Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns all characters and canon for Harry Potter.

What Might Have Been

As the summary says, this fic will not be a continuous story so much as a series of unconnected Harry/Draco vignettes set during the canon of Philosopher's Stone – Deathly Hallows. The point of them is I will be picking times, places and scenarios in the book when I think Harry and Draco could have gotten together, were they so inclined. Each chapter will be a different vignette.

Anybody who kept up with my novel-length story, Harry Potter and the Unholy Grails, will know that I love reviews and respond to them personally before each new chapter. The same will apply here, and if you have a request for a specific time you want me to write about, I will try.

With that, let the games begin:

This is set during Goblet of Fire, between Chapter Nineteen and Twenty. Harry has recently found out about the Hungarian Horntail. Ron is being a loser. Hermione is studying. Harry is tired of all the stuff JK Rowling has put him through recently, so I'm going to help him out a bit. ;)

While Hermione Was Studying

The grey sky pressed in against the windows of Gryffindor Tower and the wind whistled against the aging frames. It was late and the remaining inhabitants of the common room were crowded around the fire with their books piled high on the end tables around them. The only one not working was Harry Potter, who sat on an armchair staring into the flames. Nearby, Hermione was scribbling out a five foot essay on Wolfsbane for Snape that Harry had yet to start.

Harry still could not believe the way that Ron had been acting lately. He both loathed the boy and badly wanted him back as his best friend. The sight of Ron's angry, disappointed face kept rising in his mind unbidden and Harry felt absurdly guilty. It was not as if he had asked for this. The fire crackled as a log spit in two. Harry realized Hermione's quill had stopped.

Looking up, he found her staring right at him, obviously concerned. When he caught her eye quizzically, she blushed and then asked quickly, "Are you alright Harry?"

"Yeah," he assured her. Her look was far too patronizing for Harry's liking, and he made a snap decision. Getting up, he forced a smile and thought up the old standby, "I'm going to Hagrid's."

This was obviously not reassuring as he had hoped. "Now?" she asked, "but it's pouring out. Hagrid is probably asleep."

Harry pulled back a curtain and peered out into the night towards the ground, where he could just make out the faint yellow smudge of light that was Hagrid's cottage. "Nope," Harry said. "Still awake. I'm going."

"Oh…alright," a bemused Hermione said as he bounded up the stairs.

In two minutes he was back with his traveling cloak on and, hidden by the invisibility cloak in his left hand, his broomstick. He didn't want Hermione to see it and risk a lecture on flying safety. "Right," he said. "I'm off."

"I'll be up," Hermione promised and, still looking worried, went back to her essay. Harry simply laughed, swinging the portrait hole open.

Once he was in the hallway, Harry swung the invisibility cloak over himself and his broom. He longed to simply get on it and fly through the halls; it had been so long since he had been able to use it. He couldn't help but feel that he had gotten the short end of the stick, losing Quidditch and his best friend and gaining….what? The hatred of the rest of the school? A constant sense of imposing doom to keep him company?

He managed to stalk his way silently through seven floors and finally reached the Entrance Hall. Throwing open the front doors with more force than was probably prudent, Harry slipped onto his broom, securing the cloak around his shoulders as he did so. He kicked off from the top step of the castle and soared into the foggy night air.

He hadn't lied, he thought as he soared over the grounds. He was going to visit Hagrid, eventually. He did a loop to let off some of his feelings and found himself only a meter or so from the lake's surface. He watched his reflected self, obscured by the fog even at this proximity, not sure what to think of himself anymore. He had always thought he could handle anything that the Wizarding world threw at him, but he had never counted on having to do it without Ron.

A large raindrop hit his forehead, snapping him back to his flying. Through the pea soup of the mist he could just make out the shore of the Forbidden Forest. Turning his broom around, he headed back over the grounds, flying high over the stands of the deserted Quidditch pitch. Harry could not be sure, but through the fog the pitch looked odd, almost lumpy. Looping around the goalposts, Harry flew on.

When he had been flying for about twenty minutes, and circled the grounds a few times at least, he decided he really ought to go see Hagrid. After all, the large man was one of the only ones at this school who still liked him.

The rain was falling thickly now, further reducing Harry's visibility. He had just thought that perhaps he ought to get off his broom and walk when his broom struck something solid that appeared suddenly out of the mist.

"Ow!" a voice snarled as Harry, still invisible, slipped sideways off his bucking broom and to the ground. Nearby him, also on the ground, lay a now muddy Draco Malfoy. He did not look pleased in the least to have been dive-bombed by an invisible flyer in the rain.

Harry jumped up, hoping Malfoy had not spotted his imprint in the mud, but the blond boy seized a handful of the cloak and pulled it half off of Harry, whose shirt became almost immediately drenched through his traveling cloak that lay underneath. Seeing who he had caught, Malfoy smirked. Harry hated that smirk; it always made him feel as if Malfoy was telling a joke at his expense that he was too stupid to understand.

"Of course, Potter," he drawled. "It would be you that was outside after hours and clumsy enough to hit somebody with your broomstick. A lack of Quidditch making you lose your flying skills? I would hate to see the Gryffindor team suffer…"

He tugged on Harry's cloak again, where it was fastened at his neck. "Nice cloak you've got here, Potter."

The feel of Malfoy's hands against his neck sent an unexpected jolt of adrenaline through Harry's veins. He grabbed them and pushed them off his throat. "Get off it Malfoy," he snarled, but it was too late; the cloak hung limply from the Slytherin's white hands.

Malfoy saw Harry's eyes widen and took a step back, his eyes taunting. Harry jumped forward, afraid of losing the other boy in the thick mist, and Malfoy sneered. "Make me, Potter," he drawled.

"Malfoy, give it back or I'll – "

Malfoy arched his eyebrow, "Or you'll what? Run off to Dumbie? I'm sure he would be so pleased to have it revealed that one of his school's champions is sneaking around at night…maybe scoping out what the first challenge is?"

Harry gasped involuntarily.

"Then again," Malfoy carried on relentlessly, "why not? You already have most of Hogwarts hating you, why not piss off everyone who still slavishly worships you? I'm not sure what they see in you anyway."

"Is that right?" Harry challenged, trying to regain his composure.

"Yes, it is." Malfoy smirked. "Krum aside, even Diggory is more skilled than your pathetic self. He's much sexier too, not to mention a far better flyer. There's just no competition."

Malfoy stopped talking, his tirade over. They stared at each other through the darkness and the swirling mist for an uncomfortable amount of time as Harry processed what the Slytherin had just said. Malfoy stared back, evidently waiting for him to say something. Finally, the blond laughed.

"Too stupid to defend yourself Potter? Even I expected more from you."

"You just called Cedric 'sexy'," Harry replied.

This time it was Malfoy's composure that slipped and his mouth slapped shut and his cheeks flooded with colour visible even in the darkness. "I…I did not," he finally retorted.

"Yes, you did," said Harry, even more intrigued. He propped himself casually on his broom, content with the upper hand now, and asked, "Malfoy, are you gay?"

"Don't make me laugh, Potter," retorted Malfoy loudly, launching into a maniacal laugh. The scorn on his face did not quite mask the panic in his eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You are, aren't you?" he was genuinely surprised.

Malfoy's eyes darted around in the mist for a second, checking that nobody was there, and then he suddenly launched himself at Harry, grabbing him by the front of his robes. "You tell anybody, anybody at all, especially the Weasel, and I will personally make sure your wand mysteriously stops working while you are battling that dragon in a week's time."

Malfoy's fearful, livid face was inches from Harry's, so close that even the thick fog did hardly obscured his features. Rain pounded against Harry's back as they stared at each other across that tiny gap.

Then, perhaps because he was just curious, or because he enjoyed toying with Malfoy, or because the places where Malfoy's hand lay on his chest were surprisingly warm in the November mist, Harry lent forward to kiss him gently.

Their noses bumped. Harry smiled as he tilted his head ever so slightly and reached up into Malfoy's wet hair. The Slytherin stood frozen, incomprehension and shock in his face, as Harry lowered his head again. This time, he succeeded. Their lips brushed gently together.

Malfoy's mouth opened in a small 'o' of surprise, and Harry, still grinning, slipped his tongue lazily into the blonde's mouth. Then Malfoy kissed him back. He was surprised at how natural it felt; it was even easier than fighting. It was better than fighting, for sure. Harry had nothing to compare it against in the way of pervious snogging, but he was pretty sure this was what a good kiss felt like. He was unexplainably lightheaded.

For a few impossible seconds longer, tongue slid over tongue and lips slid over lips. Then, through the foggy night, Harry saw light flood out over the grass as the great front doors of the castle open. He gently pulled away from Malfoy as Filch's voice filtered down the path, heading towards where they stood.

Gently tugging the cloak through Malfoy's slackened grip, Harry straightened it out and swung it over himself. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled Malfoy under it too. The blonde boy blushed as his eyes locked with Harry's and then he grinned. "Quite some cloak you've got here, Potter," he echoed with a trace of sarcasm. Harry rolled his eyes and, snatching Malfoy's hand, headed up to the still-open doors of the castle.

They dropped hands in the Entrance Hall. Harry asked Malfoy if he wanted Harry to take him to the dungeons under the cloak. The Slytherin seemed to have nearly fully recovered by then, as he was sarcastically cocky when he replied, "It's OK Potter, you don't have to drop me at my door like a good little Gryffindor."

Harry snorted, throwing the cloak back over himself and disappearing from view. As headed off to the stairs, the only sounds in the hall were the soft thumps of his trainers. When he reached the bottom stair, he turned to see Malfoy still smirking at him. Only the smirk looked different to him - he finally understood the joke. Perhaps, he reflected as he turned away again, not having Ron around for a while might not be too bad.