I Think I Like Him

19. A Late-Night Pondering

Warning- there's some mild swearing in this chapter

Word count: 1423

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The night had ended quickly, with both boys entering their common rooms not long after dinner ended. Harry stood in the bathroom, both hands clinging to the sides of the sink, staring at the mirror intently. He pleaded with his reflection to tell him what to do -to help him understand what on earth was going on between him and Draco, but his reflection seemed just as lost, staring at him with the same expression.

He sighed, grabbing his toothbrush and smothering on toothpaste clumsily. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started; he thought back over the last few months. They first kissed not long before he left the hospital ward. But Draco had been acting weird for months previous to this.

Why did he save him during that quidditch match? The question seemed to have been ever present since its introduction, but Harry had originally chalked it up to Draco wanting to have something to hang over the Gryffindor, but his actions since had undoubtedly taken that off of the table.

Maybe he had liked him all along? Secretly. I mean, he wanted to be his friend in first year, right? He watched his reflection roll its eyes. Yea. No. Definitely not- why would Draco pretend to hate him? Even if he had done, why stop now? What changed? He exhaled sharply, spitting his toothpaste into the sink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. This level of thinking was more Hermione's speed.

Harry sighed again. Hermione would be a very useful person to be in-the-know right about now. The only issue with this is that the second they were letting other people outside the two of them know, it became real. And if this was just some stupid, adolescent experimenting that would stop within the term, then it was not worth the backlash a decision like that would surely bring. And if it wasn't, and this- whatever it was- was serious.. well, he wasn't ready to entertain that idea just yet.

As Harry sat in his bed, curtains drawn, listening to the low hum of night-time chatter between his dorm mates, he thought back to earlier in the evening. It had gone in a.. different? Direction than he had expected. Granted, it hadn't gone badly. If anything, he had quite enjoyed it. Well, as much as anyone would enjoy being pushed up to the wall and snogged for the better part of half an hour.

He wondered how this would go- the road they seemed to be heading down. It was long, winding and probably equipped with a few fallen trees some ways down- but it was where it ended that both perplexed and intrigued the 3rd year. He couldn't decide if he anticipated or dreaded finding out. Perhaps both.

...

Draco, however, was not worrying and obsessing about his and Harry's new friendship (that could definitely not be referred to as just a friendship anymore), because he had things to do. He was slightly giddier than he had been at the beginning of the day, and so decided this the right time to try and make amends with Pansy once more. What would he say? He didn't know, but planning an apology would make it seem less truthful, he knew.

"Pansy?"

She turned, closing her book on her thumb.

"Can we talk"

"I'm not in the mood for another screaming match, Draco" She rubbed her forehead as if to punctuate the statement. He sat down on the lounge chair across from her, " I don't have an excuse"

"That's right"

"But I want you to know that you're my best friend and I hate fighting with you" Pansy frowned. "You were trying to help me and I was cruel to you for no good reason. I'm sorry"

"Good"

"I know I've been a crappy friend-"

"You've been a dick"

"Yea, that too-"

"And a Bastard"

"-yea-"

"And your hair looks shit-"

"Y- No!"

Pansy grinned, "wanted to see how much I could get away with" Her smile fell, "I just don't understand why you wouldn't speak to me. You always talk to me about things. What changed, Draco?"

"Nothing changed, I was just.. in denial, I suppose"

"About what? You can tell me anything, you know that right?" Pansy's warm gaze nearly made Draco tell her everything. Nearly. Although lying now was stupid at best, he just couldn't bring himself to tell her. Not when he didn't even know what it exactly was he would be revealing. Compromising, he kept his story to before the Quidditch match, hoping it would be sufficient for any questions she would ask. "It was the diary"

"I thought it was related to that, but I still don't understand"

"The entries kept getting worse and worse. You don't even want to know Pans.." he said vaguely, solely because he didn't want to recount the disturbing stories to her. She tilted her head, "I suppose it.. it shifted my perspective on Potter. Like- a lot."

"But- it's Potter, why did it affect you so much?"

There was a question. It just so happened to be the very same one that Draco had been asking himself for months. "I... I really couldn't tell you, Pansy. Maybe- maybe it's just because I hated him so much?" Or because I see myself in the Dursleys.

She rubbed his arm, "I should have tried to understand it more. I mean, it's Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. He and you have always had this huge tension-" Well, he supposed she wasn't wrong. "-so when you find out that he's not all 'stuck up prick', I get that that can be hard to deal with." She suddenly glared at him, "but if you ever say those things to me again then I swear to Salazar Draco, I will-"

"Thank you, Pans" he cut her off, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.

...

Harry laid his head back, turning on his side- the murmuring from outside his curtains having quietened. He missed the ever so slight rise of the mattress where his journal used to be; at first, it was uncomfortable, but over time it had morphed into a comfort he wasn't even aware of. One that he felt himself desperately longing for, now.

Part of him wished he had never had one in the first place- if only to prevent the current frosty feeling in his chest and bones, like a dull ache. The other, more logical part of him reasoned that it was what kept him sane during those nights under the stairs when his cupboard felt smaller than usual and the darkness, darker. More solitary. He tried not to regret it; burning the journal, but he did. It was the right decision to make, he knew, but maybe he should have waited until he was ready to give it up. Harry thought about this. No, he eventually decided.

There were only two possible outcomes to this; the first being, that he would never be ready, and so he would never give it up. The second is that by the time he did give it up, it would hold no value anyway. After all, 13-year-old Harry's opinion on the Chudly Cannons, or strange wizarding Chinese food served on Chinese New Year that was nothing like the leftover takeaways Harry was used to, would be no use to any future dark forces who would try to steal it. Besides, with Sirius Black's recent sightings that were far too close for comfort, it was unlikely that he had the luxury of time, at the moment.

On that note, the first Hogsmeade weekend was next week and naturally, he was desperate to go. But with both an unsigned permission slip and Black on the loose, he wasn't stupid enough to get his hopes up. As far as he knew, Professor McGonagall was aware of his Dursley situation, and so that shouldn't pose too much of an issue, but an Askaban escapee on the other hand.. yea, he had no hope.

Not that he wouldn't try regardless, mind- he was a Gryffindor, after all. He let his mind rest as he succumbed the the haze of sleep that had been subtly clouding his vision for a while by then. His last thought echoed curiously, imprinting itself on the dreams that would soon play behind his eyelids. Ones that would be long forgotten by daybreak; is Draco going to Hogsmeade?