In Your Mind's Eye.

Chapter Eighteen.

(Disclaimer: this story and its characters belong to J.K.Rowling.)

Song: Heart To Heart by James Blunt.

Ew, last chapter felt a bit clumsy.

Will be better.

This chapter is all sunshine and fluff and quite long, but jUst yOu WAIT thedarknessiscoming.

- R xxx.

This was the end.

Draco knew he had officially lost it.

It was all Potter's fault.

Because at the duel... At that duel, everything had seemed so very different. They had been talking normally, acting normally, as if they never regularly fought, and it was nice. And Harry had been lying there, looking so- well, so pale and miserable and thin- and it made Draco just want to...

But no! These thoughts were exactly the kind he had been steering himself away from for years. And Harry wasn't helping, with his stupid fucking green eyes and his stupid fucking face.

He just wasn't helping in general.

After long, long hours of pacing, and sitting and thinking, and worrying, a thought that he had been pushing down for nearly eight years resurfaced.

What if he liked Harry Potter?

And no, not in a friendly way.

What if he liked him?

And if he did, how the hell would he deal with that?

Not that it mattered, in any case. It was probably just a small thing, a...phase...that he would get over. Potter, obviously, still disliked him. That was clear to see whenever the boy looked at him. As long as Draco shut up about it, he knew it would go away.

He was acting, almost forcibly calm. He felt as if, even though no one would suddenly suspect him of harbouring minor affections for Potter, he had to do everything elaborately, he had to wear a mask. It was, of course, irrational, but...

But, inside, there was a growing feeling of intense and utter panic. How was he even supposed to look at Harry now? Did he say something?  What if Draco threw up on his shoes, or something stupid like that? Was it obvious that Draco liked Harry? If so, how could he hide it?

In the end, Draco wound up in the early hours of the morning, sitting crosslegged on his bed in his dorms, staring down at the piece of paper in front of him. He was almost glad that everyone who had once shared the room with him were either avoiding him or dead, because other wise, he would have way too many questions.

Despite how foolish it seemed, he had scribbled down a list of reasons why he shouldn't like Potter, and then, grudgingly, reasons why he should.

He planned, naturally, to burn it all immediately afterwards.

Con-Potter:
- he obviously hates me.

- he's slightly pathetic.

- he never brushes his hair.

- he's the reason that my family fell apart.

- his eyes are too green.

- none of his friends like me.

- probably definitely 100% doesn't swing that way.

- family honour.