The next day Draco stayed in his room for the most part, simply because he physically thought he was going to explode to the diversity of affects he was having: his stomach was on fire; his throat burned, from what he didn't know; his thoughts never pooled at such a velocity in his life; his heart beat rapid and had an undetectable enunciation. In his most eager hopes, he planned to have it all be a dream and wake up without even a thought of the boy, however the very second awoke, the first thing he thought of was green eyes and a lightning scar.

And it had been that way ever since.

Draco, on the edge of his bed, feet dangling and hands sweaty, thought and rethought it through... and then rethought it through again. It started with the usual: 'When the hell did he start feeling this way?' It then moved to a 'Merlin, I can't believe my eyes changed color for him. Continuing on with a 'How did I not see this before?' And he answered himself with a 'Because he rejected you.' Progressing onto a feeling of sadness at the memory, he would then think about his father and 'How could I ever keep this from him?' And of course, the fact that he would be skinned alive by his parents lived in the back of his head.

Finally he would go back and question how his heart even could newly function the way it did and the process advanced to a vicious cycle for most of the morning. He didn't know how to follow his heart- hell! he never had a heart to follow. From any recollection, Draco grew up most of his life thinking it was broken, numb, such as a machine with a untwisted screw. It refused to work properly because he was a Malfoy, and love just got in the way of the Malfoy goal: power.

But now, his heart was ready to explode. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt.

At about mid-afternoon, he reached an abdominal state of ludicrous. Draco payed more attention as to what was to come, and the entire emotional connection between it all. Would Harry actually ever like me? Could I actually be loved? Why didn't he shake my hand in first year, damn it! Could these feelings go away- were they concrete?

Since now he was going on a very much real date with Harry, it made him even more nervous than before. It was legitament, so to speak.

Sometimes he would- not smirk, but what's the other thing? yeah, that- completely out of the blue, however moments later, anger filmed over him, and seconds after that, almost happiness despite his doubts.

Draco stirred from deep thought when knock knock knock at his door bounced off the walls. "Come in," he said, voice cracking in an un-Malfoyish manner.

Pansy opened it and stepped inside, only to stare at him wildly. "Are you alright?"

"No, Pansy! I'm not!"

"Look at you! You're a hot mess!"

"Really, I had no idea," he bit, lying back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "I don't understand how he can be doing this to me."

"Draco, it's just a crush," Pansy said. "Don't tell me you've never had a crush before." She strode to the bed with the audacity to almost mock him. Sitting down, Draco refused to eye her, but continued looking at the bricks above him.

"Pansy, you know me. You know my family."

"Oh would you quit it with the 'Malfoy' name and whatnot. I understand you come from a strict family and all, but don't you ever want to branch off and do your own thing?"

"No. Never have," he swallowed.

"Let me rephrase that," Pansy corrected herself, "Have you ever wanted to be a kid? Ever?"

This caused Draco to look at her. "Being a kid gets you nowhere," he finally said, "and if I'm going to be the man of the house some day, shenanigans is not the way to go about learning how to do it properly."

Pansy took a deep breath, then lay back on the bed with pity. "Your father has brainwashed you."

Draco swallowed, trying not to think about it. "My father is a Death Eater, Pansy, in case you haven't noticed, and I'd imagine that if I'm supposed to be the man of the house one day, I might have to be one, too."

"You never used to think like that, you know. When we were ten, you actually laughed once or twice."

"Laughter is pointless."

"I hope Potter can change that about you."

Draco rubbed his face with his hands and swallowed. "I don't think I should go."

"Oh come on, don't be a fairy!"

"If me and Potter are on two completely different paths, completely different sides, what makes you think it could ever work without someone getting hurt? And Merlin, my father... if he found out-"

"Who cares, Draco? Who cares what he says? He isn't even here. Why can't you just think for yourself for once?"

Draco thought. "I don't know, Pans," he said in doubt.

"Stop making things complicated. Your father won't find out. It's a harmless relationship at most. You can end it if you feel uncomfortable."

"I feel uncomfortable now."

"Get over it," she snapped. "Potter was humane enough to let you even talk to him after this all happened, let alone is willing to go on another date with you."

"Why are you so supportive of this, Pansy?"

"Because... I just have a good feeling about him for you. I do. Why do you think I suggested it not be me? You two are... You two are so contrasting, but at the same time, so compatible, and that's really strange, but I still remember the look on your face when he didn't shake your hand in first year. Shall I bring up the, 'I can't wait to meet Harry Potter. He seems incredible! Defeated the Dark Lord when he was one years old! I want to be his friend!'"

"Don't you dare talk about it!"

"Or the fact that you had an entire collection of news articles about him in your sock drawer!"

"Pansy! I told you not to speak of that!"

"My point is, you've had a feeling about him for as long as you can remember, and as long as I can remember listening to it," she tried not to complain and sound supportive. "Maybe this is a step in the right direction."

Draco bit his lip. "But how can you be sure, Pansy? What if this is just going to blow up in my face?"

"Then let it."

"What if I really don't like him, like I think I do and some disease is going to clear up in a few weeks, and it'll just be awkward."

She didn't answer his question, but brought up a topic he wasn't expecting. "What did it feel like when he kissed you?"

"Are we really going completely school girl, Pansy. Never go completely school girl."

"I'm being serious."

He sighed, defeated. "It felt... strange. I can't describe it. It wasn't even a real kiss though."

"But you wish it was?"

"I don't know... maybe?"

"Did it feel good?"

"I... I'm not sure..."

Pansy didn't know how to get it across to him what a good and bad kiss felt like, so she did the only logical and kinematic thing to do: she rolled over and kissed him. Immediately he pushed away at the sudden surprise. "Pansy! What are you doing!"

"Did it feel good," she asked.

"I mean... it felt... weird?"

"Weird like girly weird or weird like Potter weird?"

"I... I don't know..."

Pansy lent in, slower this time, and kissed him softly. It was like kissing a sibling for both of them: disgusting and creepy. He tried to shut his eyes, tried to picture a girl, not Potter and it was just so... wrong. It was wrong, in fact it was very much indeed wrong.

Draco pushed her away again and wiped his mouth, her mirroring him. "It was too weak," he concluded. Potter's lips were firm, demanding, forceful. And although he thought he hated his own submissive behavior during Potter's 'game,' he felt as though he liked being forced up against the wall like that, to be needed. "Potter had something... something that.. it was magnetic," he described, "and it was electric. Is that stereotypical?"

"You feel what you feel," she said simply. "By the way, that was the worst kiss I've ever had in my life."

"Strangely, although I've only had one other and it was forced, I have to agree with that."'

"Just don't tell Blaise, okay," Pansy demanded.

"Oh please! Like I would want him to know that we kissed," Draco scoffed.

"So you're going with Potter," she asked, sitting up, and he did as well.

"I have to get my coat back," he answered.

"You gave him your coat?"

"...He was cold..."

"You're in for it deep," Pansy said, and Draco rolled over to scream into his bedspread.

"Damn you, Potter!" He had a strong feeling that Potter was going to drive him to insanity and back.

"Now that you've got that off your chest," Pansy raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to get ready or are you going to go out on a real date looking like you've been trampled by a stampede?"

Draco scoffed, mentally preparing to the night ahead of him, wondering if this was truly going to change his life for not.

He wore steel toed shoes in case Potter got angry with him.

----------------------------------------------

Harry waited for Draco down by the lake, same place as assigned, carrying his Firebolt.

To be honest, his expectations of Draco not even showing up were disappointed since a figure walked his way. He too had a broom in his hand, and Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw the pair.

It wasn't long until the boy reached the other and greeted him with a bare of the teeth.

"Is that a smile or is it like a clench," Harry asked trying to hold back laughter at the failed attempt of a smile. Draco's face dropped, for doubt overfilled him and he bit his lip. How could he of been so stupid? "Take insults well, Malfoy?"

"No it-" Draco was glad Harry cut him off because he really didn't know how to tell him.

"Okay, sorry. We're on a date, I need to remind myself," Harry calmed himself, but then raised an eyebrow. "A real date right?"

"Yes, a real date I promise," he tried not to snap or look insecure. He bit his lip again, "You look, erm... you look great tonight, Potter."

Harry responded by taking Draco's coat, which was hidden from behind his back, and threw it at his face with extraneous force. "Thank you Malfoy, you look well yourself."

Draco cleared the material to reveal his hair a complete mess. He gave him a deathly glare. "Don't mess with my hair, Potter."

"Does it bother you?"

"Yes," he hissed.

Harry stood parallel to him, "Would you like me to fix it for you?"

"Not with that rats nest on your head!" Harry reached up, but Draco dodged his hand and caught it. "Don't you dare!"

Harry chuckled, then used his other hand to skim it through his hair. Draco tried to catch that arm as well, and he did successfully, that is, until Harry started wrestling him to the ground.

"Damn you Potter," Draco shouted, struggling to overpower the boy. Harry was on top of him and he pinned his shoulders to the ground. "You are such a pest!"

"If anyone's a pest, it's you, Malfoy," Harry responded, still feeling resented anger from the Yule Ball. The Gryffindor gazed into Draco's eyes as he looked back up at him. Harry could practically smell Draco's nerves since they were so on fire.

"What makes you think this could ever work," Draco said after a while of morbid staring.

"We make it," Harry replied simply.

"But wouldn't this be complicated?"

"No. If you like me as much as you say you do, and I like you, then maybe if we keep things simple, we could make it work. Unless you don't want to try this," Harry got off and sat next to him. Draco sat up.

"No, I do," Draco bit his lip again. "Wait... so you do like me?"

"I'm here aren't I? Stop making it complicated," Harry grabbed leaves and threw them at him. He laughed, and that caused Draco to do that thing again, you know, the not smirk, but the other thing, and Harry noticed. "Okay, but I would just like to inform you that, when you smile you look like an assassin. Why is that?"

"Umm I don't... I don't really know," Draco stuttered, "I mean I've never actually smiled before, besides smirking. I mean, I imagine when I was a kid I may have laughed a little, but, not much anymore. I'm not good, am I?" He never liked saying it although it was true. He could only imagine how he looked when he attempted to grin.

"You've never smiled before," Harry questioned waiting for the punch line that never came.

"No, and in fact, I guess I've never apologized before either," Draco looked away from Harry at all costs during that statement.

"I'm your first apology" Harry, although surprised, smiled, "I'm honored."

"Well my father always taught me that Malfoys' don't smile, and they certainly don't apologize."

"Why not? Smiling isn't bad."

"That's my own concern Potter, not yours."

"Harry."

"Potter."

"Harry," Harry emphasized.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter."

"Come on, my name isn't that difficult."

"But Potter sounds better."

"You've said it before."

"Yes, well, I was faking it wasn't I?"

"Say it with me," Harry ordered, "Har-ry. Now together. Har-ry."

"Har-ry," Draco rolled his eyes.

"Good. Now smile." The blonde stared at him. "Smile! Come on Malfoy, at least try."

Draco bared his teeth in a plastic grin.

"Definite assassin," Harry clenched. "Hold on, Don't move."

Harry got closer to him and reached for his mouth, readjusting it to which he looked natural by pulling on his cheeks and pushing his lips apart. "There. I won't be going about dating somebody who doesn't smile."

When Harry let go, Draco's smile still remained, and although it felt as wierd as his heart did, he almost liked it.

By this time Draco's nerves emerged from his body and he could just talk to Harry but at some points he felt as though he let his guard down. It's a shame the Gryffindor was greatly charismatic and didn't use it to his advantage. He could manipulate the minister if he wanted.

"So Draco," Harry emphasized his name, "were you faking the whole time, or do we have to start all over again?"

"No, I answered truthfully," Draco cringed. "I wouldn't want to mix anything up, would I?"

"So this shouldn't be too hard, then?" Harry took a deep breath and started. "What's the worst lie you've ever told a professor?"

"What does that have anything to do with anything," Draco looked at him as if he was crazy, receiving a glare. "What?"

"You're a horrible romantic! Maybe I'm just curious, its not like I'm going to tell them."

Rolling his eyes, Draco then bit his lip, thinking. "Last year I told Trelawney that I had a philosophical dream that her death date was Friday the 13th, but I didn't know which year, so every Friday the 13th, she'll flip!"

Harry laughed, "You're joking!"

"No, I'm not! Just watch. I think there's one coming up in a few weeks."

"I'm going to!"

"What about you? What lie have you told a teacher?"

"Lies," he corrected, "it's plural. Obviously to Snape."

"Well obviously. I'm there for those."

"Yeah, and whenever I get caught, you just so happen to laugh at me, and then I get a detention for fighting back," Harry argued with humor in his eyes. He threw more leaves at Draco and he actually laughed for once, instead of worrying about his clothes. He could always use a cleaning charm, right?

"Hey, I never told you to lie, did I?"

"You got me in trouble first year, too! I wanted to duel and you chickened out!"

"I only did that because I was angry with you," Draco justified.

"For what," Harry exclaimed.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. Don't let him get too close. "Because you're you," he said in a snobby tone. 

"Why yes, that's a very concrete answer." Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco laughed again.

It was like a miracle. 

"Quite."

"Not really," Harry snorted.

"Well, Harry, I'm not a very concrete person," Draco said matter o' factly. 

"Are you, now?" The Gryffindor raised and eyebrow.

"That's something you'll just have to find out, won't you," Draco smirked lightly and fell backwards in the grass, his heart beating out of his chest. His smirk changed from a smile, yet again, and it was like no contellation in the universe could stop it. Looking up at the changing sky, he felt Harry lay beside him. 

"I want to," Harry said hesitantly before swallowing. There was a silence, and niether could tell if it was awkward or not. It was as if they were trying to pretend what the other was thinking. Draco wanted to change the subject before it grew uncomfortable.

"The sky is pretty tonight," he said, although he mentally smacked himself at the small talk. 

"Have you ever thought it being a painting?"

"Hm?" Draco turned and looked at him.

"I had an old baby sitter. Her name was Margret, and she was very old, very experienced as she put it," Harry babbled, and Draco let him. "Most the time she would talk about her dog or her husband. She was a widow; her 'soul-mate' died at war, and she was devistated because of it. "

"I couldn't imagine losing someone that way," Draco said, his voice soft.

"Oh yeah," he agreed, "Must be awful. She wasn't much, but she wasn't horrible, I've had worse baby sitters, but anyway, sometimes she was very poetic, and it would be out of no where. I kept wondering where she got it from, until one day, one of the last days I should say, she put this moldy, dusty box in front of me, and inside were letters from her husband." 

"What do letters have anything to do with the sky?"

"I'm getting there! So when I opened them the ink was barely visible and the papers were worn, but it was still legible. It turned out that he wanted to be an artist, and every night leading up to his service, they would lay on the ground, just as we are, hands connected," Harry put his hand over Draco's, locking his palm over the top of the blonde's hand, interlocking their fingers. Draco let him. "And they would watch the sunset from well in the afternoon, all the way up to one or two in the morning. They would only talk." 

"How did they not run out of things to say?"

"I wondered that too," Harry finally turned to him, causing their eyes to meet. "She told me it was easy, said it was almost impossible to not talk to him."

Draco stared at their hands and chills went down his spine. He swallowed, letting Harry continue his story in a curious silence, turning back to look at the blackening atmosphere. 

"She told me that the night before he went off to guard, they talked about the sky and the stars, and how if they ever missed each other, to look up, because metaphorically, they would be looking at each other. He broke a rib two years in falling off of something- I don't really remember. Anyway, it was piercing his heart, and the last thing he did was write to her. He said that if he was to die, which they both knew he was, then to look up at the sky, because he would paint it every day and every night for her, just so she knew he was alright."

Harry paused, listening to Draco's deep, steady breathing next to him. 

"She was 28 when he died; she was 74. And in between that time, she hadn't found anybody to replace him. Told me that that kind of love was irreplaceable, and not a day went by that she didn't miss him. Her first and last kiss was with him. But she said she never cried when he left her."

"Why?"

"Because