Cheers, Potter.

Just in case.

Harry's POV

"You owe me five galleons, Ronald." Hermione announced immediately after I finished recounting my evening with the Slytherin. Doing so had resulted in Ron looking more and more confused with every sentence; as far as he was aware, Malfoy was still horrible and conceited and bratty – but he didn't have all the facts.

Hermione beamed from ear to ear as she asked, "What was it like?"

"It was weird," I began, sort of grimacing and Ron looked like he wanted to throw up, "I mean... it's Malfoy. It was kind of an accident, that I definitely had been vying for most of the evening,"

Ron made an uncomfortable noise, "how do you accidentally snog your nemesis?" he asked. Hermione laughed as she hooked her arm through his and pecked him on the cheek for his pains.

"Well, you see Ronald, when two people find themselves head over heels for each other –"

"Hey hey hey, I never said that." I protested, "I just... I don't know, but head over heels isn't right. We hated each other for years and that's only subsided over the last year."

"Oh, right," Hermione retorted, "Because the way you wept over him after the Sectum-Sempra debacle was out of disdain?"

"But that's different, I'd hurt him,"

"Fair enough, then what about when you stalked him for all of sixth year?"

"I thought he would do something bad!"

"Sounds fake but okay," she sighed, "how about the occasions upon which you and he were staring at each other for an unbearable amount of time?"

"Which time?" I asked, realising my mistake too late.

"Exactly!"

"Okay fine, that's a little bit gay, but also because I didn't trust him."

"Liar," she sniped playfully.

"Can we agree to not talk about it while we're at home though?" Ron suggested, positively over the conversation and probably hoping I'd decided to cop off with literally anyone else.

Hermione inquired without answering his question, "Did you tell him you were running off to the Burrow today, Harry?"

I suddenly felt as though I had made a grave mistake, "No, I didn't think it was important... should I have?" I asked warily and stared at the ground as we walked to the carriages. Hermione's hysterical laugh only served to make me more nervous and I wrung my hands in anxiety.

"You snog someone you supposedly hate and then immediately and quietly abscond to your adoptive parents' house?" She laughed some more.

"Not to mention that that 'someone' is insecure and fragile and already has abandonment issues after his mum sodding off to France and his dad being in Azkaban and all." Ron helpfully added. Hermione prodded an affirmative thumb in his direction and I immediately wanted to throw up my lungs.

I had definitely made a huge mistake. I didn't want him to think I was running from him – the opposite was true, the timing was just rubbish.

"I should I send him an owl," I proffered, uncertainly, trying to keep the worried desperation out of my voice and failing.

"Yes," they said in unison, then Ron added assuredly, "and make it a good one."

~Ж~

From the moment we arrived at the Burrow, all I could think about was writing the letter. I was frustrated at my own disregard for the situation and was overanalysing everything that had happened. Was it a spur of the moment thing? Would it matter that I wouldn't see him for a week? Did it actually mean anything, or was it an accident? Was it an accident that meant something?

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ginny inquired, noticing my furrowed eyebrows and absence from the milling of conversation around us, "You look like you've swallowed a snitch again."

I struggled to put what my mind was screaming at me into words and opened and closed my mouth a few time to speak before deciding against it.

"What's the matter? Malfoy got your tongue?" her grin was unmistakably knowing. It seemed that I didn't have to explain anything because someone had already done so for me. My eyes immediately found Hermione's and she rolled her eyes as if to say, 'of course I told Ginny', because of course she had.

"I can't believe you got off with Malfoy," Ginny dramatically shivered and made a repulsed face, "I mean, what was it even like?"

"Do you actually want to know or are you too busy enjoying my inner turmoil?"

"Both – wait, no – yes, both." She was clearly battling with her want to be a decent friend and her instinct to make fun of me.

"He's funny, Gin," I began, both convincing her and myself that I'd kissed him for a reason and not just because I was bored, "and he's really good with Teddy. You know, he put him down for bed in less than ten minutes?"

Ginny, who had experienced the hateful job of trying to put the kid to bed herself, raised her eyebrows, appraising, "Who'd a thunk it?" she had a small smile playing on her lips.

"And you should have seen him with Connie when that whole Tempest Jinx thing happened, it was so weird! He was actually showing human emotion, and he has a great smile, and Merlin have you seen him after a Quidditch match–?"

"Alright! Merlin, Harry, I only asked what it was like to kiss him," Ginny interrupted, none too quietly, so I glanced around to see if anyone else was paying attention before I answered.

"It was bloody brilliant." I sighed and buried my head in my hands.

Ginny placed a gentle hand on my back and knew exactly what to say to make me relax: "Then, I'm happy for you."

~Ж~

It was mid-afternoon before I managed to slip away to write to him. I sat at the rickety old desk that used to be Percy's and stared at the dauntingly blank roll of parchment that I'd borrowed from Hermione, drumming my fingers on the table with one hand and pulling at my hair with the other. I tried to think of what on earth I should say. I considered banging my head on the table repeatedly and waiting for the words to just fall out of my head.

Malfoy, I wrote and then promptly scribbled out. Was I supposed to call him Malfoy still? Saying or writing Draco felt foreign and strange. Not to mention my hand-writing. I could imagine his scrunched up nose and his posture, radiating disdain. Why was this so bloody difficult?

Eventually I came to the conclusion that if he really had a problem with it, he could, quite frankly, go and stuff himself, and wrote whatever I was thinking... and then re-wrote it, just in case.