For my best friend in the entire world, Michelle. May you take my drarry fluff and be inspired to write for yourself, drarry or otherwise. I love you, Michie.

Well, you know the story of Harry Potter. Of course you do. Everyone in the whole damn world knows the story of Harry Potter.

You also know the story of how one Harry Potter met one Draco Malfoy, but what you don't know is the story of how Draco Malfoy met Harry Potter.

It is, to put it simply, an entirely different story.

If you had asked Harry to describe his first meeting with Draco, he would probably use the word "git" or "wanker," possibly several times.

He would say that it was his first interaction with a wizard that was not Hagrid.

Draco, however, had met wizards before. Plenty of wizards, in fact, but none like the one who wandered into Madame Malkin's that day, disheveled and blushing pink as the day he was born.

He looked at everything with wonder, as if he was seeing it all for the first time, and unbeknownst to Draco, he was.

Draco was entranced by the boy, and immediately wanted to be his friend, and so he did the only thing he knew how at the time. He attempted to impress him.

This boy, however, would not be won over by petty small talk and a large wallet, and so he took a disliking to Draco immediately, to Draco's immense surprise. Not that Draco realized it then, or even let Harry speak at all that first day.

Which he regretted when Harry left, realizing he had not even gotten a name.

He had no idea who this intriguing boy with the stark black hair and emerald green eyes was, but he wanted to find out. He had to find out.

If you asked Draco when he was eleven years old, he would tell you that love at first sight was impossible.

If you asked Draco now, he would tell you that love at first sight is impossible, and that that first day was the day he fell in love with Harry Potter anyway.

But Draco was naïve and eleven, and he knew nothing of love or even friendship, and though it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Harry rejected him, it did.

That, it seemed, was one surprise too many for Draco Malfoy to handle.

Draco swore that if this boy would not be his friend he would be his enemy, and all of the determination he had used to make this boy like him he would use to make this boy hate him, which would be so much simpler.

After all, Draco Malfoy made enemies much easier than friends.

If anyone had bothered to check on Draco Malfoy that night, they would have found him crying for reasons even he was too young to understand.

And so he hated Harry Potter.

Harry Potter became his mortal enemy.

Harry Potter was his one focus, his nemesis, the person he hated the most in the world.

All because Harry Potter didn't want to be his friend.

That was a good enough reason for Draco for a long time, and over the years, he had begun to think that he really did hate Harry Potter. It wasn't just child rivalry anymore. He hated him, and he could hate no one more than he hated him; and along came Voldemort.

All of the years hating Harry Potter paled in comparison to the hate he felt for Voldemort.

All of the years hating Harry Potter paled in comparison to the hate he felt for himself.

It would be futile to try and explain to you all of the things Draco Malfoy was thinking when he had gotten the Dark Mark, and when Harry Potter cursed him in the Hogwarts bathroom, and when he smuggled Death Eaters in through an old cabinet, and when he thought that he might have been responsible for the limp body in Hagrid's arms. It would take too long to explain, too long to tell you every thought he had, because they were very conflicted. Half of him wanted to make his father proud and make a name for himself, while the other half still carried a torch for a certain Gryffindor.

In the end, thinking that Harry had been dead was when things finally clicked.

Sometimes he still heard the great and horrible echo of Voldemort laughing, rejoicing that Harry Potter was dead, and he remembered how he felt in that moment, how his heart got stuck in his throat and he couldn't breathe properly. He remember how he crossed over to his parents because that was all he had left that really mattered, and when Harry Potter leapt out of Hagrid's arms and ran across the courtyard, he thought that was almost worse.

That meant facing what he felt, which, ultimately, was the worst thing he could possibly think of.

Things weren't the same after that.

He avoided Harry Potter like the plague.

Harry Potter looked through him.

It was infuriating.

Draco did not like to admit to missing someone, but he missed Harry Potter, felt his absence like a part of himself had gone with him.

He knew that insulting him or attempting to duel him wouldn't do anything, not anymore, and he didn't really want to.

So he followed him. Everywhere.

From class to class, around Hogsmeade, and on the Quidditch pitch with his eyes, hoping, praying that he would fall so that Draco could catch him.

He never did fall off of his broom, but that proved not to matter, not when he was falling all over Draco in the Three Broomsticks a month before graduation.

He had just gone in for one drink which turned into five, and in had stumbled a very drunk Harry Potter, friends nowhere in sight, and when Harry kissed him, he was in no place to push him away.

It was messy and drunken, and nothing like what Draco had imagined it would be.

He let Harry lead, too far entranced with this boy to stop, too drunk to think about consequences.

Draco couldn't remember how they had ended up in the Room of Requirement, but he could remember every detail after that. How Harry's touches, drunk as he was, were gentle on his skin, and how they fell into bed and Draco had gotten everything he had ever wanted.

Except not really.

When Draco woke up the next morning, naked and alone in the bed fit for two, all he felt was regret.

The month after was worse even than anything.

Harry Potter did worse than look through him. He just didn't look at him at all.

It had taken Draco a year after the war to come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Harry, but only a month after graduation to come to terms with the fact that he would never have him.

He had the manor all to himself, and he could have brought girls-or guys- home with him if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. He was terribly lonely, and sometimes went months without talking to anyone, and even though he never heard a word from Harry, he couldn't bring himself to want anyone else.

He settled into life as an ex-Death Eater, and he didn't see Harry in the flesh for over two years.

That's why, when Harry Potter showed up at his door one morning, Draco was surprised.

Draco, surprisingly, still did not like surprises.

He had almost, almost slammed the door in his face, if it had not been for his curiosity.

He'd opened his mouth to say something imprudent, something about demanding to know what he was doing there, when Harry was through his doorway and was kissing him.

It was sweet and gentle, and everything their first kiss wasn't. Harry cradled Draco's face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across Draco's cheeks, so lightly he could barely feel them, and yet they still left a trail of fire, filling his whole body with a warmth like he had never known.

Draco couldn't really remember what he was going to say, nor did he remember his name, so when he shoved Harry away, he just sputtered.

Draco wiped at his mouth for show, spitting something insulting at the other boy, sure that Harry was drunk.

Drunk Harry was the only Harry that liked Draco at all.

But Harry wasn't drunk, and Draco realized that when he looked up at the Gryffindor, who had his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish and adorable and as gorgeous as ever, but not at all drunk.

"I'm sorry," he had said, looking Draco in the eye for the first time in a very long time.

Draco blinked, suddenly feeling very small.

"Uh, I realize that wasn't exactly a good way to start… may I come in?"

Draco could do nothing but nod, moving aside.

They sat on the couch, and small talk eventually turned into something deeper.

Draco found himself admitting to following Harry, and when Harry asked why, Draco didn't have an answer. Not an answer he wanted to give, anyway.

But Harry Potter is persuasive, and it might have helped that Draco still had hope after all these years, so it finally came out that Draco had had a crush on him.

"It's stupid, I know. We were young," Draco said, attempting to brush it off.

Harry said nothing, and Draco hoped.

He hinted that he was single.

He brushed Harry's arm as he reached across him.

He tried to convey in his face how much he wanted to kiss him again.

But Harry was either oblivious or stupid or both, because all they did was chat and laugh and drink wine from the wine cellar Draco had never used.

Still, there were the looks.

Every now and then there was a dip in the conversation, and Draco would catch Harry looking at him, his stare too intense to be friendly.

Finally, Draco couldn't take it anymore, and he had to at least ask.

"Go on a date with me," he blurted out, and that was the most nervous he'd ever been, because this answer meant everything, but thankfully he didn't have to wait long.

"What took you so long?" Harry smiled.

And they went on that date. They dated the fuck out of each other, and Draco Malfoy finally had his Harry Potter.

All was well.

Draco sighed as he finished, his eyes still closed, memories dancing across the insides of his eyelids like a movie.

After a moment, when Harry hadn't said anything, Draco opened his eyes to find that Harry had lifted his head from Draco's chest and was staring at him, awestruck.

Draco waited patiently for Harry to say something, and when he finally did, it was not what Draco had been expecting.

"And?" Harry prodded.

Draco's eyebrow arched. "And what?"

"What happens next?" he asked, and Draco smiled, pulling him back and kissing the top of his head.

"You know what happens next."

"I know, but humor me."

Draco paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to sum up the year he'd spent courting Harry, all of the nights they screamed at each other and then fell into bed, all the times they'd stayed up talking somewhere into the wee hours of the morning, all the times Draco would be angry at Harry for leaving a dish in the sink and Harry would just kiss him and all would be well, or all the times Draco would turn one of Harry's shirts pink in the wash and Draco would tell him he loved him and then everything was okay, or even the night he'd gotten down on one knee- even when he swore that Harry would be the one to propose- and made a promise to love him forever. He thought of waking up to the smell of pancakes and falling asleep to the hum of Harry's breathing. He thought of how long it took for Harry to tell Draco he loved him, and how quickly Draco had said it back, because he'd known all along.

"And so the lion fell in love with the snake," he said, finally.

"Is that a quote from something?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said.

fin.