“Your lack of etiquette charms me”

Harry does not sleep that night. Instead, he plans until his eyes are sore from lack of rest. This isn’t the first time Harry has fancied someone. This isn’t even the first time he’s fancied another bloke. But Draco is different. Harry prays he’s different enough for him to pull this off.

He lets the forbidden images run though his mind. Draco’s words echo in his ears. He tries to recall every thing he knows about Draco, everything he’s learned about him this year. Where he had previously tried to quash his growing feelings, he now allows himself to fall freely into them.

Harry’s the ‘the strongest and bravest wizard Draco has ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with’ and Draco’s ‘happy to entertain Harry.’

Draco, ever the private person, let Harry spy on him at his weakest moments and then offered up more secrets just to keep Harry there for a little while longer. He told Harry that he felt different with him around. He told him he wasn’t up to fighting with him. He didn’t blame Harry for getting the whole school to call him names.

Harry conjures the image of Draco’s nervous greeting when Harry had sat across him for the first time. The way Draco fiddled with his clothes, afraid to scare him away. The way he blushed and stumbled on his words. The panicked look in his eye when Harry casually mentioned how his aunt and uncle had treated him. The look of complete despair when Harry emerged from the lake after six days.

He dwells on the fact that Draco was still there after six days. Harry wonders how often Draco went inside to eat and sleep versus how much time he must has spent in the cold November air, coughing up roses and blood as he watched and waited to see if Harry would make it. He dwells on the thought and curses himself for not asking when he had the chance.

Harry had spent so much of this time hating how Draco’s face shifted when he started talking wistfully about his beloved, even though he wasn’t supposed to talk about him at all. How utterly broken he sounded as his eyes seemed to look past Harry. How he seemed to speak to a boy who could never love him back when there was no one else there.

Draco doesn’t want Harry to blame his beloved for anything that happens to him. Because Draco wants his beloved to be happy. Because Draco thinks his beloved is a ‘wonderful person’ who could do so much better than him that he’s ‘happy to die’ so it could happen. Because when Harry threatened Draco’s beloved, he was threatening himself.

Draco had offered him one of his bloody roses. 'Not a confession.' 'Just a joke.' How stupid could Harry get?

Draco talked to and about Harry the way Harry wanted to talk to and about Draco. Exactly the same way, in fact. Now that he sits with all the pieces laid out, it’s so obvious it hurts. He’d give anything to be able to run to the dungeons right this second. But he can’t.

He has to do this right. Harry falls asleep in the Room of Requirement as the sun rises.

The remaining students spend the entire day preparing for the ball. Harry wakes up in the afternoon, painfully aware of the fact that he has nothing to wear that evening. It’s such a silly worry but the Room of Requirement provides nonetheless.

Harry practices his words until they’re completely memorized. And then washes up at the bathroom the room has provided and he puts on the handsome muggle suit.

When he looks at his reflection in the mirror, he realizes that he no longer looks like a child. He doesn’t quite look like an adult but he’s grown up without noticing. They all have, really.

Before he knows it, it is 6 o’clock and Harry is standing in front of the Great Hall with Ron. Everyone else is inside.

“Harry,” Ron greets.

“Hi Ron,” he says, his throat dry.

“Are you ready?”

“Does it matter?”

Ron sighs. He closes his eyes takes in a deep breath. When he opens them, Harry is met with Ron’s familiar face of determination.

“Listen, Harry, I am going to tell you something that you absolutely can tell everybody about as soon as we go into that room,” he starts. The words sound vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place them. He continues.

“Harry … Malfoy likes you too. You know that, right?”

It takes Harry a moment but when he realizes that Ron is imitating him, he can’t help but let out a sad laugh.

“But what if I don’t love him enough? What if I’m not enough…”

“You do. I know you do. You are enough, Harry. Honestly, sometimes you’re too much. You never do anything halfway. Even your aura is loud, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I thought only Draco could feel my magic,” Harry says sounding a little disappointed.

Ron smiles at this and continues, “I’m surprised it took this long for me to figure it out. Only the two of you could be this dramatic about anything. I’m including the war we fought last year in that.”

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?” Harry says with a smirk.

Ron shakes his head. “No, this is supposed to be encouraging.” Ron pulls Harry into his arms and hugs him with such force that Harry can’t fully inhale. When he releases him, he gives him a weird smile.

“I would have never thought that I’d be saying what I am saying. But if you love Malfoy, then Malfoy must have become a decent bloke when I wasn’t watching. We’ll welcome him, you know, into our friend group. Into our family. Besides, if he wants you this badly then he’s the kind of bloke I want to be friends with. He clearly has excellent taste.

“So, and again, I cannot believe that I am about to say this, but I need you to take three deep breaths, gather up all of your courage, march into that ballroom and woo the hell out of Draco Malfoy. Got it?”

“Got it.”

And with that Ron walks into the Great Hall.

Harry tries to take Ron’s advice. He takes three deep breaths, opens the door and walks in confidently.

Instantly, all eyes are on him. Then, all those eyes look just a bit past him as the door behind him vanishes. That’s promising, Harry thinks.

The Great Hall does not look the like Great Hall. This isn’t really surprising. Nothing has looked quite like itself in a long time. In the back of Harry’s mind, he notes the decorations look rather morose. In fact, it looks a bit like a funeral.

A voice in his head tells him that’s because it is.

So much for all that confidence. Harry decides he’s wasted enough time and scans the room for Draco. He finds him, standing by himself away from everybody else. Harry decides Draco’s spent enough time alone.

“Hi Draco,” Harry says. Draco turns to face him. His normally pale skin is now so white a soft glow emits from it and his white blond hair looks almost dark in comparison. He’s swaying slightly, the effort of supporting his body making him unsteady.

“Can we talk?” Harry asks, wincing as the words come out. He should have thought of a more elegant opening but it took him all day to come up with the rest, even though it’s not much.

Draco doesn’t say anything at first. He wobbles from side to side, his breathing uneven and his eyes bright and wild. His eyes slam shut and then open and he opens his mouth like he might speak but nothing comes out. Instead, he sucks in a deep breath that his lungs seem to reject.

Harry starts to move toward him but stops himself. All he wants is to gather the boy up in his arms and drag him to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey will fix everything. Except she’s not here and there is no cure for this affliction, not if he gets this wrong.

“Forgive my hesitation,” Draco chokes out in a hoarse whisper, his hand rising to calm his erratically beating heart. He gathers himself for a moment before breathing out, “you overwhelm me.”

Harry squares his shoulders and with a with a slow, steady breath he inhales. And exhales. And inhales. And … He tries to look comforting.

“There is nothing to forgive you for. Your hesitation charms me,” Harry says. Draco’s chapped lips curl into a small smile and he waits for Harry to continue.

Every eye in the room is on the pair as they stare at each other.

From across the hall, Justin whispers, “what are they doing?”

“Flirting,” Luna says, tilting her head slightly. Harry glances in their direction briefly. He will never get used to the way the sound carries, regardless of whether he is confessing or witnessing.

Never mind that; it’s now or never.

Step 1. Express that he has carefully considered what he’s going to say:

“I’ve been thinking of you lately. So much so, it consumes my every thought.”

Step 2. Explain why it took him so long to realize he was the beloved:

“Not too long ago, I was sure that we were ill-suited to one another in anything but friendship or enmity. Was I mistaken?”

Step 3. The besotted confirms or denies:

“Never have I met a man as mistaken as you,” Draco says. He seems more present than he was moments ago, his voice sounding more confident.

Harry knew what the answer would be but it throws him off nonetheless. It’s a far stronger phrasing than he was expecting.

Step 4. Demand Draco’s confession first:

“Then enlighten me.”

Draco’s hand constricts over his chest and he falters. He goes to inhale but no air makes its way in. Then, suddenly the fit starts. It’s a familiar sight at first until the coughing and choking and gasping don’t stop when they are supposed to.

It stretches out over several agonizingly slow minutes as everyone watches helplessly. It’s loud and messy and violent. So violent. It takes every ounce of Harry’s self control to keep his feet firmly planted on the floor and his eyes on the blond.

Draco’s entire body lurches, tripping over his own feet as he stumbles forward. His thin frame curls in on itself but he’s just getting started. He writhes in pain as his feet fail him. He pants and wheezes. He cries. Then, he yells. He screams and yells and screams and nobody moves.

With one unsteady hand propping him up, the other pulls on the stem between his teeth. Tiny erratic puffs of breath escape. His entire body tenses as he pulls and pulls. Finally, he rolls on to his side so that he can pull with both hands. Slowly, he begins to extract it.

Draco is nearly flat on the floor by the time the fit stops. Now that he’s silent, it’s clear that hardly anyone else in the room is. Their whispers are faint and indistinguishable but Harry knows they are there. He tries not to focus on them because when he does, he finds the whispers barely sound human anymore.

Draco rolls up to his knees and sits on his feet. In his hands is a single flower but it’s complete – stem, roots, thorns and all. The petals are a deep red and the same crimson that drips from Draco’s lips, drips also from this flower.

Harry has spoken to ghosts many times before at Hogwarts. They have a certain quality to their voices, one that is melancholic and hallow. As Draco addresses him, Harry learns how Draco would sound as a ghost.

“I’m afraid I have no heart to offer you, Harry. It seems you stole my only one. I could never hope that it would ever beat for me again. I offer you instead what has grown in its absence.”

His stained hand raises up shakily toward Harry, offering him the rose.

Harry reaches out not toward the flower but toward Draco’s empty hand, pulling the boy to his feet. He draws Draco’s hands together around the stem and places his own over them. There is so much more he wants to do but this as is bold as he’s permitted to be.

Despite Draco’s awful state, his face remains vividly expressive beneath its chronic pallor. His eyes shoot up at the sudden contact. His bloody lips twitch and their eyes meet, desperate and afraid.

As soon as Harry makes contact with the stem, the flower disappears with a crack that sounds eerily similar to apparition.

Harry’s not sure that’s a good sign but he must continue.

It’s nearly unbearable to keep speaking this way but Harry's too far gone to stop. His heart is rattling so loudly, his stomach fluttering so violently that he wonders if he’s been too reckless after all and he'll face the same awful fate as the ghost of a boy in front of him. Regardless of the outcome, Draco's part in this ends tonight.

Harry has one last secret to confess and he will not allow his words to betray him.

“Forgive my lack of etiquette but I find I have no heart to offer you,” he says, “for I have taken careful inventory and discovered that it is already in your possession."

Harry stands back, leaving Draco to nearly collapse in on himself and he extends an empty hand with a dramatic flourish. The rose is right on time, materializing in Harry’s hand. No instructions needed, just as Hermione had told him. He does not need to verbalize this request.

The whispers are growing louder now, most of them not of this world. In these final moments, adrenaline runs high and the collective fear thickens the air.

With great effort, Draco straightens his posture. The enchanted light in the Great Hall hits his wispy frame and illuminates him. He still looks nearly dead to everyone but Harry. Only Harry is close enough to see the color slowly returning to Draco’s cheeks as he moves to claim the rose.

He leans in, further than he needs to, so that Harry can feel Draco’s breath on his neck. If Draco’s goal is to keep his words private, it’s a pointless goal. The ancient magic is still in effect as he replies, and it carries his voice to every witness.

“I must deny your request for forgiveness as you have not wronged me,” Draco speaks in an ethereal melody that harmonizes with the other worldly whispers, “nor have you offended me. For you see,” Draco pauses and grasps at the stem.

As soon as Draco’s delicate fingers touch it, the white petals bleed a deep red and from the way Draco’s breath hitches in pain at the touch, Harry is certain that they take their color directly from his veins.

The red tells all onlookers what they need to know. This is an offer of love in equal kind, one the magic deems genuine. The best of outcomes is still ghoulish and agonizing. The nightmare is nearly over, one last bit of flowery prose owed.

In the moments before Draco finishes his thought, his previously words echo in Harry’s ears, chilling him to the bone. As the forgone conclusion washes over every soul in the room, even Harry has to admit that Luna has been right about this all along. Every moment that has guided this year has been as romantic as it’s been dreadful.

The ancient magic around them is already beginning to unravel but it is Draco’s next words that set them all free:

“Your lack of etiquette charms me.”