A/N: There's still one, maybe two chapters left. I hope it won't be a year before I get them written.

-oOoOo-

Chapter Nine:

Misery Loves Company

A week passed.

Harry and Draco were no longer speaking, and the only people who cared about this were the boys themselves, Hermione, and Draco's friends who were concerned at his sudden descent into melancholy. Draco was also not speaking to Blaise. Harry's friends did not mind that he was no longer friendly with Malfoy. They'd been concerned when he had been friendly with the blond, but now that all was back to normal they were able to relax and not have to worry about the strange friendship that was growing between the two arch rivals.

Hermione, however, was very concerned. Harry would not tell her what had happened, only that it was all over, and she didn't have to worry about Draco being around anymore, and he threw himself into helping the crew of workers that were fixing Gryffindor Tower.

So far as she could tell, Draco was doing much the same thing, only had spread his interests throughout the entire school (leaving Gryffindor Tower firmly alone) and could either be found in the Slytherin dungeons or outside Ravenclaw Tower, which was now surrounded by scaffolding and magi-techs crawling around the listing tower like ants.

Draco still ordered people around like a drill sergeant, though there was now an architect who was supposedly in charge of the operation. Draco sent people around after the curse breakers to clean up scorch marks from now diffused Dark spells, and to replace any windows that had been missed in the first go round, and to help replace decorative masonry, or broken balustrades or staircases. He was very good at ordering people around, Hermione thought, though he was lousy at encouragement. So she did that herself. That was her job as Head Girl, after all. She figured that if Malfoy could act as Head Boy, then she could do the same. So she followed her friends to tell them how much their work was appreciated, and what fine jobs they were all doing, and wouldn't it be worth it when the school was able to open on September first? For the most part they agreed, but she thought some of them were beginning to regret that they had ever responded to Harry's letter.

The only person who was in continuous good spirits was Ron.

"He'll come around, Hermione," he said. "Don't worry. Harry's been through worse than having a fight with his new pal Malfoy." Hermione wondered aloud if Ron felt threatened by Harry making friends with Malfoy.

"Don't be silly," he said, looking away.

"You don't have to worry, Ron. You and Harry have been best friends since you met. He's not going to give you up. We've all been through too much together for that to happen."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know." Then he looked at her with that soft smile that she so loved and kissed her.

Even so, Ron spent most days working with Harry on Gryffindor Tower.

-oOoOo-

The List was growing rather than diminishing. Draco didn't know how it was happening. Every time he looked at it again someone had added to it, and it didn't seem like anything was being marked 'Completed'. He fought whimpers every time he examined it.

It didn't help that he was miserable from fighting with Potter, and then fighting with Blaise—who told him that he was being a paranoid prat, and he hadn't said anything to Potter about Draco, that Potter had guessed all on his own, and if he'd known Draco was going to fuck the whole thing up then he wouldn't have been such a 'good friend', and he'd definitely be shagging Potter by now! To which Draco had gone for his wand, and Pansy and Theo had yanked them away from each other.

It had been a very ugly week in their dormitory in the Den.

Blaise was sulking, partially because of Potter and Draco, and partially because Finnigan had taken up with Finch-Fletchley again. Draco was sulking because he'd made such a cock up of things with Potter and his friends. Pansy was sulking because she was sick and tired of them fighting and ignoring each other. And Theo had taken to spending his days with Looney Lovegood.

Draco shook his head. He still didn't know what to think about that.

Everything was wrong. Everything was broken. And Draco didn't know how to fix any of it, short of apologizing to every living being in the castle, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do that. So he latched onto the magical architects when they had done their inspection of the castle, and listened in while they conferred with the building inspectors, and followed the curse breakers as they made a catalogue of the nasty hexes that lurked in wait around the school, and he planned. He spent three days working out a plan of attack, made deadlines for everything, and proceeded the next day to order everyone around—even McGonagall.

They were lucky he had taken such an interest and was making sure that everyone was on task. They should really appreciate his efforts more than they did.

He would not, however, enter Gryffindor Tower, because that was where Potter was. It was bad enough that Draco saw him at mealtimes, but if he went up during the day when Potter was sweating with effort and covered in dust, he wasn't sure what he would do. Probably confess all and pin Potter's sweaty body to the nearest flat surface and kiss him until they both couldn't breathe.

No, it was better to send Pansy. She was just as good as he was at giving orders, and always came back from the tower with entertaining commentary, and tales of how she had made grown men cry.

It was Friday afternoon, and the hired help was slacking off, which wouldn't do at all because they weren't scheduled to work over the weekend, and Draco didn't know what he would do with himself for two whole days if he didn't have someone to yell at. Potter would likely take offense if Draco took his anger out on any of Potter's friends, and Draco didn't want Harry to be any angrier with him than he already was.

-oOoOo-

Pansy was tired of Draco's High Commander routine, and was tired of Potter looking like a kicked puppy whenever he laid eyes on Draco. Someone simply had to do something about it, and since Blaise wasn't stepping up the plate, and was instead sulking over his sexual starvation, it would have to be up to her.

She went first to Granger.

"Has Potter told you what he and Draco fought about?"

"No," said the other girl. "He won't say. Only that his relationship with Blaise," Pansy snorted, "is over. So I assume Draco didn't approve."

"No, he did not," said Pansy. "Do you know why?"

"Because he doesn't like Harry?" Hermione guessed. "Because he wants Blaise all to himself? I don't know, Pansy. I don't presume to understand how Malfoy's mind works."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're wrong on both counts," she said. "Draco did not approve because he likes Potter, and wants Potter all to himself."

Hermione blinked. "Draco likes Harry? Does Harry know?"

"You're Potter's best friend, Granger. I was hoping you knew the answer to that question."

"Well, I don't. He won't talk about it, as I said. I assumed he was moping over Blaise, and fighting with Draco after they'd just become friends."

Pansy sighed. "Well, maybe he is. I know for sure that Draco didn't say anything about his feelings, because he's trying to squish them until they go away, which won't work because he's never been indifferent to Potter—he just doesn't know how—and a crush on someone like that is a hard thing to beat in the best of conditions, which this is not."

"Malfoy has a crush on Harry," Hermione said to herself. "That's… odd. But not altogether unexpected now that I think about it."

"Do you think," Pansy said conspiratorially, "there's a chance that Potter could feel the same way?"

Hermione considered this. "I suppose if Harry can learn to be friends with Malfoy then anything is possible. A week ago I would have sworn up and down that Harry was straight and would soon be back together with Ginny, but that didn't happen, and now he's fooling around with Blaise Zabini and making friends with Draco Malfoy, which I still can't wrap my head around, and now Malfoy apparently has a crush on Harry, and—so yes, Pansy, it's possible."

Granger, Pansy reflected, could really be a drama queen at times. The girl was nearly quivering in agitation. She resisted the urge to take the other girl's shoulders and hold her still.

"Do you think you could do some scouting for me?" asked Pansy. "Could you find out where Potter's precious heart lies at the current time?"

"I can try," Hermione said. "But I've been trying to get him to talk to me for a week, and he refuses. I'm not sure what more I can do. Right now it's a waiting game, and eventually he'll crack under the pressure, but it's anyone's guess when that will be. I never heard a word about how he felt about Ginny until they were already together, and then he told me that he'd been pining for months. Months, and I didn't notice!"

"You were rather preoccupied with Weasley and his ill-fated romance with Lavender Brown at the time."

"You noticed?"

Pansy laughed. "Granger, everyone noticed."

"Oh," she said sourly.

"Subtle you are not," said Pansy. "Now go use your not-so-subtle interrogation skills on Potter and bring me back something I can use."

"Use for what?"

"To get the two of them together, obviously. I'm sick of Draco acting like a girl about this, and Potter's big weepy green eyes make me want to hurt something—namely my best friend—so this madness must stop immediately."

Hermione smiled. "You're a hopeless romantic under all that spiteful bitchiness, aren't you?"

"Tell anyone and I'll hurt you."

-oOoOo-

Harry hovered over Gryffindor Tower on his broom with a bag of nails and a hammer. He and Ron were helping the other workers ("The ones who are getting paid," Ron groused) fix wooden shingles into place on the roof. It was a mindless, tedious job, and involved lots of bruised thumbs. There was a spell to put the nails in, but Harry felt the hammer worked just as well, and Ron thought it was easier the Muggle way, though harder on his fingers.

"Ron, you're missing a nail there."

"Oh, thanks."

They worked in silence for some minutes, and then Ron said, "Hermione's worried about you."

"I know, but I'm fine."

"Mate, no you're not. Even I can tell. So what is it? I get that you might not want to talk about it, but it's been a week, maybe it will help."

Harry debated the intelligence of telling Ron he broke up with his sister because he had fooled around with Blaise Zabini and discovered he was maybe gay while his best friend had a hammer in his hand. It didn't seem like the right time to say such things, but they were alone, and Harry was quicker on a broom than Ron was anyway. He could get away if Ron began swinging for his head.

"Ginny and I didn't break up just because we decided it wouldn't work. There was an actual reason…"

"I thought we were going to talk about Malfoy," said Ron.

"I'm getting to that," said Harry.

"Oh-kay," he said slowly, clearly not liking that the two events connected in any way. "Wait, has Ginny been with Malfoy? If you're going to tell me that then I think I need to get off this broom in case I pass out."

Harry snorted. "No, Ginny hasn't been with Malfoy."

"Oh, thank Merlin. All right, go on."

"I fooled around with Blaise Zabini and figured out that I'm gay. Or bi, maybe."

Ron, who was in the act of setting up a nail to hammer into the middle of a shingle, stopped, and looked up at Harry with a confused expression on his face. "You only… wait, what?"

"I fooled around with Blaise—"

"Yeah, yeah, got that part," he said, waving his hammer. "You just now figured it out?"

"Huh?"

"You just recently, in the past week or two, figured out that you might fancy boys?"

"Um, yes?"

"Merlin, Harry," he said, raising his eyebrows, and turning back to the shingle and nail. He hammered it in with two quick swings, and looked up at Harry again. "Mate, you've been sitting on that fence since about third year."

Harry gaped. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to just stare at Oliver Wood in his Quidditch gear, and I will not even mention how you ogled Bill when you first met him—and every time after that—so yeah, mate, this is not exactly news to me. That's why you and Ginny broke up?"

"Yes!"

"Are you dating Zabini now?"

"No… wait, you really knew? All this time?"

"It was pretty obvious. Wasn't like you were hiding it. And Charlie's gay, so it's not like I didn't understand the signs. I just figured it wasn't something we talked about—you know, we never really talked about girls anyway, so I figured making you talk about blokes you fancied wasn't any different."

"Well, geez, Ron, I wish you'd told me. I could have saved myself a lot of grief."

"Did you think I was going to freak out about this? After everything?" Ron looked offended. "Honestly, Harry."

"Well, Ginny is your sister. I didn't know how you would feel about why we'd broken up."

Ron grunted. "Yeah, all right." He pointed his hammer at Harry. "Don't do it again."

"Yes, Ron. I promise."

"So you've been moping over Zabini?" he guessed.

"No, not really. I mean, it was just a bit of fun… or at least it would have been, but apparently Malfoy told Blaise to back off. And when I asked Malfoy about it he said it was because I wasn't good enough for Blaise, and we argued, obviously."

Ron glared darkly. "He said that you weren't good enough? Some stupid blood thing of his?"

"No, he said it was because I act like I think I'm better than everyone else."

Ron snorted. "Isn't that just like him? Are you sure he wasn't talking about himself?"

"No, pretty sure he was talking about me. So now we're not friends any longer, and he won't speak to me."

"He's a git."

Harry nodded, lining up his hammer with a nail. "Yeah, he really is."

-oOoOo-

"Wait, wait, wait," laughed Ron. "Are you saying that for years, I've known something that you haven't?"

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "Yes."

He crowed with triumph and grinned down at her. "Take it back."

"Take what back?"

"Say, 'Ron, I'm sorry that I said you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. I was wrong.'"

Hermione sighed and refused with a glare. He just snickered at her. "I can't believe neither of you knew. Not even Harry. Geez, are you two oblivious or what?"

"Oh, shut up."

He hugged her. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure you'll make up for it."

She didn't hug him back, and instead spat, "Draco Malfoy has a crush on Harry."

Ron abruptly stopped and pulled away to peer at her face. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Pansy said so."

"Serves that git right, now Harry hates him again." He frowned. "Is that why he was such an arse about the Zabini and Harry thing?"

"That's what Pansy said."

"You should tell Harry, it'll give him a laugh."

"Well, I'm going to tell him, but not so he'll laugh. Pansy wants to try to get them together."

"What?" he said flatly.

"She doesn't know if it will work, and nor do I. Harry might not have any feelings for him."

Ron was looking more distressed by the second. "Oh, it will work."

"Why do you say that? Did Harry say something to you about Malfoy?"

"It will work because Harry's a sucker for someone in pain, and he's a bleeding heart on top of that. He'll give Malfoy a chance, and then the little ferret will get his claws in, and then we'll never, ever, ever be rid of him." Ron sighed disgustedly. "Come on, let's go tell Harry."

Hermione stopped him by throwing her arms around his neck. "You're a good friend, Ron Weasley—willing to put up with Malfoy for the rest of our lives, just because it might make Harry happy…" She kissed him. "I love you."

Ron looked addled for a moment, shocked at her admission, but then a brilliant smile broke over his face. "I love you, too."

It was a very long time before they went in search of their best friend.

-oOoOo-

Harry slept in the Den with Ron and Neville, but he didn't sleep easily. He had brushed off Pansy's pack of lies, and Hermione's insistence that they weren't lies, 'and it all made sense, really, if you think about it, Harry'. But clearly, the Slytherin girl had been lying through her teeth. There was no way that Draco Malfoy had feelings for Harry that were anything other than sheer, bitter hatred, and possibly envy.

Harry didn't know what Malfoy saw as enviable, but he would be willing to let the blond know exactly what he was missing by not being in Harry's shoes every day.

It had been easy to dismiss Pansy's claims, and Hermione's pleading that he just think about it during the day, but when he'd fallen into bed the idea swirled around in his head like white flakes in a snow globe, and he didn't know where they would fall.

He thought about years of animosity, years of rivalry, years of Malfoy hating Harry. There were many feelings between the two boys, none of them good, but whatever they were they certainly weren't indifferent to each other. Harry had never been able to ignore Malfoy, and it seemed the same was true for the Slytherin. But the idea that Malfoy had turned it all around and made it into something else, something positive, something like lust or l—

No, Harry thought. It's not possible.

It was miraculous enough that they'd managed to be friends for all of two days, but a relationship was just unthinkable. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. What would being in a relationship with Draco Malfoy be like? What was the blond expecting?

Harry tried to imagine it.

He thought of kissing Draco, and holding his hand, and cuddling on sofas, and making love in large beds and on desks and tables and against walls and in the shower. He thought of having Draco's body beneath him and above him, of having his tongue in his mouth. He thought of licking trails on perfect alabaster skin, and having silver blond hair fisted in his hands. He thought of Draco laughing, and smiling, and looking coy, and eyes darkened to pewter with lust. He thought of kissing him in the morning, and going to sleep at night wrapped and tangled together. He thought of Draco's cock in his hands, and in his mouth—and who would top and who would bottom? Would they switch? He didn't know.

Harry knew better than to expect Draco to be nice, so he thought of biting comments softened by easy smiles, and sharp smirks drowned with kisses, and vicious words and horrible arguments, and all the make up sex there would be.

He thought of blond hair and pale skin and gray eyes, and he thought of it as belonging to him and him alone.

Harry buried his face in his pillow, and stifled a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

-oOoOo-

Pansy had been scheming with Gryffindors. This thought still made Blaise want to roll his eyes. True, she'd been consorting with Granger, who was astute and intelligent for a Lion, but nevertheless a Slytherin did not scheme with Gryffindors—they were meant to manipulate Gryffindors into going along with schemes. Pansy did not care for his feelings on the matter, and prissily told Blaise that the situation was entirely his fault anyhow.

"If you ever want Draco to forgive you, then you must do the thing he's so angry with you for in the first place!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Blaise whined. "He's being such a prat."

Pansy had snapped her fingers—actually snapped at him like he was a dog—and ordered him to do as she bid. Blaise snarled, and left.

He didn't want to do it. Draco was angry because he thought Blaise had spilled the beans to Potter about Draco's feelings, although Blaise had done nothing of the sort. Potter was just a little too clever for a naive little Gryffindor. And Blaise didn't like playing a part in any scheme of Pansy's, no matter how good-natured this one was.

But he went to Gryffindor Tower anyway, dragging his feet like a condemned man, thinking of his aborted summer romance, all for the sake of a friend…

"Stupid Draco," he muttered.

Potter was in the Gryffindor common room attempting to repair an armchair that had been crushed by falling masonry. From what little of the chair he had repaired Blaise thought he should just give it up and buy a new one—the thing was clearly on its last legs before it had been crushed into a hundred pieces.

"Hey, Hero."

Harry looked up and smiled slightly. "Hi, Blaise."

"I've come to talk about Draco," said Blaise, letting every word be dragged from his lips like slavering wolves were yanking on them.

Harry grunted, and looked back to the mess of chair parts. "Have you come to spread more of Pansy's lies?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow and leaned casually against the end of a sofa. "Not lies. Draco has a thing for you, and I tried to do the honorable thing and let him have a shot at you, but as usual, Draco has fucked everything up."

Harry frowned. "Did he make you?"

"No, it was my idea. Pansy and I figured out what his problem was, and I confronted him about it, he confessed, and I conceded the field. Draco argued with you, and has decided that he hates me for somehow letting the truth come out to you, and here we are."

Harry worried a bit of chair leg in his hands. "Why didn't he just tell me the truth when I asked him about why he told you to stay away?"

"Because Draco is a coward."

Harry tossed the piece of wood aside. "Yeah, I got that already."

"I think he's embarrassed. Not because he has feelings for you, but because these feelings have obviously been going on for a long time, and most of your rivalry with him amounts to pigtail pulling."

"Pigtail pulling?" Harry snorted. "It was a bit more than that."

"Well, Draco tends to take things a bit too far."

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. Blaise wanted to lick it.

"He really likes me?" he asked, voice a little vulnerable.

Blaise sighed. "Yes, he really does. I wish to Merlin he didn't… oh, the things I was going to do to you, Hero." Harry blushed, and Blaise grinned.

"Why was he such a prat then? I mean, the things he said were… well, not really any worse than things he would have said before, but—"

"Like I said, he's embarrassed. He hardly wants to admit it to himself, and he certainly doesn't want you to know—it puts him at a disadvantage. I think if you'd never found out about why I was calling a stop to what was going on with you and me that he would have eventually tried to win you over, but it didn't work out that way, so he attacked you first before you could hurt him by saying no."

"Idiot," Harry muttered.

"Never said he was smart. Just scared. He does have a crush on his former enemy, after all. He knows full well how easily you could hurt him."

"I wouldn't!" Harry protested.

"It would hurt if you'd told him that there was never a way you could feel the same," said Blaise practically. "His heart is on the line."

"His heart?"

Harry looked lost, and it looked good on him. Blaise wanted to wrap him up and do naughty things to him until the frown went away. He sighed to himself and wondered how much longer he was doomed to celibacy. It wasn't fun with the temptation that was Harry Potter sitting before him looking thoroughly corruptible.

Blaise made a show of brushing his hands off. "I wash my hands of all this emotional nonsense. I've done my part. No one can say I haven't. It's all up to you now, Hero. To woo Draco, or not. But don't toy with him, eh? He is my friend, even if he is being an enormous prat and I'd soon as toss him in the lake as speak to him."

This wrung a small smirk from Harry, and Blaise let his eyes linger.

"See you later, Hero."

"Bye, Blaise."

-oOoOo-

Potter was staring at him. Draco could feel it—like those green eyes were burning holes in his right ear and cheek—and winced. He glared into his coffee cup and refused to look Boy Wonder's way. He didn't know what he would see in Harry's face, and he didn't know what his own expression would reveal. It was safer to look only at his coffee.

The Great Hall was alive with noise, much like any lunch hour would be during the school year, though only one small table seated students. The rest of the tables were populated with grunt workers, architects, magi-techs, and curse breakers—they were all just as loud as the table of Hogwarts students.

Draco had tried to avoid eating with the others over the past week and few days, instead getting Gigi to bring food to him wherever he happened to be at the time, but Pansy would not allow that today. She insisted that he eat lunch with her, and would not take no for an answer. When she got like this, it was best to let her have her own way.

Though he didn't know why she'd required his presence, because she was spending her lunch hour chatting with Brown and Patil, and all but ignoring him.

"Don't you think so, Draco?" she asked.

"Of course, Pansy, you are absolutely right," he droned.

The girls tittered, and he assumed he'd just answered wrongly. He did not care.

Draco topped off his cup, and dropped several cubes of sugar into it and stirred, feeling morose.

He could admit to himself that lashing out at Harry—while it had been necessary—was a stupid thing to do. He felt like an arse, and a coward, and that shameful part of himself wanted to get down on his knees and tell Harry that he was so sorry, and hadn't meant a word. He couldn't even bear to look across the room to find the other boy's face, because he didn't want to know what was lurking there.

Was Harry hurt? Still angry? Or worse, had he decided that nothing Draco said mattered? Would he start to ignore Draco?

"I'm quite looking forward to the Midsummer festival this year," said Pansy to the other girls. "I haven't been allowed to go for a few years now."

"My parents haven't taken us since, oh, fourth year?" said Parvati. "Not even to Diagon. They never would have taken us to the Hogsmeade festival."

"Wait," said Lavender. "What are you talking about? There's a festival at Midsummer?"

"Oh, I forgot!" said Parvati. "Oh, Lav, you'll love it!"

"Love what?"

Pansy laughed. "There's a festival on Midsummer. Everyone dresses up, gets monstrously drunk in the streets, it's a lot of fun."

Parvati scowled at her. "It might be that way in Hogsmeade, but the celebrations are never that rowdy in London. It's like a street fair, Lav, only it goes all night. The shops stay open late, and most people have parties to celebrate."

"Celebrating what? Summer?"

Pansy waved a hand. "Oh, some ancient tradition, I don't know. It doesn't matter. The important thing is that we're all going to need to get costumes and make-up. I think everyone should go. I mean, this is not only a post-war Midsummer celebration, it is also the first that we will attend as of age witches." She smiled scandalously. "It's important. Monumental."

Lavender giggled. "Sounds like fun. What do we dress up as? Is it like Halloween?"

Draco left the table without saying goodbye to Pansy, who was too distracted by talk of enchanted fairy wings and glitter eye makeup to care in any case. He'd forgotten that Midsummer was coming up fast. His birthday had passed with little fan fare, it seemed as though this should go the same way, but it wouldn't. Not when Pansy had decided to be involved in the celebration. She would get a costume for Draco when she bought her own, and she would insist on painting his face as well.

He sighed in preemptive annoyance. It was traditional, but he still hated what face paint did to his skin. Well, he wouldn't let her do a thing to his hair this year, he decided. He had to draw a line somewhere—and the last time they'd attended the Hogsmeade summer festival it had taken days for him to get those gold streaks out of his hair.

He wondered if Harry would go.

-oOoOo-

It wasn't long before news of the Midsummer festival reached Harry, and soon every student was caught up in preparations and excitement.

"I've never been," said Ron. "Mum wouldn't let us go, of course. It's supposed to get a bit dodgy." He grinned in anticipation.

Hermione had never heard of it, and so was in the library researching the history of the holiday.

Harry wasn't much in the mood for celebrating anything. He still felt like he'd been smacked sideways into a wall that had turned out to be made of tissue paper and was reeling from the unexpected fall.

"It'll probably be even better this year, of course," said Ron. "Given that, uh, you know, the war is over and You Know Who is gone."

Harry opened his mouth to correct Ron – tell him it was probably safe to say 'Voldemort' now that the dark wizard was definitely dead – but he didn't have the heart. It was all taken up with confusion.

Draco wouldn't look at him at all during lunch. Not even a glimpse under his lashes to see if Harry was looking. Harry didn't know what to think. Blaise may have been right before, but now it seemed so improbable. Malfoy did not seem to be a person suffering from unrequited feelings. He was still snapping at everyone, and generally making life difficult for all those who were helping with the reconstruction project. The only difference was that he was completely ignoring Harry.

"You want to go, right?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"It'll be fun," Ron said. "Plus, there's this whole masquerade element to the festival. It's not like people will be clamoring to get your autograph or anything."

Admittedly, that did make the prospect more tempting. Ron was grinning at him hopefully, and Harry, not having the heart, couldn't turn him down.

"All right. Sure. It does sound like fun."

Ron left to talk to Hermione about costumes, and promised that they'd pick something up for Harry in Hogsmeade.

Harry wandered down to the Den, thinking about Draco and crushes and what he wanted to do about it all.

What he ought to do is talk to Draco – but he had a fairly good idea of how the blond would take a conversation on this topic – and also Harry was awful when it came to words and expressing what he was feeling. He was so much better at simply acting. Case in point, grabbing Ginny that first time and kissing her out of nowhere. It had worked out, because she was Ginny and she understood that Harry was a prat.

Draco, on the other hand, would give Harry no such leeway. In fact he was unlikely to give Harry anything at all. Crush or no, heart or no, Draco would not make this easy.

Harry found the Hufflepuff common room empty, as well as the enclosed courtyard. He lay down on the grass one arm behind his head and the other covering his eyes against the glare of sunshine, and did what he did best. He brooded.

-oOoOo-

Pansy followed Draco down to the Den raging at him all the way.

"Oh, will you stop being so maudlin!" Pansy moaned. "I can't take it! You made this situation all on your own, Draco. You are perfectly capable of getting yourself out of it."

"I'm not being maudlin," he said. He threw himself down on a hideous yellow sofa in the common room, covering his eyes with an arm. Maybe she would get the hint.

"You're being a whiney little bitch, is what you're being." But maybe not.

He growled and crossed his arms over his chest. Pansy continued standing before him tapping her foot and looking like his mother when she wanted Draco to confess to eating biscuits before dinner.

"Just talk to him!" she said.

"I will not. It's so humiliating, I can hardly bear to think about it. I'm certainly not going to vocalize it all in front of him."

She rolled her eyes. "You like him. It's not humiliating."

"It is so. Years, Pansy, years I've been feeling this way, and I didn't even realize it because I'd covered it up with loathing. It's embarrassing. It's Potter."

"It's Harry. You didn't like Potter. You like Harry." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Hell, I like Harry."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't everyone? Look, Pansy, just let it go. I have more important things to worry about right now."

"You do not. The architects and curse breakers and all the workers McGonagall hired are here, and they are the ones meant to be worrying about the state of Hogwarts. It's not our problem any longer. I don't even know why we're all still here."

"So go home."

She huffed. "You know I don't want to go home. I want to be where you all are. I'm having fun."

"You and your new troupe of Gryffindor girls."

She smiled. "I like Lavender and Parvati. They can keep up with me." Draco snorted, remembering how Millicent and Daphne had trailed helplessly in Pansy's wake. "I quite like Gryffindors," she mused. "They're spunky."

"That's one word for it."

She sighed, "Oh, give it up, Draco. You like them just as well as I do. All I'm saying is that it's okay for you to relax a bit about this project of yours. It's well out of your hands now, and no one expects you to do this single-handedly."

"I'm not. I've got you, haven't I?"

"I'm only bringing you reports from wherever Potter is, because you are too much of a coward to face him yourself."

"I'm not being a coward. I'm being sensible." She rolled her eyes. "No, Pans, look. It's just a crush. I'm sure with time it will fade, and this unfortunate attachment to Harry Potter will soon be just a dim memory."

"Sure. Good luck with that," she said, sounding distracted. She was looking at something behind him. Draco followed her line of sight and bit back a moan of despair.

-oOoOo-

Harry heard voices coming from the interior of the Hufflepuff common room, and raised his head to get a look at who was speaking. He had to squint, as the sunlight was making the windows dark and difficult to see in. But he could see blond hair, and that sultry voice could belong to no one but Pansy Parkinson. It wasn't difficult to deduce who she was speaking to.

Harry slowly and stealthily crept towards the open doors. He didn't bother to remind himself that eavesdropping is not the activity of a fine upstanding Gryffindor. That lesson hadn't sunk in yet, and he doubted it ever would. He dropped down against the stone wall just to the right of the door and listened very hard.

He needed an insight into what Draco was thinking, how he was feeling. He needed to prepare for the coming conversation, and knowing Draco's current mental state would be helpful. He was just… gathering evidence. It also wouldn't hurt to hear the truth straight from Draco, and not have to rely on second hand information from Blaise.

He heard Pansy say, "You like him. It's not humiliating."

"It is so," Draco said. "Years, Pansy, years I've been feeling this way, and I didn't even realize it because I'd covered it up with loathing. It's embarrassing. It's Potter."

"It's Harry. You didn't like Potter. You like Harry. Hell, I like Harry."

Harry felt as though his heart would beat completely out of his chest. Draco's voice had a tinge of desperation to it, as though he just wanted Pansy to understand—understand that he'd had feelings for Harry for years—Harry wanted to know just how many, and when Draco thought they had started—and badly needed Pansy to be on his side, to be supportive or something.

Harry immediately disregarded Draco's embarrassment. It wasn't important. He could tell that the feelings of shame were only down to thinking that the feelings would not be reciprocated.

But they were. Harry definitely reciprocated.

He debated with himself for a moment, wondering if now was the right time and if an ambush was the right approach. He decided that any attempt would be an ambush, and there simply was no right time. He got to his feet.

If he hadn't been so nervous, what with his pounding heart and his stomach doing all sorts of impressive and nauseating maneuvers, he would have been hard pressed not to chuckle at the look on Pansy's face when she realized that he'd been listening.

Draco's face, on the other hand, was far from funny. He looked like he was wondering why the universe had decided to use him as its own personal dumping ground for bad luck. He buried his face in his hands and moaned.

"Draco?" Harry said. "Can I—can we talk?"

Draco made an incoherent noise of frustration and humiliation. "No."

"Please? I just—"

"No, Potter," he said, getting to his feet and looking just as angry as he ever had when dealing with Harry. "No, we cannot. Leave me the hell alone."

He left the Den at a quick walk. Harry made to follow him, but stopped when Pansy put her hand on his arm and shook her head.

"Not just now, Potter," she said.

-oOoOo-

Draco all but ran from the Den, having no clear idea where he was running to. He supposed, in an ironic way, that it wasn't all that surprising that his feet had taken him to the seventh floor corridor to a patch of bare wall across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Draco turned on his heel, scrubbing his eyes, intending to leave, but his feet took him past the stretch of blank wall once, twice, three times. No door appeared.

He stopped and looked helplessly at the space where the door to the Room of Requirement should be.

He tried again. "I need somewhere to go where Potter can't find me. I need somewhere to hide from Harry Potter. I need—" A door appeared. It had clearly once been a fine door, made of mahogany, brushed to a high shine, and decorated with gilded accents – but the edges of the door were charred, the varnish bubbled and cracked, the gilded leaves and whorls looked as though they'd been flash melted.

He reached out a trembling hand for the door knob, the metal twisted black and strange – pieces still sparkling gold, and opened the door.

It was the Room of Hidden Things. He only knew because the unique cathedral-like architecture of the room was still intact, and the windows, now blackened, were as he remembered. He stepped tentatively inside, and the door shut behind him, sending up a little whirl of ash that covered the floor. The walls were burnt black, sunlight tried feebly to filter through the sooty windows, and the room was absolutely empty. Only piles of ash remained of the multitude of things that had once crammed this room like a hedge maze of debris.

He remembered hours and hours spent in this room, trying desperately to fix a cabinet that did not want to be fixed. He remembered being terrified of failure—his parents' lives on the line. He remembered a fire, and Crabbe and Goyle being so utterly stupid, and holding onto an unconscious Greg and knowing that he was going to die, that it was imminent, and then Harry Potter had swept down from the air full of fire, and had pulled him out.

He shut his eyes.

It's over, he reminded himself. All that is over.

He opened his eyes and began to systematically vanish all of the ash, and set scouring spells to work on the walls and windows. He could fix it. He could make everything better – everything right.

It took hours. Hours and hours of mind numbing spellcasting. He conjured up sponges and mops and buckets of soapy water, and set them to scrub the floors and walls and windows. But eventually it was done, and the great cathedral room was clean. There was no sign that a fire had ever occurred there.

Draco sat in the middle of the room, sponges still zooming the walls and mops performing pirouettes on the floor, and examined his handiwork. A smile touched his mouth, and a sense of satisfaction rose in his chest. He was capable, more than capable, of setting things right, he thought. If he could clean this hollowed out wreck of a room, and oversee the largest reconstruction project in this post-war world, then he was capable of dealing with a relatively small thing like having a crush on another boy.

Harry Potter was just Harry. He had never lived up to his hype, and he was nothing extraordinary, just as Draco had always thought. He was just another boy, albeit an extremely lucky one, and attractive, and kind. But he was still just a boy—prone to fits of wild stupidity, and completely unable to speak his own mind without stammering and tripping over his own words. Harry was nothing to be scared of, nothing to hide from. Draco could deal with him too. He didn't have to hide his face or himself away. He could meet Harry head on, and often had, and he could deal with this. He could.

Draco waved his wand and the mops, sponges, and buckets disappeared, leaving the room still and silent, but clean. He wondered if in a thousand years time if this room would be filled to the brim once again with old brooms, empty sherry bottles, and cabinets. He almost hoped so.

-oOoOo-

Harry knew where Draco was. The Marauder's Map had told him where Draco wasn't, and that left only one place. Harry slid down the wall underneath the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy until he was sitting on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of himself and settled in for a long wait. There was no point in attempting the door. The Room would never let him in—he knew from experience.

He couldn't believe Draco had come here alone. That he had chosen this place of all places to hide. Harry would have thought he wanted to avoid the Room of Requirement and the memories that came along with it at all costs. But apparently when faced with Harry Potter wanting to talk about feelings, privacy was more important than emotional turmoil to Draco Malfoy.

Harry sat there for a very long time, wondering what he could or should say.

When his arse and feet had gone numb for the eighth time, and he was trying to get feeling and blood flowing back into his legs by pacing the length of the corridor, the door of the Room opened.

Draco walked out. He was covered in soot and looked exhausted, but he also looked calm and content. Harry couldn't make sense of it.

"Draco?" he called down the hall. He didn't want the other boy to get away before he had a chance to talk to him. Draco turned and a corner of his mouth turned up. He changed course, and walked to meet Harry.

When they were face to face, Harry had even less of an idea what he ought to say. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but no words came out. Draco's expression of contentment was still throwing him for a loop.

Draco seemed to be examining his face. What was he looking for, Harry wondered? But whatever it was, Draco seemed to find it. He smiled slightly, a dare, a challenge in his eyes, and glanced quickly at Harry's lips. Harry sucked in a breath. Draco put up a hand touching Harry's jaw with his thumb and the back of his neck with his elegant fingers. Harry let himself be led, completely unable to do anything else, and shut his eyes when Draco's lips touched his.

It was a simple kiss. Just a touching of closed lips, once, twice, three times. But Harry felt like it was very hard to take a breath, and tingles and shivers radiated out from where Draco's hands were touching him—on his face and neck and the other at his waist. Harry's hands felt useless, dumb, just hanging there at his sides and he had no idea what to do with them. He began to bring them up, to pull Draco closer maybe, but then Draco was stepping away, smiling in amusement and something else. He nodded, maybe to himself, maybe to Harry, and strolled away down the corridor with his hands in his pockets, looking very pleased with himself.

Harry watched him go, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

-oOoOo-

A/N: And that's all I've got for now. Hey, at least it ends with a kiss!