Chapter Seven - Contradictions and comparisons

"How did you get here, anyway?" Harry asked, dragging his trunk out of the front door as Ron and Hermione helped him with his belongings.

"Mrs. Figg. She let us use her fireplace when she got connected to the floo network," Ron replied, struggling with Hedwig's cage.

Harry's thoughts swivelled back to Malfoy and his silky soft skin. "Oh. Is he - I mean, she - waiting for us?"

Ron nodded and continued down the path towards Mrs. Figg's house. Harry ambled slowly, always thinking the same things - how he regretted leaving Malfoy, and what could have happened if he'd stayed.

"This is stupid," Harry thought sulkily. "He's my worst enemy. I hate him."

Truth be told, Harry wasn't sure of that last statement anymore. Sure, Harry still reckoned Malfoy was going to become a Death Eater, but he didn't think about that side of Malfoy anymore. Lately, Harry had been dreaming of what it would be like to nibble on Malfoy's tender lips...

"Stop it," Harry said aloud.

"What?" Ron asked, setting the cage down on the pavement. Hermione snapped out of a world of her own and turned to face Harry, a quizzical expression on her face. Harry shrugged them off, making up a lame excuse about a neighbour's cat being in the way of his path. He knew it was a poor explanation when both Ron and Hermione raised identically disbelieving eyebrows, but Harry didn't have time to be asked questions. Grabbing the trunk more firmly, he tried to clear his mind of Malfoy, and failed miserably. Images of the naked Draco played back in his head, glowing in front of his eyes, taunting him with something that he had possibly turned down.

While Harry obsessed over his questionable sexual preferences, he could tell Ron and Hermione were keeping something from him. The way they were forever side-glancing and wriggling eyebrows to each other made Harry feel uncomfortable. Not to mention slightly irate. Once again, they had managed to squeeze out a secret of Harry's, as well as keeping a secret of their own, refusing to tell him, constantly reminding him it was for his own good not to know. The word 'unfair' was an understatement.

By the time Harry had finally - although reluctantly - returned back to reality, he was standing in the familiar cabbage smelling living room that belonged to Mrs. Figg, and Hermione had just been engulfed in a lick of cool, green flames.

"Do you want to go next?" Ron asked, nudging Harry softly.

"Yes," Harry replied, stepping into the fireplace. He clutched his trunk, wary of the ride ahead of him. Picking up some floo powder, Harry threw it to the ground before yelling his destination ("The Burrow!"), and dearly wished he had removed his glasses first.

After an unpleasant whirlwind of colours and bumps, Harry tumbled out of the Weasley's fireplace and onto the cold stone floor. Malfoy's black Mercedes had been far better than this.

"Watch out!" Ron yelled, landing on top of Harry. Despite being so lanky, he was still quite heavy.

"Gerroff!" Harry mumbled, shoving Ron aside. "Have you been eating Hagrid's rock cakes? Seems like they've stayed put in your gut."

Ignoring Harry, Ron bounced up and went to greet his family, leaving an ashen-faced Harry alone with his trunk and cage. Although feeling mildly insulted, Harry followed suit and traipsed into the room where everyone sat chatting merrily, their red heads bobbing with enthusiasm as Charlie talked about his job. Harry didn't know why, but he felt slightly annoyed at their cheerfulness, and how they had to be so happy all the time. Clearing his throat, Harry sat down next to Hermione and fixatedly grinned at everyone, all the while thinking about how drab the place actually looked.

"Hello Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley beamed, offering him some burnt sausages and overcooked bacon.

"Hi, Mrs Weasley," Harry replied, trying to keep up his façade. He politely refused the food and struck up a conversation with Fred and George.

"How has the joke shop been?" Harry asked.

"Oh don't get them started on that, Harry! Now eat," Mrs Weasley ordered, shoving a plateful of food under his nose.

Would you let them answer me? I don't want your burnt food, either. "Thanks, Mrs Weasley!"

"It's alright, actually. We've been earning quite a bit of money!" Fred said proudly, while George pretended to roll around in cash.

Which must make a change. "That's great."

"C'mon Harry, we'll dump your stuff upstairs and then come back down," Ron muttered.

Hermione followed Ron and Harry up the stairs as they struggled with Harry's stuff, nagging them about summer studying and if they had prepared for their NEWTs.

"Actually Hermione, I re-read all of my books this summer," Harry announced smugly.

"Good for you, Harry!" Hermione cried joyously. "What about you, Ron?"

"I don't have as much time on my hands, like some people," he mumbled, scowling as he quickened his pace.

"Oh Ron, it doesn't take a lot of time to do this! This was your exact problem last year," Hermione moaned, rolling her eyes.

Harry didn't hear much else. A loud ringing was banging in his ears, his face heating up considerably. Had Ron just slyly insulted him? Okay, so Ron was busy in the holidays, doing whatever he does in this house. But that didn't mean he could imply that Harry just sat in his room all day! He couldn't!

"Ron, where shall I put this?" Harry asked, a little too fiercely, shaking the cage.

"Oh, over by the window, next to Pig's," Ron replied, setting Harry's trunk next to a small camp bed.

That's nothing compared to Malfoy's double bed with silver satin sheets. "Thanks, Ron."

Harry eyed up the moth eaten Chudley Cannons duvet that he was supposed to sleep with, and mentally retched. He felt a little spoilt after being pampered for the few hours he was at Malfoy's, but who cares? Even the colours on the duvet made him dizzy.

"So, what have you been doing all summer?" Harry asked.

"De-gnoming the garden, helping George and Fred with their shop and hanging out with Hermione," Ron replied.

"So not much, then," Harry glowered. What a hypocrite.

"Guess not," Ron mumbled.

The three friends glanced around the room awkwardly, Harry at one end of the room, Ron and Hermione at the other. They sat comfortably on Ron's bed while Harry leaned against the windowsill, wishing for all the world he had some of that crushed green velvet that had been in Malfoy's room. Glimpsing at his two friends, Harry was certain they knew something he didn't. The continuous secret signs and mouthing to each other was so blatantly obvious that Harry had to say something.

"Keeping anything from me?" he hissed, making them jump. Ron shook his head furiously, Hermione just sighed deeply.

"Harry, you don't want to know," she muttered.

"FUCK! I do want to know!" Harry exploded.

"Merlin's beard, calm down! Hermione doesn't want to tell you!" Ron cried.

Harry reluctantly did as he was told and exhaled deeply, running his hands through his raven-black hair, trying to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. First, he told them his secret, but now they refused to tell him theirs, then Ron shrewdly stated that Harry did sod all in his summer holidays, while he himself had done fuck all. The hypocrisy swam around the room madly, dancing around the three friends and taunting Harry, daring him to blow up once again.

Ginny zoomed into the room, rummaging around Ron's old books as she held up her Hogwarts list, trying to pick out the books that she needed. Harry realised Ginny was the only Weasley he pitied the most, having more hand-me-downs than Ron ever had. Even her socks were an old pair of Bill's.

"Hello, Harry! What have you got planned for today, then?" Ginny asked, grasping the books she had chosen.

Probably de-gnoming. "I don't know, ask Ron."

"We should de-gnome the garden first, Ginny, then we'll see what happens," Ron stated.

Oh, the joys of being right. "I'm actually quite tired, Ron. Can I just lie down for a few minutes?"

Ron sulked for a minute, but reluctantly agreed and stomped down to the kitchen. Hermione kissed Harry on the top of the head, desperately trying to get him to cheer up. She then followed Ron, muttering about how stupid gnomes were. As soon as Harry heard Hermione's shrill voice in the kitchen, he sprang up and began to write an owl to Malfoy.

Malfoy,

Apology accepted. I should apologize too, I'm sorry for the way I acted.

I know this may seem daft, but, after much thought, I've decided that...

Harry paused, unsure of what to write. He couldn't just say "I've decided that I quite fancy you, come and rescue me from this Hypocrite Hell Hole,"; Harry knew he had to be more subtle than that.

I've decided that I want to help you with your problem. Just send me Hedwig back with your answer.

Harry.

As Hedwig wasn't back yet, Harry rolled up the parchment and slipped it into one of his socks. It was when he was lying uncomfortably down on the camp bed, tossing and turning, that Harry realised the one thing he was so sure would never had been true:

He preferred Malfoy to his best friends.