Disclaimer: Okay, well, no one reviewed my first chapter of this. But I couldn't help but add this chapter, anyways. Thank you for reading.

These characters do not belong to me.


~~~~~"I want to find a part of me that does not belong to you."~~~~~~

Harry could still see the length of his pale arm held out in a friendly, if not cocky, stance. His fingers looked soft, like the silk his robes were made with, and Harry wanted nothing more than to thread his own fingers with his. But Harry didn't, and he ponders the outcome of that decision daily. It crosses his mind whenever he sees flashes of silver, or hears the sound of hissing.

Harry knows, though, if he had cupped palms with Draco Malfoy that he would have been more screwed than he is now. He knows he would have let the hat place him in Slytherin, and he wouldn't be viewed as 'Golden' as he is now. He knows that Draco would have changed him drastically. But, Harry concedes, that change wouldn't necessarily be the bad thing in his hypothesis.

Harry can admit that it would be a higher possibility that he would have fallen completely in love with the other boy.

It might seem strange or perhaps opposite of what half the school whispers about them, but still undeniably true. Harry thinks the way Draco moves is the most elegant thing he has ever gotten to witness. The way Draco moved, danced, during the ball was exquisite and mesmerizing. Sometimes he still closes his eyes and can see the twirling and bowing of blonde hair.

Harry isn't the kind of person that is delusional, however. His life is so chaotic that he can't drench himself in some day dream of love. He is certain that Draco Malfoy will never offer his hand again, at least not in a friendly manner. And he is positive that Draco Malfoy will never let the ice around him melt in front of nemesis.

But he has hopes, and those perhaps are harder to bear than the rest of the world.


Harry notices before most that silver eyes aren't flashing heatedly and there is no sound coming from a razor sharp tongue. He can't help but feel abandoned, like he isn't even worth the fight anymore. He see's the Slytherin laughing at Ravenclaws and snarling at Hufflepuffs. But Harry Potter is now beneath him, and he refuses to even look in his direction.

Harry feels a heat in his chest that he hasn't felt since Sirius.


Ron nudges him every time his eyes wonder towards the silver and green house table. Hermione scolds him when he starts to let a scowl take over his usual smile. But he can't help but watch silver eyes flicker up at him, calculating Harry in a way that he hasn't this year at all.

Harry is out of his seat and chasing after Malfoy as soon as he leaves his throne and the Great Hall doors shut behind him.

Draco turns when he hears the doors open and shut after him, smirk slathered all over his tired face. He watches Harry with a surprised and almost accepting look. Harry is at a loss as soon as he sees those hands and he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Malfoy, are you really a snake?"

Harry nearly blushes and curses himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. That wasn't what he was going for at all. It wasn't the question that stood boldly in his mouth, but that question was never going to be asked. No matter how soft Malfoy's lips look. He doesn't even expect a response, and is pleasantly surprised when he gets one.

"Potter, you are asking the wrong question."

Harry feels as if he should know the rest of the puzzle, but he is left alone in the corridor with a swirl of black, silk robes.


Harry knows that he thought he was getting obsessive before, but now that he has heard that voice without any venom he feels as if he needs more of it. It has become the air pumping through his body, and he has no idea how one sentence could change the whole game between them. Harry doesn't even know the rules anymore, but he has always had luck in the past with unknown territory.


Silk fingers stretched out in the most innocent hello he could muster, his fathers words pouring out in such a small voice. Slicked back blonde hair; disciplined and contained. Just like the rest of him. Silver eyes swirling with a need, a need for any kind of contact Harry could give him.

Rejection, denial.

Harry throws up as soon as he awakens from his dream.


"Malfoy, do you ever have any regrets?"

Because I do, because I regret not loving you when I had a chance to, Harry wants to say. But, he doesn't, and he stays silent even though he knows that he should speak up. The silence continues to grow between them, stone walls more appealing than Harry himself.

He almost turns to leave when Draco's small, but steady, voice breaks the stillness.

"That is indeed a better question, Potter. But, Malfoy's don't have regrets."

Harry falls asleep that night thinking of Malfoy's bitter smile and hushed eyes.


Harry loves to fly, loves the feeling of cascading air and euphoria. He memorizes the way the clouds feel and the way the rain tastes. He likes the burning in his eyes, the way they sometimes tear up and wet his flushed cheeks.

This is the only time he can let go of everything that builds within him.

He understands that he might be emotionally crippled and the constant fear of falling doesn't stop once his feet are safely on the muddy ground. The sloshing of organs and the heartache of need follows him all the way to his bed.

He needs a lot of things, but he will start with questions that don't mean much beyond broken lips.


"Do you have any regrets, Draco?"

To say his name felt foreign and was pronounced as if broken glass was scraping his soft pallet. He could see the hurricane swirling in the Dragons storm colored eyes. Harry just wanted him to spill his sloshing organs onto the floor and beg for Draco's heart in return.


Simple, and yet painfully heartbreaking. Harry knew he would never get more than that out of his supposed rival. He knew that the other boy had given so much of himself, by simply uttering that one word. Harry knew, and yet he still craved more and found himself yearning after the backtracking Slytherin.

Harry wanted to yell out that he understood and wished he could swoop in and just take off flying into the midnight sky with him. Perhaps, one day, that starry night will swallow them both whole and they will be able to whisper their darkest secrets.

The moon might murmur, 'I wish you would have taken my hand.'

And maybe the stars would reply with a soft, 'you have it now, and forever.'

~~~~~"They would not listen, they are not listening still."~~~~~

I hope someone out there liked this story. I have not gotten any feedback at all for this. So, I don't know if I will continue to put my Harry Potter stories on here. I guess we will see. But I enjoyed writing this and hope I get reviews.