The first time Harry saw Draco- the real Draco, and not the trained copy of Lucius Malfoy-, the Slytherin was crying.

Harry had been unable to sleep, and, as he often did, thoroughly looked over the Marauders map by wand-light, checking to see if anyone else in the castle was stuck with the same ailment as himself.

It was almost three in the morning, and as the map was almost motionless, he had caught sight of the blonde's location incredibly quickly.

And, as always happened with matters concerning the Slytherin, Harry was curious. He wanted to know what the other boy was up to, up on the Astronomy tower at such an absurd time, and he gave into the urge to follow him.

Expertly, Harry shuffled out of bed, without disrupting the mostly drawn curtains, quietly slipped the cloak out of his trunk, and donned it.

He then crept out of the room, using his wand to noiselessly shut the door behind him.

From there, he moved quickly, taking shortcuts, knowing that even if he woke anyone, they wouldn't know that he was wandering, and would therefore assume one of the ghosts was playing up, or find some other way to dismiss any noises.

Once he actually got up to the stairs leading to the tower, he did slow down, so that he could see what Draco was doing. The other boy was paranoid, Harry knew, and would not hesitate to change his actions if he even had a slight suspicion that someone was there.

He crept up, but when he reached the top of the stairs, he could not see Draco.

He could not see anyone, but muffled sobs echoed through the stone walls, telling Harry that someone was there.

When he had left, Draco had been the only person awake.

Baffled, but know concerned against his better judgement, Harry turned towards the origin of the noise, the back left corner of the room, situated behind the stairs.

Walking slightly to his left, Harry saw what appeared to be a blonde mop atop of a ball of black, the form shaking heavily, miserable sobs escaping in between gulps of air.

Harry slid off his cloak, tucking it into his pocket before walking closer. Carefully, he crouched down beside the Slytherin, who still did not notice he was there.

Harry did not know what to do. He was unused to comforting people, especially people that appeared to hate him.

That thought hurt. A lot. He didn't like the idea of being hated any more than he liked appearing in the daily prophet at least twice a month. He wanted a healthy balance, the way most people had neither extreme.

And he himself thought that the Slytherin was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.

Draco lifted a hand, and tugged his own blonde locks harshly, distressed, but still he did not acknowledge Harry's presence.

The raven-haired Gryffindor acted on instinct, tugging the hand away from his hair, the lovely colour that looked almost like honey in the eerie light of the tower, and wrapped his other around the boy, pulling him towards him.

Draco was distracted, and let himself be tugged against Harry, startling second after he hit the Gryffindor's chest.

He felt warm, and protected, and held. That wasn't right. Not one single Slytherin would have cared enough to follow him, they all worked on mutual gain, which only worked if they were both depressed, and could inflict their problems on the other.

He needed to pull away, needed to hide his weakness, but found that he could not. He'd never been comforted by anyone except his mother, and even she would not if his father was anywhere around.

They were not bad parents, but they had raised him to hide weakness, and they thought that was protecting him. With the Dark-Lord constantly around, he thought that in some ways, they were right.

But there were times where he wanted to be held, just to believe that proper live and care existed.

This person was holding him like he mattered, like they simply wanted him to stop crying, to feel happier.

He wanted to know who it was, even if it did spoil the magic of it slightly.

He lifted his head from the person's shoulder, shifting slightly to look at them.

And his eyes met a vibrant green that only belonged to one person that he knew.

"P-Potter." He mumbled, unable to conjure up his usual hostile, proud demeanour, not when it seemed to have been thrown off of the tower.

"Shhh." The other boy actual looked concerned, serious, but his eyes, they were filled with warmth.

Harry moved one hand to stroke Draco's hair, revelling in the softness, before he moved it down to wipe the tears away from the blonde's pale skin.

Draco looked at him questioningly, asking why he was helping, why he cared.

"It's okay." Harry said quietly, and Draco believed him.

Draco smiled slightly, shakily, and reached up a hand to touch Harry's cheek. It was soft, and Draco felt more tears well up in the eyes as Harry leaned into his touch, completely trusting.

Draco tilted his head up, asking silently. Harry nodded, and leaned down, pressing his lips gently against Draco's.

It was short, but when Harry pulled back, both boys were blushing, and Draco quickly ducked his head to rest on Harry's shoulder once more.

Harry leaned against the wall, shuffling them around, and pulled Draco until the blond was using him as a pillow.

They work up late the next day, with sore necks and Harry an aching back. But it was worth it, because it was Draco that looked up at him unsurely in the morning, and it was Draco that Harry kissed again, gently, with care.

And Draco started crying again, but smiling this time, laughing even. And Harry cried too, and felt warmed by the blonde's relieved, careless laughter.

It was better than okay.