Hello hello lovelies! Thank you for kind reactions and support for my update! I was shocked by the return of readers and newcomers! Heads up, if things get a wee be smexy, is probably going to block the content so head on over to .com and find the UNFILTERED version. As always I love your feedback and opinions so keep 'em coming! Now back to the boys….

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"Hey, Harry," a voice called through the crowd as he fought his way towards the Great Hall in hopes of snagging some treacle tart. Harry turned around and saw Blaise working his way towards him; quite a feat considering the gaggle of first year Ravenclaws blocking his path. "Will you move?! There is one of me and five of you and I can assure you that my arse is smaller than yours missy!" Blaise snapped as a short girl with obviously-dyed blonde hair rolled her eyes. "I've been spending way too much time with Draco," Blaise whispered conspiratorially as he finally reached Harry. "I could have absolutely ripped her hair job to shreds."

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing, wondering what Blaise needed to talk to him about and why it couldn't wait until after he had eaten. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment until Harry finally decided that if he didn't' say something soon, his stomach was sure to start digesting itself."So," he ventured, "is there something I can help you with?"

"Besides getting into your ex-girlfriend's pants?" Blaise asked innocently as Harry choked on his own saliva. "Kidding! Kidding!" he reassured the raven-haired boy before he got the wrong idea of this conversation. "She is very attractive and intelligent and appears to smell of strawberries," Harry looked on the verge of puking. "But that is not what I wanted to ask you. I wanted to ask," he paused for a moment, "if you've received any mail lately."

"Mail?" Harry replied, trying to look innocent. Could Blaise be the anonymous letter writer? He was probably the last person Harry would have guessed to be sending him mysterious notes apart from Uncle Vernon and Draco Malfoy. Was Blaise even gay? If he was gay, would he, Harry, be interested in dating him? Harry considered. While he had never looked at Blaise before, there was something to be said about his sharp jaw and smooth skin. It was the kind of color that made Harry desperately want a caramel mocha coffee….Harry stomach growled and he jumped, flushing as he did so.

"Yes. Mail, Potter," Blaise said, an amused gleam in his eye. "You know, like handwritten notes or letters usually carried by owls or birds of some sort or, so I've heard, by men in funny blue hats?"

"You mean mailmen?"

"Is that what they're called? Huh. And here I thought Muggles never made any sense. But enough stalling, answer my question please," Blaise smiled, his face telling Harry that the request was not optional.

"I may have gotten some letter," Harry stalled, "but everyone gets mail don't they? There's nothing funny about me getting mail.

"It is when you don't know who the letters are from and the anonymous person in question wants to meet you before revealing their identity," Blaise said offhandedly his eyes scrutinizing Harry's reaction carefully.

"Baise, what do you want to know? Have you been sending me those notes, are you trying to ask me out or…?"

Of all the reactions Harry could have expected to receive from that question, the idea of Blaise doubling over with laughter did not come to mind.

"You—think that I'm—asking you out?!" he choked. Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he decided to remain silent. "While I am flattered that you find me attractive enough and see that my fashion sense is worthy of meeting your standards Potter, but no. I did not write those letters, nor am I asking you out. Although," Blaise said, pausing as he studied Harry's very unfashionable grey t-shirt and navy jeans, "I if was to be interested in men and arses, I would be honored to suck you off. But I didn't come here to tell you that. I just wanted to ask you to be careful. People might mean well but some of them have commitment or trust issues and, frankly, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who has trouble popping the "l" word."

"Lesbian?"

"Love."

"Oh." Now Harry was nothing short of dumbstruck. Trying to process this new information, while attempting to keep his burning face under control. After coming out, he'd messed around with some guys behind closed doors but nothing ever went very far. He just wasn't meant for a 'friends with benefits' situation; he liked commitment in his relationships. Still, the idea of Blaise's mouth around his cock…Harry snapped out of his thoughts before he ran the risk of making his pants uncomfortably tight. This was certainly not the place to fix that problem and he didn't want to give Blaise the satisfaction.

"He cares," Blaise said quietly, no longer looking at Harry. "He just isn't used to showing and receiving love. I think every time he opens up, the person he trusted abandons him. If you hurt him like that, I will hex you into oblivion, drag you back, and do it again before feeding you to a blast-ended skrewt. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, Blaise turned on his heel made his way towards the Great Hall, not giving Harry another glace.

Rooted to the spot, Harry stood in the hall trying to make sense of everything that he had just heard. He didn't know much about Blaise or his circle of friends, but the only person he could be talking about was Malfoy. Harry's gaydar might not always point north, but he'd know that his nemesis was anything but straight from the day they met. It would also make sense that having a queer heir in the Malfoy family would be out of the question. Luscious probably done whatever he could to remedy that situation. Harry shuddered as thoughts of "pray the gay away" camps and "treatment centers" came to mind. Even if Draco had escaped from that torture, there was no way he'd still be in line to receive the Malfoy fortune when he came of age. Coming out had been no picnic for him, but at least the family he cared about—the Weaslys, Hermione, Serius, Lupin, and the remainder of the Order—had embraced Harry's sexual preference without a second thought. Being labeled both gay and the Chosen One wasn't fun, but being gay, estranged from your family, and all alone sounded a bit worse to Harry.

Suddenly, the idea of treacle tart sounded rather nauseating. Harry decided to meander the library shelves since flying was still out of the question. At least if he looked busy, he might have a shot at being left alone. As he perused the empty shelves of the library, Harry thought about Draco Malfoy. It was no secret that their history has been rather rocky. It had, after all, been Harry who had gotten Lucius arrested and placed in Azkaban last school year and even before that, he and Draco had been at odds over just about everything. Did Draco even care that his father was in prison? Harry was sure that even if his own father happened to be a homophobic pureblood, he would still regret having him in wizard's prison.

His and Draco's differences aside, wait...Draco?! When did he start referring to Malfoy as Draco? Maybe it had been when he started seeing him a person with feelings and a life rather than just a mindless zombie who was willing to tear down anyone who got in his way. Harry honestly had come to think that all of Draco's animosity came from the fear of letting his overbearing father down. But what did Draco want from him? To beat him up for locking up his father? To just be…friends? More than friends? There was no way for him to know without speaking to Draco first. Should he wait to meet up with him next weekend or should he try to make an impression beforehand? Draco may have "trust issues" but he wasn't about to give him an open invitation to waltz into his life and potentially put his heart through a shredder. Harry knew that he wouldn't find the answers he was looking for standing stupidly in the entrance hall so deciding that an empty stomach never helped anyone think, he made his way towards dinner hoping to find the solution to his predicament written in his mashed potatoes.

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Draco sat in the back corner of the library, staring down the small folded piece of paper that lay in front of him. It really wasn't all that intimidating. Anyone should be able to open it up and start reading, right? Draco reached for the note, started to fumble with the folds, and stopped. What was he so afraid of? If Potter rejected him, it was clearly his loss. He was the one that would be missing out on spending time with a very fashionable homosexual hunk, not Draco. Realizing that anyone walking by would probably think he was suffering some kind of compulsive hex, Draco roughly unfolded the small piece of paper and read the words written on the page.

Very well. I accept your accepted challenge. I shall see you at 12:55. Try not to be late.

Draco wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be offended at Potter's snarky response. Clearly it was meant as a joke, but Draco was not used to having his own sassy nature turned back on him.

"What's wrong with your face?"

As Blaise slid into the seat opposite him Draco nearly fell off his chair.

"What happened to a simple 'hello, sorry for interrupting?'" Draco spluttered, trying to right himself with as much dignity as possible.

"You didn't look that busy," Blaise said, shrugging. "Just like your face was about to completely turn a very nice shade of pastel pink."

"My face. Does NOT. Turn. ANY shade of pastel." Draco ground out glaring daggers at his best friend.

"Oh, so it's Potter that has you turning inside out and upside down?' Blaise retorted.

"THIS HAS NOTNING TO DO WITH POTTER!" Draco yelled.

After a sever lecture from Madam Pince and a temporary ban from the library, Draco and Blaise were sent packing and were forced to find somewhere else to continue their conversation.

"Nothing to do with Potter?" Blaise mused. "So you don't care about him at all?"

"I didn't say that either!" Draco said exasperatedly. "Really Blaise, other than giving me a headache what do you want?"

"Oh nothing. Just wanted you to know I ran into Harry today. We talked about you a bit, but that's all."

"You. And Harry. Talked about…me?!"

"And just when I thought your face couldn't' get any whiter," Blaise mused. "I really should test this theory more often…" But he was speaking to an empty corridor as a petite figure sprinted flat-out up the stairs and in the general direction of the Gryffindor common room.

"I knew I should have gone into therapy," Blaise muttered, smiling to himself as he turned and went to look for someone else in need of his relationship expertise.

As Draco ran for the portrait of the fat lady, he continually kept thinking of what Blaise could have told Harry. No not Harry. Potter, dammit, Potter! Would Blaise tell him that Draco was the one who had been sending him notes? Did Potter already know? If Potter knew would he still be interested in meeting with him? What if Blaise told Potter that Draco found his horrible fashion sense slightly endearing? He didn't' think he could bear that—it would be too much. Barely leaving time to breathe between words, the Slytherin shouted out the password and hurdled the through the portrait, racing up the stairs to the boys common room. Just as he rounded the corner Draco ran headfirst into someone coming out of the showers. A certain someone with messy black hair, emerald eyes, and a very toned body that was only covered up by a damp towel slung around his waist.

As Harry felt blindly around for his fallen glasses, Draco was able to tear his eyes away from Harry's body and look anywhere but below the Golden Boy's hips.

"Dra-Malfoy?" Harry asked in shock looking at the blonde sprawled on the floor with him. "Can I help you?"

Draco had nothing to say. No idea how to respond. How could this happen?! He was never short of words, never! Frankly, he was frequently accused of having far too many!

"Malfoy…? Are you okay?" Harry asked, officially looking concerned as Draco's mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish thrown out of water.

"Uh…I..uh…" Draco was frozen. Under the concerned gaze of Harry's emerald eyes, all logical and ordinary forms of speech fled his mind. Looking wildly around Draco managed to choke out the only sentence that could come to his head. "You really ought to watch where you're going Potter! Honestly, barreling around the dorm like that, someone could get hurt!"

Quickly trying to regain his composure, Draco stalked off towards the showers, made it halfway there, realized he didn't' have a towel, turned around and hurriedly grabbed his shower supplies, and marched back towards the bathroom. Harry watched in astonishment, calling out at the last second, "There might not be much hot water!"

The answering slur of profanity told him that Draco was very well aware of the water temperature. Biting his lip to keep from smiling too much, Harry saw a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor during his and Draco's collision. Curiously, he picked it up and unfolded it. As he began scanning the untidy scrawl, his eyes widened. This was his last response to the unknown correspondent! What was Draco doing with it? Unless… Draco was his anonymous letter writer? Unsure of what to do, Harry quickly refolded the note, laid it on Draco's pillow, dressed, and left to go find Hermione and Ron.

When Draco finally finished his repertoire of showering, grooming, and other lengthy beauty habits, he made his way back to his four poster. Luckily Potter had left the room, but that did nothing to stop Draco from blushing at the thought of their encounter. Harry probably thought he was brain damaged or was part troll. How was he supposed to meet in next weekend if he couldn't even talk to him in the dormitory? As Draco began placing his soaps and salts back in his trunk, he noticed something on his lying on his pillow. It was a scarlet umbrella with a note attached to it. Draco grabbed for the paper and found his last letter from Potter tucked in the depths of his new note. The latest letter read:

Found this on the floor, must have been in your pocket but I wouldn't want you to lose it. This is for next weekend. I won't be late but even if I'm early, we wouldn't want to risk you getting sick. Harry