- Cinnamon, "Windfallen"
Draco smiled gently and smoothed his hair back, studied his face, his green eyes wide with awe, and something inside him broke in the most delicious way he could imagine, because this was love. This was love without caring that hell was closing in on all sides, that serpents and shattered glass had led the way, that the world was on fire. This was not love because of a curse, because of forced circumstances, because of fate. This was love because Draco could stop breathing now, and it would still be the most complete he'd ever felt, because it was Harry and it had always been Harry and Harry was not looking, was not aware of him on any level that showed, but he was aware of him on other levels, hidden levels, and maybe he always had been, and it hadn't been rape before, with Harry, or with Draco's heart, and it hadn't been forced, it had been inevitable. Whether it started as hate or disguised itself as hate in the beginning, whether Harry could not stand to feel anything other than terror now, hate and terror and panic and fear were, to Draco, love.