Wrong (Drarry fanfic)

                                    

                                          
Author's Note: This is a Drarry fanfic. Yes, it is boyxboy, so don't read it if you don't like it. The setting for now right after the Final Battle.
                          
Introduction:
                          
Harry knew that he shouldn't be feeling it. It was completely wrong. How could The Chosen One, the Wizarding Hero, possibly be gay? It just didn't make sense, and he didn't want to believe it. Worse of all, he seemed to like the worst possible choice of a guy. But he couldn't shake the feeling. Even in his younger years at Hogwarts, he had always been aware of when Draco Malfoy was in the hallway, always watching him out of the corner of his eyes. And during the final battle, he couldn't bear the thought of letting the golden haired boy die. So he had saved the Slytherin Prince's life multiple times, to the confusion of his best friends, Ron and Hermione.
                          
He had never told them what he was feeling. He knew that they wouldn't understand, since they had been called names by him since first year. So had Harry, of course, but they didn't affect him as much because, well, he couldn't hold anything against Draco. Ron and Hermione, though, had been tortured by 'mudblood', 'blood traitor', 'filth' and so many other foul insults. Harry felt angry on their behalf, of course, but could never bring himself to hurt Draco.
                          
"Hey! Potter!" 
                          
Harry didn't even need to turn around to recognize that voice. It was the one voice he could never forget; Draco Malfoy's.
                          
"Yes, Malfoy?" Harry spun around to face the boy, trying to make his voice sound cold and uninterested.
                          
"I just wanted to say," panted Malfoy, who had apparently chased him out of the castle grounds, "Thanks." 
                          
Harry stared at him. He had never expected to hear that word coming from Draco's mouth, especially directed to him. And he hadn't even heard any trace of coldness in his 'enemy's voice; in fact, he almost sounded like he actually could like Harry. 
                          
'No,' Harry told himself, 'Don't even think about that. It will never happen.'
                          
Instead, Harry said "You're welcome," gruffly, and turned to leave. He couldn't bear to stay near the castle any longer, couldn't bear to see the old friends lying on the ground, dead. He didn't want to think about anything.
                          
"Wait." Draco grabbed Harry's arm, and instantly Harry felt the sparks that he had thought only existed in teenage muggle's imaginations. Harry thought he saw Draco's eyes widen, but shook it off as his imagination.
                          
"Why did you do it?" Draco asked, searching Harry's green eyes, "I mean, you could have let me die. I'm a death eater. You're supposed to hate me."
                          
"I don't know," answered Harry, trying to think of an excuse other than 'I like you', "I guess I just didn't want anyone to die that didn't need to die."
                          
"So you would have let Greyback live? Bellatrix?"
                          
Harry thought of Greyback, the werewolf that had caused his father's friend Remus Lupin so much pain, and Bellatrix, who had killed Harry's godfather, Sirius Black.
                          
"No!" he said indignantly, "Of course not!"
                          
"Than why me?"
                          
"I don't know!" Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm tired."
                          
"Fine. You can go, but we'll be discussing this later."
                          
Harry left towards the Forbidden Forest. He was gone for an hour, replaying his conversation with Draco over and over in his head, remembering the promise that they would be discussing this later. The thought of having another civilized conversation with Draco filled Harry with happiness that he hadn't felt since before the second wizarding world. By the time that he got back to his friends and admirers, he knew what he had to do; come out of the closer, and tell everyone that he was gay.