The Ice Prince of Slytherine

Draco was confused and worried. Where had Potter gone? One moment he had been sitting next to Weasly, the next he was no where to be found. Turning to Crabbe, he mumbled an excuse as he rose from his seat and exited the dining hall. The crisp click of his polished shoes hitting the tiled floor was lost to the hum of the great hall.

He slowed to a stop as he entered the hallways, their echoing vacancy juxtaposing sharply with the previously busy atmosphere. Quickly scanning the frigid, stone hallways, he spotted Harry slipping around a corner, heading towards the stairs that lead to Gryffidor Tower. Immediately, Draco began to trail behind him, though he chose to ignore the burning reason for him doing so. Quickly, Draco noticed that something seemed to be wrong. Harry looked distracted and slightly feverish; a wash of pink tinting his cheeks and his glowing green eyes looked glazed and distant. His breathing was slightly labored, and as Draco followed him carefully, he noticed that his tie had been loosened and the first three buttons of his shirt had been unbuttoned. 

All of a sudden, as they rounded the corner, Harry stopped and fell upon the cool stone walls of the hallway, his fists clenched and his shoulders tight. Sliding to the ground slowly, his face contorted into a grimace as slow, shining tears slipped between his tightly-shut lids. Softly, so softly that it could have easily been missed in the echoes of chatter drifting from the great hall, he whispered, "Why did I have to love him? Why did it have to be the very boy I'm supposed to hate?" And Draco's heart stuffers to a stop. 

It was foolish, he knew, but he couldn't help hoping that Harry meant him. Could it be that his hopeless obsession wasn't as hopeless as he had feared?