Title: Those Murky Waters
Author: Spider Spider
Summary: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Reviews make me squeal with HAPPINESS! So . . . please?
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Chapter Four
In which we explore the consequences of too little sleep and too many hormones
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Harry sat fuming in front of the fireplace, trying to ignore the sound of Ron rolling around on the floor, laughing himself sick.
"Just because Stephen wasn't able to help you doesn't mean that you should give up on psychology altogether, Harry," Hermione said.
"Yeah, if you quite now, you'll never have the chance to discover your mad love for Snape," Ron gasped.
"I'm serious Ron! Harry, I won't make you talk to anyone else, just look through my psychology books."
"Malfoy," Harry spat.
"Yes, Harry, he was obviously wrong, but I don't see why you're so angry about it."
Harry glared at her. "How would you feel if some idiot Ravenclaw said that you were," his face contorted in disgust, "in love with Malfoy! I don't even like boys!"
Ron howled.
"Stop it!" Harry snapped.
"I'm sorry mate," Ron wheezed, "but the look on your face . . ."
Tired of dealing with everyone, including his so-called friends, Harry stomped up the stairs and collapsed on his bed.
"Malfoy," Harry thought disgustedly, "just because I hate him. Stephen, that complete wanker, since when does hating someone, and I hate Malfoy, mean that you like them. If Freud said that he should check himself into a psychiatric ward. I liked Cho —Cho, a girl. Not some Slytherin brat, especially not a male Slytherin brat, and especially not Draco fucking Malfoy."
Harry turned over onto his back.
"Reaction formation," he snorted. "He thinks he's brilliant, but he's obviously fucking delusional. Stephen probably pulled that straight out of his arse."
"You know what," Harry said sitting up, "I will borrow Hermione's books, so that I show Stephen what a fuckwit he really is."
Harry had a plan.
ooo
Harry was ensconced in a forgotten dusty corner of the library, skimming through Hermione's psychology books for something that would explain is dreams, and trying not to fall asleep. He couldn't imagine how Hermione actually enjoyed reading these.
He was supposed to be working on his Charms homework, then meet Ron and Hermione after dinner to do the psychology research, but he wanted to prove Stephen wrong himself.
The first thing he had done after borrowing the books was look up reaction formation, but to his disappointment, it did exist and was exactly as Stephen had explained.
But that didn't mean that he had suddenly developed some uncontrollable lust for Malfoy that was giving him wet dreams every night. He was straight, he knew he was straight. He had had a crush on Cho Chang for three years—three years for Christ's sake! And Stephen thought he spent his time subconsciously fantasizing about pale pointy Slytherin boys.
Harry shuddered.
Even having thoughts of sex and Malfoy in his head at the same time was doing strange things to the pit of Harry's stomach.
"Nauseating," he said.
"Talking to yourself, Potter?" Malfoy smirked.
Harry jumped. How the hell had Malfoy found him? Did he actively look for people to torment?
"They say it's one of the first signs of insanity, but then everyone already knows that the Boy Who Lived is losing it," he continued.
"Er . . ." Harry said, suddenly aware that he had just been thinking about sex and Malfoy. Or rather sex with Malfoy.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "'Er'? Have you suffered so many blows to the head that language is now beyond you?"
Harry opened his mouth to give a retort, but then Malfoy shifted, crossing his arms, and the collar of his robes gaped to provide a glimpse of the tender area where neck met shoulder.
"Are you blushing?!" Malfoy asked in disbelief.
"No!" Harry snapped, even as he felt his face heat up. This was all Stephen's fault.
"You are! You're blushing!" Malfoy crowed.
"I AM NOT BLUSHING!" Harry shouted desperately. "IT'S JUST A NECK!"
Malfoy stopped smirking and stared at him.
"You really have gone off the deep end," he sneered.
"I hate you," Harry said, to make it perfectly clear to himself and everyone else.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh Merlin, no, that one went straight to the heart," he drawled, and then walked away after a final sneer.
Harry turned back to the books with a new fervor. This needed to end now.
ooo
"No luck?" Hermione asked sympathetically when Harry plopped himself down on the bench at dinner.
"No," Harry said. He didn't tell her about the thing with Malfoy. That had just been weird. He saw necks every day after all. It had just startled him because it was Malfoy. He didn't usually see that part of Malfoy's neck, he didn't want to see that part of Malfoy's neck, and with his mind already filled with the images of what he might be dreaming . . .
Horrible images. Of what Stephen thought he was dreaming. But that he wasn't. Because he wasn't gay, and even if he were, which he wasn't, he wouldn't like Malfoy. Even if he did have a nice neck.
Wait.
Harry groaned, "I need to get some sleep. My mind is starting to play tricks on me."
"That's probably best," Hermione agreed. "You were running low on energy before you began researching in all your spare time. Why don't you go to bed early tonight and Ron and I will do some research without you?"
"I guess," Harry said.
"Yeah, you look pretty rough, mate," Ron said. "Go get some sleep."
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"So I take it the extra sleep didn't help," Ron said, eying the newt mucus spilled down the front of Harry's robe.
"Don't ask," Harry warned, pushing his way through the crowd. The hall was filled with the students leaving Snape's N.E.W.T. potions class, as well as people like Ron who were meeting their friends.
"It wasn't all your fault Harry," Hermione said, trying to be comforting. "The potions were very difficult today, and Snape's not a very patient teacher."
Snape's patience, or lack thereof, had nothing to do with it. He could have explained Scintillation Solutions at a pace Crabbe and Goyle could follow and Harry still would have been lost. After the episode in the library, he'd found himself noticing things about Malfoy that he never had before; things he didn't want to notice, like the soft line of his throat or the way his lips moved when he sneered.
Unfortunately, while Harry was doing things like staring avidly at Malfoy's mouth, Malfoy! Of all people!, the rest of the class was taking notes, and he had been completely lost when the time came to actually make the potion. His had come out a weird off-yellow while everyone else's was a bright green.
And to top it off, Malfoy had cast a trip jinx at him while they were leaving the classroom.
"God, I hate him," Harry thought angrily, tightening his fists.
He noticed Ron and Hermione sharing a worried look.
"You'd probably sleep better if you were more relaxed. Maybe you should take a night off from researching," Hermione suggested. "Catch up on your homework, drink some hot chocolate . . ."
"Hermione, no one but you finds homework relaxing," Ron said fondly. "What you need," he continued, turning to Harry, "is a nice bubble bath."
Harry snorted.
"It's what my mum always has us do!" Ron defended. "She fixed one every night for Percy when he was working on making it up with Dad."
"Ooh, and you can use the prefects' bathroom," Hermione said. "We can give you the password, and you already know where to find it."
"I thought you weren't allowed to do that," Harry pointed out.
"Like that's ever stopped you before," Ron said. "Come on, you can put a calming draught in the bathwater, and then you won't turn Neville into a toad again in Transfigurations tomorrow."
And so after a short stop at his dorm to pick up his things, Harry found himself standing in front of the prefects' bathroom, armed with a calming draught. But after trying the password several times without any result, he realized that the bathroom must already be in use.
Harry groaned.
He really didn't want to walk all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione were apparently convinced that this bath would solve all his problems, and they would only make him walk back down after an hour or so to try again.
He knocked on the door, hoping that whoever was inside was finishing up.
"Merlin, I just got in here an hour ago! Hold on for two bloody minutes, alright?" came a muffled voice from the other side.
The voice was too distorted by the echoing of the bathroom for Harry to recognize, but it sounded annoyed at being interrupted.
Harry wondered if he should come back later. He didn't want to get Ron and Hermione in trouble.
"Alright?" came the voice again, obviously wanting a response.
Harry hesitated, not sure whether he should shout back or just leave.
The decision was made for him when the door was flung open to reveal Malfoy, looking irritated and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Erk," Harry said.
"I should have known it was you. Still haven't recovered your ability to speak?" Malfoy sneered.
I like girls, Harry thought desperately, trying not to watch the drops of water as they snaked their way down Malfoy's pale chest. He was still flushed from the bath, which had turned his skin a light pink, the same delicate shade as the dove hearts they sometimes had to use in Potions.
Malfoy blinked, and Harry noticed tiny droplets of water still clinging to his silver eyelashes.
"What . . . what are you doing?" Malfoy asked.
Too late, Harry realized that he'd been blatantly staring. He almost choked in horror.
"Nothing! I mean, I was just standing here, trying to ignore your whiny voice," Harry said. As insults went, he had to admit that it was pretty bad, but he was desperate to say anything that would get them back into their safe familiar routine of rivalry.
Malfoy was still looking at him strangely.
"Yes, well as thrilling as that must be for you Potter, some us require more pleasurable stimulation than can be had by standing about uselessly in hallways. So if you'll excuse me, I'll return to my bath," he drawled, shutting the door in Harry's face.
Harry swallowed. The words pleasurable stimulation echoed in his mind.
"I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy," Harry told himself weakly.
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