that watching his godson flirt through skirts and trousers was the worst it could possibly be, but he was wrong. Watching him fall in love was much worse.

o.O.o

Something was bothering Draco. Harry watched him from across the Hall, and it was rather easy to see that he was upset. Though he didn't talk to his housemates nearly as much as before, he always made some attempt to remain part of the group. But today he was sitting by himself, making no pretense of feigning hunger, and Harry wondered if someone had died.

Behind him, he could hear Mayor and Finch-Fletchley plotting some prank to upend his plate. He turned around just as Mayor made to point his wand and grabbed the end of it.

"Save it."

He stood. People still had a habit of watching him whenever he moved, which was extremely irritating, especially now, but he ignored it and approached the Slytherin table. The passed few days, he'd felt Draco's eyes on him like a patient buzzard, but today, he didn't even notice he was there. His concern mounted.

"Hey," he said gently. He wanted to touch his shoulder but didn't dare. Draco blinked up at him, and his eyes were dark. Harry felt something sink in his stomach.

"Can I sit?"

"Uh, sure," he said in surprise, and even that sounded slightly dull.

He's suppose to make a joke, Harry thought.

That's right. He knew Draco. He was supposed to look overly pleased, like Harry had obeyed his unspoken summons, and preen and turn the side of his face to the right angle, like he thought he had a "good side" that Harry should admire like a Greek statue.

It surprised him that he knew Draco that well, a knowledge he'd been oblivious to until he found its lack.

Harry crawled onto the bench, his back to the rest of the school. Draco wasn't doing anything. He wasn't demanding that Harry tell him what he wanted. He wasn't sprouting nonsense about his irresistibility or taunting Harry for approaching him. He was just quietly waiting for him to speak, fork resting in his hand. There was nothing else wrong except the darkness of his eyes and his stillness, and the longer he simply sat there, the greater the wildness in Harry's chest felt.

"Are you ok?"

Draco looked thoroughly shocked at being asked, and it made him look so honest that Harry knew this was not a conversation for the entire Hall to spy upon.

"Come with me."

"What?"

Harry had already grabbed his hand though without waiting for compliance, and Draco was stuck clumsily following his lead. The Hall burst into whispers as soon as Harry touched him, and he frowned severely enough for the first group that saw his face to stop.

"Harry, I wasn't finished eating…" Which had to be the measliest protest Draco had ever voiced.

Harry searched until he found an empty, unlocked classroom. It was the old Charms room, the one that Flitwick had neglected to cleanse for a few decades, allowing it to accumulate enough excess charm-magic to bring the dust to life. It had to be abandoned in fifth year because the dust had formed armies and were commencing wars amidst the students' feet that survived the worst of the professor's hexes and repellants.

Some type of treatise had been arranged in their absence because the small clumps were dancing softly on the desktops, swaying to sound neither Draco nor Harry heard. The sun spilling through the window behind Flitwick's old desk was easy and soft, casting golden shadows over the waltz.

Harry shut the door and cast a silencing ward. When he turned around, Draco was watching the dust. For years, he'd wanted Draco to just shut up, but he'd never thought about how unnatural it would be. He didn't think Draco could simply be quiet and watch something as rustic and calm as dancing dust mites. Now, he couldn't even find life in the picture, which he knew should be magical and graceful.

In the safety of the room, Harry touched his elbow. Draco shrugged him off, putting some distance between them. Harry didn't take offense, instead watching how the calm broke off his face.

"What?" he snapped.

The sound jarred the dancers, who took off hand in hand for cover. Draco swallowed but betrayed no other emotion.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked again.

Something in his voice seemed to attack Draco, for he winced and looked away.

"No. I mean, well, yes, I'm fine. It's not… I mean it's not… It's not important."

Harry nodded rather than argue the finer points of importance like Hermione often did to him.

"What happened?" he asked.

Draco stared at him with the captured eyes of a hare. "I…" He licked his lips and shifted his gaze again. "I got into a fight with my godfather."

Fighting with Snape was never a good thing. Ever. So Harry didn't have to fake remaining concerned for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I know you don't like him," the blond said, not looking up. "So I don't know what to say."

Harry thought that was unbelievably reasonable and respectful. For a moment, Harry admired that Draco possessed such qualities.

"I'm not sure I don't like him anymore," he said carefully. "I can't say I like him, but I understand his position a little better now. And I don't think he's been as bad since the war."

Draco was silent. The war was something they hadn't really talked about, and Harry wasn't entirely sure he was ready to hear Draco's side of it.

"He said some things… that really upset me, and I… I hit him."

"Hit him how?"

Draco shifted guiltily. "I slapped him."

A year ago, Harry would have patted him on the back, but he knew better now. "You want to tell me what he said?"

Draco touched the edge of a table, still not looking at him.

"Well, he is Severus."

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. The statement explained so much to anyone who had ever met the man, and someone like Harry, who'd been at the end of his tongue more time than he liked to count, knew exactly what he meant. He quieted quickly, but he'd gained a bit of a smile. He waited for Draco to continue, and the smile fell, replaced by pinched silence.

"I think… what bothered me most… was that he said that the person I like… won't ever be able to like me and that… my feelings are just a phase, like it was with all the other people I dated."

"Is it?" Harry asked kindly.

Draco shook his head, closing his eyes.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I… I don't know," he admitted. "I can't very well tell him that it just feels different."

"Why not?"

"Because it's silly," Draco replied with such frustrated vehemence that Harry had to choke down a grin.

"Draco, you're the only one who knows what you're feeling. You didn't feel this way with even one of your dates?"

"Not one," he promised.

"Forgive me," Harry said diplomatically. "But I was under the impression that you didn't date anyone for emotions really."

Draco sent him a warning look. Harry raised his hands until Draco looked away again.

"I didn't follow your exploits like the rest of the school," he said, "but everyone knew you were emotionally… unattainable," he said, searching for the word. "As a matter of fact, that's all I ever heard," he added, miffed.

Lavender and Pavarti talked about it for days on end until the boys started to threaten to throw them out of the common room. Then, he listened to Hermione complain about them complaining in the dorm room.

"Do you think I'm a whore?"

Harry scowled, not liking the way Draco sounded.

"Who gives a shit?" he said a tad too harshly. "You never lied to anyone about it, and you did whatever the hell you wanted. If people call you a whore, it's only because they're ignorant or jealous."

Draco gave a weak, nervous laugh. "You can't honestly believe that."

Harry shrugged. "Some people like to use people, and they lie about it. They tell people they're important to them when they're not. I don't think you ever told anyone they were important."

Draco gaped at him until he realized he was doing it and flushed.

"But you're saying that you found someone important to you now," Harry said, putting together everything he'd said and didn't say. "And you haven't slept with them."

Draco shook his head. "Him," he corrected softly.

"It doesn't sound like you're upset with Snape at all," Harry said carefully.

Draco moved between the rows of desks. The dust watched him, sneaking from their shadows. Harry didn't know what to say anymore. He was the last person to give relationship advice. After Cho, he'd become sort of asexual. Other than a few moments of appreciation, Harry had never approached any of his objects of interest, and he'd certainly never felt anything like what he feared Draco was feeling. After watching Ron and Hermione, he suspected he probably wouldn't be able to look at anyone if he hadn't already fallen in love with them. Made dating, hell even flirting, rather difficult.

To be honest, Draco was making him kind of envious. The moment had turned nervously awkward.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said. "I don't know what to tell you."

"I don't expect you to tell me to do anything," he said, almost affronted.

Harry smiled, glad that he was feeling better. "If I said anything, you'd probably do the opposite anyway."

Draco didn't laugh. Harry's joke fell embarrassingly.

"Wow," he said quietly. "You have it bad."

Draco gave a weak and clumsy sniff, turning quickly away. Harry stifled the urge to apologize. It'd taken him years, but he knew now that something apologies did more harm than good. Finally, he sighed and braved through the awkwardness to speak his mind.

"Draco, you're a good person. I know a lot of people think otherwise, and I think this bloke it probably one of them, but you shouldn't listen to them. They just… they're just hurt and confused and it's easy to blame everything on the people like you who just got caught in the crossfire too. You have a lot of faults. God, do you have faults, but everyone does. I mean you're an arrogant little bastard most the time, and believe it when I say people should focus on that rather than that stupid tattoo on your arm, but you're kind when you want to be. I mean when it gets you something, which I don't know pissing me off or amuses me. And sometimes you really shine, and I know some of it is because you're conceited-"

"Merlin, Harry, shut up!" Draco interrupted. He glared at him with angry tears. "You're not bloody helping."

He hung his head in his hands. Harry stared at him until the words stopped buzzing against his teeth.

"My point was that I think anyone should be happy to catch your affections. It's not an easy thing to catch."

Draco looked up at him, his eyes shining with wetness. Harry gave a small, nervous smile. In a flash too fast for Harry to see, his face changed. He stalked the row, and Harry had time for only one battle-wary step backwards before Draco grabbed his jaw and kissed him.

The air locked in his throat. Harry was two inches shorter than the blond, and Draco had tilted his face up with his palms. He would never have guessed how overwhelming it felt to be in a position like that. He'd never let height intimidate him, since in his youth, he'd always been the runt. Now, though even that small distance was impressive and unfathomable, and Harry had to combat that foreign feeling before he could even begin to register who it was kissing him.

He gasped, and Draco retreated, dropping his hands as well, and stepped clear away from him as if he expected Harry to hit him. Harry wasn't even sure he was seeing him. He wasn't entirely sure he'd been kissed, unable to connect the action to what he thought kissing meant. His chest started to hurt before he realized he'd stopped breathing.

"Oh."

Draco stared at him suspiciously, angling his body for a fight.

Harry touched his lips and spoke again. "Oh."

He made an anxious, dry chuckling sound that made Draco blush shamefully. The pressure in his chest began to loosen, and at last, he felt like he could breathe.

"I wasn't expecting that. God," he said shakily.

"What are you going to do?" Draco demanded, and Harry realized he was blocking the locked door.

He leaned against it just so Draco would get the point. The boy paled and moved further into the center of the room, away from him. Harry spent the silence trying to wrap his head around what had happened. Part of him was still stunned, but Draco obviously needed an answer, and implausibly, he wasn't finding himself too hesitant to give it.

The light from the window was soft enough to hide the sharp points of Draco's face. In the shades though, he seemed colorless, mixtures of whites and grays that ignored even the green of his Slytherin patch. He was a cornered wary, and Harry could almost see each muscle in his shoulders and thighs beneath his robes begging escape.

The last of his shock melted away until he was simply looking at Draco with a natural calmness Harry had rarely felt in the presence of anyone. He realized with sudden epiphany that he was fond of Draco, something that should have but didn't register when he'd been fretting about him across the Hall. He could hardly believe this moment was happening. It was Draco Malfoy.

Who'd in some undeterminable time become Draco.

"If you're going to reject me-" Draco started.

"I'm not," Harry said, shocking them both.

They fell into uneasy silence.

Hesitantly, Harry crossed the room. Draco watched him with fretful, skittish eyes, but he didn't retreat anymore.

He'd never done anything like this before. He'd never thought about it. But he'd made a decision, one that had been ridiculously easier than it should have been, and Harry always fed on the strength of his decisions. It was the only way he'd survived the war. He supposed reacting was simpler than acting. He'd always been a defensive fighter.

"I'm not as sure about this as you are," he said.

Draco's eyes were as wide as nickels. He stayed so still, Harry suspected Draco thought he'd run if he moved. Harry wondered if one of them was always going to be frozen in some state of shock.

"Are you teasing me?"

Harry shook his head. "No. No, Draco."

"Really?"

He smiled. With strange confidence, Harry brushed his bangs back, making Draco's throat go dry.

"Really."