Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Black Me Out	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13003 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three – Don't Lose Touch

Harry wished that getting Malfoy to leave him alone was as easy as Hermione's acceptance of him was.

He wasn't harassing him, at least, not in a way that Harry would classify as harassment, it was more that he went from being an absolute prat to being an incredibly annoying prat in his persistence of his apparent 'affections' for Harry.

It had started small, catching Harry when he was alone, taking his hand, possibly stealing a kiss. It didn't help that Malfoy was an infuriatingly good kisser. Hermione had always been rather good at cluing in to when Harry returned to the common room from another altercation with Malfoy, his beet-red face being a dead giveaway.

“Oh come on Harry,” she said after the sixth time that this happened, sprawling herself across his bed with her Arithmancy homework while he sat at his desk and glared at his Potions essay. “It's obvious you like him, why don't you just—”

“—I am not in love with Draco effing Malfoy!” Harry snapped, and she looked up at him, her eyebrow cocked at him curiously.

“I didn't say love.”

Harry felt his face grow warm.

“Shut up.”

“Come on Harry, it's not that bad. What's that line? The la—man doth protest too much, methinks,” she said with a knowing smile, but Harry blinked, it taking a moment for the implication to sink in.

“Shut up,” he repeated, turning back to his essay to hide his flush, and he struggled to ignore Hermione's laughter.

They worked through the free period in silence, then headed to the Great Hall for dinner, still discussing Hermione's insistence that dating Malfoy would be good for him, and Harry's insistence that he wasn't interested in that git.

Halfway to the Great Hall, Hermione suddenly excused herself to run to the loo, and Harry leant against the stone wall of the passageway to wait for her.

Harry heaved a sigh as he banged his head lightly against the wall. The frustrating of it all was that Malfoy definitely didn't look as disgusting a prospect as he once had. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing to Hermione (or Sirius, who had been just as frustratingly persistent), if nothing else but to avoid their smug I told you so looks.

“Potter!”

Harry swore.

Malfoy ran up to him, his cheeks mildly flushed, but a look in his eye that Harry didn't think would bode well for him. He reached for Harry's hand, and Harry instinctively flinched back. For once, Malfoy seemed to respect his boundaries, and let his arm fall to his side.

“It has occurred to me that perhaps I have gone about the task of wooing you all wrong,” he said, in a tone of voice not unlike someone who was pronouncing their world-changing discovery of the cure to some sort of deadly ailment. Harry was tempted to point out that he didn't want to be wooed at all, but Malfoy pressed forward before he could get a word in. “Harry, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?”

As with every other time Malfoy had done it, the use of his first name was enough to momentarily throw him off. Harry stared at the overconfident Slytherin, certain he'd misheard him, but as the words sunk in, Harry's expression shifted to an annoyed scowl.

“No.”

“Excellent, I—wait, no?”

“No,” Harry repeated.

“What do you mean no?” Malfoy asked, his mouth open in shock.

“No. Interjection. To express denial, disagreement, or refusal. No. Now would you please stop badgering me?” Harry asked, but Malfoy did not seem as deterred as he would have liked by his negation.

“Oh, come on. Please? One date. I promise I'll behave myself,” Malfoy said, but Harry's scowl didn't fade.

“Pleading doesn't exactly become you, Malfoy. If you don't stop pestering me, I'll be happy to take a leaf out of Ginny's book and use the Bat-Bogey Hex on you.” Harry crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide the discomfort in his chest. The near-constant ache was frustrating, especially when he'd been so tight-lipped about his transition. At the threat however, Malfoy seemed to believe that Harry wasn't bluffing, and with a sulking expression, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

“Trouble in paradise?” Harry turned to see Hermione was back, her smile fading when she saw the look on his face.

“I threatened to hex him if he didn't knock off the stalking routine, more like,” Harry said, scowling at her wording, and she frowned.

“Oh come on Harry! Why won't you humour him and just let him take you out?” Harry frowned, and Hermione continued before he could interject, “go out together, whatever. He likes you. More than likes you.”

“All the more reason for me to stay far, far away from him,” Harry said as they fell into step alongside one another and made it the rest of the way to the Great Hall.

“That doesn't make any sense, Harry! If he likes you, why would you try so hard to avoid him?”
“Maybe because I don't like him back?” Harry asked with an arched brow as they selected a spot at the Gryffindor table a little ways from the others.

“Yes you do,” Hermione said with absolute certainty, while she turned her attention to serving herself an overlarge portion of beef casserole and roast potatoes.

“I do not,” Harry hissed as Lavender Brown walked past, slowing slightly to listen in on their conversation. They both waited until she went to join Parvati before they started up again.

“Oh yeah?” Hermione said, arching a brow, “then why are you blushing?”

Harry scowled again, and began filling his plate. When he didn't answer, Hermione smirked triumphantly and began to eat.

The following morning, Harry was distracted from pulling his school robes on by a sharp tapping at his window. Half-dressed in his pants, white shirt and tie, he wandered over to the window, still clutching his trousers in his hand.

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered as he recognized the handsome eagle owl outside his window, a rose in its beak, and a letter tied to its leg.

Having a feeling that the owl would not leave until it had delivered its letter, Harry grudgingly unlatched the window and allowed it to swoop inside. It dropped the rose on his bed, then landed on the nearby wardrobe and extended its leg towards Harry.

With delicate touches like he was handling an explosive, he untied the letter from the creature's leg, and it immediately took off again. Harry closed the window behind it and tossed the letter next to the rose, feeling highly uncomfortable at the gesture. Roses were things girls were given. Not boys, and certainly not him. Harry could feel the first talons of a panic attack hook into him, and in response he incinerated the flower. The letter however, had come away partially singed, but mostly in one piece. He would have liked to throw the damn thing away, but he knew that the curiosity was going to kill him if he didn't at least see what Malfoy had to say. He picked it back up, slit the envelope, and shook the letter open.

Dear Harry,

I have a feeling that you are a man of your word, and would likely attempt to hex me the next time I approached you. As such, I felt that approaching you, as it were, from a safe distance might be best. My affections for you are quite genuine, I assure you, though in retrospect, I can see how it may not seem that way to you.

I suppose the best way to explain it is that I did not recognize for what it was until the war was over. It wasn't exactly a good time to cross-examine my feelings, given that I had a mad dark lord living under my roof.

I cannot say I dealt with it all particularly well, and many times I did not want these emotions. What would Father say? As a result, I did some terrible things to you and your friends in my desperation to purge my mind of images of you and I being a disgusting, adorable couple.

I needn't repeat it all here, we have enough stories of our rivalry between us to easily fill seven books. I just wish to tell you again, I am in love with you, Harry Potter. Please give me a chance.

Draco L. Malfoy

Harry stared at the letter.

It filled him with a queasy sensation that he could not recall ever feeling before. Phrases jumped out at him, and memories came to mind of the war, the year on the run, Malfoy being forced to perform Unforgivable Curses for Voldemort, Malfoy clinging to him as they fled the Fiendfyre on broomsticks...

The last one made Harry feel very warm.

He shook his head, tossed aside the letter, and hurried into the rest of his clothes. His bag slung over his shoulder, he faltered, his gaze turning back and falling on the letter. He moved back into the room, picked it up, folded it into a small square, and pocketed it.

Harry had a lot to think about.

Harry managed to pass through most of the day without Hermione pestering him about his apparent stalker, and no more love notes made their way over to him. He did however feel as though someone was watching him a few times throughout the day, only to turn and find Malfoy suddenly taking a great interest in the backs of his hands.

By the end-of-day N.E.W.T-level Potions lesson, Harry was completely exhausted. Who knew personal relationship stuff could be so tiring? He settled in next to Hermione, just as Slughorn swept into the room.

“Afternoon, afternoon everyone! Now, we have allowed your Amortentia ample time to stew over the weekend, and today we will be able to complete the brewing process and have your samples bottled and tested! Go fetch your cauldrons first before you raid the store cupboards, if you please!”

There was a loud scraping of the wood benches against the stone dungeon floors as the seventh and eighth year students stood up and headed to the back of the class. Their cauldrons had been set up in a neat line, and protected from younger students tampering with it by a shield charm, which the professor now took down to enable them to grab their cauldrons.

The low babble of people talking to their friends filled the silence, but Harry felt too drained to say much of anything to Hermione, and the pair grabbed their cauldrons and headed back to their desk. Harry had just set his down and made to move to the store cupboards to get the ingredients he needed, when someone brushed past him, not enough to jar him, but close enough that he could feel their body heat. He looked up and flushed a deep red as Malfoy looked back at him with a trademark smirk, and he tried valiantly to ignore the knowing look Hermione was giving him.

They worked mostly in silence for a good portion of the period, and though Harry's potion looked how it was supposed to, it just didn't smell right to him.

“I dunno what I did wrong,” Harry whispered to Hermione as he ran his fingers down the instructions and turned back to his cauldron, giving the bubblegum pink potion a nervous stir. “It definitely smells wrong,” he said for what was likely the dozenth time.

“As far as I can see, you did everything right. Now Harry stop pestering me, I need to focus on mine,” she hissed softly as Slughorn swept past, her potion looking exactly as Harry's did, which told him that at least he wasn't too far off the mark. The professor stopped mid-step, and turned back to him with a wide, pleased smile upon his face.

“My, my, what's this?” He asked, clapping his hands together and rubbing them enthusiastically as he looked down at both Harry and Hermione's potions. They both flushed similar shades of red under the man's scrutiny. “Two perfect potions from our Gryffindors! Well done, both of you! I'd say this warrants twenty-five points apiece, wouldn't you say? Precious few of my N.E.W.T students ever manage a perfect love potion on the first attempt. Miss Granger, I expected no less from you, and Mister Potter, well done indeed!”

The pair flushed similar shades of pink under his praise, and as he had been talking the bell rang. The other students scrambled to bottle a sample of their potion for the professor, while Harry and Hermione did the same.

“See Harry?” Hermione said as she shouldered her bag and followed Harry out of the classroom, “you had nothing to worry about. Do I need to worry that you'll catch up to me in potions?”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Harry said with a short laugh, “I just got—” but Harry froze as Malfoy brushed past the pair of them, turning back just long enough to wink at Harry, before disappearing in the direction of Slytherin house. It was not the look that had made Harry stop dead in his tracks however.

Malfoy's cologne smelled exactly like his love potion.

~*~

A fortnight after his attack by Ron and Seamus, amidst the mountains of homework, revising for his N.E.W.T.s, and Hermione's tentatively questioning him about some very private things regarding his anatomy. Amongst it all, Malfoy was alternating between steering clear of him and instead sending him nauseating love notes, or following him around like a lost puppy. Combined, it was beginning to wear heavily on Harry, and it amazed him that he had not yet cracked under the pressure.

On the cusp of April, Harry found himself on a sunny Friday afternoon hiding in a corner of the library, in the History of Magic section. The intricate, untouched cobwebs were a testament to how few students perused these shelves, and Harry had hoped that this meant that he was less likely to be disturbed.

He had his Transfiguration essay pressed into a thick volume that he had balanced on his knees, (Explain The Procedure for Switching Spells Involving Hot and Cold-Blooded Creatures) and he was scratching away in silence, engrossed in the task and determined to finish all his homework as quickly as possible so that he could have one peaceful, stress-free weekend to himself.

Unfortunately, the Fates seemed determined to not let Harry James Potter have anything that might even remotely resemble a quiet, peaceful life, and in the dead silence of the library, he heard a soft voice speak.

“Marco.”

Harry looked up, blinking with confusion. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing?

“Marco,” the voice said again. It was high, boyish, and slightly familiar, though Harry couldn't place it. It sounded as though it had come closer, but Harry wasn't certain. Assuming he was hearing things, Harry bowed his head and returned to his work.

“Marco,” it said again. Harry looked up from his essay again and stared into the stacks beyond where he sat. His curiosity and confusion piqued in equal measure, and he caved.

“Polo?”

A blond head swooped into his aisle, and Harry cursed.

“I can't believe that actually worked. I owe Granger for this,” Malfoy smirked, and Harry set aside his work as he stood up.

“Hermione told you to play Marco Polo to find me?”

“Well, I told her that I was looking for you, and she said that you were probably in the library, and she told me about this inane muggle game. I thought she was just having me on, but it's actually a game muggles play?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice edged with annoyance, “not usually a stalking tactic, though.” Harry crossed his arms as he glared at the taller boy, while he made a mental note to murder Hermione for giving him up.

“Oh, come on Potter!” He said softly so as to not incite Madam Pince's wrath, and stepped closer with a confident smirk in place. “One date. That's all I ask. Let me take you out once. If you still hate me, I'll leave you alone.”

He reached for Harry's hands, and Harry was too slow to move away. He was rather surprised by how warm Malfoy's hands felt over his. Somehow, he doubted that Malfoy's sentiment was genuine, and he doubted that the Slytherin would stop pestering him, but it was worth a try.

“All right, fine,” Harry grumbled, his face heating as he looked at Malfoy, but he refused to show weakness and look away. “One date.”

Malfoy's mouth split into a wide, genuine smile. It was a little alarming for Harry to see it in place of his usual smirk, and before he could utter a word of protest he swept in close and kissed Harry once.

“I promise you won't regret it,” Malfoy purred, the low, seductive tone making Harry shiver involuntarily. When had Malfoy's voice begun to sound so good to him? “Tomorrow, noon. Meet me in the Entrance Hall.”

~*~

Hermione was waiting for him just inside the common room, and her face split into a grin the moment she saw him.

“Did he find you? Did he actually do it? Did you say yes?” She asked all three questions very fast.

“Come on, we'll talk in my dormitory,” he said, annoyed with her manipulations, but her enthusiasm was endearing in a strange way, and Harry found that he couldn't be as furious with her as he wanted to be. He led her up to the Head Boy's room, and warded the door with silencing and locking charms before he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed with a satisfying flump.

“Come on Harry,” she said, sitting down on the available desk chair, turned to face him as he lay back on the bed. “Spit it out. What happened?”

“I was in the library, wonder of wonders, trying to study,” Harry said, turning his head a little to look at her, but didn't get up. She beamed at the words, clearly pleased that he hadn't been goofing off. “Then I heard the most curious thing. Can you perhaps guess what it was?”

“He didn't! He took my Marco Polo suggestion?” She laughed, clearly unable to believe what she was hearing.

“Do you have any idea how weird it is to hear someone like Malfoy playing Marco Polo?” Harry asked, finally sitting up. Hermione seemed to be overcome with a bad case of the giggles, and her face was rather red. “Also, thanks ever so for giving me up. You and Sirius I swear, it's like you two want me to go with Malfoy or something.”

“Well, you can't deny that you'd make a very handsome couple,” she said after she had finally calmed down. “Sirius is a surprise though, I thought he'd be dead-set against it.”

“Yeah, so did I, but went I met with him a while back to...er, discuss what happened with Ron it came up, and he asked me if I fancied him—which I don't—”

“—except you agreed to go out with him, didn't you?”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, and Hermione giggled again. “Anyway, he didn't seem angry about it, just...I dunno...curious, I guess. He's been acting less like Sirius and more like Mr Supportive Parent ever since this thing happened.”

“And which thing might that be, Malfoy courting you, or Ron transforming into the world's biggest git?” Hermione asked, her tone turning a little sour at the mention of her ex-boyfriend.

“The second one, mostly. He's sent me a couple owls warning me not to open anything from Ron, just in case it's cursed or something,” Harry bowed his head and tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread. It was so weird to imagine that Ron might actually send him something cursed after all they'd been through. Ron was his best mate, how could he do this?

“Well it's good he's not being dismissive of it, at least. Some parents might think you're overreacting, but I'm glad that Sirius is being serious about it.”

“Yeah, Sirius is taking the whole thing pretty seriously,” Harry said, “but he's way too thrilled about this thing with Malfoy. I mean, it's just...it not that simple.” Hermione's brow furrowed with confusion at his words, as though Harry had suddenly began to speak Farsi.

“What do you mean, 'not that simple'?” Hermione asked, and Harry frowned as he looked over at her, while he tried to think of a way to phrase what he was thinking without hurting her feelings. He never had to explain himself so much before, Sirius had raised him with this, he only ever spoke to Healers and Teachers who understood what he was going through, no questions asked. He knew Hermione meant no harm, but it was still difficult to articulate beyond a simple, 'you wouldn't understand.'.

“You can't understand what it's like,” Harry began tentatively, his eyes focused resolutely upon the quilt, “because you're not like me. I mean, I can explain it, but even then you won't completely get it because you never had to live it. I mean, when you grow up with this huge, terrifying secret, and the people who find out react like Ron? It makes it hard to trust people. And Malfoy...say by some ridiculous fluke we get together, how's he gonna react when he finds out I've got—” he winced and broke off, unable to say it. The mere thought of what rested between his legs made is stomach clench in panic and misery. And even if Malfoy did, by some wild fluke, accept him and everything that came with it, he would want to be intimate, and that was something Harry couldn't do.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione's voice had taken on a soft, sad tone, and Harry looked up just in time to see his tearful friend launch herself at him and pull him into a tight hug. He felt her tears dampen his shoulder, and he patted her back awkwardly while she held him and cried softly.

When she'd calmed down a little she pulled back and sat next to him on the bed. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, and it was several minutes before she was calm enough to speak.

“If he's really as decent as he seems to be lately, he won't care. If he does, well, we'll just have to curse his bollocks off or something equally as lowbrow and disgusting.” She grinned, and Harry laughed weakly, though inside the whole prospect of going out with Malfoy left him feeling cold as ice.

The next Saturday found Harry pacing in the Entrance Hall, hands crammed in his pockets and his face definitely more red than usual.

Hermione had insisted on helping him dress for his big 'date' but given that he'd left his dress robes at home and he only had jeans, T-shirts and jumpers to choose from apart from his school robes, Hermione was most displeased at his complete lack of fashion sense. In the end, she'd forced on him a pair of black jeans he almost never wore due to the fact that they clung to him like a second skin. At her insistence however he pulled them on (while her back was turned) and moved over to the drawer of his night table, and rummaged through his things until he found what he wanted.

“What's that?” Hermione asked curiously, staring at the fleshy pink thing in his hand.

“My cock,” Harry replied, his voice deadpan, and he smirked a little when he saw her go a little pink, when she realized that he was indeed holding a fake penis in his hand. “It's a muggle thing, since most wizardwear is kind of...loose, there's really no call for it. It's called a packer, it sort of...lends to the impression that I—er, have something down there.”

Not waiting for her response, he turned and shoved it into the little pocket in the front of his pants that was designed for this very purpose. After he'd zipped up, his crotch looked no different than any other bloke in tight pants.

Hermione seemed to sense his discomfort at the topic, and instead moved on to selecting a top for him. Given that it was still a little cold out, Hermione selected a jumper in bottle green, which he layered over a simple black T-shirt. She pushed his dragonhide boots at him when he'd made a grab for his trainers, the only 'nice' shoes he owned. Glaring at her a little, he pulled on the boots without a word.

What am I doing, what am I doing...This is fucking mad. The thought circulated in his mind as he stood in the Entrance Hall,and he scanned the crowd again, looking for his 'date'. The whole thing had dissolved Harry into a mess of nerves, in particular the how and when he should divulge the big secret of his biological history to Malfoy—or if he should say anything at all.

I may as well keep my mouth shut, Harry thought while he waited, this won't work out anyway so I shouldn't bother putting myself out there like that.

At the same moment that he'd come to a decision, he saw a familiar blond head weaving through the crowd. Harry felt mildly queasy at the sight of him, especially considering Malfoy had taken more care than usual in dressing himself, and Harry hated to admit it, but he looked good. Dressed in solid black from his throat to his boots, the suit came close to high-end muggle style, but Harry knew better than to assume that Malfoy would dress in anything other than wizarding garb.

When Malfoy reached him, he took Harry's hand, and the hissing whispers broke out around him almost instantly. Harry felt his face grow warm; this would be all over the castle by dinner.

“Ready to go?” Malfoy asked, and Harry felt his heart jump into his throat at the question.

He opened his mouth to reply, but all he managed was something close to a grunt. Malfoy seemed to take this as a yes, and began to steer Harry out the doors amidst their gawking classmates.

The walk to Hogsmeade was silent and painfully awkward, at least for Harry. Malfoy strode at his side, their fingers twined together, and a smile on his face as though he'd just won some fabulous prize. At the same time Malfoy looked at ease, collected, the perfect aristocrat. Harry felt himself flush again. He'd been privy to some of this type of behaviour growing up when a Black family member would come unannounced, usually to contest Sirius's inheritance, and Harry would watch his godfather fall back into a stance and vocabulary so similar to the Malfoys it was almost eerie. To see it again on the face of someone he was currently holding hands with was weird on a whole different level.

What am I doing...Harry thought for the umpteenth time as they made it to the village, and he felt his face burn again as he tried to ignore the stares and hissing whispers of students and teachers that passed them by. Malfoy, in contrast, seemed to be loving the attention.

“Want to go in?”

“Sorry, what?” Malfoy's voice snapped Harry out of his daze, and he looked up, alarmed by how physically close Malfoy suddenly was to him. Startled, he jumped back a little.

“I asked if you wanted to go in,” Malfoy said, nodding towards the pub to their right. His eyes were glittering in the spring sunlight, and at that moment they seemed to be less grey and more like molten silver. He did not seem offended by Harry's knee-jerk reaction, and brushed his thumb across the back of Harry's hand clearly in what he thought was a soothing gesture while he continued to speak. “We could go into the Three Broomsticks for a pint, if you like.”

“Er, yeah, all right,” Harry's insides squirmed uncomfortably at the words. Malfoy again took the lead, and steered Harry into the pub.

Still flushing a deep red, painfully self-conscious at all the stares he was getting for being seen out with Malfoy, of all people. He was only distantly aware of Malfoy steering him to the back of the pub and pressing him down into a chair. Malfoy left him momentarily to go to the bar, and he returned a moment later with two bottles of butterbeer.

He handed one of the unopened bottles to Harry, and Harry stared at it dubiously. What was Malfoy up to? Why was he suddenly interested in him? It made no sense.

“I haven't hexed it, you know,” Malfoy said, snapping Harry out of his daze and making his eyes snap up in surprise. Malfoy watched him for a moment, his mouth quivering somewhere between a smirk and a genuine smile, then with a heavy sigh he reached across the little table and rested his hands over Harry's. He jerked back in surprise, but Malfoy tightened his grip to keep Harry from pulling away. Panicked, his eyes snapped up to meet Malfoy's alarmingly intense gaze.

“Let me tell you something Potter,” Malfoy murmured, his grip on Harry's hands relaxing as he brushed his thumb across Harry's palm like he had done earlier, but it did little more than make Harry's heart jump into his throat. “Over the holidays, the reconstruction, whatever you want to call it, I was disinherited by my parents.”

Whatever Harry had expected, it wasn't that.

“Er, I'm sorry?” Harry winced at how he sounded, and tried again. “I mean, why? What did you do?”

“I refused to testify on my father's behalf for one, and then I refused to court the nice, respectable pureblooded girl they'd intended me to marry. I believe the last straw came when I told my mother I was gay and in love with—” he stopped short and pulled back his hands as he went a little pink. Harry arched an eyebrow, but he didn't explain who he was in love with, but it didn't take a genius to work out that Malfoy meant him.

“My mother kicked me out of the house,” Malfoy continued, his voice getting thick with emotion as he spoke, despite his best efforts to maintain his cool aloof demeanour. “My father is still technically the head of the family, despite the fact that he's in prison. He froze my accounts. I would have been destitute had it not been for one of my relatives stepping in and putting me up while I sorted out my financial mess. My dear Auntie Bellatrix had believed I had potential, whatever that meant, and left me a sizable inheritance that my parents couldn't legally touch. Mother took off to America not long after, and now the Malfoy Manor sits abandoned. My disinheritance is as magical as it is legal, and I cannot physically enter. In an effort to shame my parents further, I donated most of dear departed Auntie's gold to that muggleborn charity thing.”

Malfoy seemed rather pleased with himself, and Harry eased back in his seat, shocked, and wondering just how much of what he'd told Harry were gross exaggerations. Of course, he knew the charity he was talking about, it was a fund set up to help children orphaned during the war, but many of them were muggleborn or half-blood, and it quickly became known as 'the muggleborn charity'. Technically, he was a co-chairman on the board, but he just lent his name to the cause and fed in as much of his own money as he could into it.

“Why?” Harry finally asked, eyeing him quizzically as he finally caved, reached for his butterbeer, and cracked it open.

“Why what?” Malfoy asked, arching a brow. A faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as Harry took a sip of his drink. It was only then that he opened his own and mirrored Harry's action.

“I mean, why bother? Why are you doing this...any of this? You're a Slytherin. What's in it for you?” Harry nursed the drink as he fell silent, finding himself strangely unable to take his eyes off his blond companion.

“I grew up brainwashed by my parents to hate muggleborns, hate the lower class, in essence, hate anyone who was different from me. I felt...obligated, I suppose, to right some of the wrongs my family have done. The more selfish goal, I must admit, was to get on your good side.” He arched a narrow eyebrow, and Harry felt his face heat. He continued before Harry could jump in. “It sounds crude, I know. But I have been...erm, let's say interested in you for a long time. I admit I didn't exactly show it in the best way, and I'm hoping this year we can set aside old rivalries and start anew.”

Malfoy's face glowed with hope, and he stared at Harry like he was the sun, the moon, and the stars. It made Harry deeply uncomfortable, especially because he didn't dislike it as much as he thought he should.

“But ever since I first met you, you've hated me, and I you. What changed?” Harry asked, still feelingly utterly bewildered at Malfoy's attitude towards him over the last few weeks.

“I wouldn't say hate...” Malfoy trailed off as he brought a finger to his bottom lip where a droplet of drink clung to it. His pink tongue darted out to catch it, and Harry felt himself go even redder when he realized how intently he was staring at those lips. “More...Jealousy? Misdirected affection? Homosexuality isn't exactly taboo for wizards, but many pure-blooded families prefer a marriage that will create heirs. Being gay would displease my father, and I was very close with him for a very long time.”

Malfoy's hand finally fell away from his, and Harry found himself mourning the loss of it. He watched Malfoy curl both hands around the bottle he held, and shifted his gaze to it.

“No matter what I did however, I couldn't get you off my mind.” Malfoy looked back up, and Harry could see the naked honesty in his eyes. He felt awash with sympathy for the other boy. It must have been terribly difficult for him to come to terms with something his parents would so deeply disapprove of. Harry couldn't exactly relate.

Just like with knowing Harry's true gender, Sirius had picked up on his attraction to other boys early on, aided in part by Sirius's own leanings. Though at least Malfoy never had the unfortunate experience of walking in on his godfather in some terribly awkward positions with one lover or another. After that, Harry quickly learned to knock before he stepped into his godfather's room, and not ask why he had a mirror on his ceiling, or muggle handcuffs in his nightstand drawer. The memories almost made him laugh and shudder simultaneously, but he did not think he could explain the reaction to his companion, and he forced his mind back to the present.

Harry sipped his drink as he tried to think of what to say that wouldn't sound insensitive. Yeah, he'd spent the better part of the last seven years hating the person that sat before him, but he wasn't cruel. Malfoy had laid himself bare for Harry to judge, and he felt like he had to tread carefully—he didn't want to hurt him unnecessarily.

It was true, Harry realized, and Hermione—damn her—had been right. Malfoy had changed. It was still difficult for Harry to come to terms with that fact, just as the warm look Malfoy was giving him was incredibly strange to see. How had he never noticed that Malfoy was so damn sentimental?

His knee bumped Harry's under the table in a move that had to be deliberate, and he felt himself flush for what was likely the hundredth time that afternoon.

“I like you Harry,” Malfoy said softly, laying a hand over his. The ivory skin contrasted well with Harry's tan complexion, and he was so startled by this fact that his voice seemed to be caught in his throat. Harry had no idea what to say. No one had ever come on to him so strongly before (Ginny's second year singing valentine notwithstanding) and he had absolutely no idea what to do. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. It didn't help that he could practically feel the stares of his classmates burning into him, but he didn't dare turn to look. What if it was a fellow Gryffindor, accusing him with their eyes of betraying them by seeing Malfoy? He didn't think he could reasonably handle any more stress right now.

Malfoy threaded his fingers through Harry's, stood, and gave his hand a gentle tug.

“Come with me,” he said, the smooth arrogance slipping back into his tone. “Let's find somewhere a little more private to...talk.”

If the glint in Malfoy's eye was any indication, he wanted to do much more than just talk. Harry stood stiffly and again followed Malfoy's lead. It felt strange, almost degrading to so willingly let Malfoy steer him around like some sort of bizarre show dog, but at the same time, the hand in his felt...nice.

Malfoy led him out of the pub and down the high street, then veered off the path and into the trees just shy of the property line of a little cottage. Harry's nerves began to mount again, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the illusion that he was as calm and collected as his companion. How would he explain a sudden panic attack? Normal people didn't freak out over sneaking off for a snog.

It didn't take long for Malfoy's free hand to curl around the back of Harry's neck as he was pulled in for a warm kiss. Harry lifted his hands to stop him, but instead they curled in the fabric of his blazer, and he returned the kiss.

“Wow,” Harry breathed when they broke apart, and Malfoy grinned, clearly pleased with Harry's reaction.

“Wow indeed,” he purred, lifting a hand to stroke Harry's cheek. “Now do you believe me when I say that I like you?”

“I—” Harry broke off when he felt Malfoy's hand slip from his and come to rest on his hip. He felt all the colour drain from his face as the reality of the situation slammed into him, and his breath stilled.

“Harry?” Malfoy asked, his brow furrowed with concern, “are you all right?”

“I—I...I just—I can't do this,” Harry stuttered in a rush, and pulled back and out of Malfoy's grip. It felt for a second that he wasn't going to let Harry go, but after a moment he gave in and Harry looked at his companion, his heart clenching when he saw the hurt and confusion there. “I'm sorry.”

Harry fled.
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