Chapter Twelve: Choice and Decision

“Harry, I'm sorry for not talking to you.”

“Ron, if you're only apologising because Harry was making friends with Malfoy-”

“He wasn't! ...Were you?”

Harry tried to hide a smile and said, “I don't know, Ron.”

“How could you not know?!” Ron cried, his indignance clear. “You hate Malfoy! You've always hated him!”

Harry could only shrug. “I guess I don't hate him anymore. Look, we're almost at the castle.”

The thestral-drawn coach came to a stop, and Harry opened the door and stepped down almost before the carriage stopped jostling.

Ron tried to appeal to Hermione, who scolded him instead. “Just because Harry is trying to extend an olive branch doesn't mean he's replacing you with Malfoy as his best friend.”

“I know that, but still...!”

Harry kept his eyes forward and tried not to listen to the snatches of conversation around him. Though Ron was the most clearly distraught, other students—the students who had witnessed the rivalry between Harry and Draco over all those years—looked at him curiously and whispered to their friends.

He tried to imagine what they were murmuring. Loyalties were probably coming into question, and most likely his. By the time everyone was ready for bed that night, Harry suspected there would be a rumor about him having joined the Death Eaters and made best friends with Draco over the summer.

Then he remembered the prefect girl that had corrected Ron when he said Draco was a future Death Eater, and suspected she would do something to counter any such rumors.

It alleviated his doubt, hearing someone else say Draco wasn't following his father's footsteps, and he was put at ease to hear it so soon after Draco had accepted his assistance so publicly. He still had reason to be concerned; however the girl might have come into that information, there was still a possibility that it was a lie. Draco still might be playing all the right cards to get close to Harry. For now, though, Harry just wanted to relax and believe Draco was being honest.

When all the new students were sorted and the feast had properly begun, Hermione leaned closer to Harry and asked in a low voice, “So why did you help Draco?”

Harry paused. “It was the right thing to do, I guess.”

“Ron has a point, though,” she pressed. “It's great that you're working on inter-House unity, but with Malfoy? And how'd you know he wouldn't just sneer at you and say something insulting?”

“I didn't,” admitted Harry. “I still don't know if it was even a good idea. I guess we'll find out later, won't we?” He looked over at her. Hermione was watching him in awe and concern.

“Well... be careful, Harry.”

“I will. I promise.” Harry took a few bites of food, then nodded in Ron's position on the other side of Hermione. “D'you think he'll get over it?”

Ron was eating at a very deliberate pace, his brow furrowing to betray his own worry.

“I think he'll need some time to wrap his brain around it,” she said quietly. “I imagine he feels rather betrayed right now.”

Harry felt a stab of guilt, one which magnified and repeated when he realized he'd be going to meet Draco that evening and wouldn't even be able to tell Ron and Hermione about it. “He'll be fine,” was all he said, though it sounded even to him like he was trying to reassure himself more than anything.

They ate in relative silence for several minutes before Dumbledore stood in front the student body to make his beginning-of-the-year speech. The murmurs of conversation quieted to a whisper, then fell to silence as the students waited for Dumbledore to speak.

“New students, welcome to Hogwarts,” he began; “And older students, welcome back. Look around you and see the faces you recognize from years past. In spite of the losses the war has brought, notice who we still have with us. Notice that for all the things that have changed, there is still so much that hasn't been lost. As you recognize those around you, find it in your heart to cherish what you see. These people have been and will be part of your lives, in small and in grand ways. What's been done can never be taken back, but what remains undone can still be changed. There is only opportunity to improve the way things are, and you should take that opportunity with each other in light of the events taking place in our world.

“Now is the time to set aside stigma against the other Houses. Integrate and connect as a student body. Do something to make your school years a time you're proud to look back on, with no regrets and no reason to wish to turn back.”

The wizened professor fell silent, surveying the room and the young people that looked back in rapt attention. He smiled reflectively, then continued, “As for the mundane matters of education, Argus Filch has required that an updated list of contraband items be posted in the common rooms and memorized by the students...”

Harry, remembering from years past what the usual mundane school matters were, tuned out Dumbledore's voice to consider the elderly man's speech.

With no regrets, huh? He thought. Will I regret it if I meet Draco tonight? Or will I regret it more if I don't?

For the first time that evening, Harry dared to glance up at the Slytherin table. Draco looked to be considering Dumbledore's words as well, his expression difficult to read but tellingly contemplative. When Draco shifted, Harry looked away before he had a chance to make accidental eye contact.

He was nervous. He couldn't deny that; Harry was afraid of what might happen that night. If he met Draco, he was inviting his world to change completely and in an unpredictable way—situations good and bad rolled about in his head, making him suspicious of Draco's intentions. The more time passed, the more ideas of what could go wrong crossed Harry's mind.

No regrets, he thought again.

Resolve sank in as it occurred to him that he couldn't back down. Whatever could happen that night would be life-changing; not going might have been safer, but it would also mean years of wondering what would have happened if he had.

There were very few instances in Harry's life anymore where he sincerely felt he had a choice, and this was decidedly one of them. As Dumbledore finished his speech and the students were dismissed to their common rooms, Harry chose.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

*

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle hadn't missed seeing the moment between Draco and Harry, but to their credit, they asked Draco about it first before talking to anyone else. The last thing Draco wanted was for rumors to be perpetuated by people he still considered friends. He even felt badly for ignoring them over the summer; they might not be very bright, but they were very loyal to him.

“He might not be that bad of a fellow,” Draco said to them. “He's still a Half-blood, and has questionable taste in friends, but he's showing signs of improvement.”

Draco listened with unusual attention to the speech Dumbledore gave that evening, taking in what the old man was saying with less cynicism than usual. As Dumbledore said to look around at what hadn't been lost, Draco shot a quick glance at Harry.

Two years ago, he wouldn't have felt gratitude at seeing him.

People change, I guess, he thought.

At the end of Dumbledore's speech, Draco sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes.

He tells us not to do anything we'll regret, but how do we know if we'll regret it before we do it? With that in mind, Draco considered his order—it wasn't a suggestion—to Harry earlier that evening. What if I say something wrong? What am I even going to say?

He realized, with no little anxiety, that he hadn't exactly thought that part through. Actually, he hadn't really thought about it at all.

It's his turn to talk, Draco decided, trying to feel strong in that opinion. I've done enough exposing of my thoughts.

When dinner ended, Draco led the way down to the Slytherin dormitories, the first years following him nervously. For a moment he was tempted to whirl around on them and shout “BOO!”, just to see if any of them might jump.

“You've been quiet,” said a soft voice next to him, and he looked to see Pansy eyeing him curiously. “You've changed a lot. You're quieter. You didn't say much at the supper your mum hosted, either.”

“Is that bad?” he asked, trying to sound conversational.

Pansy shook her head. “It makes you seem kind of stoic. The first years are terrified of you.”

Draco smirked. “They're terrified of everything right now.”

She giggled. “Yeah, but when they're being led towards dungeons by someone who refuses to even look at them, muchless give them some sign of encouragement, are you at all surprised you scare the hell out of them?”

“I have nothing to say to them,” he stated. “They're all probably just a bunch of little brats anyway. D'you suppose any of them have been away from their family overnight before this?”

Pansy smiled, but quirked an eyebrow questioningly at him. “Before your first year, were you?”

“That's not the point.”

“Of course not.”

They continued onward in silence, but a few meters in front of the entrance to the common room Pansy murmured, “The 'stoic' look suits you.”

Draco didn't want to look and see if she was blushing. He said nothing in response, not knowing what to say; this was, he was aware, probably Pansy's way of hinting that she liked him. It was cruel, but he decided that he wouldn't let her down until he absolutely had to.

Telling a friend that she had to stay a friend was never easy.

*

They arrived and settled into the Slytherin common room and dormitories around nine that evening, thus leaving Draco with the better part of three hours to sit and think about what he was going to do when he met Harry later.

One of the thoughts that irritated him persistently was the question of what to wear.

Of all the things to be worrying about right now, he thought, Why is clothing one of them?!

It wasn't exactly an irrational concern. Last year, he had gone to meet Harry in his pyjamas often enough. He wasn't sure, though, what to expect from this evening. As a panic response to that insecurity, he kept thinking of the most mundane questions.

Is it too presumptuous to show up in pyjamas? Draco wondered, or should I just go in my school robes? Should I try to make myself look nice?

Then he thought, This is ridiculous. I shouldn't be thinking about the clothes, I should be trying to figure out what needs to be said. But that depends on what he says... What do I expect him to say?

That was a question that made him even more nervous than before, and Draco became very aware of how high his expectations weren't.

Draco sat on his bed, curtains drawn around him, and forced his mind to stop overworking itself. Calmly, he asked, What do I want to say to him?

He thought of his personal revelations—not lying to himself; realizing he was in love with Harry; deciding it was better to say something than sit in silent misery—and decided that, if things went well, he would tell Harry about them. If things didn't go well...

In an effort to stay hopeful, Draco decided not to entertain that thought for very long. Either we'll decide to never speak of any of this again, or— Draco stopped. What DO I want of this, anyway? Do I want to date him properly, or go back to the way things were last year?

He sighed, and stopped himself from thinking about it before he could even start. We'll figure it out, he thought. We'll think of something.

*

Harry sat on his bed, curtains drawn, fingering the edge of his invisibility cloak. He should be leaving, he knew, but Ron hadn't come upstairs to bed. This was probably just an excuse not to leave, telling himself that if Ron was up then he'd see Harry leaving, but part of him was genuinely concerned that Ron would be upset.

Their friendship wasn't exactly in a happy place at the moment.

After debating a few minutes longer, Harry pushed himself off the bed, wrapped the cloak around him, and prayed he wouldn't be noticed.

When he got down to the common room, he understood what had been taking Ron so long in getting to bed.

“Yes, Ron, I'm still upset about what happened on the train,” Hermione was saying. Harry stepped aside to let a rather unsettled looking fourth year pass him on the stairs, apparently the last student beside his quarrelling friends to make their way to bed.

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? 'Let's get married as soon as we graduate'?!”

“Yes—No... Something that makes it sound like a possibility at least, instead of sounding so unlikely!”

Harry tip-toed closer to the portrait hole, wondering if he'd even have an opportunity to sneak out without either of them noticing. He was feeling uncomfortable enough, witnessing this fight without them knowing.

“It's not unlikely,” Ron said nervously. “It's just... We're still young, you know? We've got time to think about this...”

Hermione's voice wavered dangerously. “What if we don't, Ron?”

“Hermione, what are you on about?”

Harry was torn between trying to find an opportunity to leave and staying to witness what was happening between his friends. Hermione sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs, struggling and failing to not cry.

“Aren't you worried about the war at all?” she asked him. “Nothing's happened for almost a year; don't you think that means something horrible is about to happen? Aren't you scared about what could happen?”

“Hermione, what's this got to do with us?”

“Everything! What if something happens to one of us? What'll I do if something happens to you?”

Ah, thought Harry, getting more caught up in their drama than he'd intended. That's the real issue here.

Ron got up from the armchair he'd been sitting in, crossed over to where Hermione sat watching him with her eyes full of tears, and knelt down in front of her. With a gentleness that surprised Harry, Ron touched Hermione's cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

“Hey.” It was such a short word, but it caught Hermione's attention, and she looked into Ron's eyes with a sort of hopelessness that Harry had never associated with her. “Whatever happens, I won't leave you alone. Ever.”

With that, Ron leaned forward and kissed her, then wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. Hermione began to cry properly then, and Harry took the opportunity to slip out as quietly as he could.

There were some things, he realized, that he had to go through seperately from his friends – and vice versa.

Harry whispered a lumos spell and opened the Marauder's Map, glanced over it, then put the light out. There would be nothing interrupting his path to the astronomy tower, which was just as well; he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say to Draco when he got there, and needed the time to think. There was too much that needed to be said, and he had no idea where to start.

But when he got to the door, he still didn't feel any closer to a starting point, and he hesitated outside for a moment as if that might enlighten him. When nothing came, he removed the cloak, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Draco looked up from where he was leaning against the wall, eyes startled and momentarily fearful, then saw who it was and relaxed in a way that was so familiar Harry almost felt like nothing had changed between them. He knew those motions so well, had spent months unintentionally learning them, and tonight there was an added relief in Draco's demeanor that made his heart swell. Something about those movements told him how honest Draco had been, and his doubts dissipated.

Harry suddenly found he knew what to say.

“I missed you.”

He meant it.

*

Draco heard the words that came from Harry's mouth, and for a moment he wondered if he was only imagining that was what he'd said. He'd been expecting a few more questions, maybe an affirmation that what was missing was definitely emotion.

Then again, he thought, wasn't that just affirmation enough?

“You should've said something sooner,” Draco told him, but his tone wasn't as chastising as the words suggested. Harry stepped into the room properly and closed the door, leaning back against it.

“I didn't know that would've been okay.”

Draco tried to keep himself from fidgeting in his nervousness. “At the time, I guess it wasn't. It wasn't until sometime in July that I realized I like your company and not as just, you know, a toy or something. Then I thought you'd ended it because you'd figured out I was liking you as more than just someone to fool around with.”

Harry shook his head. “It was because I'd started liking you as a person.”

“Liking someone as a person is reason to stop being around them, now?” Draco cried, jokingly indignant. “Honestly, Potter, how ridiculous.”

Harry grinned lopsidedly and chuckled, walking the few paces across the room and leaning against the wall next to Draco. Draco kept his eyes facing forward, and heard rather than saw Harry slide down the wall to sit on the floor next to him. Draco sat down with more casual grace.

“What happens now?” he asked Harry. “Do we go back to the way things were last year?”

In Draco's peripheral vision, he saw Harry shake his head. “We couldn't. After everything that's happened, there's no way we could go back to that.”

He was right. Draco knew it before Harry said it: now that it was very clear how much was involved, it would never be 'just sex' again.

“Then what do we do?”

Neither of them said anything for several minutes, but both were internally debating the same thing. Dating in general was a tricky business, moreso when the coupling was a gay one. 'Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter' – one unit, 'Harry-Draco', the way couples always became – was so outlandish a suggestion that, Draco had to admit, it was a temptation just to see the looks on everyone's faces.

Harry spoke first. “People would probably be upset if we were publicly...” He hesititated, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, saving him the trouble. “They're so used to seeing us fighting that they'd probably be suspicious.”

“The rumors would be incredible, though.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. They'd be suggesting I cast some spell on you to make you my love slave.”

“Or that I'd switched sides and was now working for Voldemort.”

“Why not me switching to Dumbledore's side?”

“Not nearly as interesting. What side are you on, anyway?” Harry cut in, glad for his own bluntness.

Draco shrugged. “I'm abstaining from picking sides. If I pick Voldemort, Mum will kill me. If I pick Dumbledore, my father will kill me.”

“Your mum's against Voldemort?”

“No, she's just against getting killed.”

“Fair enough.”

There was silence again. Draco closed his eyes, sighed and rested his head back against the wall.

When Harry kissed him a moment later, he wasn't sure if he should've been surprised. Any surprise he might've felt was overrun by the accompanying sensation of happiness.