Day 1—Wednesday

Draco sat holding court at breakfast time. He glanced up briefly when the front doors to the Great Hall opened up, but quickly lost interest after seeing a group of seventh-year Gryffindors walk through. What caught his interest again was that one of those Gryffindors broke off from the pack and headed over to the Slytherin table. Harry Potter stopped determinedly in front of Draco and looked as though he were gathering his courage for something. His hands fiddled with the frayed ends of his robe sleeves and his face was slightly flushed.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco demanded lazily.

“I…I’ve made a New Year’s resolution,” the Gryffindor replied, stumbling only slightly over his words.

Draco snorted. “Oh joyous day. Potter has a resolution. What is it, Potty? Going to actually brush your hair in the morning? Maybe remember to wipe your hands off on your napkin and not your robe?” The other Slytherins snickered but Harry just took it all in stride. He didn’t get angry; he didn’t even appear to have really heard the insults.

“I’ve decided that everything can be different for me now that I’m free of Voldemort. I can do the things I was never able to do. Act in ways I was never able to act. I’m no longer going to allow what I want to be sacrificed in fear. I was too afraid to love before. Too frightened that the person I loved would be dragged in as a tool against me. But now…I have nothing to be afraid of now.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, Potty.”

Harry nodded, fidgeting again with his sleeves. “My resolution is that I will let nothing stand in my way of finding love.”

“Love?” Draco snorted. At Harry’s nod, Draco sneered. “So, I suppose you’re planning on telling me just how you’re going to go about doing that, since you’ve walked all the way over here to the Slytherin side. But more importantly, why do you think I give a fuck?”

Harry just smiled shyly and ducked his head slightly. “Would you do me the honor, Draco, of joining me for a Butterbeer this Hogsmeade weekend?”

Draco’s jaw dropped and he stared in shock for a moment. “Are you insane?”

Harry shrugged. “Possibly. But, like I said, I’m not letting anything stand between me and the person I love. Not even the person I love.”

Draco could only shake his head frantically. “No! Absolutely not! I can’t…I…just no!”

Harry’s smile faded and his expression saddened, but he shrugged again and forced a smile back on his face. “I’ll try again tomorrow, then.” He ignored Draco’s stuttered protests and walked back to Gryffindor table for breakfast.

Day 2—Thursday

Draco sat at the breakfast table, mentally exhausted from the evening spent decrying his involvement with Harry Potter, and a night trying to convince himself that he didn’t find it the slightest bit flattering or inviting. He’d tuned out the excited whispers of his female housemates, who were all doing impersonations of first year Hufflepuffs, squealing over the idea that Potter might come by today to make good on his promise.

Just as he had buttered his toast, the noise level in the Hall dropped, and he looked up to see the Gryffindors enter. The bulk of the Gryffindors headed to their table, but once again, Harry Potter broke off from the pack and made his way to the Slytherin table. Excited whispers turned to excited squeals and then to absolute silence as Potter drew near. He smiled at the Slytherins, nodding good morning to them, and then turned to Draco.

“Good morning, Draco,” he smiled. “I hope you slept well.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I slept just fine, no thanks to the endless amount of questions your ridiculous actions caused yesterday.”

Harry looked down at his shoes, but his smile never disappeared. “Sorry.” Draco just sniffed. “So, I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk around the lake after classes this afternoon? It’s really pretty with the snow covering everything and the sun shining off of the water.” Small ‘awww’ noises escaped some of the Slytherin girls, and Draco silenced them with a snarl.

“No, Potter. Just as no was your answer yesterday and no will be your answer tomorrow if you decide to continue this stupid prank of yours.”

Harry looked hurt. “It’s not a prank, Draco. I meant what I said. I’m going to keep trying to show you how I feel, hoping you’ll feel the same way about me, for as long as it takes.”

Draco growled in frustration. “So, you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do or say to make you stop? What? You’re going to be stalking me until we die?”

“Of course not,” Harry smiled sadly. “One day, you’re going to fall in love, either with me or with someone else. I hope, more than anything in this world, that it’s with me. But, if it’s not, I’m not going to interfere with your relationship. I love you too much to hurt you like that.”

“Stop saying that!” Draco snapped uncomfortably.

“What? That I love you? I do. Feels like I always have.” He smiled. “I’d best let you finish your breakfast.”

“Yes,” Draco snarled. “You do that.”

Harry nodded again to the other Slytherins and stepped back. “See you tomorrow.”

Draco stabbed his fork into his breakfast and shoved the plate from him, glaring at the new whisperings that were taking place around him.

Day 3—Friday

Draco was an object of speculation and stares from every house in Hogwarts. Even the boys of Slytherin could now be found in the whispered giggle fest that the girls started the day before. Draco, thoroughly pissed off at hearing his name linked to Harry Potter’s with every other breath, decided to breakfast alone. He stormed off in front of the group and sat at the end of the table, refusing to allow the other seventh-years to sit with him.

However, that didn’t stop the giggles. Or the whispers. From everyone. Even the professors were smiling, or in Snape’s case, smirking. Draco wished he could ask his Head of House for rescue, but with the ending of the war, Severus had begun his own relationship with Potter. It was a relationship based on mutual respect of two warriors and two victims of Voldemort. For all Draco knew, Severus had encouraged the bloody Gryffindor to stand up for his feelings, to just throw them out there for the whole world to see. Merlin knew, Severus was aware that something like that would throw off any Slytherin. They were programmed to sneak and plot their way into the lives of their intendeds, not just up and tell them how they felt.

As he sat there, tearing his scone to shreds, he became aware of the silence falling over the room. He looked up to see Potter standing in front of him again. With a disgusted sigh, he dropped his scone and glared at him. “No. To whatever it is.” He said it before Harry could even open his mouth.

Harry just smiled indulgently. “I was wondering if you’d like to have a picnic lunch with me today? We can go by the lake, or the Quidditch Pitch, or even just outside under a tree.

Draco stared incredulously. “It’s January! It’s bloody freezing outside. Have you lost your mind?”

Harry laughed, a warm purr that rolled over Draco’s skin. “I’ve a Warming Charm planned, you know. For us and the food. And a Windblock Charm if you wanted to go by the lake. There’s a bit of a breeze coming off of it today.”

Draco nodded in agreement. He’d seen the trees blowing outside the window this morn—he shook his head vigorously. “No! What the hell? Now you’re playing mind games with me?

Harry looked hurt again. “Mind games?”

“Yes! Mind games! Making me consider your stupid request by redirecting the conversation.”

“Redir—what? Why would I do that?” Harry asked in confusion.

“I don’t know, Potter,” Draco sneered. “Maybe to get in my pants?” Harry looked shocked. He even took a step back. Draco began to feel the twinge of guilt, but he couldn’t stop. Not now that he’d begun. “Well, it won’t happen, Potter. I’m not going on a lunch with you. Or off for a walk. And I certainly would never deign to be seen in public with you!”

“Why?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“Why?” Draco snorted. “Just look at you! You’re a mess. Your clothes don’t match. They hang off of you like a house-elf’s pillowcase. They’re wrinkled now and they only get worse as the day goes on. Your shoes are the same ones you wore last year, and they were a disaster then! Your hair looks as though birds have been nesting in it. You haven’t had a haircut since September. You’ve those speccy atrocities on, making you look all bug-eyed. You bite your nails. They look like a Kneazle’s been gnawing on them.

“And when was the last time you washed your hands? They are covered with ink and it’s not even 9 a.m.! I bet the last time you washed them was in cold water too, wasn’t it? It dries your skin out. Which you certainly don’t need as your skin is already dried out from flying, especially your lips. They’re cracking, and every time you chew on them, you’re making them worse.”

He crossed his arms and sneered, but after a moment he realized that Harry wasn’t looking upset anymore. He was actually back to smiling. “What the bloody hell are you smiling about, you tit?” he demanded.

“I didn’t know you’d noticed so much about me, Draco,” Harry replied softly. Draco just gaped, unable to come up with a suitable retort. Harry nodded slightly and backed away, still smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Day 4—Saturday

Draco flat out refused to go to breakfast. He admitted it; he was avoiding Potter. He decided to spend a restful morning in the common room, doing his homework. His original plan was to have Greg and Vince snag some food from the table and bring it down to him, but for some reason his minions were not cooperating with his demands.

Their actual answer was, “Draco, you have to face him this morning. Otherwise, it will look like you’re running away.” Which, having changed the pitch of their words in his head, he could honestly picture Pansy’s mouth as the words fell from her lips. It also didn’t help that they hurt his pride, because that was exactly what he was doing. Running away. From Potter. Argh!

He stormed down the corridors to the Great Hall in quite the tizzy. He was determined to prove…well, something or other. As he walked in, late, everyone was already seated. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table and saw Potter. The wretched Gryffindor’s face lit up like the sun as soon as he’d seen Draco, and Draco panicked.

“Don’t move!” he snapped loudly, pointing at him to ward him away. Potter froze half in, half out of his seat. “Don’t come over here. Don’t ask me to go anywhere with you or do anything with you. Just stay there and leave me alone.” Potter nodded sadly and sank back into his seat obediently. Draco tried not to watch as the joy turned to sorrow in every expressive line of Potter’s face, but it was mesmerizing…and also a bit upsetting. And that thought, in turn, upset Draco.

He had planned to sit by himself at the end of the table, which was good, because he could see that there was no open space left for him at his normal spot. So, as he sat, he glared down at the seventh-year section. But, they ignored him. Him! Draco Malfoy was being ignored by his own minions! The ignoring extended to pretending they didn’t hear him when he asked to have something passed to him. Finally, after making a half-arsed attempt at eating, he left the table angrier than he had come to it.

He swung by his dorm to pick up his books and then headed to the library. The common room would prove to be just as uncomfortable to study in as the breakfast table had been to try to eat at. He had been settled in his study spot, a warm and cozy nook in the back of the library by the Divination section, for perhaps an hour when he realized that there was someone standing at his side.

He felt a brief thrill that his minions had come to apologize, and then he looked up. The thrill stayed…even though it was Harry Potter, and he was holding books. Draco sighed.

“May I study here with you?” Harry asked softly.

Draco glanced around the rest of the nearly deserted library, only a contingent of firsty Gryffindors sat giggling near the entrance, and then he scornfully rested his eyes back on Potter. “The rest of the room too crowded for you, Potter?”

Harry smiled shyly, that damn innocent shy smile, and said, “No, I just want to be near you.”

The thrill in his stomach took a road trip up into his chest, but Draco still snorted and waved his hand abruptly. “Whatever. Suit yourself. Just don’t interrupt me, and don’t get any ideas about sitting right next to me.” Harry smiled happily and plopped himself down across from Draco, opening his own homework up and delving right in.

Nearly another hour went by in which Draco was actually quite impressed that Potter hadn’t tried to woo him even once. He was genuinely studying, flipping through books and jotting down notes. Of course, just as soon as he thought that, Harry looked up and cleared his throat. Draco sighed and lifted his quill from the parchment. “What?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Draco. I’m just a bit stuck on this part, and was hoping you might know?”

“What is it?” he asked briskly, trying to stamp down the feeling of disappointment that flooded him when he realized it was a homework question.

“It says here that you drop the Pixie Dust and the Powdered Faerie Wings on alternating four beat patterns. I don’t understand what that means.”

Draco cocked his head slightly. It was possible, he supposed…"Do you play an instrument?” Harry shook his head. Of course not. Too busy righting wrongs. “Hmph. Here, follow this.” He tapped his hand on the library table, drumming out a four beat count and then repeating it. “Got it?” Harry demonstrated almost perfectly, and self corrected his only error the second time around he tapped it out. “Good, now keep doing that.”

Harry continued to tap the table, but his eyes were on Draco’s hands as the blond began tapping out the same rhythm, a beat behind him. “Can you hear that? How my beats fill in the silence of your beats?” Harry nodded, strangely flushed, though Draco couldn’t figure out what was so embarrassing about tapping on a table. “Okay, so you’re dropping in Dust on your beats and I’m dropping in Wings on mine.”

Harry’s eyes got huge. “That’s really hard!”

Draco snorted. “That’s why this is typically a two-person potion.”

Harry nodded in thanks and picked up his quill to quickly write down the information. A moment later, “Draco?” Draco looked up, expecting another question, but Harry had his book closed. “Do you play an instrument?”

Draco blinked for long seconds and then carefully nodded. “My mother made me learn piano and violin.”

“I bet you play beautifully,” Harry said with a smile.

“I’m good,” Draco replied honestly. “Not professional by any means, but good enough for everyday entertainment.”

“Do you have access to either instrument here?”

Draco’s face fell. “No. I wasn’t allowed to bring my violin. Father wanted me to concentrate on studying. By the time I didn’t give a shit what my father thought, I was no longer welcomed at the Manor. And of course, I could hardly bring a piano.”

Harry looked lost in thought for a moment. “Would you trust me enough to come see something with me? Not a date or anything. I just want to show you something.”

Draco warily eyed him, the other boy’s eager expression tugging at something in him he refused to name. “No date, eh? No tricks?”

Harry shook his head. “I just want to show you something.”

Draco sighed and nodded. “Fine. I was nearly finished anyway. And my arse is tired from sitting for so long. These chairs are bloody uncomfortable.” He followed a nearly bouncing Harry Potter out of the library and up to the seventh floor.

“You wait right there,” Harry placed him against a tapestry of trolls in tutus. Draco shuddered slightly at the tapestry and looked over at what Harry was doing. He’d closed his eyes tightly and was walking back and forth in the hallway, muttering to himself. After the third pass, Draco was astonished to see a door appear in the wall. Harry cracked the door open and grinned back at Draco.

He ushered Draco into a small, cozy room done in green and gold. In the center of the room sat a baby grand piano. To the left of that, was a large cushioned table on which sat a violin and a bow. Draco stared in amazement around the room even as Harry pulled up a squishy chair to the edge of the piano. “Would you play something for me?” he asked eagerly.

A bit confused at so how he got here and what the hell was going on, Draco took a seat at the piano. “How--?”

Harry shook his head and smiled. “Don’t ask. Just play.”

Draco carefully set his fingers on the keys, and as though something took over his body, began to play. He had no idea what he played. Nor did he know how long. He only knew that when his fingers finally cramped up to the point that he could no longer pull the notes from the piano, Harry was there smiling at him. “That was amazing, Draco. You’re so very talented.”

“Er…yeah. Thanks.” Draco flexed his fingers and winced. Harry was immediately contrite.

He reached up and cupped Draco’s hands in his own, peering down at them. “I have just the thing.” He closed his eyes again and muttered some more under his breath. Between one blink and the next, a jar of something pale blue and aromatic appeared next to him. Harry dipped into the liniment and spread it across Draco’s fingers and palms. Completely unable to make a sound, much less argue, Draco sat in utter confusion as Harry rubbed the warming, soothing balm onto his pained hands.

Even as he flexed his fingers, feeling the healing warmth of the ointment moving deeper within the flesh, Harry was standing. “If you ever want to come here again, just walk back and forth in front of the wall three times thinking Draco’s Music Room,” Harry smiled shyly.

“Thanks,” Draco said absently, still a bit dazed.

I had a wonderful afternoon, Draco,” Harry nearly whispered. “Thank you.” And before Draco could form an answer, Harry was gone.

Day 5—Sunday

Draco came into the Great Hall alone for yet another day. He was surprised, however, to find his space between Vince and Greg open again, and Pansy and Blaise waving him over. He warily sat with them and got himself some breakfast. It was a bit unnerving to see the smiles everyone was directing toward him. The reason behind the smiles became apparent when he saw Harry sitting over at the Gryffindor table.

It was like the fucking sun come out from behind a cloud. All eyes turned toward him as he laughed, and faces lit up as they caught his happy expression. And Draco was sorry to say that he, too, was a victim of it as Harry turned that happy expression onto Draco. Draco schooled his features into an untelling smirk. But then, Harry smiled shyly across the table and, to Draco’s mortification, climbed out of his seat and began the trek across the room to the Slytherin table again. Draco just closed his eyes and wished he’d stayed in bed. When he looked up again, Harry was there. And every eye in the room was on them.

“How are your hands?” Harry asked quietly.

Draco felt the flush rising up in his neck as the look of interest fell over his fellow Slytherins’ faces. “Fine.”

“Are you sure? You went for a long time yesterday.” Harry’s voice had a worried tone in it that Draco was too flustered to notice.

“Yes, Potter. I’m sure,” he bit out. “They’re my hands. I’m pretty sure I know how they are!”

“Oh.” Harry looked a bit crestfallen at Draco’s tone. “Well, that’s good. It was amazing, you know.” He laughed a bit and Draco lost it.

“Do you have to do that?” he hissed, coming up out of his seat.

“Do what?” Confusion ran through Harry’s eyes.

“Make it sound as though we were off somewhere doing…things!”

“But—“

“No!” Draco gestured dramatically. “No buts. Okay? No butts, no cocks, no lips, no fucking. We were not fucking,” he announced to the room.

“I…I never said we were,” Harry replied, his face taking on the hue of his Gryffindor tie.

“Yeah?” Draco scoffed. “Well somehow, everyone in this room knew before I got here that we did something together yesterday. And thanks to your ‘careful’ word choice this morning, everyone thinks that the thing we did yesterday was fuck!”

Harry paled and shook his head. “I never said—“

“Sure you didn’t, Potter. I’m sure you didn’t run off to your dorm just as soon as you walked out of that room so you could spread it all over that you finally got to me. I’m sure everyone here is just really happy today because it’s bright outside.”

“I don’t know why everyone is happy, Draco,” Harry whispered. “But it’s not because I said anything. I was being vague because I didn’t know if you wanted everyone to know about you playing the piano for me for three hours. Had I known that it was rather the thought of…of sex with me that was so repugnant, I would have certainly brought it up sooner. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I’m sorry.”

He turned away, but not before the light caught on the tear that slipped from the corner of his eye. Draco watched him go, and that fluttery feeling he’d had earlier turned into a heavy lump in his stomach. He attempted to sit back down, only to find his spot gone. “What the fuck?” he demanded of his housemates.

“He was only concerned, you bastard,” Pansy glared.

“And he didn’t say anything at all about you this morning, mate,” Blaise added, disappointment evident on his face. “A Gryffindor first-year saw you leave the library yesterday and followed you to a room on the seventh floor. She spread it all around last night and this morning. He didn’t even know.”

“And everyone was smiling, you prick, because we thought you actually took time out from being an arsehole to do something to make him happy,” Millicent added with a growl.

“What the hell?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Since when do any of you give a fuck what makes Harry Potter happy?”

“Since it looked like he might drag your head out of your arse, you…you…you arse!” Pansy shrieked.

“What?”

Pansy stood up, getting nose to nose with him. “Merlin, Draco, you are such a bloody idiot! You’re always going on about how no one will possibly ever forget that you were Lucius Malfoy’s son. That no one will ever give you a chance. That you’ll be the first Malfoy in history to die without ever having found someone who would accept you as you are. You piss and moan and whinge about no one understanding you, no one wanting you for you, living in the cold shadow of your father.

“And now you have someone who obviously wants you! The poor idiot gets his courage up every day to tell you that you don’t have to be alone! That he cares about you for you! He’s handing you your bloody chance on bended knee, and all you can do is slap him back down! You are a blind, idiotic, petulant prick!” The silence was deafening for so long that Draco thought he might have just gone deaf. Then, as though he’d been forgotten entirely, Pansy sat down and everyone went back to his or her daily behaviors. Closing him out.

His plate had vanished. His coffee cup, too. The space where he’d sat had closed in. All the eyes that had looked on him before, didn’t even acknowledge him as he walked out the door.

Day 6—Monday

Breakfast was a cold event for Draco. He still was not being acknowledged by the students and, from the lack of the hot water, his wrinkled clothing and the poor fare in front of him for breakfast, the house-elves had gotten into the swing of things as well. Draco was drowning his food in syrup to try to make it palatable when the doors swung open and Harry Potter stepped in.

Or at least, he thought it was Harry Potter. He could be mistaken as this person was dressed in body hugging black slacks—perfectly pressed, and a white shirt that practically screamed Starching Spell. His tie was perfectly even and his school robes were suspiciously stain-free and the frays repaired. His shoes were new, black shining leather. Draco’s eyes moved up to see the famously untamed Potter hair miraculously subdued and slicked back against his head. The black glasses that he’d sported for seven years were gone as well, and Draco was pretty sure that if he got close enough, he’d see perfectly groomed nails, soft skin and smooth, uncracked lips. In short, everything he’d complained about two days ago had been fixed.

Throwing his fork down into the unappetizing slop the house-elves had provided him, he pushed away from the table. He stalked over to the Gryffindor table in irritation and came to a halt, arms crossed and a frown firmly in place. Potter might have changed his appearance, but his goofy, endearing…er, stupid smile still found its way onto his face at the sight of Draco.

“What is this all about?” Draco demanded.

“Can’t he just decide he wants to look nice?” Hermione huffed in defense of her best friend. Draco looked at her in a way that had her flushed and ducking her head in embarrassment seconds after she spoke. Harry patted her gently on the hand and smiled up at Draco.

“It’s okay, Mione. I’m pretty sure everyone knows why I did this. I wanted you to not be ashamed of me, Draco. I understand that I fall quite a ways beneath your usual standards, but I wanted you to see that I am willing to change.”

“Change?” Draco parroted.

“To be more like the kind of person you’d want to be with. The kind of person you’re used to being with.”

Draco shook his head in amazement. “What? Fucking hell, Potter. I don’t even like the kind of person I’m used to being with. This…” he gestured to Harry’s new appearance, “This is just stupid. I agree that on most days you look like something a feral Kneazle dragged in, but it’s who you are. Don’t you ever change who you are for someone else. They either take you like you come, or they can fuck off.” He ended with a flourish, trying to stifle the notion that he, himself, should perhaps take his own advice.

“But, you don’t want me like I am,” Harry said softly. “And I don’t want you to fuck off.”

“Merlin, Potter.” Draco rubbed his hand over his face.

Harry ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Draco snapped. “Just be smart.”

Harry smiled sadly. “I am. I picked you, didn’t I?”

Draco stared, mouth working soundlessly, then just spun on his heel and walked out.

Day 7—Tuesday

Draco skipped breakfast. Then he skipped lunch. He came in early to dinner and grabbed enough to make a quick sandwich, and then skipped dinner. He headed for the library again, but strangely found himself taking a right rather than a left. Before he knew what the hell was happening, he was pacing back and forth in front of that stupid troll tapestry. When the room opened up, he found everything the same as it had been that night with Potter, green and gold, piano and violin, Potter’s squishy chair…but no Potter. He resolutely stamped the twitchy sad feeling back down where it belonged.

This time he decided to play the violin and, after running his hands over the beautiful instrument for a bit, was quickly lost inside the music moments after he picked it up. When he opened his eyes who knew how long later, the first things he saw were another’s eyes…bright green eyes, shining in pleasure. “How’d you find me?” he asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. “Trade secret,” he smiled. “Get to know me better and I’ll tell you.”

Draco smirked. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

Harry smirked back. “Is it working?”

Draco ignored that in order to take in Harry’s appearance. “I see you’ve gone back to your rags.”

“I have,” Harry nodded.

“And your glasses.”

Again, Harry nodded.

“Too bad about that. You have nice eyes.” Draco wanted to kick himself for letting that slip. But Harry just smiled.

“Thank you. Your music was beautiful. You’re as talented on the violin as you are on the piano.”

Draco blushed at the sincere note in Harry’s voice. “Thanks.”

“You planning on heading off to bed soon?”

Draco shrugged. “Don’t know. Hadn’t really planned any of this evening.”

Harry smiled. “Would you like to play chess?” he asked hopefully.

Draco hesitated, and then nodded, resigned that somehow he wasn’t getting out of this. And not all that sure he wanted to. “Sure. I suppose. I get white,” he added.

Harry laughed. “Okay. I think that can be arranged.”

Hours and several games later, Harry yawned and stretched. Draco’s eyes were drawn to the band of tanned, smooth skin that the rise of material revealed, and his mouth went dry.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m tired too. We should call it a night.”

“Oh,” Harry sounded disappointed. Then he smiled. “Okay. Thank you for playing. I had a great time.”

Draco stood and smoothed his robes down in a fidgety manner his mother would have frowned at him over. “Yeah…it was…it was fun. Thanks.” He let himself cautiously out of the room and made it down to the dungeon level before he collapsed against a wall in frustration.

What the hell was he doing?

Day 8—Wednesday

The atmosphere had thawed a bit from the previous day, but by no means was Draco welcomed back with open arms by anyone in the school. He wryly thought that Harry Potter was like the Greek goddess Demeter. When he was happy, the world around him was warm and bright. When he was sorrowful, the world wept with him, cold and bitter tears that froze the soul.

Draco made his way to his seat and waited for the disaster of the day. He was sure that a repeat of the after-piano morning was inevitable. But, when Harry came in, he merely smiled in Draco’s direction and nodded shyly. Draco returned his nod and went back to eating.

Lunch went down in mostly the same fashion. The ‘weather’ of the student populace was steadily warming up and Draco was pleased to see that he didn’t have to eat slop for his midday meal. By the time dinner rolled around, things were almost back to normal…everywhere but in Draco’s head. He’d been rolling the lecture from Pansy over and over in his mind. Interspersed with that was the brief conversation he’d had with Harry, and he came to his revelation soon after that.

Pansy was right. The advice he’d given Harry was right. What he felt niggling deep in his own gut every time the dark haired Gryffindor smiled at him…was right.

And he was ready. Not for a full out relationship, oh hell no. But for playing chess? For sitting in his music room, sharing his music? For a Butterbeer in Hogsmeade? For a walk around the lake? For a midday picnic?

Yeah. He was ready for all of that. For someone who accepted him on his terms. For someone to want him.

For him.

And so, he waited for Harry to smile at him and to sit down to dinner with his own friends…and then Draco stood. He walked over to the Gryffindor table and stood nervously fidgeting with his robe sleeves. Remembering how, one week ago, Harry had been in this same position. Oh, how he hoped history would not repeat itself.

“Hi, Draco,” Harry said warmly, smiling up at him.

“Potter,” Draco nodded. “I was wondering…” He paused, trying to open his suddenly tight throat back up.

“Yes?” Harry encouraged.

“If…if you felt like taking a walk around the lake tonight after dinner. It’s getting on dark, but the moon should be up soon, and I hear you know a Warming Charm…”

fin