A/N: Set not long after the war/Deathly Hallows finishes. Also worth noting that I've written nine pieces in past tense; this was a moment for present tense. Bare with me here.

If you were to ask Harry how he got into Malfoy Manor, he'll say that he can't tell you. If you ask him why he is currently under Draco's bed, he'll tell you he doesn't know. Because apparently, sudden memory loss is a side effect of shock.

And Harry is very, very shocked.

Wand illuminated and otherwise in the darkness of Draco's room, he's holding a piece of parchment that he's smoothed out from the scrunched ball it was in. It has words on it. Words Harry can read. Words Harry can understand.

But words Harry can't possibly believe are on the paper in front of him.

Dear Potter, if I were dating you.

Harry has been staring at those seven letters for the last ten minutes. He just can't seem to get past them.

Dear Potter, if I were dating you.

It's definitely Malfoy's handwriting. Harry is sure. It's neater and more beautiful than the last time Harry saw it. Long and elegant loops – travelling etchings that sing like calligraphy.

Dear Potter, if I were dating you.

Um, I have no idea why I'm writing this. My mother's idea. I don't have a fucking clue how she knows but she knows. Not that that makes any sense to you. Not that you know.

I guess that's first on the list. If I were dating you, you'd actually know how I feel. I quite like you, you know.

Fuck it.

Here's your fucking list, Potter. I hope you're happy. Or at least mum will be. Not that either of you will ever see this.

1. If I were dating you, I could finally tell you how much I like you. Love you. Adore you. Get crazy mad butterflies every time I see you. To the point where I start to feel sick and all I can do is hate you. No wonder mum has banned newspapers from the house. After you killed the noseless creep, you were all over them. With the ginger girl weasel. Do you know how many times I vomited? I'm too ashamed to write it down. I'd love to say that you being all kissy with the Weasley bitch is my reason for throwing up, but I don't even see her anymore. Just you. Except I won't see you anymore. Not for real. Maybe a glimpse when I'm allowed back out onto the streets, but I'll never get close to you. Do you know what that feels like? Knowing that you'll never, NEVER again be able to get within 10 feet of the boy you've been in love with since childhood? It makes me physically ill. I just can't–––––––––––

2. If I were dating you, I could be next to you. Just next to you. You'll never get it––––––––

I can't do this.

Harry watches the words turn into wobbly lines that trail away, and guesses that's when the tears that stain the page dripped from Draco's eyes. Somewhere inside Harry's mind, a tiny voice of reason is screaming at him to stop and think about what he's reading. But it goes entirely ignored by the rest of Harry's head. He chooses to carry on reading, as if he could ever stop.

Now the handwriting changes; more practiced, sure and sophisticated a style graces the page. Words by Narcissa: Harry recognises her elegant script from a thank you letter she wrote after the war was over.

You vomited eleven times before I banned the newspapers. You smashed nine of my vases in your rage afterwards. Screamed at three of the house elves, and cried for at least four hours after each time. If I hadn't of realised what was going on after that, I would have been the worst mother in history. But if I'm honest, Draco dear, I've known for seven years now, can't we talk about it already?

P.s. Mind your language, Draco. You're a Malfoy, not an indigenous drunk.

MOTHER! What the hell were you doing in my room? I come back to my list and find this? And no we CAN'T talk about it. EVER. E.V.E.R. So stop asking. Anyway, you'll never see this again because I'm hiding it. I don't know why I'm still writing to you. I'm going back to my list.

3. Potter, honestly, this needs to be said, but I would make you publically presentable. Okay, so I find it endlessly hot that your hair sticks up in a funny way that makes you look like you've just been shagged into a carpet, but also kind of scary. What if you have been? I prefer to think you've just never heard of a hairbrush. That's a thing you brush your hair with, by the way. I'd make you use one. The only time you should look like you've just been shagged into a carpet is when I've just shagged you into a carpet. Which I could do very well.

4. Hot sex. I will say no more. I need a wank now.

If you've inherited any of my skills in that department, that alone could convince him.

That's disgusting, mom. How the hell did you find this anyway? I hid it! And for good reason, it's totally inappropriate for you to be reading this!

I'm your mother, I know how to find things. And you're nearly 18 now, nearly an adult, of course you're going to have... urges.

This is the most awkward thing in the history of the world.

More awkward than that time "little Draco" got a bit excited when you got a little too close to Harry?

HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT? AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP FINDING THIS MERLIN-CURSED PARCHMENT?

Pansy told me, that girl is a terrible gossip. And I won't tell you how I keep finding it. It's a secret. Now, get on with your list. Do you need a helping hand? I have plenty of ideas for you.

5. If you were dating Harry, maybe you'd stop being so ill all the time. And crying for days on end. And breaking my vases, and refusing to eat, and scaring the house elves. Maybe you'd actually be happy when you're not absolutely drunk from the firewhiskey you keep stealing from your father's stash.

6. Then I can stop covering for you. Your father thinks I'm an alcoholic.

Thank you, mum. And I'm sure you realise that last sentence was sarcastic. And this was MY list the last time I checked.

5. If I were dating Potter, maybe I'd actually be happy. Ever. Even alcohol doesn't block out the pain anymore.

6. Potter, you should date me because my dad would have a heart attack. Worth it, non? DRACO!

7. I'd buy you decent clothes. Ones that show off how truly beautiful you are. You look gorgeous even in those rags, but I know exactly what to put you in so that people will stop, stare and drop to their knees because they think they've seen an angel.

8. I'd make sure you would never throw out the glasses. Those round spectacles were the first thing I ever of saw of you. About half a second before I saw the rest of your face and nearly had a heart attack. I fucking hate how that feeling never went away.

9. If I were dating you, you'd make seven years of adoration into a lifetime. You know I'd love you till the day I died.

10. That's a lie. I will love you till the day I die. Even though you'll never know.

11. You make me soppy. As you can clearly see. If we actually dated I might just turn into a pool of sop. How embarrassing. I'm going to stop this crap now.

No! Draco, this is good! Carry on!

Woman, will you ever leave me in peace?

Tell you what, do a few more and then I'll tell you how I keep finding this parchment, and, as you wish, I will then leave you in peace.

Fine.

12. Potter. I'm being soppy only for the sake of my mother, do you understand? Right. Okay. Number 12 is that we could spend our days being happy and certainly not soppy.

13. We would go flying together. In the rain. Or in the night. I've never flown with you. Only against you.

14. I'd tell you how I hate going against you, but love it at the same time. When else do you pay attention to me? I pushed myself to the very limit so I could be your equal, but I was so afraid. I always wanted to be the one person to challenge you.

15. I'd tell you everything else, too. There's so much. So much you still don't know. Like how, in the forest, my mother would have lied for you even if I were dead. Because she knew how much it would have meant to me.

16. My mother likes you, you know. She would have accepted you into the family with open arms. Can't say the same for my father, but we could have had fun winding him up. And elves tend to like you. I'm sorry about Dobby, by the way. I heard.

17. If you were ever mine, you'd know that if I could have, I would have stopped my mad Aunt Bella from killing him. I know he was your friend.

18. We would actually be friends.

Mother, can I stop now? This is too painful. I can't do this stupid exercise anymore. It's not helping anything.

You're wrong, it is. Your night terrors are getting better.

Night terrors?

You don't remember them, such is the nature of night terrors, but in the night you scream and trash about. You call for Harry over and over again, you tell him to run, to leave you, to get away from Voldemort. I've been meaning to tell you for... well, years. But you refuse to talk about Harry so I never got the chance.

So 19. From the bottom of my heart, I know that if you were next to Harry, the night terrors would go away.

Don't have a fit, but I simply accio'd the paper each time. Put a charm on the stuff you want to keep private. But never forget I'm always here, sweetheart.

Fucking accio! Paper charmed. I guess it's just me and you now, Harry.

19. If I were next to you, you'd take away all the nightmares, all the pain. And I would do the same for you.

Who am I kidding? You wouldn't touch me with a nine foot pole, let alone let me hold you, and I'm just talking to myself on paper. How pathetic.

20. If we were dating, I could finally send this to you. Like my first point... You'd know that, well... I love you. Nothing else matters. If I could just tell you, just let you know, how much you mean to me... You could reject me in the cruellest of ways, tell everyone, but still I could live in peace. Without this burden of loving you anonymously. You would know and that would be all I need. But thing is, I'm a coward. I can't dare tell you. I could never tell you. I can't even write you a letter saying thank you because after that, I will never have an excuse to write to you again. I lose you. Forever.

I always forget that you can't lose what isn't yours. And you were never mine.

Harry sighs heavily as he finishes reading. What revelations burn him, what strange weights lay on his chest.

He needs to reply. How can he leave a man like this, leave him hanging and so hopeless?

But before his mind can scatter into rational thoughts, he hears Hermione hiss his name. They need to go.

Harry quickly scrunches up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. He will have time to think about that later. Right now, he needs to get out. Hermione has found what she, Ron and Harry were looking for: books about Horcruxes that they intend to destroy – they don't need any more Voldemorts.

Another thing Harry doesn't need any more of is fans. Admirers.

But this isn't just another admirer, is it?

This is Malfoy. A man in love with Harry.

A love disguised as hate. What this discovery means to him, Harry doesn't yet know. He stumbles out from under the bed, and quietly runs after Hermione. They make it out of the house undetected and when the trio safely apparate away, Harry tells his two friends he's going to spend tonight alone at Grimmauld Place.

Late at night, he smoothes out the paper again, uncrinkling it against the desk.

Dear Potter, if I were dating you.

A/N: This was actually supposed to be a one-shot. But I don't think it feels like a one-shot, do you? Maybe I'll write some more. If you want me to, of course :) Let me know, and thank you for reading! ~Felix