CHAPTER 10 - HIDING

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Draco woke up thinking about Harry. Harry woke up thinking about Draco.

Getting ready comprised the both of them thinking of each other, hiding smiles from their classmates in their common rooms and trying not to seem so giddy at breakfast to keep unwarranted attention off themselves.

But Draco had the overwhelming urge to dance or skip or jump—do something completely un-Malfoyish. He didn't feel Malfoyish at all. And even more insane, he didn't feel completely horrible about it.

He kind of liked it.

Because colors were more vibrant, the sun felt warmer. Everything just seemed better, and it was utterly ridiculous that another human being could do this to him, but it was all true.

Draco, as anti-social as he was, almost felt like smiling at people.

Okay. Not that much. But he wanted to smile at Potter in the hallway, though he couldn't because people were in the way. Plus, he had a reputation to uphold.

Meanwhile, Harry had to do his best to not seem too happy. Not so much because of Ron and Hermione, who gave their share of pressing questions, but more for the universe. He wanted to beg, please don't mess this up, Universe. I want this.

He liked waking up smiling. He liked feeling happy this way. He liked feeling... wanted. Desired. Interesting. Not because he was Harry Potter.

Their next date was during mid-March. Spring clouds darkened the sky, but they still met up anyway, in the tree line and far away from anyone looking. Just talking for hours and hours about whatever they wanted, Quidditch, classes, the Tournament—and how Draco is way better than Diggory—food, flowers, current events and opinions. Draco even told him more embarrassing stories from his childhood, just to make Potter laugh.

"So one of the first things my father had me do when he took over parenting was get me into ballroom dancing."

"What?"

"It teaches a lot of discipline. It's very proper. It's much more difficult than what we had to do at the Yule Ball. And I was seven, so I couldn't have cared less because, you know, I was seven. Actually, I quite like it now, but that's besides the point."

Harry gave his undivided attention, looking into Draco's eyes with interest.

"I was so determined not to learn it that I realized if my instructor got hurt, I wouldn't have to go to classes. But I didn't realize that my father could just hire another instructor, so I ended up hurting four of them before he figured out how new ones kept coming in."

Potter's eyes widened. "Oh my God. What did you do to them?"

Draco winced. "I tripped two of them so one got a twisted ankle, and then one was older and she hurt her hip."

Potter put a hand over his mouth. "Please tell me you felt bad about it."

"I do now! As a kid, I just thought yay, no class."

"Draco!"

Again, Potter saying his name did something special to him. "I'm sorry!"

"What happened to the other two?"

"Oo. So one I'm pretty sure had to go to a mental hospital—" Maybe he shouldn't be telling Potter this story.

"What is wrong with you!"

"It wasn't my fault! Her house burned down or something. She was trying to put her life together again and start teaching, but after talking to me for three days she checked into St. Mungo's."

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