It had been awkward at first. Draco Malfoy had never been so speechless in his life, and he had not enjoyed a single moment of it. Draco Malfoy had never stilled in a conversation. More realistically, he had always been the one to initiate conversations or spiteful spats. This was why Draco Malfoy had been so startled when – though he had initiated the conversation – the conversation had stopped after two words had been exchanged. There had been an uncomfortable silence when Draco Malfoy had tried to grasp the words, but his mind had continually failed to process any.

It had gone something along the lines of this.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

…

And that had been the end of that, which had been the beginning of discomfort. The silence had draped over them rather heavily, and Draco had decidedly thought their spats were much more comfortable and worthwhile than this uneasiness. Draco had actually been speechless for being speechless. When he had become increasingly irritated at his lack of words, he had nodded and walked away. Harry Potter had done the same thing.

Draco Malfoy had never been more confused.

---

Absently picking at his food, Draco felt disoriented. Potter seemed to be at a loss of words as he was. He just didn’t know what to talk about. This was wrong. They just suddenly went from exchanging an ocean of foul words to nothing. Draco felt a flow of discomfort and something hollow well up inside of him. No. Potter and he were going to talk, and he was going to make sure of it. He didn’t care about what – this sudden lack of conversation was too unexpected and gave him a strong determination.

His food forgotten, Draco thought of all the possibilities when they would be able to talk. Quidditch pitch. Potions. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Care of Magical Creatures. The possibilities were endless, and Draco decided he was just going to talk to Potter once he saw him again.

Deciding this was a good plan, Draco nodded to himself and finished his dinner with ease. His problem was solved.

Or at least he thought it was.

---

Draco saw Potter heading to the Library, so he stealthily followed, step for step. For a reason unknown, he felt as though he had to make sure Potter was – Potter was – he didn’t even know. He just felt like he had to follow him quietly until an opportune time arose.

And it did, when he saw Potter take a seat. He decided this was the opportune time he was waiting for, and took a step forward, mouth open. That was when he noticed bloody Granger sitting there, engrossed in a book. He quickly scurried back to his spot behind a bookshelf and cursed himself. He wondered why he even cared if Granger was there or not, when he boldly made his presence known before. He wondered why he was such a bloody coward and decided to go and be done with it, just to reassure that everything between him and Potter was as it should be.

Although he made that resolve in his head, Draco didn’t budge. Instead, he heard the easy flow of words exchanged between Potter and Granger, and idly wondered why he couldn’t do the same. As Potter and Granger sat in amiable silence, Draco wondered why the bloody fuck he even cared when he remembered the uncomfortable silence he endured with Potter. This was when he began to get extremely fed up with himself.

Standing in front of Potter and Granger, he said, “Potter.” He felt proud of himself for even acknowledging the idiot, but quickly felt the courage diminishing when Potter and Granger stared at him as if expecting something. Expecting him to say something. Now Draco was at a loss of words even more.

Potter didn’t hesitate. “Malfoy.” He drew the word out slowly as if having a hard time comprehending.

Granger watched in the background as a silence spread between them. “Was there something you needed, Malfoy?” she asked coolly.

Fuck, even Granger was more literate than he was. “Yes,” he replied before he could stop himself. Now, if only he could think of what the hell he needed. Nothing, really, that those two dimwits could provide for him.

“Then what is it?” Granger asked suspiciously when Draco didn’t elaborate. He needed – he needed –

“A conversation,” Draco finally declared. It was the truth, and that was what he was looking for all along.

Potter and Granger looked startled. “A conversation?” Granger repeated, the clear expression of ‘dumbfounded’ plastered on her face.

“With who?” Potter asked, confusion laced with his every syllable.

Draco did not know where his voice had disappeared to. He looked him straight in the eye. This was it.

“With you, Potter.”

There. He said it. He let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. For the life of him, Draco had no idea speaking honestly could be so hard. He was glad he was not a bloody Gryffindor; otherwise he would be illiterate forever.

Granger quickly caught on. “If you even think insulting each other would be considered a conversation-”

“Shut up, Granger, I’m not talking to you,” he retorted easily. Insulting Granger was easier. He decided he liked the idea and stuck to it. Now, Potter, on the other hand…

Granger looked at him incredulously. “That’s exactly what I mean,” she said angrily. “Harry has every reason to not speak to the likes of you if all you do is make derogatory comments every chance you get.”

Draco wasn’t impressed. “Are you quite done?”

“No.”

“Go attend what little life you have, Granger, and leave.”

“This is a public library-”

“So I’ve been reminded. I forgot this was where your life belongs,” Draco cut in smoothly. Did Granger honestly think he was going to stand here and listen to her nonsensical babble? Because she obviously thought wrong. He had better things to do than listen to her constant nagging.

“Hermione,” Potter spoke up when Granger began to twist her face into something that could only be defined as anger, “I’ll have a quick talk with him, okay?”

Granger protested rather indignantly. “Why would you even talk to him when all he does-”

“I’ll be fine,” Potter said firmly. “Lead the way.”

Granger sat back and huffed.

---

They arrived at the Astronomy Tower, of all places. Draco felt an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness tugging at his belly, which kept his legs walking in a steady and hasty pace. He kept walking, up and up those stairs, as if to forestall the situation at hand. He kept walking until he had to stop, and he turned to face Potter with resignation, even though he could not think of a single, decent thing to talk about.

Potter looked at him wearily. “What did you want to talk about?”

That was the question he hated the most.

“Well,” Draco began with conviction, though that was the last thing he was feeling, and was immediately at a loss of words. Again. He was beginning to see a very irritating pattern. Five seconds passed. He knew, because he was counting.

Potter looked at him disbelievingly. “If you dragged me all the way up here just to listen to you say-”

“No,” he said quickly, “that’s not all.”

Crossing his arms, Potter looked at Draco with expectance. Well, fuck, how was he supposed to know what to talk about?

“What are you thinking of?” Draco blurted out. He blinked. He was surprised at himself for even asking it, but decided it was better than the nothing he thought up with. He reprimanded himself on his unexpected burst, but stared back at Potter. Expecting something. He loved it when the roles were reversed.

“What’s it to you?” Potter inquired suspiciously.

I don’t know, he almost said, but replaced it with, “I want to know.”

Potter blinked. Draco blinked. He did?

“You do?”

I don’t know, he almost said again. “Uh,” he said intelligently. “I do.”

Potter gave him a narrow look, scrutinizing and steady. Draco felt uncomfortable as he watched Potter watch him. He just stared back at Potter, waiting for a reaction or at least a fucking word, because that was the reason why they were at the fucking Astronomy Tower in the first place, where Potter was still watching him.

Draco snapped, “Well? Get on with it.”

That felt great. Or not. Because Potter gave him an intimidating and menacing glare. “I don’t have time for this, Malfoy.” And he turned to leave.

Draco was simply furious. He did not approach him, convince him to talk to him, walk up to the Astronomy Tower just so Harry bloody Potter could make him lose the thing he wanted the most. Just who the bloody hell did he think he was?

So, this was why Draco grabbed Potter, slammed the door he just opened in his attempt to leave, and slammed him back against it. Then, without any rationality of thought or logic, he fastened his lips on Potter’s. Hard.

His mind simply went blank. All he could feel was the pressure of Potter’s lips – now who was kissing who? He felt Potter’s mouth constrict and Draco could feel his teeth through his lips. It hurt. When Potter opened his mouth to retrieve air, their teeth clashed painfully. His eyes flew open as he saw the green eyes mirror his own shock. With a hard shove, he pushed himself away from Potter, and stumbled to the cement floor.

His lips felt hot. Really hot. It felt scorched, heated; felt as though a thousand flames were burning around his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his own lips. Just what the fuck did he do? Why did he – he swallowed repeatedly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He tried to control his heavy breathing; as soon as he felt the silence wrap around the room, he became conscious of it. He kept quiet and could practically feel Potter’s presence, the stain of the pressure of his lips still pressed up against Draco’s own.

He felt sick.

Though his position was uncomfortable, he did not move when he heard Potter slowly and quietly push himself off the door. Draco willed him to leave. To forget this whole mess. To pretend this never happened. Potter stood behind him, and he felt himself shuddering with dread. Potter felt impossibly close to him and his presence was smoldering the atmosphere, stifling his supply of oxygen. Or perhaps he forgot to breathe – he didn’t know which it was. It just didn’t feel safe to breathe.

“Maybe…” Potter’s voice cracked, but he continued unsteadily. “…we should talk about this.”

Now he wanted to talk. But now, Draco didn’t want to. He was far from wanting to talk, because that’s why he kissed-

He clenched his fists tightly. “Go away, Potter,” he muttered. Tensely, he got to his feet, brushing off his robes with his shaking hands. Gryffindors may have courage, but for Slytherins, it was a matter of pride. Draco wouldn’t let Potter take that from him, even after the incident.

“What just… what just-” Potter couldn’t even bring himself to say it. Neither could Draco, but he understood, anyway. Either way, even though he didn’t want to hear what wasn’t supposed to happen between them, he had to get control of the situation. Draco was uncomfortable. This was why he had to make Potter feel more uneasy about this incident. To manipulate him. To do what Slytherins were best at doing.

“Spit it out,” he said stiffly, his back still to Potter. He couldn’t face him. But without facing him, Draco could feel that Potter wasn’t even looking at him. They were ignoring each other physically, but the conversation still hung in the air.

“You – you… kissed me,” Potter stammered finally. The tension was dreadful.

Even though it was what Draco had expected Potter to say, he still stiffened. “I didn’t like it, Potter,” he bit out scornfully. “I don’t like you.”

“Then why would you do that?”

Draco hated questions. It would make things so much easier if he just walked away as if nothing happened. And that was exactly what he did. Potter didn’t try stopping him.

---

Even though Draco was adamant on not answering any questions, he still had a torrent of questions rampaging every crook and cranny of his mind. Why had he kissed Potter? Why did he want to talk to Potter? Why did he do it? Why? Why? Why? He did not have a single answer to those questions. He went over the facts in his mind. He did not like Potter. He did not like the kiss. He did not enjoy the conversation. He did not wish to repeat it. What was the problem? Just – why? What was going on? Draco had never felt so befuddled and answerless. It was so frustrating, and it was all Potter’s fault.

It was the one answer he could provide. It was Potter’s fault. And it all made sense when he repeated it to himself, over and over. He kept repeating it to himself whenever Potter glanced at him, watched him, tried to talk to him. Draco ignored him, though, because it was the easiest thing to do. He would not try to talk to Potter again, and he would not try to search for the answers to those questions, even if they plagued his perplexed mind. He was damn set on ignoring Potter for all that it was worth.

That was, until Potter finally cornered him.

“Malfoy.”

Draco pretended he didn’t hear him. He kept walking down the abandoned hallway. It was five minutes into class and he was, albeit late, not at all hurried. He wasn’t hurried until Potter called his name. That was when he began rushing to class.

“Malfoy.”

The voice was closer this time, and Draco could hear the quick steps of Potter’s as they tried to match his own. Fucking Gryffindor. If Draco wasn’t hell bent on ignoring him and pretending Potter was a figment of his imagination, he would have turned around and hexed his legs off. However, that was not the case, and Draco was undeterred by Potter’s constant calling as he turned a corner.

He didn’t expect the hex hitting him as his body locked up. Bloody Potter. He should have hexed his legs off, and his balls for additional damage. He saw Potter’s face and Potter’s wand, which Draco wanted nothing more than to crack into two pieces. As soon as he heard – Finite Incantatem – he got up quickly and whipped his wand out and hexed Potter with the first spell that came to mind. Potter reflected it.

“Malfoy, I don’t want to have a duel. I want to talk.”

Draco gripped his wand tightly. He wanted to punch Potter’s guts out, hex until he ended up in St. Mungo’s – but most of all, he wanted to run as far as he can. So he tried, but Potter grabbed his arm firmly. He tried wrenching his arm out and even contemplated on hexing Potter, but he felt tired all of a sudden. Tired of all the running, the avoiding.

“Let go,” Draco hissed dangerously. His arm burned uncomfortably. Potter let go immediately and stepped back, allowing him to have his own personal space. Another second of this silence and Draco was going to run away again. He hated the silence. The silence was too much.

“Can we talk?”

“You have twenty seconds. Start talking,” he said edgily.

“Why did you do it, Malfoy?” Potter rushed out. Draco really, really hated the questions. He hated it with every fiber of his being because even he couldn’t answer the questions.

“I don’t know. Stop asking,” Draco ground out, his anger simmering on the surface.

Potter got the hint. “Can we-” he wavered, suddenly shy. “Can we be friends?”

Draco started in surprise. Potter? Wanting to be friends after this? The thought in itself was absurdity above all. He didn’t need more things to mull over his head about. He didn’t want any more things confusing him. “Why?” he asked finally.

“I thought – well, after that – maybe – oh, I don’t know. Maybe we can be friends. I don’t understand it myself,” Potter said truthfully. “I just want to be friends.”

Even after you rejected me and became friends with the Weasel? Draco couldn’t contain that thought, but he didn’t voice it. “We can’t be friends.” And it was true. They couldn’t be friends. They were rivals – they challenged each other, they irritated each other, they hated each other. They had too many differences to count and too many times when they hurt each other intentionally. How could they be friends? They just couldn’t.

Potter looked at him in askance. “We can try,” he said resolutely, with the same determination that Draco had sported a few days back.

“Being friends is too much to ask for,” Draco said, a bit startled his voice did not come out in a snarl. “It’s either enemies or…” he trailed off. Suddenly, puzzles began fitting in with each other and a million questions were answered. Oh. Draco understood. “We can’t be just friends.”

“Why?”

The question Draco had asked himself so many times, without the answer or the slightest clue. He did not have a reason before, but now he did. Now, he understood, and he could answer it.

“Because my feelings for you,” Draco said firmly, feeling that certainty rushing to him again, “have never been just that simple.”

“I don’t understand.”

Draco couldn’t restrain his glee because he understood. “Then let me explain it to you, Potter.” He looked Potter straight in the eye, lifted a single finger up and touched Potter’s soft lips. “You see,” he murmured, “I have nothing to say.”

There was nothing to say. It was never about words, anyway. Even if Potter didn’t understand at that moment, Draco would make sure Potter would. Some time or later. Right now, all he could do was show him. Right now, all he could do was pull Potter’s head forward, and…

---

Author’s Note: This idea suddenly popped into my head one day. I had no idea where this story was going, but I just kept on writing. I just felt like I had to write it down before it disappeared from me. This unbetaed one-shot is dedicated to Jessica. She has been the one encouraging me to write stories again, so you should really thank her. However, my other stories will be discontinued. Sorry, but I have made the decision to delete them, unless given the request otherwise. I would continue if interest is shown, but if I do continue those stories, I would need to rewrite them. There are lots of mistakes in them and I don’t know where the plot is going. So, stay or delete? The choice is more likely mine, but I’d like to see who is interested.