Draco's PoV

For one reason or another, realising the following morning that I had spilled my soul to Potter didn't sting quite as much as I would have expected it to. The whole interaction had left me feeling almost glad to have spoken to him, and he seemed to be more at ease around me now, too.

It was a strange feeling - one I was very, very unfamiliar with.

The next morning, I ended up sitting directly across from Potter in the Great Hall for breakfast. I found myself admiring the curve of his jaw, the gleam in his eye as he replied to whatever drivel Weasley had just spat his way. I could see the taut muscle of his bicep through his shirt, moving with each motion of his fork. Merlin, he was gorgeous. Even down to his terrible, terrible hair - Potter was simply perfection.

He looked up at me suddenly and smiled, which caught be utterly off guard. I responded after a few seconds of staring with a flicker of a smile. It was almost a knee-jerk reaction, which was concerning to say the least.

Whatever feeling of warmth I'd felt from his acknowledgment however was quickly reduced to ash by the feeling of eyes from across the hall turning on me, like horseflies towards fresh dung. It was an insufferable feeling, sending ripples of unease across my body.

Potter had only given me a fraction of his attention, and even that had stirred attention from not only other Gryffindors, but also people from tables across the hall. I paused with my knife held over the uncut slice of toast I had seconds ago picked up from the centre of the table.

Malfoys are cool under pressure. No other holds power over the House of Malfoy.

The Mantra did little to soothe me, though that never had been it's intention. I pressed the knife into the bread, cutting the toast into two diagonal pieces. I took a second or two to stop my hands from shaking as I picked up the first piece, and then forced myself to meet the loathing gazes of all who had their eyes upon me.

The thought of putting the toast anywhere near my face, with them all watching and hating and cursing me silently, was enough to have me feeling incredibly nauseous. I felt trapped in my seat, rooted to the spot. My heart beat quickly in my chest. That familiar, uncomfortable constricting feeling ate it's way out from the middle of my chest. I could barely breathe. My vision blackened at the edges, the darkness moving in and out in time with my frantic heartbeat.

I couldn't showcase this weakness here, not with them all staring at me.

"Why's he staring at Harry Potter like that? Doesn't he know his place?"

"Can still see that disgusting mark on his arm. You'd think he'd have got rid of it by now."

"Maybe he's proud of it."

"Of course he is. I bet he's waiting for another chance to kill Harry again."

The mention of Potter made me stumble, just for a second. How could they think that I enjoyed all of that? The killing? The pain and suffering. Didn't they realise that I struggled, too? Couldn't they see I was but a shell of the boy I'd once been?

No, of course they couldn't.

I wasn't worth the time it took to look my way. I wasn't worth the air I breathed or the effort expended in saying my name.

I was a disgusting, worthless, unfixable murderer - SON of a murderer. Murderer by name, nature, association, and definition. This was the weight of the proud and powerful Malfoy name.

I couldn't take it any more. The room was spinning around me. To the other students, I was a bomb on the verge of exploding, of following the path of Lucius before me.

I had to get out of the hall. I had to. I couldn't sit here and endure their stares.

But what could be gained by giving in?

Running away wouldn't solve my problems. Running away wouldn't make anything better. It wasn't like I could leave, anyway. I couldn't feel my legs, could barely hear over the buzzing in my ears.

I'd dropped the toast at some-point, and had again begun running biting fingers over the Dark Mark. I could feel a wetness beneath my fingertips. I couldn't even remember starting to fidget at it.

I felt a hand grasp my own after another couple of seconds of this silent torture. I didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Pansy.

She sat down to my right, and now held my hand under the table, preventing me from nipping at the Mark any further, much as my nervous fingers yearned to pick the skin.

She didn't say anything, and her hold on me was pretty inconspicuous to the other tables. She didn't speak at first, simply sorting things onto her plate.

"Don't do this here. You'll only make things worse, especially if they realise it's affecting you." She said after a few more seconds of silence, not looking up at me after the muttered advice.

I knew she was right, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop their words. I pulled my hand from her grasp, and picked up my toast. I tried to ignore the raspiness of my breathing, the bullet-like booming of my heart in my rib cage, and took a bite of the toast. With shaking eyes, I glared at every student looking my way.

A couple of minutes had passed at the most since they'd started their looking, but to me it felt like decades. They turned away, one by one, and as they did so I felt the adrenaline begin to ebb out of my body, and the feeling in my legs began to return.

"You have to stop this. It's childish behaviour, being so affected by what they think." She spoke in an undertone, so that I could only just make out her words.

"Do you think I want to care what they are thinking?" I hissed in response, pulling my hand away from her. I forced myself to continue on with the toast, following a quick spell to clean up my arm once again.

"It doesn't matter if you want to or not. You need to stop it. You need to get a grip of it." I knew she was saying this for my own benefit, but it felt as though Pansy simply didn't understand the way I felt. It was such an intense hopelessness I carried around with me, a void of nothing, that it was more than simple just to breeze past it.

She didn't understand at all.

I finished the toast quickly, and once breakfast was over with, I made to leave the hall to gather my things for my first class - Arithmancy of course - from my room.

"Draco, wait up." Potter?

I turned around, and he was walking towards me. I shot him a cold scowl. "What do you want exactly?" I asked. Had he seen what had happened in the hall? No, he would have done something about it if he had. Merlin-awful Potter. That noble bastard.

"I...need to talk to you about something. Are you free after the first class?" He asked, the wavering in his voice doing little to keep me calm.

"It's double Arithmancy, Potter. Those of us capable of higher thinking are required to do more work, oddly enough." I paused to think for a second. "I am free the period before lunch, does that suffice?"

He looked away for a second, mentally going through his timetable, I'd presume. Potter then replied, "Yeah, I've got a free then too. Get you in the common room?"

"Indeed." I replied, watching as he headed back over to his friends. I turned away once again.

What in the complete hippogriffic fuck did he want to talk to me about?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spent the rest of the day on edge and agitated. It was a more than adequate distraction from the events of the hall that morning, though it wasn't exactly a better use of my time.

What did Potter have to say? Why did he want to talk to me? Why did he want to talk to me during a whole free period?

Did he know how I felt about him? Was it obvious? Maybe I'd said something. Maybe he'd put all the pieces of the puzzle together? I scoffed to myself at the thought. Potter couldn't put two lines together to make a cross, nevermind understand any indicators I showed of my interest.

I was wracked with nerves all through Arithmancy, barely able to focus on the topic of the class. It didn't matter. I could go over it further later on. There were more important things to consider.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion, until, finally, the classes were over with and I was heading back to the common room.

Potter had said 'our room', which meant it was going to be a private conversation. That suggested it would be something serious, something that would only be shared between me and him. That thought alone put every cell in my body on edge. What was so important that no one but me could know about it? What could he be trying to do here? I dreaded to think.

All too soon, I was in the common room and heading into our room. I realised after I'd walked inside that Potter wasn't there yet, which gave me some time to sort out the things in my bag and attempt to calm my nerves. I didn't expect it to work, but at least it was something to do while I waited. I really hoped he would hurry up. If Potter thought keeping me waiting was a good idea, he'd soon find out how thinly strung the thread of my patience really was.

Eventually, the door opened, and two sharp green eyes alerted me to Potter's presence. "How nice of you to finally show up. Tell me Potter, how exactly is it possible to be late to a plan that you yourself set in place?" I asked him, standing from my position on my bed to shoot him a glare.

Potter tossed his books onto his bunk and sat down on the edge. He looked up at me, "You know what Binns is like with homework, it just KEPT going on. Plus, you're still here, so clearly your time isn't that important you had to be somewhere else." He replied dismissively.

I sat down on my own bunk. "Whatever, Golden Git. Why did you want to talk to me?" It was so easy to appear calm with Potter. He had a way of settling my nerves, even when my heart was racing in my chest. It was the consistency, I think. I always had an insult ready for him, and I would be thinking of another one by the time he'd retorted. It was a fun game to play, one that only strengthened my feelings for him.

My hopeless, hopeless feelings.

"I...wasn't sure who else to talk to about this, actually. I just kinda assumed you might have some advice. I'm not really sure what the best way to start is, either." He was rambling, which was unusual for Potter. Was this him nervous? About talking to me? Oh, how the tables had turned. This was adorable.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Try actually speaking words, rather than riddles. If I wanted riddles, I would go and find the Ravenclaw dorm rooms. Spit it out."

He narrowed his eyes at me for a second, and then spoke. "How did you know you were...you know...gay?" He asked, looking up at me to judge my reaction.

I stiffened at the word, even though by now it definitely shouldn't have given me such an awful feeling of fear and unease. Every mention of anything related to it took me back to the night I'd come out to my parents. It was something I wasn't able to get rid of, but now, I had to remain calm.

I stared at him for a few seconds, and then replied. "I think I always knew. I simply wasn't aware it was an option until my social circle expanded out-with my parents. I was never attracted to girls, I suppose that was an indicator, too." It was an honest response. I had really first recognised I was attracted to boys when I had begun to interact with the son of some of my parents closest friends, Lysander.

Lysander was my first kiss, when I was 13 and we were playing in my room. I had never thought further into my relationship with Lysander before that, but when I looked back on it, it was very apparent we did not act as friends around each other. At the time, the feelings had left me feeling nauseous and afraid.

That kiss had been the last time I'd ever seen Lysander, at the time my very closest friend. I claimed he had poisoned me in some way, though I never told either of our parents what had transpired. Even at that young age, I knew better than to say such things to them. He moved away to a different school before long, and I'd yet to hear another word about him.

Potter nodded at my words. "So you never liked girls...at all?" He looked up at me with the question. I wonder if he knew how stupid it sounded.

"By the very definition of being...gay... Potter; no, I did not." It was the least sarcastic reply I could give him after asking something like that. "Why do you ask?" I crossed my legs and turned to fully face him. What was he going to divulge to me here?

Potter looked as though he was fighting an invisible attacker. He pursed his lips, looked away, then wiped his glasses and replaced them on his face. I'd never seen him so nervous. Maybe this was a time again for me to exhibit my friendship? Not something I was overly familiar with, but I didn't much like seeing him in this turmoil.

"Potter, whatever terrible thought your tiny little rodent's brain has bouncing within it right now, I can assure you it won't leave this dorm, and I will do my very best to hear it in a tolerable manner."

"Tolerable?"

"Yes. That's about my highest form of nicety reserved for Gryffindors. Take it or leave it."

He smiled in response to that. His smile made me feel warm again. Bloody Potter.

"I don't think I'm completely...straight? I mean. I had a lot of feelings for Cho, but then I also kinda felt the same way, but different, it wasn't exactly the same, for Cedric? It wasn't the same thing. So I didn't think it was a crush. But I did really like him, and when I think about it I would've went on a date with him if he'd asked me to. That's not straight, is it?" He spoke like his life depended on it, not a second wasted on breath or pauses or any kind of lapse in his words.

I blinked at him, fully understanding what he was telling me here.

Potter isn't straight.

The thought filled me with such a terrible, unbearable surge of hope that for a second I forgot who I was. But he would never want someone like me.

"No, Potter. That doesn't sound very straight to me." I exhaled, looking him over. "Are you familiar with the term bisexual?"

He thought for a second. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Do you think..that's what it is?" There was a very vulnerable look in his eyes, a shyness about how he was sitting - holding one hand in the other, leaning slightly forward - that would've been completely adorable if not for the serious nature of this conversation.

"I do, yes. If you believe you feel attraction to two genders, in your case male and female, then I would say that aligns with bisexuality - especially if the attraction you feel for both presents itself in different ways." It was difficult to formulate each thought when my own mind was running like a Niffler from a bank vault. I have a chance. Potter likes men.

Potter exhaled deeply, looking off into the middle distance. He looked back at me after a beat or two. "Thank you Draco, that helps a lot. I really didn't know who else to talk to about this."

"I'm sure Weasel would have been singing praises of rainbows out your arse had you confided in him."

He narrowed his eyes at that and shook his head. "I'm not sure what he thinks of...well, all this stuff, actually. It's not something that's ever come up." He admitted, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck.

That took me a second to digest. The idea of Potter's merry little world-saving crew not accepting something so important to him simply would never have crossed my mind. Some deep-down part of me wondered how much their criticism must scare him for him to confide in me - a recent enemy, a very recent friend.

"Besides. I thought you'd be better to get a second opinion from, y'know? I thought it made more sense than asking someone straight. I don't know. It made sense to me." He was still rambling, maybe even regretting having told me anything at all.

"I am glad you came to me, I do appreciate that you felt as though you could trust me with this." I didn't want Potter to feel the way I had when I'd come out to my parents - hated, misunderstood, inferior. Is there anyone else who made you feel this way, Potter? Do you feel for me as I do for you?

It was too ridiculous of a thought for me even to entertain. I brushed it aside. I was not the point of this discussion.

"Yeah, well. I thought you'd be able to help. And I do feel a bit better." He replied. He shook his head, frowning at me. "I've never said any of that aloud before. It feels...good. I'm bisexual." He said the word in a breath, shocked by the revelation.

"You are bisexual." I repeated it to him, as I assume he wanted me to.

He grinned at me. "Thanks, Draco. I'll leave you to...whatever you were going to do." He turned to leave.

Do something! You cowardly disgrace!

"Potter?" The word left my mouth before my mind had a chance to catch up.

He looked back at me with that melting green gaze. "Yeah?"

Great. Now what? You're wasting his time.

"We should.... We should celebrate. The tavern in Hogsmeade does a delectable beer." Every inch of my skin was vibrating with anxiety. I'd had no intention of asking him out - especially not just after he'd divulged such sensitive information to me. If I'd been standing, I imagine my knees would have collapsed from beneath me, if I hadn't have fainted like a damsel in distress.

Potter would have caught you if you had.

"I'd like that. After classes today?" He replied.

I nodded once, no longer trusting my voice not to betray me.

"Great, let's meet at the gates."

"Excellent."

He left, the door closing behind him.

I collapsed into the bed, shaking with the weight of what I had just done.