Author's note : Just a little short story that's been in my mind for a while ; I hope you'll enjoy it !

Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it, and I don't intend to make any profit out of this story (or any of the others)

Harry Potter was sick.

Or at least, he thought he was. It was the only explanation he'd found to the way he felt now. Slightly dizzy, mostly nauseated, and quite definitely hot. Feverish, one might say.

Now, this state wasn't constant, no it happened now and again, at random times, in random places, and lasted but a few minutes. The boy then gradually got back to his normal state, until the symptoms chose to make yet another appearence.

This was unlike any Muggle sickness Harry had ever caught or seen so it was only natural, being a wizard currently living in a magic castle full of other wizards and magical things, that Harry thought himself to have caught a wizarding disease.

Being assaulted by another bout of dizziness, nausea and angry fever, the Gryffindor decided it was time to do something about it. He had to know more about this unusual illness of his. The library was, of course, a convenient place to be when making the decision to research anything. Even when invaded by noisy Slytherins. Pansy Parkinson did love to wound herself around Draco Malfoy's neck with deep contented sighs, now, didn't she ?

Annoyed, but much more preoccupied with his current state, Harry determined to find the relevant section to research his predicament, and walked purposefully past the green table. Now, this was hard enough a task, given the size of the library, and considering Harry rarely ever looked for a book there, all sections included let alone on such a subject as wizarding diseases. Finding himself in the right alley at last, but without any idea which book to start with, he soon gave up any hope of finding what he was looking for in the first place. Instead, he trailed back to his table to find the only reliable source of knowledge he knew of and ever counted on over the past years.

Hermione Granger regarded him with guarded curiosity as he made his way back to his seat without a book in hand, green eyes fixed upon her, as though looking for an answer already.

"All the answers to the essay are in the week's lessons, you know", she tried, frowning at him. "Maybe it's time for you to start paying attention and taking notes in History of Magic classes, because I'm not doing your work for you this time."

"It's not about the essay", Harry replied, somewhat stung. "But fine, I'll do that myself, too." He slumped on his chair with a deep sigh.

Luckily for him, his friend's interest was piqued.

"Oh. Well", she prompted, "what is it you wanted to ask me, then ?"

Harry appeared thoughtful for a moment.

"I think I'm sick, but I've no idea what it could be. I think, maybe it is some wizarding stuff that I don't know about, but you might ?" He asked, hopeful.

"I might, yes", the girl preened. "So what are your symptoms, Harry ?"

Harry objectively related all previous occurences of his sickness, with all the details he could remember ; but it all but left Hermione perplexed.

"Your symptoms are quite common, but I've never heard of a disease that comes and goes like that. Does it ring a bell to you, Ron ?"

The redhead, pureblood wizard and the most likely to have known of such a thing, looked as lost as his curly-haired friend. He merely shook his head, seemingly lost in his own memories, looking for a clue.

"Wait," Hermione asked with a dark look. "This couldn't be something George made up, could it ?"

Ron paled under the scrutiny but shook his head again, more vehemently this time.

"Not that I know of. Harry, he didn't give you anything before you started getting sick ?"

"No, not at all", Harry confirmed. "Haven't heard from him in a while, actually." Ron seemed to visibly deflate with relief.

Still, Hermione looked dubious, but she accepted the answer nonetheless. She turned her gaze on the dark-haired boy, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip.

"Well, I'll try to look it up for you. In the meantime, maybe try to analyse why this happens ; you know, find something common to all occurences. Maybe something from your environment triggers this reactions."

"Like some kind of allergies, you mean ?"

"Yes, something like that. It could make sense, if only we found the cause."

That night, Harry tried to think about what could cause his supposed disease to act up. For some weird reason, he remembered quite precisely every one of his bouts of fever from the recent weeks.

He clearly recalled the first time it happened. He had been sitting in the Great Hall, deep in thought, reflecting on how Ginny felt so much more like a sister than a lover, and resolving with a lump in his throat to tell her so. That was as good a reason as any to remember this first occurrence, Harry decided.

Then, out of habit, he'd looked at the Slytherin table, to find Parkinson trying to feed a laughing Malfoy a huge chunk of her chocolate cake. He remembered feeling annoyed that they seemed so happy when he was just about to end his own relationship, when he felt it. The bile rising up in his throat, and suddenly the world seemed to spin a bit too fast for him, and how could everyone else bear such a high temperature ?

Okay, so he'd been eating at the time. Maybe it was the food. He tried to recall what he'd had, but that part was a bit foggy. He hadn't been paying much attention to that, in all honesty.

Nevermind. Maybe the next occurrence would help. But he hadn't been eating at that moment ; he was starving, actually, having been in a detention with McGonagall for handing in "the most appalling piece of work a seventh-year ever had the audacity to surrender", in her own words ; and he was just trying to catch the last of dinner, when, in his haste, he had actually bumped right into Parkinson and got a mouthful of her hair and they both ended up with their arses on the floor, and Malfoy had come and helped her up but left Harry on the floor to deal with his own sore bottom and a devastating fever.

Harry had not been hungry anymore.

So then, what could it be ? Not the hunger, because he had been eating that first time. Not the running, either. Maybe the dust ? He'd been cleaning an old classroom the Muggle way. But there had been no dust in the Great Hall...

The cleaning products, then ? Maybe there was some product left on his plate when he'd been eating, and then he's used the same product when cleaning the classroom... and – oh, come on, was he really considering that theory ?

Harry was starting to get a headache.

He could see nothing to tie the different events together. There was that time when he'd been going to Hagrid's with Ron and Hermione, and they'd ran past Parkinson serenading Malfoy, of all the stupid things. He'd practically had to roll down the gameskeeper's hut, he'd felt so dizzy. Nothing in common with the Great Hall or an old classroom and a run down the stairs.

Then there was the time he went to study near the lake but Malfoy was already seated there with Parkinson's head on his lap and he was absently stroking her hair all the while asking her random questions about their Charms lesson and Harry had felt like vomiting on his own feet.

Or the time he had tripped on the last step of the stairs and narrowly missed getting his face acquainted with the floor, when Malfoy, the prat, had walked passed him, witnessed the scene and made some cutting remark about how the weight of his head must have propelled him face first. Parkinson had laughed her arse off and wrapped herslef around his arm, kissing his cheek and waving a feverish and dizzy Harry goodbye.

Or the time he nearly fainted when Parkinson all but jumped on Malfoy because she'd got an O in Charms and he almost made her twirl, like this was appropriate behaviour for a Malfoy and – wait a minute.

Harry's eyes widened in horror.

"Amortentia ? Again ?" Malfoy complained from the front row, next to a bored-looking Parkinson - again.

Harry deeply shared the sentiment. He had no wish to have his doubts confirmed, thank you very much ; though it did seem convenient that Slughorn would choose to bring back the Amortentia just the day after the Gryffindor had realised an unpleasant truth about his possible feelings.

Fate was a funny bitch.

"Hermione, since you do know everything, I have a weird question for you."

"Mmh ?" the girl replied distractedly, clearly focused on her Potion.

"Can one be allergic to a person ?" Harry asked, a desperate edge to his voice. His friend appeared not to notice. "Please tell me it's possible."

But Hermione merely frowned and said, without looking away from her cauldron : "What are you talking about, Harry ? You're being ridiculous, of course it's not possible. Your Potion shouldn't be bubbling like that, by the way ; you should get back to brewing or you'll fail your Potions Newt."

So they brewed, in agitated silence for Harry's part, and of course, without the help of the Half-Blood Prince and with other things going on in his mind, his potion was even less than passable. Luckily (or unluckily, in Harry's case) for them, Hermione's was just as perfect as it gets, and so they all got to smell the scent of the person they supposedly loved.

Splendid.

As he took in a breath of Hermione's Amortentia, he looked at the Slytherin side of the room, and felt the nausea come back full force.

Back in the library again, Harry could not concentrate on their Transfiguration research. Unsurprisedly, he found his gaze drawn to another table of eighth years near the library doors.

Pansy Parkinson did look nice, he thought. Her dark hair caught dark red gleams in the sunlight, and she had pretty eyes. She seemed funny and smart, and had a nice smile. It was sensible to feel attracted to such a girl.

He felt his stomach act up as she gently took Malfoy's hand in hers and started to read the lines there in a mocking imitation of Trelawney ; but this time he was ready for it and kept the nausea in check.

Jealousy. He was sick with jealousy. How had he managed not to see that ?

Now of course, he would never have imagined being drawn to Parkinson of all people ; no matter how good-looking, she still had a shrill voice, her laugh resembled a cackle and she was about as nice and sweet as a blast-ended skrewt.

Or so Harry had thought, he realised now. On closer observation – which he had never thought necessary before – she seemed considerate and gentle with her friends, and fun to be around ; more insecure than he'd known, if her fear of failing classes was anything to go by ; but still bright and determined enough to pass them all.

All things considered, she really was a nice girl. A Slytherin, yes, but Harry had learned the hard way not to trust appearances. They all had.

He was startled out of his sombre thoughts by the scraping of his friend's chairs, and realised it was time for dinner already. He hastened to follow, quickly gathering his things and throwing them haphazardly back in his bag. As he passed near his green-clad classmates, though, he hesitated. Making a split-second decision, he looked at Parkinson.

"You look nice today", he blurted out. He barely saw her eyes widen in surprise, mirroring his own, before he turned around and fled through the library door.

In the corridor, Ron and Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment, but none of them commented on the way to the Great Hall. His respite was short lived, however ; for as soon as Ron had filled his plate with enough chicken wings and potatoes, he nonchalantly asked, "So, what was that about ?"

Harry groaned and let his head fall in his crossed arms. "I looked like a nutter, didn't I ?" he mumbled without looking up.

"Of course not, you were sweet", Hermione assured as the same time as Ron said "Yeah, you really did."

The curly-haired girl regarded her ginger boyfriend with a look that would have frozen Fiendfyre on the spot.

"Now Ronald, just because you don't think to give a girl a compliment now and then, doesn't mean no one should !"

Ron looked ashamed for all of a second. He had the good grace to swallow his mouthful of chicken before responding.

"That's because you don't look beautiful just today, 'Mione ; you do everyday." He looked triumphantly at Harry, wiggling his eyebrows as if to say, "See what I did ?"

Hermione, for her part, just narrowed her eyes ; but a faint blush had crept on her cheeks. "I am not done with you, Ron Weasley", she still threatened. "So your illness was actually pining over Parkinson ?" she then asked Harry, somewhat dubiously.

Harry sighed. It did sound stupid, even to his own ears.

"I don't know what to tell you guys. I just can't stand seeing her drooling all over Malfoy all the time, it's litterally making me sick."

Just in time to make his point, Pansy Parkinson entered the Great Hall, tightly wound around a certain blond's left arm. Harry felt his stomach drop.

"See ? I think I'm going to throw up. They're disgusting."

Ron slid his plate closer to his chest, as if to protect it from Harry.

"Wow, mate", he mumbled around his mouthful, "don't ruin the food here ! No talking about throwing up while we're eating, that's a rule !"

"And no talking while eating, Ron", Hermione countered, slapping his hand away from his next meaty target. "Harry", she continued as Ron yelped, "Are you certain ? You don't look that smitten to me. I mean, I've seen you obsessed with someone once, and it didn't look anything like that."

"For the last time", the dark-haired boy sighed loudly, "I was not obsessed with Malfoy ! He was up to something and I knew it, and in the end I was right and everybody else was wrong, so that's that, and enough about sixth year already."

"If you say so", Ron muttered without conviction, spitting chunks of potato everywhere and earning an exasperated "Will you stop ?" from his girlfriend.

"Anyway", Harry went on, ignoring them both, "the Potion today smelled just like her hair. And I feel like punching Malfoy's face every time I come across him. That can't be just because of his stupid ferret-face."

"Her hair ?" Ron asked, dubious. "You know what her hair smells like ?"

"Yeah, I almost swallowed it once. Don't ask", he muttered.

"...sure, mate. Whatever."

"I still can't believe you could be that oblivious", Hermione pressed on. "I mean, you thought yourself sick before even considering jealousy ! Maybe you're missing something here. No, listen", she continued when Harry opened his mouth to protest. "I never even heard you mention Parkinson before now. It's a bit surprising, isn't it ?"

Harry took his head in his hands, pulling his hair with both fists.

"'Mione, I don't really know what I'm feeling right now. I'm just bloody confused and Merlin, I really want her off Malfoy's lap," he added with a glare at the Slytherin table.

"Okay", his friend conceded. "That I can understand. But... do you want her in your lap then ?"

Ron coughed loudly and Harry blushed ; Hermione rolled her eyes at them.

"I don't know, okay ? Look, none of that matters anyway, because she's been dating Malfoy her whole life and it's not like that's going to change anytime soon."

"What ?" Ron looked at Harry as if he'd grown a second head. "No, she's not, of course she's not. Malfoy's gayer than Ginny's pink Pygmy Puff, everyone knows that."

"It's purple, actually, and no, not everyone, apparently", Hermione corrected, indicating her dark-haired friend with her head. He looked completely stricken, staring at Malfoy and Parkinson with a whole new gleam in his eyes. Ron didn't seem inclined to let his mind explore all the new possibilities, though.

"You know, I did think you were, too, after you broke up with Ginny. Gay, I mean."

Harry's head turned so sharply that a cracking sound could be heard. "Wh – uh – What ?" he spluttered.

"Ron, I know you thought they were made for each other, but your sister isn't the only girl in the world, you know", Hermione sighed. "Harry leaving her doesn't automatically make him gay."

"No, it doesn't", Harry confirmed, shaking his head for emphasis.

"Aw, come on, he's only liked, what, two girls in his whole life, one being my sister – which he realised he only loves like a sister too, which is bloody gross if you've been doing what I think you've been doing – and he spent the rest of his time obsessing over a boy ! You gotta admit, it was sensible reasoning !"

"That makes it three girls, and for fuck's sake, Ron, I was NOT obsessed with MALFOY !"

The Great Hall fell silent at his outburst, all heads turning to him, and he wished the bench would swallow him whole and never spit him back when he caught the Slytherin's eyes, narrowing at him in a threatening glare. Harry put all his heart into retaliating, but with every student's eye on him didn't quite manage.

"Well, friends", he intoned grandly as he stood up, "thank you for your friendly support. I shall show you the righteousness of my feelings and you shall feel ashamed of yourselves for doubting them."

He nodded goodbye, and fled the Great Hall without looking back.

Now that the matter was settled, there remained only one problem.

The Courting.

Harry Potter did not nearly died and saved the world twice to live a lonely and miserable life. If his heart desired something, then his heart would damn well get it. If only he could figure out how.

Because Harry Potter was no romance wizard – pun intended – and that much was pretty well known to all. He didn't know how to talk to a romantic interest even if his life – hell, even if his friends' lives – depended on it. Knowing that said romantic interest was so closely guarded by none other than Draco Malfoy, now that made it even worse.

First order of business : the looks. From what he'd gathered, if a boy were to court a girl, he'd have much more of a shot if he didn't resemble a troll on a bad morning ; and pureblood Pansy Parkinson was bound to prefer someone a bit fancy-looking. That being said, Harry had no idea on how to go about looking good.

He stared at himself in the mirror, and his reflection stared back. His hair looked like a lost battle to him, but maybe if he used some of that product that Seamus had told him about... ? He eyed the weird looking bottle warily. It was supposed to help him "stylize" his hair. And Ron had thought Harry was the gay one. Right.

He sighed. Should he ask Seamus how to use this stuff ? No, no way, he would ask him a million questions and never let him live it down. No, he could figure this out on his own. First, damage control. Maybe Malfoy had a point, the black mop did look like a bird's nest. After a nasty storm. Maybe stylizing was really in order. He opened the bottle and set to work.

After two very weird looking attempts, and a promise to himself to buy Seamus a new bottle of his hair product, Harry finally managed to make the mess atop his head resemble a casually ruffled look, instead of his usual just-been-attacked-by-a-furious-blast-ended-skrewt look. Hair : check.

His face looked less pale now that his nightmares made themselves scarcer, and the formerly purple bags under his eyes had subsided to a barely-there blue color that didn't attract all that much attention to itself. All in all, his face was okay. If you liked the nerdy glasses look.

Now, to another problem : his clothing. He had never been one to pay much attention to the way he dressed, and was now beginning to realise how much of a mistake this was. If it was Malfoy she liked, Harry had no shot. Jumpers and trousers alike fitted his form perfectly, and when his robes should be hiding his athletic body, they only served to make his shoulders seem even broader ; but not as if the fabric was about to explode under the pressure of arms too big for its size, no, just... as if he was really damn fit.

Harry was really damn fit too. He still played quidditch, and a year running around in the forest hunting for horcruxes had strenghtened his muscles quite perfectly. But he'd be damned if he knew how to subtly make it show the way the blond did. He rummaged through his trunk, trying to find something – anything – that didn't look old or ugly or like he didn't care at all. He finally got his hands on a decent looking pair of jeans which he had forgotten he owned – probably because they'd stayed at the very bottom of the trunk ever since he'd bought them – and his favorite shirt, that sadly had a huge hole on its armpit.

No problem, Harry thought ; time to fix that. He ran down the dormitory stairs.

"Hey, Hermione, d'you know a sewing spell ? I'd like to fix my shirt."

His friend lifted an eyebrow. "Now ? After two years of keeping it locked away in your trunk ?"

"We- yeah, I just want to wear it. But the hole thingy's gonna make me look... neglected."

"Right. Neglected. Give me that", she said with an amused smile. Harry triumphantly gave her the piece of clothing. He sat down next to her armchair on the common room rug, waiting for his soon-to-be repaired best shirt.

"Thanks, Hermione, you're the best !"

Her increasing smile was the only answer he got.

"Here you go, good as new", she said after a moment, handing him the shirt back. "You might want to wash it first, though", she added, wrinkling her nose. He placed a resounding kiss on her head.

"Thank you so much !" he said as he rushed back up the stairs. Hermione frowned as she looked up at him.

"Harry ? What have you done to your hair ?"

Harry didn't stop. "Nothing !" he called back, fleeing to the boy's dormitory.

He had some more planning to do.

Harry was up late the next morning. He was running to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, when he saw none other than Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, followed by all Slytherin eighth years, walking out its huge doors.

Slowing to a more sedate pace, he waited until he was close enough, took a deep breath, and smiled at the dark-haired girl as he caught her eye. She stared back, eyes as wide as the day before, but kept walking. Malfoy, however, had stopped. He eyed Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Stop being weird, Potter", he instructed ; and then walked away.

They're not dating, they're not dating, Malfoy's gay, they're not dating, Harry repeated to himself as he sat down and filled his plate. His stomach was growling and clenching at the same time, and he felt completely sick again. Malfoy's arm around her shoulders and his narrowed eyes kept replaying in his mind.

They're not dating.

A few days and infructuous smiles later, Harry was ready for step 2. He had received a few owl orders, and had mastered the good-looking hair look ; he was now ready to present the New Harry Potter to the Hogwarts population.

Hair well groomed, dressed in his best shirt, almost new trousers and new nicely-fitted set of robes, a shiny looking pair of shoes at his feet and his head held high, he pushed the doors of the Great Hall open and walked in.

Three things happened. Several groups of fifth and sixth year girls squealed in surprise ; most of the rest of the room went quite silent, and Draco Malfoy spat the entirety of his pumpking juice on Blaise Zabini. The blond's "What the actual fuck ?!" could be heard throughout the Great Hall, as well as McGonagall's indignant "Language, Mr. Malfoy !"

Harry ignored them all, smiled – again – at Parkinson, and walked purposefully towards a quietly laughing Hermione and a staring Ron. He sat down.

"Mate, you look weird", the ginger announced as he helped himself to more scrambled eggs.

"That's not very nice, Ron", Hermione reprimanded him ; but she was still smiling. "Harry, you look good. To what do we owe this little... transformation ?"

"To what", Ron repeated with a snort, which Harry chose to ignore.

"Thank you, Hermione", he answered, preening a little because it couldn't hurt. "I just thought, maybe it was time to try and take care of myself. Can't hurt." Ron snorted again at that.

"Keep telling me you're not gay, mate. Maybe at some point I'll start believing you. Oh wait, no, I don't think I will."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you know why I did this, can't you just bear with me here ?"

"Not all men who take care of themselves are into men, Ron", Hermione cut in. "It wouldn't hurt you to change your clothes either, you know. Or cut your hair once in a while."

"Hermione, I'm a redhead, my hair's sacred, you don't cut it just like that. And all I'm saying, is that Malfoy over there seems to like what he sees. Look how red he is", he said as he indicated the glaring blond. He turned back to Harry, who was now watching too. "Oh, look, now Harry's blushing too ! Am I making my point yet ?" he added with a pointed look.

"This is – I'm NOT – you're completely – this is not what I was attempting here !" Harry spluttered. "And Malfoy's not into me, he's not even staring at me, he's – glaring in Gryffindor's general direction and cursing us all into oblivion in his mind, as he always does." He gestured wildly to make his point, swallowing his bacon with difficulty. "A guy with his looks could have anybody he likes, anyway, he wouldn't settle for the likes of me. I mean, look at him. Do you know how much trouble I had to go through to look even half as good as he does ? It's completely unfair. ...and beside the point", he added, catching the look on his friend's faces. "I'll just go prepare for Charms, why don't I ?"

Yet again, he fled the Great Hall ; but not before catching a curious looking Parkinson's eyes, along with the murderous glare of one Draco Malfoy.

As he left, Hermione's gaze followed him to the doors, a pensive look written across her face.

"Do you think we should tell him ?" she asked of her still eating boyfriend.

"Nah", the ginger answered. "He's not ready yet. Let him figure it out by himself."

Later that day, in the library, Harry was fidgeting in his seat, which only served to drive Hermione crazy.

"Will you stop and finish your homework already ? You haven't written a word !"

Harry's foot tapped even faster. "I can't concentrate. She's right there, and I don't know how to talk to her ! How am I supposed to date someone I don't know how to talk to ?"

"Move on to someone you know how to talk to", Ron suggested, eyebrows drawn together as he concentrated on understanding yet another Troll War.

"You'll figure something out, I'm sure of it", Hermione assured him, putting a calming hand on his. "In the meantime, please stop making these noises or I'll feed you to Crookshanks", she added with a sweet smile.

Harry shuddered. He glanced at his barely begun essay, tried to understand the title he'd written when he'd sat down, and for the life of him couldn't figure out what to make of it. Giving up once more, he looked up and chanced a glance at the Slytherin table, where Parkinson was watching him intensely. Heart beating faster, he gave her a tiny smile, which soon dropped into an alarmed frown when she suddenly got up and marched towards him.

"Where are you going ?" he vaguely heard Malfoy's voice call out to her ; but she didn't answer, and sat down gracefully on the chair right next to Harry's.

"Alright, Potter", she demanded, eyes locked into his. "Why are you being weird ?"

"I'm not – I'm not being weird", Harry stuttered. He could hear Ron snicker across from him. "I just, um..." His words dissolved into nothing as she studied his face, clearly intrigued. She took a deep breath.

"Look, if you're trying to make me feel bad about what I did last year, I'm not going to apologise. It was a terrible thing to do, I know, but I was trying to protect my family and friends, and I can't see how that is wrong. So, just stop, okay ? I did what I did, end of the story."

Harry frowned in confusion. He hadn't thought twice about her trying to surrender him to Voldemort, if he was honest with himself.

"No, it's not – I'd forgotten about that", he admitted sheepishly. Parkinson's eyes grew wide.

"You did ? Merlin, I thought you'd hate me forever for that."

"I do", Ron muttered, not looking up from his essay. Harry resisted the urge to pinch his nose – or smack the back of his friend's head.

"No, of course not, it's not – look, Parkinson, I mean, Pansy." He gathered what little courage he felt and continued. "I just, uh, I wondered if, maybe, you'd like to, uh, talk sometimes."

Silence followed. Hermione and Ron both looked from the Gryffindor to the Slytherin, completely unconvinced by their friend's approach.

"Talk ?" Pansy repeated after a while. She seemed rather skeptical as well.

"Yeah", Harry stuttered on, "I mean, you seem nice, and I don't really know you, and I'd like to... to change that."

She studied his face again, her eyes raking from his scar to his mouth and back to his eyes.

"Okay", she finally said. "Meet me back here after dinner. We'll talk."

Harry watched her leave in a daze, not knowing if he'd won or not.

"How did it go then ?" Hermione asked with a smile when he came back to the common room that night. She had a heavy book opened in her lap, and was absently petting Crookshanks' head, curled in a ball on the armrest next to her.

"'Mione ? Were you waiting for me ?"

She laughed. "Of course I was. It's not every day my best friend comes back from a first date. I reckon Ron's pretending not to wait for you upstairs, by the way."

Harry scratched the side of his neck. "Yeah, alright. Well", he said as he sat down next to her on the big couch, "We talked."

Hermione nudged him with her foot. "And ?"

"And she really is nice. She uh, she'd like to go into training at Saint Mungo's after Hogwarts. Her favorite color's grey, and uh, she likes green apples best, because they're the most acid, and apparently that's good. She likes to fly on a broom, but never wanted to try Quidditch, because she would have tried for seeker and she wanted Malfoy to make the team rather than her. You know, stuff like that. We talked about childhood and coming to Hogwarts and where we saw ourselves in the next few years. We had a good time."

He looked sideways at Hermione, who had placed a gentle hand on his knee.

"That's nice. You don't look too happy, though." she stated.

Harry sighed. "No, it's not – I am, but I just... I don't know, it feels weird. Like something's not natural. Like I'm trying too hard or something."

Hermione gave him a secretive smile. "Maybe it's just the beginning. Maybe the feeling will subside the more you get to know her. Or maybe potions can sometimes be wrong. Time will tell."

"You're right, I'm just... I'll try and get some sleep, okay ? Maybe go to bed, too, you look like you're about to fall asleep on that thing", he added, indicating the book. She nodded.

"I wouldn't count on sleep just yet. Don't forget about Ron."

Harry grunted in despair, and went to face his fate.

In the weeks that followed, Pansy often joined him for more library dates, sometimes with Ron and Hermione, sometimes just the two of them. She would team up with the bushy-haired girl and enforce study sessions on the two desperate boys, or talk some more about everything and nothing in particular, enjoying the liberty of just being a young adult finishing school again. Harry liked her company, her wits and humour, though his first feeling of something not quite clicking was taking its time subsiding.

And all through it, Malfoy was like Pansy's shadow, glaring at them both from a far-off table or behind a shelf. It was, to say the least, quite unnerving.

On one fateful Friday evening, Harry and Pansy left the library together in favour of the Great Hall for dinner, where she would return to her Slytherin fellows – and Malfoy, who was, for once, nowhere to be seen.

As they walked in companionable silence, the dark-haired girl suddenly seemed to stumble upon a thought.

"Harry", she said, catching his attention at once. He looked into her curious eyes. "Why did you want to talk ?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, slightly taken aback. "Just now, you mean ?"

She shook her head. "No, not just now, at all. You never looked at me twice before and all of a sudden, you smile at me and blush and you want to talk. Why ?"

Harry stared at her, not knowing how to phrase his thoughts. It was now or never, but how ?

When he failed to answer quickly enough, Pansy went on, eyes still curious and tone very serious.

"Did you want to ask me out ? Is it what these library meetings are about ?"

Completely alarmed at this turn of events, yet feeling like he had to give an answer – any answer, Harry bit his lower lip and blurted out, "Maybe ?"

Both her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she repeated his last word, and Harry reflected that probably, "maybe" wasn't the required answer here.

So he took a deep breath, and all the courage he could gather, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

She didn't move away, but didn't quite respond either. Harry, for his part, waited for the world to erupt in fireworks and rainbows and birdsongs. In vain.

He retracted, disappointment evident on his face, and studied hers. She didn't look shocked, or outraged, or happy, at that ; not even confused. She just looked... contemplative. Harry sighed and slumped against the wall.

"I don't understand", he all but whined. "Is kissing someone you like supposed to be this plain ?" He knew it was not ; he'd kissed Cho and Ginny before, and he'd liked them at the time.

Pansy looked like she was about to make a snide remark at his poor choice of words – plain ?! - but she seemed to refrain in the face of his apparent despair.

"What makes you think you like me so much ?" she asked instead, settling against the wall next to him. He looked at her sheepishly ; surely "because a potion said so" was a rather poor explanation, but there he was.

" Well I – I noticed I felt... sick, sort of, whenever I saw you with Malfoy. And then the other day in Potions, the Amortentia... it smelled just like your hair, so, I figured..." He trailed off there, seeing her face close in a confused frown.

"My hair ?" she repeated, shaking her head slightly. "When the hell did you ever get the chance to know what my hair smells like ?"

Harry felt himself blush ; he knew this was not going to go well.

"I didn't smell it on purpose !" he protested. "I had a mouthful of it that day when we bumped into each other and fell on our asses. Glorious day, as I recall. And no one helped me up", he muttered as an afterthought.

Recognition dawned on Pansy's face. "That day !" she exclaimed. "Yeah, I remember that, we'd had a good laugh about that terrible Transfiguration essay you handed in, thank you for that."

Harry fixed her with a half-hearted glare that had no effect whatsoever on her malicious grin ; a sudden realisation, though, made it turn into a perfect "o" as her eyes grew wide.

"Of course, it was that week !" Harry stared at her in absolute confusion. "It wasn't really my hair you smelled, because fucking Blaise Zabini had stolen all my shampoo and I couldn't get a new bottle before the next week-end in Hogsmeade. I didn't smell like me !"

Harry felt his stomach tighten painfully at the news. Not that it was so surprising, because he'd known deep down, almost-date after almost-date, that he didn't have any real attraction to the Slytherin girl. But if it wasn't her, then did it mean...

"Whose shampoo did you use, then ?" he asked in a whisper.

She took a look at his face and bit her lip in sympathy.

"You might want to sit down, sweety."

"He did WHAT ?"

Mortified, Harry listened to the angry yet desperate cry of the one person he didn't really want to hear from right now, and yet really wanted to hear from forever, apparently.

Draco Malfoy. Pansy's hair, and at the same time Harry's Amortentia, had smelled like Malfoy.

Malfoy.

Harry sunk deeper under the table, face buried in his arms and hands grasping at his hair in an attempt to ground himself.

"This can't be happening", he muttered, mostly to himself. Across from him, Ron cleared his throat.

"Found out about it yet ?" he asked innocently.

"Shut up, Ron", came the mumbled response.

"I'm not gonna say I told you so, but really, I did", Ron went on, completely ignoring his best friend's distress. It earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from Hermione, which he unsuccessfully tried to dodge. "So, what happened ?" the redhead asked, rubbing at his sore side.

Harry's face slowly emerged from behind his arms ; the embodiment of despair.

"Malfoy's shampoo happened", he rasped.

His statement was met by perplexed stares. "His shampoo ?" Hermione repeated, trying to get him to explain by the sheer power of her gaze. It worked.

"When I smelled her hair, she was using his fucking shampoo. Malfoy's shampoo. Merlin's fucking flowery pants, Amortentia smells like fucking Malfoy to me." Harry knew he was whining again, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He liked Malfoy.

Ron snickered at his words, but quickly stifled it when he met his girlfriend's glare.

"I'm going to attribute this poor choice of words to shock", he declared, regaining his composure. "So what are you going to do about it ?"

Harry's forehead met the table again, with a loud thumping sound and a heartfelt sigh that did not fully cover Hermione's whispered "Stop pressuring him ! He's clearly not ready yet !"

"What is there to do ?" he said to the table. "I can't even look at him. Pansy is telling him everything right now, I know she is. I heard him yell about the kiss."

"You kissed her ?!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione shushed him again ; but Harry's head didn't even twitch on the table.

"Yeah, and it was as plain as a kiss could be. I'm sure it was plainer than kissing you or Hermione would be. It was the lamest kiss I've ever had. And he knows about it."

Hermione made a sound between indignant and sympathetic, but Ron just poked him with his fork.

"I'll have you know I'm a great kisser, not that you'll ever have the privilege to try. I just don't love you that way, mate. Also, I think Parkinson broke Malfoy." he added offhandedly. Harry perked up, his eyes appearing above the level of his plate, looking questioningly at his best friend.

"He doesn't move anymore. Look !" the redhead said, waving his fork in Slytherin's general direction.

So Harry looked, lifting his head completely from the wooden surface it rested on, and there Malfoy was, looking completely struck, his grey eyes opened as wide as Harry had ever seen them, and fixed directly upon his own. He gulped.

"So now he knows", he stated. Ron nodded wisely. "I'm fucked. I'm completely fucked."

The redhead clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy.

"Mate, not that I don't feel for you, but, first years around. You got to stop saying fuck. Also, hand that bacon over, please."

Harry's outraged glare only made his grin grow wider.

The following day saw Harry try to be as invisible as humanly possible. Out with the shiny shoes and the nice fitting robes and the stylized hair ; he made his way down the castle corridors with his hands in his pockets and his head bent low. Not that he was ashamed or anything. He just couldn't face Malfoy right now.

And yet. It seemed fate, or perhaps Malfoy, would not have it this way, for later that very afternoon, the two came face to face rather unexpectedly. Harry froze on the spot, unable to either move or speak. Malfoy, for his part, barely seemed tense ; and it was unfair how the situation did not appear to affect him as much as Harry, because it really should, in his very wise opinion.

"Potter", the blond said ; and the sound of his voice shook Harry out of his paralysis. He shot a panicked glance at the Slytherin, and all but fled the scene, leaving Malfoy at a loss all by himself.

He carried on like this, going out of his way to avoid running into the blond, who himself seemed to be going after him, for the next few days. Every time he noticed the Slytherin in the vicinity, he all but ran in the opposite direction, or made a huge detour just to enter the classroom without passing near him. What he did not notice, was Malfoy's increasingly hurt and angry expression each time he did that. That is, until Malfoy had enough and litterally grabbed him at the end of Charms class, dragging him along until they reached the next corridor. There, he did not release him.

"That's it, Potter", he spat in his face, and Harry did not move or try to escape his grasp ; he just stood there and stared helplessly. "When you think it's Pansy your stupid deficient heart wants, you go full Gryffindor on her with smiles and good looks and "you look nice, I think we should get to know each other better" bullshit, and it doesn't bother you at all. But when you realise, no, it's actually me you smelled in that joke of a potion, oh boy, you can't even stand the thought of it. Look at me, fuck's sake !" he roared when all Harry could do was to fix his gaze on the floor. He could feel Malfoy's body trembling with fury, and he sure as hell could not face it just yet. "You're pathetic, and ridiculous, and you know what, I don't give a flying fuck what you think you know about me and what you think you feel or whatever. I just... stay the fuck away from me. You're toxic, that's what you are. Chosen One, my arse." He pushed the dark-haired boy as far away from himself as he could, and stormed off without a backwards glance.

Harry was left alone with the erratic beating of his heart and the painful clenching of his stomach, and the knowledge that he never, ever wanted to face this livid Malfoy again. Especially not knowing he was responsible for such fury.

This situation had to stop, and there was only one way he knew how.

The next morning, Harry did not go full Gryffindor with smiles and good looks. He did not strut down the halls, full of apparent self-confidence and purpose. He did not try any of the "I think we should get to know each other better" bullshit.

Because his heart wanted something, it wanted something quite desperately, and damn it, it was going to get it.

That morning, Harry waited for Malfoy's arithmancy class to end. He waited until the last student was out. He responded with a small smile to Hermione's questionning look. He waited until Malfoy was done asking what was bound to be an unhealthy amount of questions to his professor. And then Malfoy was out, too.

He froze when he saw the Gryffindor standing there on his own. They looked at each other for a moment, long enough for Harry to muster up the courage to open his mouth to speak, and -

"I don't want to hear it, Potter", Malfoy spat as he walked past him. Panicking, Harry threw his arm at the Slytherin and grabbed him.

"Malfoy, wait !"

"Let me go !" the blond growled as he attempted to remove his limb from Harry's grasp.

"Malfoy, please. I won't be long. I just... I want to clarify something. Please."

Malfoy stared hard at him, face set in an angry frown. "Enlighten me", he finally sneered.

Harry breathed, barely.

"Okay, uh... well, I -"

"If you're going to be this articulate, I'll be on my way", the Slytherin interrupted.

"I didn't know I liked men", Harry blurted out. Malfoy stared, in shock rather than in anger now.

"I had no idea, really", Harry went on, " So when I found out that I liked you, it was a bit of a shock, not because it's you, but because you're, well, not a girl." He breathed again, carefully, and continued on his tirade. "I should have realised sooner, really, because – the admiration I sometimes catch myself feeling for you, it reaches insane levels. I just thought I was jealous like mad, but really I, uh, well. You know that part. I'm just – I'm rambling", he added, shaking his head. "What I meant to say was, I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't want to like you or anything. 'Cause... I do. I just needed a moment to digest the part where, I like men."

When Malfoy still said nothing, he released his arm and took a careful step back.

"I'll go to lunch now. I uh, I'll understand if you're still mad at me."

Again, he fled without looking back.

So now he'd said it. He liked Draco Malfoy, and he was more and more okay with it. Mostly because, now he thought about it, it did make perfect sense, and explain the not-obsession he'd had over the years.

Now the rest of it was Malfoy's call, and that made Harry nervous, because the blond git had a known tendancy to hold grudges and generally be a drama-queen ; and also, what if they had all assumed but been wrong, and he didn't really like Harry back ? What if his outburst in the corridor was just misplaced pride that Harry hadn't acknowledged his feelings for him ? What if Harry had just made a further fool of himself by admitting it to him the day before ?

Shut up, he told himself. He was going to go through with this. Because Harry wanted something really bad, and if he didn't get it after all this fiasco, he was certainly going to go around the twist. And now that the apoplogy and explanation were taken care of, he could definitely go full Gryffindor.

Which is exactly what he did the very next morning. This time, the Great Hall exploded in whispers to speculate about who was the new object of his courting; Harry all but ignored them and happily sat with his friends at the Gryffindor table. He was pleased to notice that his fellow students wouldn't have to wait long to find out either ; for only a few minutes later, a certain blond Slytherin was innocently sitting down next to him. That silenced the whole student body.

"Morning, Malfoy", Harry said pleasantly, not looking at him and instead pouring them both glasses of pumpking juice.

"Draco, please", Malfoy – Draco – replied just as offhandedly. "You know, I thought about what you said – pass the eggs, please, Weasley – and I decided, I'm not mad. Much."

He chanced a glance at Harry, who bit his lower lip in nervousness, eyes still locked intently on his plate.

"You're not ?" he prompted.

"I'm not," Draco repeated. "I can relate to your predicament, having been there myself a while ago. I have been waiting for you to have the same epiphany ever since, and really, I have to be a little bit mad at you, because how thick can you be ?" He fully turned to Harry in indignation at that. "I can't believe I have to thank Slughorn and Blaise the shampoo stealer for this", he added, shaking his head.

Harry was looking at him now, although carefully still. "Waiting for me ? How long ?"

It was Draco's turn to take unlimited interest in his plate.

"Oh, you know, just a few years", he replied in a rush. Harry inhaled sharply.

"Well, in that case", he said with a smile, "I'll have to make up for the lost time."

And as Draco looked up at him, a small smile blossoming on his own lips, Harry felt a warm hand on his, that seemed to squeeze his heart a well as his fingers. Because Harry Potter had wanted something very much, and he had finally found it.

"So, Pansy told me some weird stuff the other day... Did you really think you were sick ?"

"Uh..."

The End