Cheers, Potter.

Thinking about Harry.

Draco's POV

Back in the common room that evening, I was back in my chair and sat reading the Prophet (more out of boredom than actual interest), ignoring the extra irritating articles and trying to ignore everyone else in the room. It was times like this that I missed my 'Holier than thou' attitude; it had started to feel like I cared too much about others' opinions of me and now, sat in the common room I'd called home for so long, I felt uncomfortable. Like an animal in a cage at the zoo, something to gawk at, admire and fear from afar but never to touch, never truly know. Their bemusement, their looks, their interest was a reminder of everything wrong that I'd ever stood for, all the things I wanted to forget.

"I thought you'd grown out of brooding, mate," Blaise interrupted my thoughts as he came closer. Like me, he had benefitted from being around the new first years. They didn't have the same burdens weighing them down as we did and they'd taught us to be free of them without even knowing what they were doing. Now when Blaise smiled, rather than it being false, hiding his malcontent, like it had been, it was formed of real joy and amusement.

"Never," I answered, "my regular correspondence with my mother ensures it."

"One day I'll read your letters to her. I don't understand your relationship. I thought everything was good?"

"First of all, you can't read French."

"Not true," Blaise interjected, "I know the word 'pneu' means 'tyre' because Pansy and I laughed that it was a funny word when we were trying to learn the lingo to surprise you."

"Well, I'm afraid to say that that won't help you," I grinned thinking about the implications of that admission, "We manage to refrain from discussing muggle transport."

He made an expression that meant something along the lines sod-off, and poked me in the side, "so are things not okay with you two?" He inquired with a little more concern.

"That depends on the things she says in the letters," I sighed, I could feel the pain of it on my face; I wanted, more than anything, to remain close to her, both in proximity and emotionally. It was becoming clear, however, that neither would be possible any time soon... I stirred myself away from my thoughts, realising that my present company was starting to look a little uncomfortable, "Did you have something to tell me or do you enjoy hearing about the distressed relationship betwixt my mother and I?"

Blaise rolled his eyes at my choice of phrase, "So, I was talking to Looney Luna in the library earlier," he paused as though waiting for my reply, but I didn't know what he expected me to say.

"Good for you, Blaise," was the first thing that came to mind.

"We were talking about you,"

I glanced up briefly and then back down again. The discovery irritated me, but I couldn't figure out why, perhaps it was that I genuinely couldn't tell if it was a positive or negative conversation that they had had.

"Blaise, I'm flattered but I have eyes for only myself." I joked, trying to get off of the subject, "Besides, I'm almost certain that Luna has eyes for someone else."

"You and Potter," my friend retorted rather loudly. I felt my eyes narrow and a snide smile cross my face but I quickly replaced it with an expression of apathy, one that was not even close to fooling my friend, "Oh, please, it's no secret that you've had the hots for him since you climbed that bloody tree in fourth year."

"That was purely for the aesthetic," I replied indignantly, sipping my pumpkin juice. I could tell that the tips of my ears were growing hotter by the second.

"Yeah, of course," he said sarcastically, leaning back in the sofa opposite me and folding his hands, "and Potter wears those hideous glasses 'for the aesthetic'," his pride at so easily winning the argument was plain on his face, his chest puffed out and his eyes were lit with the unmistakable glow of victory.

Finally, I couldn't help but grin; Merlin, I wished he wasn't so right all of the time. The thing that niggled me was that I'd never really tried to hide it, but I was such an awful flirt that the only people who noticed were the ones who were subjected to my whining about it over the years.

If I were being honest with myself, I'd had a crush on him since second year, but I didn't really realise it when he almost got killed by that bloody dragon. Even then, it didn't occur to me to ever act on it past trying to be the centre of his attention for all the wrong reasons. In any case – no matter how I looked at him, through rose tinted glasses or red ones – by Merlin's beard he still annoyed me to no end.

"Anywho," Blaise continued when I hadn't said anything, "Luna and I were comparing notes and it's been drawn to my attention..." he paused for effect; all that was missing was a cheesy drum-roll, "that he fancies you back."

I couldn't hide that the thought gave me pause: did he really? Could that even be possible after everything that has happened? Everything I'd done to him? Maybe he had some sort of strange fetish... I caught myself grinning in amusement at the thought, but didn't wipe it from my face quickly enough and, of course, Blaise misconstrued the meaning behind it.

"Ha!" he erupted, far too loudly for comfort, "no denying it now, buddy,"

"That was not what I was smiling about."

"Did you hear me? He-fan-cies-you." My friend said patronisingly, "Now you can finally stop moping around and bumming everyone out."

"I do not mope." In saying that though, I was fully aware that I do in fact mope, I just didn't want to be told so. I was perfectly happy remaining in denial, denying to believe I was known as 'Malfoy the miserable', denying the knowledge that people avoided me, not just because of my past, but because I simply wasn't that much fun to be around. I knew it was entirely true deep down; I was hardly ever happy and no one wants to be friends with someone like that.

"So?" Blaise look on me, expectantly.

"So what?" I inquired, doing my best to hide how intrigued I was, wanting to know more but refusing to show it.

"Are you going to say something to him?"

"What exactly would I say, Blaise?" It was a rhetorical question and I made sure he knew it with my tone and by immediately going back to my reading, not waiting for him to come up with an answer. The last thing I needed was for him to suggest something reasonable and not completely offensive – then I'd run out of good excuses to avoid confronting it.

I could feel Blaise's gaze on me but I pointedly ignored him and he eventually got bored of my stubbornness. He huffed and walked away to sit with Cyrus who'd enlisted his help with a charms essay, thank Merlin.

The fact was, I didn't know if I could say anything to Potter, even if I wanted to. It was all very well and good pretending to be confident, but when it comes to being genuine and vulnerable, he was the last person I wanted to see me so weak.

But then I thought about his eyes when he'd convinced me that I wasn't a terrible person, his genuine smile when we spent the day together in Hogsmeade, his stupid messy hair, and his stupidly childish sense of humour and it made me think that maybe, I might consider it.

Whatever the case, I couldn't concentrate on anything for the rest of the night: I was too busy thinking about Harry