Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Pure silliness and OOC-ness to be found here. I just wrote this for fun.
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Harry put his head in his hands while staring across the Great Hall. Over at Slytherin table, Malfoy had a book propped up against the juice pitcher, occasionally turning a page.
If anyone had looked from afar, it would have seemed like Harry was just deep in thought. However, on closer look, they would have noticed the flush spreading across his face, the glazed look in his eyes…and the way he swore loudly and dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud.
"I am so screwed," he moaned.
000
"Ron." Harry looked nervous. His eyes kept shifting side to side, and he was fidgeting with his shirt.
The redhead looked up from his seat.
"Yeah?" he asked distractedly, scribbling down a few more sentences at the end of his Charms essay, which was due right after lunch, if Harry recalled correctly.
"I have a problem," Harry began, sitting down. "I—I think I fancy Draco Malfoy!" He covered his mouth in mortification after blurting out the last sentence. He slumped in his chair, looking the picture of dejection and waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Ron sighed.
"Yeah, I know," he said, scratching through a misspelled word. Harry gaped at him.
"You…you knew…how did you know? I never…" he stuttered, looking as if he were going to have a nervous breakdown. Ron filled his quill again, carefully.
"I've known you preferred guys for a long time," the seventeen-year-old said, seemingly unconcernedly, "and I figured out you were drooling over Malfoy about a year ago. Only problem was, I figured it out before you did, and I couldn't very well yell at you for something you didn't even know was going to happen, could I? So I got sort of used to the idea." He heaved another sigh. "I suppose this means we'll be having a Slytherin in the family, huh?"
Harry stared at him for a long moment, before whimpering and dashing out of the library.
000
The next morning before breakfast, Hermione seemed to have heard about his predicament, because she spent a good ten minutes telling him to be careful, and make sure he thought about his decisions, and at the end she offered to help him…attract the attentions of the blond boy (which really meant seduce him).
Harry stared at her.
"Um…I think I'm fine," he said, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "Let's…let's go to breakfast."
When they reached Gryffindor table, Harry noticed several looks being sent his way. This is itself was not unusual; one could not be savior of the wizarding world without some attention. What was unusual was the mixture of disgust, high-pitched sighs, and pure amusement, malicious or otherwise, he seemed to be getting.
Of course, Pansy Parkinson took it upon herself to enlighten him.
"Hey, Potter," she shrieked, waving a copy of The Daily Prophet in the air. Harry's heart sank. Anything to do with that old rag meant trouble. "At least we can say you've got good taste in guys—not that Draco'd be interested. But I'm sure Weasley would give it a go. You two are together enough! What really goes on in those Quidditch locker rooms?"
Harry wished he had never gotten out of bed that morning.
"Oh, hand it over," he said desperately. "Might as well get it over with." He unfolded the paper across his sausages. He skipped through half the article (The Boy-Who-Lived—Lady-killer, We Thought) and his shoulders slumped further and further down as he read.
Sources close to Mr. Potter state that his interest in Mr. Malfoy has been a long time in coming. Some of us wonder—son of a Death Eater, and a Slytherin to boot? But it seems that, once again, true love conquers all prejudices.
You Daily Prophet Reporter
Rita Skeeter
To his left, he heard Hermione gasp in outrage and start a long tirade against the Animagus, promising that she would pay.
Harry ignored her and left, wondering if the Ministry would accept him becoming a hermit.
000
Ten minutes later found Harry beating his head against a stone wall. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn't notice someone walking up to him until they smacked him on the back of the head.
"Ow," Harry muttered, looking up to meet cool grey eyes. His mouth went dry. "Malfoy," he said, swallowing hard. The blond leaned against the wall casually, staring him in the eyes for several minutes, an unreadable look on his face.
"Only you, Potter," he said abruptly, shaking his head. "Only you would confess you attraction to me in the middle of the library where anybody can hear you."
The next thing Harry knew he was pressed to the wall with his mouth firmly attached to Malfoy's. He made a sound that might have been a squeak before relaxing and kissing back. His knees went weak as he slipped an arm around the blonde's neck. Malfoy moved his lips slowly up Harry's neck before reaching his ear and whispering, "Next time just come tell me in private." He pulled the pale earlobe into his mouth, before drawing back and leaving, as silently as he had arrived.
That left Harry leaning against the wall with a dazed look on his dace and two fingers pressed to his swollen lips. He took several breaths before gathering his things and heading to class, contemplating sending Rita Skeeter 'thank you' flowers on the way.
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