A/N: So I wrote this while I had a headache. It started out as something completely different, and then took on a life of its own, and voila! It wasn't supposed to be this long, but it appears that I'm incapable of writing a short story. Enjoy!

Warnings: This is SLASH. Don't like; don't read. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Draco Malfoy and the rest of the HP Franchise, it's simply not in the cards for me. Don't sue me!

Draco Malfoy had a headache. And a rather strong one, at that. It was a shame—and a danger—that this incident had occurred during the school week, when he couldn't write a letter home asking for some Headache Curing potion without raising suspicion. Another unfortunate problem was that, because of the new regulations monitoring what students were able to keep, he wasn't allowed any in his dorm.

The sensible wizard said to go to Madam Pomfrey and ask for some from the school matron. Draco Malfoy, however, said to hell with that idea, and instead complained to any and everyone in his vicinity.

That meant that, by lunchtime, he was being generally avoided by the populace of Hogwarts, most specifically the Slytherins he shared a dorm with. (They were terrified that, should they step across the line in one wrong way, Draco would hex their bed and they'd wake up with a horrible curse on them. Which wasn't all that out of character, when one thought about it. Draco wasn't very pleasant when angered.)

Draco sighed in frustration, which soon turned to angry grumbling. He was in his last class of the day—Double Potions—and was quickly becoming more and more irate. It was far too loud in the classroom with everyone talking about their potions and generally working, and the smells and heat were getting to him. He was seriously debating whether or not to complain to Severus—his godfather, as well as professor—to be able to go back to the Slytherin dorms for some peace. Though, he reasoned with himself, Severus would probably use the usual pretense they had when other students were around. The one that showed favoritism, but no total leniency in all rules.

He was also sitting alone, which didn't improve his mood any, surprisingly. Sitting alone meant he had to do his work himself, rather than shoving it off to a table-mate or partner, with the excuse of his headache for explanation.

Dammit, I need more butterfly wings, he thought, getting up and making his way to the supply cabinet. He was grateful and a little put-out to find it empty, sans one person.

One person who usually had the power to make Draco's world a little brighter when they weren't sneering at each other.

Harry Potter.

Yes, Draco had a small—okay, a rather intense—fancy for the boy, but no one else knew about it. Sure, it was widely known that Draco's door swung the opposite way than normal, but they all figured he would wait until after school to find a suitable boyfriend. If Draco had had his way, he'd have a more-than-suitable boyfriend in the one Harry Potter. As it was, Harry was single, and not on the look-out, as far as everyone knew. When asked by papers why he was never romantically involved, he always cited his hectic life as an excuse.

"Oh, hey Malfoy," Harry said as Draco entered the supply cabinet fully. They had been civil to each other this year—Draco had stopped insulting Harry every minute they were together, in an effort to 'reinvent' his image and reputation with the Gryffindor, and Harry had followed suit, though he was just being his overtly nice self.

"Hello, Potter," Draco replied, longing to be at least on first name basis with the other.

"Is something wrong? You've been glaring at everything that crosses your path today, and it seems that, by the look you're giving it, that jar of pigs' livers has personally insulted your being."

Why does he have to be so nice? Draco thought sullenly, rolling his eyes up to stare at the ceiling, the strain doing nothing to help his headache.

"I just have a headache, is all."

"Oh. I get those. Go to Madam Pomfrey, she'll have some headache cure to help you," Harry suggested, his tone implying that he thought that would solve everything.

And in his world, it just might.

"I would, Potter, but for the small problem that Slytherins do not go crawling to the school nurse the moment we have a slight ailment," Draco retorted, trying, but seemingly failing, to keep up his superior holier-than-thou tone.

"That didn't seem to be so true in 3rd year, after you got hurt by that hippogriff," Harry turned back to the shelf, sounding suspicious, in a way.

"Yes, well, I was a stupid 13-year-old at the time, wasn't I? I can't be held accountable for muddled logic of the time."

"Everyone's accountable for their actions at all times, unless under the influence of a curse such as Imperius, Malfoy."

Draco thought about that. He supposed Harry had a point, but he wasn't about to admit that. At least, not to Harry's face.

"Whatever, Potter. This arguing is only making my headache worse. I'm just going to get my butterfly wings, and go back to my potion." Draco reached up somewhere above him, grabbed the jar that was labeled 'monarch butterfly wings' and left, feeling worse than he entered.

Dinner arrived, at last, but Draco's headache wasn't much better. In fact, the argument with Harry had just made it worse, in its own way. There was a time when fighting with the Gryffindor would have made Draco happier than anything, but now, it just made him miserable and lonely.

How he longed to be with Harry! To be able to hold his hand, kiss him, and hug him when he felt down, like Draco had seen many other couples do around him. Almost everyone in the upper echelons of Slytherin house—at least all those in Draco's year—had a significant other, which just grated on Draco's nerves even more. No one else would've guess, of course, but being alone like that did affect Draco. More than anyone could guess, should they have done so in the first place.

But it's not meant to be, Draco thought dejectedly, I don't even know his orientation!

Draco glared at his dinner before commencing to eat.

Draco was walking back to the dungeons from the library, a couple of books for study in his arms. Though he didn't want to, he decided to lock himself away in the Slytherin dorms with the excuse of homework, rather than brave the terse atmosphere of the Common Room. Usually, he just ignored his housemates as he worked at a table off to the side, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood.

And apparently, he wasn't in the mood to watch where he was walking either, as he promptly ran into something and fell over. By the warmth and grumbling next to him, Draco quickly deduced that it was, in fact, a someone and not a something that he had ran into.

"Oh, Malfoy, I'm sorry! I wasn't paying attention. . . ," Harry was always quick to apologize, and he even stood up and offered a hand to help Draco up.

Draco, meanwhile, had just been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing when he realized who it was he had bumped into. That, and the jolt to his head just made it ache even worse than before.

He looked up at Harry, then to Harry's hand, and back to Harry. "Th-thanks," he said, taking Harry's offer to help him up, and internally berating himself for the stutter.

"No problem," Harry replied, "After all, it was my fault that we fell."

Draco nodded in agreement—though he knew he was just as much at fault, as he wasn't watching his walking either—and stood, not letting go of Harry's hand. He liked the warmth it provided.

Harry looked at Draco with an odd glint in his eye, but said nothing. It looked like he was trying his hardest not to say something, however.

"What?" Draco asked, picking up on the vibes.

"Draco," Harry started, softly. "We're holding hands."

Draco stared at Harry's use of his first name, but disregarded it in lieu of the rest of Harry's statement. "What? No, we're not."

"Then why won't you let go of my hand?"

Draco jumped, and let go. "Look, I have a headache, I don't need an argument with you right now."

"I'm not arguing. And blame it on your ailing head all you want, Draco, but you just held my hand."

"You keep calling me that."

"What, calling you 'Draco'? We're not stupid 11-year-olds anymore, and I think we've known each other long enough to be on a first name basis. Don't you?"

Draco looked down. "Yeah, I guess so . . . Harry."

"Better."

They lapsed into a silence, which bordered in between awkward and comfortable.

After a few minutes, Harry said, "Ya know, if you still have a headache, you should go to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey really can help."

Draco's gaze moved from the floor back to Harry. He smiled softly. "I appreciate your concern, Harry, I really do. But I'm fine."

"And I'm a hippogriff. I can tell your head must hurt, because your eyes are sunken in, and you're paler than normal. Which honestly, I didn't think possible."

"Hardy har har." Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm pale, it's not a big secret."

"I never said there was anything wrong with that. I rather like your complexion." Harry took a small step closer.

"Why. . . Erm, thank you, I suppose. I don't really have a control over it. . . I rather like your skin, too," Draco said, shy. He liked everything about Harry—loved it, in fact—but he would take whatever compliments he could get and/or give.

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Thanks." He took another half-step closer, and was close enough to Draco to feel the heat from the blonde's body. "Draco. . . Can I ask you something?"

As the smell of Harry and Harry's breath ghosted over Draco, making him dizzy, Draco tried his best to form a sentence. "A-anyth-thing."

"Do you fancy me?"

That woke Draco up. He stumbled backwards a bit. "Wh-what makes you ask that?" Then, he wanted to smash his head on the wall for possibly ruining his chances as he watched Harry's eyes flash and look down.

"Oh, no. . . no reason. I just thought. . . ," he said. "I . . . I think I'll be going now. . ." He turned to walk away.

Draco rushed forwards, forgetting that his books were still scattered on the floor, and grabbed Harry's arm before tumbling down again. "Whoa!"

"Ahh!" Harry yelped as he crashed to the ground, Draco on top of him. "Draco? What was that for?"

"I had to tell you—yes," Draco said, not fully realizing that he was laying on top of his love. "The answer to your question is 'yes.'"

Harry's eyes widened. "Yes? B-but. . . You seemed so. . . ," Harry's voice trailed off.

"Jumpy? That's just because you caught me off guard. I'd hidden it for so long. . . I didn't want to ruin chances by telling you—or anyone, for that matter. I was so used to keeping it to myself that I reacted like I might have if it were someone else asking me. I'm sorry if that hurt your feelings," Draco explained.

"You've been hiding it? For how long?"

"A couple of years now."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Why'd you ask me?"

"Because I rather fancy you myself," Harry said, a blush creeping up his neck. Draco thought he looked rather cute like that.

In a stroke of boldness, Draco responded to that by tilting his head down and pecking Harry's lips with his own. "Good. You officially belong to me now."

"Don't I get a say in that?" Harry asked, a smile on his face.

"No. Not really. But you don't object, do you?"

"Not in the slightest." Harry propped himself up a bit, and returned Draco's kiss. It was deeper this time, prolonged by desire. Soon, they broke apart. "Does your head still ache?"

Draco thought about it. "No. It seems to have gone completely."

"Well I'm glad."

"Me too."

Draco kissed Harry again, then stood up. "Well, Potter, I'm sorry to say, but I must be going. Curfew has surely passed by now, and I have homework to do."

"Then I'll see you. . . Tomorrow?"

Draco stepped forward, and kissed Harry again, reveling in the fact that he could now do that. "Yes. Tomorrow." And he walked back, gathered his books, and turned towards the dungeons.

"Tomorrow then. Bye." Harry waved.

Draco waved back, feeling lame but wanted to emulate Harry. "Bye."

A/N: Sorry if Draco seemed at bit OOC; I thought it fit with the story. Like I said, it took on a life of its own. I hope you liked it! Please review. :]

-PieRSquared