You know the lies they always told you

And the love you never knew

What's the things they never showed you

That swallowed the light from the sun

Inside your room

Comin' down, the world turned over

And angels fall without you there

And I go on as you get colder

Or are you someone's prayer

-Goo Goo Dolls

Harry sat alone on the hard tile, the bright overhead lighting casting surreal shadows across the floor, and the falling water sounding like muddled thunder in his ears. His chest heaved, as if there wasn't enough air getting into his lungs, while the rest of his body was a crackling fire, radiating heat that had nothing to do with the water's high temperature.

What had he just done?

Harry raised a hand to his lips, pressing his fingertips to the tingling skin. It had all happened so quickly. It was as if Harry's body had turned to autopilot the moment Draco had touched him. There had been such a swell, such a rage of emotion, that Harry hadn't been able to hold it back.

His hand traveled up to comb through his hair, pulling at the dark strands and hoping the pain would sharpen his fuddled his mind. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, but no matter how hard Harry tried to figure out what had happened, his mind always came to a standstill at Draco's mouth against his own. Harry's throat tightened as he gagged on the little bile that was left in his stomach.

Draco must be disgusted by him. How could he have done something like that? How could he have kissed Draco Malfoy? Why had he kissed Draco Malfoy?

Harry reached up and turned the brass knob, shutting off the water. The room was hazed with layers of heavy steam that made the bathroom look like it was filled with thin reams of clouds.

With a cold numbness, Harry rose to his feet and stumbled out of the shower. He quickly saw the jumper and jeans that had been laid out for him, and his heart gave a violent drop. Without bothering to dry himself, Harry removed his wet bottoms and threw on the fresh, dry clothing. Harry inhaled deeply as the jumper traveled over his head, and was surprised to find that he knew the smell well. It was something he had subconsciously come to define as distinctly Draco. The only thing missing was the smell of blood to accompany it.

Once Harry was done changing, and his wet clothing was properly hung over the top of the shower, he stood awkwardly in the center of the room, staring at the door. His head throbbed and his legs wavered in effort to keep himself upright. I should apologize, Harry teetered slightly. Oh, but this would be so much easier if I didn't feel like I was going to throw up again.

Harry slowly walked towards the door. He's going to hate me, I know he is. Just like he used to. Harry leaned against the doorframe, his shaking hand hovering just above the doorknob. The idea of things reverting to the way they were before made Harry feel heavy…and cold. But maybe I can convince him not to. Maybe he'll understand. I'll just tell him the truth…that the Magic Repulsion must be causing me to have strange thoughts, that— But Harry never got to think about what else he would have told Draco, for at that moment, the subject of his thoughts flung open the door.

Draco seemed momentarily startled by Harry's immediate presence, but he collected himself and threw Harry a cool sneer. "Feeling better, Potter?"

"No." Harry's voice was solemn.

Draco's mouth quirked, as if it had become harder to maintain his expression. "Oh," he said simply. "I'm sorry the shower didn't help then. Though you really shouldn't keep the water that hot—it's not good for your skin," Draco finished in a half-mumble, his gaze slowly dropping to the ground.

Harry stared at the other boy—the two were almost exactly the same height and build; tall, with a muscled litheness that made them perfect flyers. Loathe as he would've once been to admit it, Draco had always been strong, fluid, and graceful, but now, standing there in the doorway, he looked as if a strong wind might blow him over.

"Malfoy," Harry started, wanting to step forward but not daring to make the move, "look, about what just happened…I wasn't thinking straight. The Magic Repulsion it—it's doing weird things to my head. I didn't mean to ki—to kiss you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Harry stumbled over the words, wringing his hands together to keep them from reaching out.

Draco looked at a spot somewhere over Harry's right shoulder. "Potter," he sighed, a strange expression passing over his face "you should probably get back to bed. You're sounding more moronic than usual, which is really saying something considering that it's you."

Harry's jaw dropped dumbly. "You mean—you're not mad then?"

"Of course I'm bloody mad!" Draco's head snapped up, his eyes flashing fiercely. "Or at least I was mad before I realized that it might not have been your fault. You said something was wrong and I didn't listen so—I forgive you alright? Now—"

The rest of Draco's words were lost on Harry. It was alright. Draco forgave him. Harry's heart soared with relief, and his entire body lifted as if it was suddenly free of weight.

"Potter!" Draco's angry voice brought Harry back. "Will you wipe that goofy grin off your face and get the hell back into bed?"

Harry nodded, eager to comply, and swept past Draco into the bedroom.

Draco turned to follow him, unconsciously brushing Harry's arm with his own. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end, and all of a sudden that feeling was back again; that burning that coiled deep within him like a molten fire. He quickened his pace and leapt into the bed, burying his face into the sheets.

"Potter," Draco gracefully climbed onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged next to Harry. "If you puke on my bed, you know I'll kill you right? And then your little Gryffindor posse will kill me. And then my father will kill them for killing me. And then the world will be plunged into chaos as the Malfoy-Potter war rages on and on until it destroys the entirety of wizarding society. So overall, unless you're a supporter of mass genocide, I would say that puking is a bad idea."

"I'm not gonna—" Harry started, his head shooting up to look over at the other boy. "Your father? He's not here is he?"

Draco's eyelashes fluttered innocently. "Here?"

Harry propped himself up to give Draco a hard glare, the burning in his chest dropping like a stone. "Don't play that game with me, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose he's here. I don't know where else he would be."

Harry blanched. "Here?" he squeaked. "As in, in this house at this very moment, here?"

"Oh, no Potter, I meant here as in Munchkin Land," Draco simpered sarcastically, his grey eyes shining. "Of course I mean he's in the house."

"This isn't funny, Malfoy!"

"Am I laughing?"

Harry's pulse quickened. Here he was, in the home of Lucius Malfoy, completely unable to use magic to defend himself, and completely guilty of being Harry Potter. Not to mention he had just kissed the only Malfoy heir, which Harry was sure would not blow over too well if word were to get out. What in the world was Draco thinking? "Malfoy I—if he finds out that I'm here—"

Draco waved a pale hand. "Never you worry, Potter. My father never comes to this part of the house. This is my own private wing. He did throw a fit when the alarms went off last night—when you touched the gate—but I managed to convince him that no wizard or witch would be stupid enough to just go up and touch the front gate at Malfoy Manor."

"So…you're sure he won't come."

"Yes."

"And he believed you about the gate?"

"Of course he did." He fashioned his lips with a particularly playful smirk. "Luckily enough, he doesn't know you like I do. Otherwise he would've known that there is one wizard stupid enough to march up to Malfoy Manor and touch the front gate."

"I…" Harry looked down, pinching the comforter between his thumb and forefinger. "I really did come because I thought Ron and Hermione were here."

"I know, Potter."

"I was worried that they would try to hurt you."

"But they didn't," said Draco. "And I feel a bit insulted that you don't think I could hold my own against Granger."

"You mean Hermione and Ron—"

"Weasley's negligible." Draco threw him a bright smile that had Harry flushing and tongue tied.

Harry lowered his gaze, fixating on his hand if only to distract himself from whatever it was that Draco's face was doing to him. But not looking at him didn't seem to help Harry's mind settle. Maybe if he kept talking. "So, uh," he muttered, "you think you know me huh?"

"Is that what I said?"

"Yes. You said that your father doesn't know me like you do."

Draco gave a short breath of laughter. "I suppose that's true. Actually, I know a lot more about you than you probably think. In fact, I'd wager that I know a lot more than most people."

Harry raised a doubtful brow. "Not more than Ron and Hermione. They know everything about me."

"I don't know. Enemies tend to notice things that friends don't. It's probably true that they know everything that they want to know about you, but that doesn't mean that they know everything that there is to know about you. Sometimes the most interesting things are the things that nobody wants to know at all."

An irrepressible chill ran down Harry's spine as he looked at Draco once more. "What wouldn't they want to know?"

Grey eyes glinted like flashing steel. "Maybe the fact that you should've been a Slytherin."

Harry's heart stopped as memories of his first year flooded back in waves. You could be great you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. Harry shook his head. "The hat chose Gryffindor for me. It wouldn't just put me in a house I didn't belong in."

"I'm not saying that Gryffindor didn't suit you in its own way. You obviously found your share of sappy, self-righteous friends." Draco moved lay on his stomach, supporting his chin in the heels of his hands. "But you were never like them."

"Well I'm certainly not more like you," Harry defended.

Draco inclined his head, a prim smile dimpling his cheeks. "I'm not so sure. For a Gryffindor, you were awfully Slytherin. I mean, you snuck around after hours, broke countless school rules, and hardly ever got caught doing it."

Harry made a face. "And we would've gotten away with a lot more if it weren't for you. And besides," he continued, "Hermione and Ron snuck around and broke just as many school rules as I did, and I hardly think either one of them could be considered Slytherin-like."

"But you were always the one to instigate said sneaking, weren't you?"

Harry glanced up, trying to think of an example to rebut the statement. He couldn't think of one.

"See?" Draco smirked triumphantly. "Granger and Weasley only ever did those things because you wanted them to."

"You make it sound like I was manipulating them or something."

"Weren't you?" The room dimmed as clouds passed over the sun, leaving the bed cast in shadows of black and grey. "Maybe not on purpose. Maybe you didn't even realize you did it. But true Slytherins always find a way to get other people to do what they want."

Harry frowned, not liking where this conversation was headed. "Hermione and Ron are my best friends," Harry said defensively, his hands fisting the sheets, "and I would never manipulate them. Gryffindors aren't like that."

"No," Draco said pointedly. "Gryffindors aren't."

"I'm not a Slytherin, Malfoy!"

Draco pursed his lips in an amused grin. "Me thinks thou dost protest too much."

Harry scowled moodily. "Sod off."

"You told the sorting hat not to put you into Slytherin didn't you." It was more of a statement than a question. "I heard that it lets some people make the choice themselves, and I always wondered…"

Harry's throat tightened and his eyes dropped.

"Why?"

The question was sincere, but more than that, there was an undertone of hurt that marked Draco voice.

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke, "I—the day I met Ron, he told me that there wasn't a witch or wizard gone bad that wasn't out of Slytherin. And…I guess I thought—because of Voldemort and all…"

"That any one of us could be another killer? Another Dark Lord?"

"You have to understand," Harry said sheepishly, "to me, Slytherin represented everything Voldemort stood for. It was something for me to hate when I didn't know what else to do with my anger."

Draco sat back up, gazing distantly off at the back wall. They sat like that for a long while, immersed in their own thoughts. "Is that all I was to you too?" Draco's voice was barely a whisper. "Just someone to take out your anger on?"

Harry's frown deepened in confusion. "I don't know," he replied truthfully. "Was I anything more to you?"

Draco gave a dark huff of laughter, and Harry shrank back slightly. "You were my obsession, Potter." He turned back to the Gryffindor, his eyes glinting like cold steel. "If I wasn't tormenting you, then you can be assured that I was busy talking about it, or planning it, or ordering other people to plan it for me. My obsession with defeating you consumed me. It became who I was." Harry felt his cheeks redden, and his chest tightened against his pounding heart. "Why do you think I became a seeker? Why do you think I always went out of my way to fight with you?"

"Malfoy…" Harry's throat clenched around his words.

Draco's eyes sharpened abruptly. "What happened in the shower?"

Harry flinched at the harshness in the other boy's tone. "I don't know…" Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Draco's gaze. "You touched me, and something—something inside me snapped."

"Because I touched you?"

"I couldn't control it!"

Draco's jaw became rigid. "You couldn't control what, Potter?"

Harry's face heated. He was looking anywhere but at Draco. How could he possibly answer something he didn't even know the answer to himself? Then, out of his peripheral, Harry saw a pale hand reaching towards him. And before he could even think to move, the hand was settled on the small of his neck.

Heat like fire radiated out from Draco's hand and coursed over Harry's body. Harry trembled violently in attempt to restrain the reaction, but the touch was like a spark to tinder, and his body couldn't help but bloom underneath it. It was as if Draco's hand was the sun spreading light across a darkened abyss. He wanted so badly to lose himself in that touch it nearly drove him mad. Why was this happening to him? He hadn't felt desire this uncontrollable since the beginning of his relationship with Ginny. But this was different somehow. More…raw.

"You're burning up," Draco said softly, his thumb trailing electricity along Harry's neck.

"Malfoy," Harry's voice was tight with feeling, "you really need to get your hand off me."

Draco withdrew his hand and began to massage it with the other. Harry felt his body sag as Draco's hand left him, and all at once his head began to throb and his stomach started churning uneasily. Harry stared up at the other boy, who gazed back at him in equal confusion.

"What does it feel like?" Draco asked.

"What does what feel like?"

Draco's face remained completely straight. "What does it feel like when I touch you?"

Harry's cheeks flamed. "I dunno—like—I get…my whole body gets really hot. And I can't think, and I can't breathe…" Harry trailed off, becoming too embarrassed to continue.

"So it hurts you?"

"No!" Harry sat up so quickly the room kept on moving even after he had stopped. "It's not like that at all…but," he interjected quickly, "it's not like I mean to feel that way. I'm not…like that."

"So you didn't enjoy kissing me?" Draco pouted teasingly, and at that moment Harry found he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and pull Draco's bottom lip between his teeth and—NO!

Harry put a hand to his head, willing the world to still. "I think I enjoyed it a bit too much actually." And then a strange dawning came upon Harry—a thought that hadn't crossed his mind before now. "But you…" Harry twisted his hands awkwardly, "you hated it right?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but immediately snapped it shut. Harry saw it though—the briefest inking of an emotion; a glimmer of softness. Draco always did a superb job at maintaining his frigid control, but Harry had been around him enough to see it slip. Though never quite like it was slipping now.

Pink dusted the blonde's cheekbones, and the hardness in his grey eyes seemed to melt away in a moment of serenity. "Hated it?" Draco licked his lips, "I don't—" then all of a sudden, Draco seemed to realize himself, and something small dropped in Harry's chest. With a shake of his head, Draco straightened back into his trained icy arrogance. "Of course I hated it."

Harry smiled solemnly. He didn't know why Draco's answer saddened him. It shouldn't sadden him. If anything, Harry should be happy there wouldn't be confusion between them. But for a second, Harry had thought that maybe…maybe Draco had wanted it too. Not that I actually want it, Harry abashed. It's just the fever.

"You obviously don't have much experience kissing boys."

Harry's heart gave a violent flutter. "What?" he exclaimed in a hot breath.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I can just tell you don't have much experience with it. Kissing a boy is very different than kissing a girl you know."

"Are you saying that you do know?"

"Of course I know." Draco looked affronted. "You were privy to my dreams after all."

The words felt like a slap across Harry's cheek. He recoiled from them, stung.

"But there was more than just him," Draco continued, not appearing to notice Harry's reaction. "I'm surprised you never got in on that juicy bit of Hogwarts gossip. I worked my way around a good portion of our class, girls and boys alike." He smiled wistfully. "I was a bored, impressionable adolescent."

"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice thin, "you shouldn't talk about it like that—like it was nothing."

Draco's face went long and blank. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the white column of his throat exposed as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Potter, don't look so distraught!" His words were broken apart by fragments of laughter. "That was ages ago now."

"Was it?" In the dream it hadn't seemed like ages ago. A year. Maybe.

Draco's smile only faltered for a moment. "Long enough."

Harry flopped down onto his back, throwing an arm over his face, and feeling distinctly perturbed. "Who else then?"

"Oh, so now you're curious?"

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, his eyes like molten silver. His grin was sardonic. "I think I'd prefer telling you off for being a pervy git."

Harry huffed, moving his arm so that he could stare up at the ceiling. He felt deflated, as if gravity was pressing him down and making every inch of him heavy. "I don't doubt that."

"Well it's no fun if you just let me do it."

Harry sighed.

There was a long pause, followed by, "Lets see, in Slytherin there was Parkinson—obviously—Zabini, and Baddock, in Ravenclaw there was Stewart Ackerley and Terry Boot, in Hufflepuff, Hannah Abbott—who was quite the aggressive little monster let me tell you—and in Gryffindor there was Parvati Patil, Longbottom—"

"Neville?" Harry turned and gaped at him. "You shagged Neville Longbottom?"

Draco looked thrilled by the fact that this bit of knowledge had garnered Harry's full attention. "Not quite. We did snog once though. I was abhorrently drunk at the time and didn't recognize who he was of course, but I own up to it nevertheless."

"But," Harry was at a loss for words, "Neville?"

"Careful, Potter," Draco said, "you're starting to sound prejudiced."

Harry ignored him. "I didn't even know Neville was gay."

"I don't actually think he is."

"Then why—?"

Draco shrugged. "We're young and hormonal. And last I checked experimenting's not against the law."

"And…is that what you were doing too?" Harry asked. "Experimenting?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Blood heated Harry's face, "There were a good number of boys on that list you just gave."

Draco raised one of his brows and leaned in a bit closer. He looked somewhere between amused and dubious. "I'm not sure if asking me those kinds of questions right after you kissed me in the shower is exactly subtle, Potter."

Nearly choking on his own embarrassment, Harry hummed and returned his gaze to the ceiling.

Draco lay down next to him, so close that Harry could feel the other boy's heat radiating out through his robes. Draco gaze was hard on the side of Harry's face. "Do you think it's a spell?"

Harry sighed and shifted, attempting to calm his racing pulse, deal with Draco's close proximity, and form words, all at once. "Do I think what's a spell?"

"This thing that makes you feel strange when I touch you. I think that—"

Then the sound of sliding metal and creaking hinges rang through the quiet room, and Harry and Draco turned simultaneously to see a livid Lucius Malfoy walking through the doorway.