Title: Preface To The Justification
Pairing: Draco/ Harry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Humor/ Friendship/ Fluff.
Warnings: Oh nothing, really. Silliness.
Disclaimer: Did you see Drarry happening in the books? No? I don't own any characters, then.
Summary: What you never read in the Half-Blood Prince. Hermione tries to give Harry a talk regarding his obsessive behavior. HBP era.
A/N: This was written, quite some time ago, for the Child… nothing inappropriate for you here, because I'm a good influence like that. Ahem.
"[P]erhaps you notice how the denial is so often the preface to the justification."
― Christopher Hitchens
It was late at night in the Gryffindor common room, and most of the usual occupants had gone to bed, leaving a few scattered, mostly sleeping figures here and there, and three sixth year students, warm and comfortable in the best armchairs near the fire. One apparently absorbed in the thick, heavy volume of a book lying before him, one dozing off, head against the soft cushions of the armchair, and one readying herself for what she viewed as a difficult but necessary conversation.
Hermione took a deep breath, ran through the lines in her head quickly one last time and said softly, "Harry."
Harry, obviously deep in his Charms book, did not look up.
"Harry. Harry."
Nothing.
"Harry, we need to talk," snapped Hermione loudly. Harry jumped guiltily.
"Oh- oh, okay, sorry. Charms, you know," he said, waving a hand accusingly at the bulky book.
"Having trouble with the Esophagus Charm?" Hermione asked, nodding sympathetically.
Harry blinked. "The... uh. Yeah. Sure. Wrist movement... very complicated..."
"There is no Esophagus Charm, Harry," Hermione snapped. "The esophagus is part of your digestive system."
Harry looked dumbfounded for a bit, but quickly recovered his wits.
"Oh… pfft," he said, quick on his feet as always. "I knew that."
"Of course you did," Hermione said crossly. "Harry, I know your Map's hidden in that book."
"No it – " Harry started indignantly, looked at Hermione's face, realized that resistance was futile, sighed heavily, and wondered if there was anything in this world he could do which she couldn't find out about. "Okay. But you see, Hermione, he's behaving suspiciously again!"
"Is he now," Hermione commented, in the deadened tones of the long- suffering.
"Yes, he is!" Harry affirmed, pleased to be given a chance to expound upon his absolute favorite subject, Evil Malfoy Is Evil. "Hermione! He's in bed."
He spoke as if Malfoy being in bed was akin to Malfoy murdering a puppy.
"How evil of him," Hermione sympathized.
"It is!" Harry glared at her. "He should be in the common room! He doesn't usually go to sleep around this time! This is suspicious behavior Hermione! He could be sneaking out later! Or plotting dastardly deeds in bed," he told her reproachfully.
"Oh," said Hermione. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Yes, of course Malfoy being in bed means that he's plotting dastardly deeds. It has nothing to do with the fact that the Slytherins have a big Transfigurations test tomorrow that he probably wants to be fresh for."
"You keep doubting me, Hermione, but one day– wait, how do you know that?"
"I know when all the tests are," Hermione told him brightly. "Anyway, the very fact that you've memorized Malfoy's sleeping schedule, that's exactly what I mean. Ron. Ron, wake up."
"Mprf," Ron said responsively, and his head drooped onto his chest like a flower wilting.
"Ron, we're going to talk to Harry, remember?"
"... Talk to me?" Harry said. "Hey, wait, what."
"Ron," Hermione growled, and poked him in the side.
Ron jerked awake. "Listen to'er, Harry," he said, nodding wisely. Harry and Hermione watched as the nodding eventually got slower and the scarlet head drooped forward again.
"Ron-I–swear-if-you-do-not-get-up-now-I-will-Aguamenti-up-some-ice-cold-water-and-splash-it-in-your-face," Hermione remarked evenly, at poked him hard in his side.
Ron started, swore and started rubbing his eyes, mumbling something about fingers like knives.
"Now Harry-"
"This is an intervention, isn't it," Harry sighed, "like that time you stopped us from eating Glutinous Jelly Globs. They were delicious, Hermione. There was no reason to confiscate all of them." He and Ron cast accusing stares at her.
"They were ruining your teeth," Hermione growled, then regained her composure. "But no. this is not an intervention. We are just going to have a nice, friendly talk with you about some obsessive behavior you may or may not be exhibiting."
"Uh," said Harry, and appealed to his last resort. "Ron?"
"Shh," said Ron, abandoning him completely, "she might stab you with her finger, mate."
"Good boy," Hermione praised him approvingly, patting his knee.
Harry, scowling at his last resort, folded his arms and resigned himself.
"Now, Harry," said Hermione cheerfully, "you do know you've been obsessively stalking Draco Malfoy's every move, don't you?"
"Because he's-"
"-evil," Ron and Hermione supplied.
"-evil," Harry finished sternly. "And I have to stalk him so I can prevent evil things from occurring."
"Harry," Hermione told him, "you watch every mouthful he takes at every meal. You know his timetable by heart. You know what his favorite shop is in Diagon Alley. You follow him every time he practices Quidditch with his team. What evil can he possibly be doing during team –"
"-Hey, I…" started Harry, but Hermione gave him one of her Glares which Harry sometimes thought she and McGonagall practiced together in her spare time.
"You fret over whether he eats enough at breakfast. You know all the presents he gets for his birthday. You know what music he likes listening to-"
"I do n-" Harry interrupted indignantly, but Hermione's voice, honed after years of lecturing anybody who would listen (and those who wouldn't), rose over his:
"-Not to mention our last trip to Hogsmeade where Ron and I had to spend an hour and a half in the Three Broomsticks while you glared at Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson in the corner! That, Harry," finished Hermione with satisfaction, "had nothing to do with evil."
A terrible realization was dawning slowly upon Harry. "Hermione," he asked slowly, "what are you getting at?"
Hermione smiled at him benevolently.
"Harry," she said kindly, "it's perfectly okay to be confused about your feelings."
"I- uh- what," spluttered Harry. "Feelings?"
Ron, who had been shooting Harry sympathetic looks during Hermione's tirade, was jabbed in his side again.
"Ow! Okay! Harry," he said, giving him an apologetic look, "your sexual preferences do not matter to us. We are your friends and we will stick by you through thick and thin whoever you choose to love be it man, woman or house-elf."
The words had a learnt-by-heart ring to them. Harry suspected he had been given a script.
"Sexual- Merlin!" he protested. "Malfoy- agh. What- no. You've got it- agh."
His capability for coherent speech seemed to have been shocked right out of him. He sat in his armchair, which didn't seem so comfortable now, and gaped at the two of them; Hermione smiling what appeared to be a kind and understanding smile, and Ron still with an apologetic expression.
"That's an extremely convincing argument, Harry," Hermione said placatingly. "And I'm sure you think that now. But you see you're acting like a lovelorn twelve-year-old over Malfoy. And we have suspected it for some time. Well, I have. But even Ron's noticed this year."
Harry stared at Ron.
"You have been quite obvious," Ron shrugged.
"Way," said Harry faintly, "way, way off base."
"We will support you in whatever you do," Hermione continued, "even if it is Malfoy."
"Do Malfoy- agh," said Harry, continuing to be traumatized.
Hermione ignored him. "People can't help how they feel. Ron realized this, and now he's okay with this, after I explained it to him, aren't you, Ron?"
"But Malfoy, mate, really?" Ron asked doubtfully, and received another, sharper, jab.
"Ouch! – but we will set our prejudices aside and accept whoever you choose," Ron chanted, glaring at Hermione, "…even if they are slimy gits."
"We love you, Harry," Hermione said earnestly, and Harry could tell she really meant it, "and we'll support you anyway. And it might be hard sometimes, what with all the prejudice in the world, but we'll be there even if no one else is."
They appeared to be done now, and were staring at Harry expectantly. Harry found that the ability for speech had completely abandoned him.
"Um," he managed, and remembered his manners. "Thank you?"
~0~
Just to prove to Hermione that she was being ridiculous, Harry avoided Malfoy steadily for the next few days.
Unfortunately, this was proving difficult to do, seeing as his life seemed, without him realizing it, to've wrapped around Malfoy's. His gaze would stray to Malfoy at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. His hands would ache for the Marauder's Map during a study session so he'd be able to watch Malfoy's dot. And there was this constant urge to get out his Invisibility Cloak and shadow Malfoy in his free time.
Harry was totally miserable, all of the time, his body constantly crying out its need for Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy. (Which of course was due to his irrepressible need to combat evil, and had nothing to do with what Hermione had so ridiculously suggested.) He could feel himself going to break soon, and it was only under Hermione's watchful gaze and knowing smirk that he held on stubbornly.
~0~
That didn't last long, though. It was a week after Hermione's talk that Harry cracked.
It was about an hour before a Slytherin-Ravenclaw match, and he was watching the map idly, not looking for Malfoy at all, no no, and it just happened to catch his eye that Malfoy seemed to be walking up and down an empty corridor near Gryffindor Tower.
Harry's Malfoy Is Evil senses were tingling. He grabbed his Cloak, yanked it on, muttered "see you at the game" to Ron, who raised his eyebrows and was probably going to tell on him to Hermione later, but they'd see!, and set after him, feeling the heady rush of adrenaline that always came from stalking Malfoy.
Tailing Malfoy. Like you would a suspect. So there, Hermione.
He caught up to Malfoy silently halfway down the corridor, but then Malfoy ruined it by turning around and addressing him.
"So where've you been, Potter?"
Harry froze in shock.
"I know you're there, Potter. I always know you're there. But you haven't been stalking me for a week. I was getting worried."
Harry could see Malfoy's predator-like smirk, the amused glint in his grey eyes as he talked to the apparently empty corridor before him, and had to give him credit, he was intelligent.
Or perhaps Ron and Hermione were right, and Harry had been a bit obvious.
"I was wondering whether you'd pass up this opportunity, me suspiciously pacing an empty corridor." Malfoy was advancing slowly- a few more steps and he'd brush right up against Harry.
Harry pulled his cloak off.
Malfoy grinned, and stopped. "Ah. So where've you been, Potter?"
"You know I'm here?" asked Harry, still disappointed that a career in spying had gone down the drain.
"Always," Malfoy assured him. "It's quite comforting, really, it's like having an unpaid bodyguard. Well?"
Harry ran through several indignant responses in his head, but before his head and mouth could agree on one, his mouth betrayed him. As it normally did. You'd think after sixteen years it'd cut Harry some slack.
"Ron and Hermione have got it into their heads that I'm stalking you because I like you. Like, like, like you. Er. And I don't. I don't. That's stupid. Which is surprising because it's Hermione. Er."
There was a startled silence, in which Harry cursed his mouth and wondered whether anybody had slipped something in his pumpkin juice, then Malfoy laughed. He stepped closer, then closer, invading Harry's personal space, and leaned in close.
"Don't you?" he murmured, soft and warm against Harry's cheek, and Harry's thoughts were whirling like leaves caught in a storm and he couldn't think and oh Merlin what was Malfoy going to do…
But then Malfoy drew back, smirked a lazy house cat smirk at him, and walked away, leaving Harry to his tornado like thoughts.
Still feeling Malfoy's hot breath on his skin.
If-
If-
Because what if-
But no. Just- no. this was probably Voldemort messing with his mind again. Stupid prat of a villain. And it didn't mean anything, stalking Malfoy and worrying over his sleeping patterns and memorizing his classes and knowing his favorite Quidditch move was nothing, it was just Voldemort or hormones or something and besides he had to stalk Malfoy because he was evil. Yes.
Yes. You see, Hermione. It's for the good of wizard kind that I know what he eats for breakfast every Thursday.
His mind made up, he banished forevermore all ridiculous thoughts Hermione had planted in his mind, and very heterosexually went to spy on Malfoy changing in the locker room.
Because he might be doing it evilly. You never knew.
fin