Title: Scarfs are Bowls

Rating: PG/K+

Warnings: Bad humor. Ho, ho, ho.

Word Count: About 800

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco

Summary: One minute she's up there at the board, the next minute... she's demonstrating a wand motion and telling us to do a practical.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor anything that it is affiliated with.

"Now, you just wave your wand like this," McGonagall demonstrated, raising her arm and bringing it down sharply, in a diagonal motion. "And you should get a scarf."

Then, the entire class was left with the practical part of the lesson to complete.

Harry squinted at his bowl, wondering about the reasoning behind Transfiguring such an odd object into a scarf.

"Harry," Hermione muttered, wrapping her scarf - it had a pattern of parchments and quills - around her neck. "You aren't doing anything."

He stifled a retort of, "No, duh," before taking out his wand and trying out the motion. "Bowlius Transformius!"

A stifled chuckle caused Harry to turn around, searching for the source. It turned out to be Malfoy. The blonde had a hand on his mouth, eyes sparkling in obvious amusement.

The raven-haired teen just rolled his eyes, lips quirking into a small smile at the Slytherin.

When he turned back around to his bowl, Hermione was questioning him with her own brown-eyes. Harry shook his head, motioning that his lips were sealed.

She then shook her head and proceeded to demonstrate the correct motion for him. "And it is not Bowlius Transformius," she huffed, displeased at his obvious inattentiveness. "It's Mutare Phialam."

"How did you even get done so quickly?"

"Because I was actually paying attention. And I study a whole lot more than you do."

Harry made a small noise of frustration and muttered, "I literally blacked out, Hermione. One minute she's up there at the board, the next minute... she's demonstrating a wand motion and telling us to do a practical."

She just turned away, nonplussed at his stupid excuse. As stupid as it sounded, Harry was being completely honest. Not his fault that he just dazed out.

And seeing as he had alienated Hermione, the only other choice, besides failing this lesson, was to try again. And try he did.

A few seconds later, Harry marveled at the sight of the mess he had created. It didn't even resemble a bowl anymore, nor was it a scarf. It seemed to be little more than a furry mass of brown glob.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron gasped in amazement. "How did you do that?"

"I don't really... know." he answered, as confused as Ron was.

"Mister Potter," Harry jumped at the sound of his name, and then turned towards the professor. "How did you manage to do that?"

"I don't know," he muttered, again.

"I see..." she sighed, then Vanished the furry mass of glob. "Detention with Professor Hagrid, tomorrow night."

"But I have Quidditch practice that night."

"I cannot help you with that," she sternly retorted. "It's your fault for not paying attention."

She then walked away, mouth pursed. Harry was left there, sulking.

"Potter," Malfoy called, beckoning him over. Harry glanced at his surrounding classmates and noticed everyone was still hard at work.

Sighing, Harry walked towards the blonde. "If you ask me how I managed to do that..."

"No," he laughed. "It's not that."

Harry blinked, thinking he must be in an alternate universe where bowls were scarfs and Malfoys laughed.

"Here," the teen said, handing Harry a scarf. Harry took it, bewildered. Unlike Hermione's, this one had a candy cane pattern.

Touching it with his fingertips, he thought about how soft it felt, and rubbed his face in it.

He looked up, delighting in the light blush that coated the Slytherin's pale cheeks. "Take it; the oaf will probably be taking you outside, in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry glared at him, shaking off the previous idea of this being a kinder Malfoy. "Hagrid is not an oaf."

Shrugging his shoulders, Malfoy remarked, "Just take it. I think it'll be cold out there. Can't have you catching a cold and missing the game, now can I?"

Shaking his head, Harry tried to give back the scarf, but McGonagall called the class adjourned before he could do so. Malfoy was already out of the classroom by then, waving his farewell at the raven-haired teen.

Sighing in defeat, the Gryffindor wrapped the soft scarf around his neck, snuggling his face into the warmth, and got a sniff of the familiar scent that was faintly there.

It smelled of the cologne that Malfoy frequently used. Not that Harry went around smelling blond Slytherins all the time, but it just seemed to always be there, in the air, whenever the Slytherin was around.

Scrunching up his face at his train of thought, Harry gathered up his things and told himself that Malfoy hadn't made him the slightest bit happy.

Nor did he like the scent of his cologne.

Not at all.

Author's Note:

This felt more like crack than fluff. Review?