"Hell. No," Harry, as calmly as he could, stated despite the bubbling indignation inside his chest.
Just what was it like in this wonderful, lovely morning in the Gryffindor's dorm room, one may ask?
Might not be what one would be expecting to hear, but a certain Saviour of the Wizarding world was trying on tutu skirts. Fluffy tutu skirts.
Pink, white, yellow, green — which was checked out of list immediately by one Ronald Weasley, purple, lemonade — "That's a colour? It was a drink back in my days." — and a dozen more, at least.
Harry had been awakened by a chorus of shrill, off-pitch "Rise and shine!" from Lavender and Parvati, storming into their dorm room with two piles of tutu skirts in hand...or embrace, as there were so much of them mounting in their arms that Harry couldn't even see their faces, to begin with.
"No. No. No! I am not wearing any of this...atrocity!" Harry said, dread and frustration building up in his chest — fearing for his dignity, or what's left of it after Dean had made him bat his eyelashes at whoever called his name in sixth year because of a stupid wager.
Surprising it was, but it worked, when Seamus let out a defeated sigh and turned to walk away with his shoulders sagged.
"Wait...what? No, that can't be it! Seamus, he has to wear it!" whined Lavender, going after the Irish boy.
Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. And just as he thought the coast was clear, he felt a bodyweight crash onto his around the midriff.
"Got it!"
Harry looked down in horror to see Seamus hanging on his waist with his hand clasping the back of the tutu skirt, securing it from falling, but of course, that wasn't enough to make it impossible to take off so he called for back up.
Just before Harry could register what was happening or shake Seamus off of him, the Irish boy yelled out, "Dean! Now!"
A spell shot out of the tip of Dean's wand, a sparkly yellow light encircling the elastic waistband of the pink tutu around Harry's waist. And all Harry did, or could do, was screeching in the terror of the upcoming ultimate humiliation of his life.
From beside him, he could hear a series of triumphant "Yes! Yes! Now we're talking!" but Harry couldn't give a damn — he'd ran out of it. All he wanted was to be out of this fucking pink atrocity!
"No, no, no, no, no, no..."
Harry tried to yank it down, rip it off — anything! — but the blasted thing wouldn't budge!
"Oh, yes, yes, YESSS!" Lavender and Parvati cheered, both clapping their hands excitedly and giggling like mad.
"No. No. No! NO!" Harry countered, hands still desperately tugging at the skirt but to no avail.
Green eyes shot up to see the Irish boy sitting on the floor with a grin rivalling that of a Cheshire cat's, his best friend congratulating him for great teamwork. While his own best friend, Ronald Bloody Weasley, had been doing a great job of impersonating a torchiere in the shadows of curtains, failing miserably to stifle his amusement and support of this nonsense.
"S-Seamus..h-how could you to our f-friend—"
"Don't bother trying, Ron," Harry cut him off.
He sighed. Looking down to see his shoes, Harry could only see a puffy pink skirt obscuring his view instead. And so he sighed again.
This was going to be a long day.
All sounds and chatter died as one Harry Potter, all in his Gryffindor glory or lack thereof today, stepped into the Great Hall.
Harry slowly made his way to the Gryffindor table, his eyes stuck to the ground as he did. Snapping out of its reverie, the Great Hall was soon lively again, whispers bombarding the back of Harry's head as he tried his best to seem unbothered and calmly eat his bacon and sausage.
"Oh my God, Susan, is that—?"
"Holy shite, what the fuck's he wearing?"
"Merlin, Harry Potter in a tutu— easily the highlight of the week — no — decade, even."
"Okay, how the fuck does he pull off the colour pink better than me?"
"It's a shame he wore those trousers underneath." "Yeah."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, the pain wasn't numbing enough to make him deaf to the whisper, however, much to his disappointment. He hung his head further towards the table when he heard a familiar loud snort and cackle from the Head Table.
"Oh, Harry, I already told you this was a bad idea," Hermione whispered in his ear, causing Harry to let out a sigh.
"No shi— I mean, I know, 'Mione. I thought so, too, this morning — had no idea why I agreed last night." Harry murmured low enough for Hermione to have to lean closer to catch what he was saying.
Whatever Hermione had to say next, Harry didn't get to hear when the entrance to Great Hall was flung open, silencing the whole place yet again.
Out of curiosity, Harry turned to look whoever it was that decided a grand entrance was needed just for their breakfast. Oh, of course, it's—
"Ferret face — remember our plan, Seamus?" Harry heard Ron whisper.
"Bet your arse, I do," came the reply.
Harry prayed to Merlin, whatever this prank they're up to — since Ron decided to keep it a secret, as a surprise, he earlier told him — would work. Because if it couldn't restore a shred of his dignity, at least Harry would get to watch Malfoy suffer as well, even if not to his degree.
A smile tugged at his lips at the thought, and just then, a pair of grey eyes locked into his and right away the smile was wiped off his face replaced with a scowl.
Malfoy cocked his head to the side, a smile looking so-out-of-place suddenly lightened up his face, causing Harry to frown in suspicion and disturbance alike.
Whether it was the distance tricking Harry's already imperfect eyesight, or true to Dean's speculation that Malfoy had gone bonkers and needed a trip to St Mungo's lovely and welcoming mental ward. But Harry could've sworn he saw Malfoy mouthed "Good Morning," to him and walked it off to his table like nothing.
Yeah, it must be the first option, Harry agreed, nodding to himself absently as he chewed on a lump of particularly tough meat.
When breakfast was over, the group of friends went to the third floor for Charms, something Hermione had been looking forward to the past few days after Professor Flitwick notified them of the spell they're going to be learning last week.
Harry couldn't help the fond smile that appeared on his face as he listened to Hermione's cheerful rambling before he let out a squeak when a hand suddenly reached out to his behind.
He turned to face whoever was bold and flagrant enough to dare to cop a feel only to find nothing and the distance between him and the other group of students walking behind was too far away. Harry's face twisted, unsettled and...admittedly frightened, just a little.
"Mate?" Ron asked from behind him, a gentle hand on his shoulder calming his nerves by a teeny bit — still not very assuring when you just get groped by what plausibly a ghost, don't you agree?
"U-uh, sorry, I tripped, haha," Harry reasoned, and by the look on the redhead's face, it wasn't the slightest convincing.
"Okay..." drawled Ron, hanging his arm off of Harry's shoulder as the group continued on their way to the classroom.
Harry bit back a sigh as he thought of what happened again and came down to one conclusion that he often made and landed him into many harmful situations in the past.
Maybe it was nothing.
"Ugh, I hate this."
"Stop complaining, Ron, it'll get you nowhere." A brunette witch eyed the slacking wizard with a reprimanding look in her brown eyes.
"It did though, I always get your attention." Harry couldn't help the snort when he saw the eye-roll Hermione gave at his reply despite the warming of her pink cheeks.
"Whatever, Ronald, just don't be of any bother if you're not going to help." The witch picked up from where she left off in the book 'Fiddly Charms That Could Improve Your Life' by Jorge Dankworth.
Harry himself went back to his own, eyes impatiently darting here and there in search of words that could be of any indication of the mention of the charm they're writing an essay on for the next week.
After scanning through the whole book and coming up with nothing, Harry decided to go get a new book.
He headed towards the last third shelf at the farthest back of the library, the section where the Charms books were placed, unsuspecting of the grey eyes following every of his move like a predator did its prey.
"Let's see..." Harry mused, taking a blue hardcover book off of a neatly arrange row. Disappointed, the dark-haired teenager put it back when he didn't find what he wanted in the table of contents.
He looked up, gold letterings on the side of a green book on top of the shelf caught his eye. The dark-haired boy stood on his tiptoes, hand outstretched above him as he struggled to reach for the book before another hand came from behind him and grabbed the book.
"Oh, thanks for helping, that was quite a stru—" Harry cut himself off when the hand swung back up from him, and that was when Harry turned to take a look at who his helper was.
"Malfoy! Ugh, I should've known," Harry said frustrated as he watched the pale hand placing the book on top of another shelf.
"Quite a struggle indeed, Potter. Though, I suppose it's only understandable," Malfoy leered over his smaller stature to add to his statement.
Harry clenched his jaw as glowered at the smug-looking blond from beneath his lashes. "Go, fuck yourself, Malfoy. I don't need your help anyway."
"My memory from a minute ago beg to differ. You didn't appear so effortless."
Harry cocked his head, challengingly as he said, "Oh? You know where to stick that opinion, Malfoy?"
"If the answer is up the Boy Wonder's arsehole — then, yes."
Harry flushed then spluttered — which seemed to add more to Malfoy's amusement.
"Look at yourself, Potter, your face's the same colour as your cute little skirt now! Ah, those pretty ears, too, of course! They're rather hard to miss," he pointed out smugly, earning another string of incoherent words from Harry's delectable pink lips.
"S-shut up, Malfoy, I'll hex you into next week!" Harry threatened once he regained his words. Only it didn't seem to work, judging from the widening of Malfoy's wicked grin.
Malfoy whipped out his wand faster than Harry could realise it.
"Accio Potter's wand."
Thus the holly wand flying out of his pocket and onto Malfoy's hand. Shite, Harry cussed. Malfoy was a dead man by now from the curses Harry threw at him in his head as he glared at his wand now clutched in the other's hand — as if it would fly back to him if he stared hard enough.
"You were saying, Potter?" Malfoy snickered at the indignant look on Harry.
"Fuck you! Give me back my wand, you git!" Harry said fiercely.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I'd rather we go on a date first, but if you put it like that..." He smirked.
"W-what the fuck!"
What the fuck am I hearing! Why did he say that? Malfoy's gone mad! But still-! To even say that is... Is he even gay?
"Hey, Potter, did you know that your ears — the other ones — twitched when you're flustered?" Malfoy said in a tone that could only be described as mockery, causing Harry's flush to deepen a shade or two.
Malfoy chuckled low and deep, intruding Harry's frenzied musings. The dark-haired boy would never admit to the shivers the sound elicited. "Let me cut you a deal, Potter. Beg me and I'll return your wand," the blond Slytherin smirked full of triumph.
Harry's eyes went large, bulging out of socket upon hearing his words. Unbelievable!
"Come on, Potter, it's not that hard, is it? Just say, 'Malfoy, please return my wand,' with your hands clasped together and that's it. But if you don't—"
"You fucking arsehole!"
"Noted. But if you don't want to, I guess I'll see myself out..." Malfoy drawled unimpressed, then trailed off, as if expecting the Gryffindor to shout his assent.
Which he did. "Fine! Fine! Minus the hand part, though!" protested Harry, arms over his chest folded defiantly.
"Very well, I supposed those ears and skirt will suffice," he eyed with an unreadable expression.
Harry harrumphed. "Whatever."
A pregnant pause ensued.
"You do know you can start now, right Potter?"
"Shut up! I'm preparing myself," Harry muttered more to himself.
"Aw, Potty, all for me!"
Harry's head snapped staring up into Malfoy's eyes vehemently. "Don't make it sound fucking weird, you wanker!"
Malfoy threw his head back, laughing, and Harry couldn't help but trace his eyes over the expanse of the smooth white neck.
The blond recomposed himself, nodding his head as a cue for Harry to start making his appeal. Harry snapped out of trance, cheeks slight heating up when he caught himself staring — and Merlin forbids, checking the Slytherin out!
"Erm... I...uh..."
"Off to a great start — you're doing wonderful."
"Shut up. ...what were the words again?"
Malfoy's lips twitched in delight as he smugly said, "Nu-uh, Potter, make up something yourself, use that brain of yours for once."
Great.
Harry chewed on his lower lip, working his head in earnest before he eventually strung word for word.
"W-will you please...kindly return my wand, Malfoy," Harry forced through clenched teeth, glaring at the bookcase Malfoy was leaning on.
"Not good enough. You have to look at me, Potter. Think you can manage that? It's not that ha—"
"Okay! Okay..." Harry sighed, swallowing his pride once again. It was a good thing that Ron — or any of his friends — wasn't with him, or they would never live it down.
He huffed out air before letting the words run free from his mouth, growing simultaneously desperate and impatient. "Oh Almighty Slytherin, thou beg for thy kindness to return thou's wand."
"I can hear the ingenuity from miles away, Potter. Again — with more emotion." Malfoy sure would make a good drama teacher.
Harry clicked his tongue audibly in irritation and his frown deepened, causing the other's pale eyebrow to travel closer to his hairline in amusement.
"Give it another shot, Potter, I thought Gryffindors never back down to anything?"
"I never said I was! Just shut it, Malfoy," Harry hissed, biting the back of his lower lip in contemplation.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the Gryffindor turned away, his verdant eyes fixed anywhere but the Slytherin with atypical timidity stirring in his chest as he started,
"Could you please return m-my wand, Malfoy?" Harry spoke, a little too softly than he'd liked it, involuntarily fiddling his fingers as he did.
Seconds passed in silence, maybe minutes, even, Harry couldn't tell and dared not to look up from his pitiful, flushed state. Just as he thought he'd been played and made a fool out of and was starting to consider lunging forward and probably fight for his wand back, a low, slightly husky voice spoke.
"I could," he finally said. Though, some of its usual taunts were distant, muddled with something Harry couldn't distinguish.
The dark-haired teen pushed it away to the back of his head — not wanting to overthink — it's probably insignificant anyway. At the steel grey of Malfoy's eyes, he stared back, avidness brewing once again within his chest as he clenched his hands on each side.
"Then, be it! I don't have time for this! I have things to do, Malfoy, not all people have the parents to bribe the Headmaster not to expel you because of negligence!" Harry spat, hand extending to be handed his wand.
Malfoy's eyes hardened before it settled back to its previous state and — thank Merlin, finally! — put the holly wand back into its owner's hand.
Harry's glare didn't falter as he watched Malfoy move from the bookshelf and towards himself, internally letting a sigh of relief that this was over before a hand clamped down his left shoulder, warm breath tickling the shell of his ear.
Eyes wide surprised behind round spectacles, Harry forced himself not to look to his left as he felt the other's form nearing his.
"I like this new change, Potter, you look pretty," a low voice said by his ear, tone ridiculing and coy, bringing a flush to Harry's cheeks.
Taking it as an insult, a flustered Harry turned around facing the smirking Slytherin and in a fit of fury, swung his fist with the intent to make a dent on the obnoxious git's pointy face before came the fuming voice of Madam Pince,
"Both of you — OUT!"
A smile so bright it outshone the sun hovering over the Quidditch pitch stretched Harry's lips widely almost to the point of tearing. The green-eyed wonder stood in the middle of the grass field with his trusty Firebolt in hand and red-haired best friend beside him, doing the same that was nothing but taking in a breath of fresh air after a tiring day full of lessons.
Harry was the first to take off into the air out of the two, leaving Ron alone still at the bottom of the pitch. Wind swept his hair, leaving a tingling sensation on his cheeks when he went to a halt possibly a hundred feet in the air.
Harry breathed in and out, his heart racing from euphoria and veins pulsing in the adrenaline rush. He then zoomed forward and about the pitch, once in a while letting out a carefree laugh before Ginny, who was this year's captain, gathered them for practice.
The latter smirk at the sight of him mounting off the broom with a little jump and tittered with a playful look across her face.
"Oh look, our darling fairy decides to grace us with his presence!"
A series of laughter erupted at her comment from the whole team but Harry, who was nailing an impression of a tomato and scoffed a little offended.
The bright-haired witch then began assigning the moves and formation they're practising for the day. Harry, given the assignment of practising his Wronski Feint.
The dark-haired wizard climbed onto his broom once again and soared up into the blue sky.
"Here goes nothing," he breathed, the grin on his face determined.
Tightening his grip on the broom, Harry leaned forward and sped about the pitch, equipping his mental for a few until he gained momentum to get into a vertical dive, his eyes picturing a golden snitch flying in front of him as he went into a fast chase and pulled out of dive when he was a few feet away from plummeting into the ground.
"Huff...not bad, not bad at all." Harry regarded quite satisfied, though he hadn't yet reached the point of satisfaction of achieving perfection — and that's something he, as a Quidditch perfectionist, needed to fix.
Harry then brought a hand to run through his tousled hair, huffing at the reminder when his fingers were met with a pair of fluffy ears.
And so the Gryffindor altered his stance, his head clearing into nothing but the implementation of the strenuous tactic.
He closed his eyes, taking a slow deep breath to release all the tension in his muscles before suddenly...
"Training for the ballet, Potter? Although I didn't mean it literally years ago, I guess us Malfoys are always precise, don't you agree?"
A tendon on his forehead twitched. Not now...
"Potter!"
Harry tutted, lips pursing in annoyance to have his moment of peace interrupted, by none other than Draco sodding Malfoy, at that.
Green eyes looking over in the direction of the haughty voice, a way-too-familiar blond head came to few from the top of a stand nearby, probably just a few tens of feet away from him.
Not caring enough to hear out what the blond Slytherin had to say, Harry didn't bother to fly closer and shouted back a tad crankily to get whatever it was over with as soon as possible.
"What?" he replied impatiently, snapping a little more than he intended.
A wince flickered across Malfoy's face for the shortest second before Harry could discern it for what it was before the usual smirk was back in place as he leered over Harry with that signature arrogant glint in his pale eyes.
"Nothing, just wanting to comment on how utterly ridiculous you look in a skirt, Potter!" The git bellowed with a lace of blithe underlining his voice.
Harry's jaw went slack, eyes wide like saucers before they recovered and narrowed his eyes as he put on his best sneer on his face directed at the half-grinning, half-smirking Slytherin, albeit the effect was cancelled by the impossibly red hues layering his cheeks.
Before Harry could muster a retort, Malfoy shouted again, his hands on either side of his mouth to create a picture of a megaphone,
"It is such a shame, really Potter, that you won't get rid of those hideous muggle excuse of trousers! Nevertheless, I still have a great view from down here!" Malfoy shouted cheekily, sharing a laugh with Zabini who was sitting on a bench reading a book.
To add to his amusement, Malfoy was rewarded with the deepening of blush on Harry's face as the latter stared at him wide-eyed completely out of words, as if not believing his ears.
Taking his lack of response another opportunity to push further, Malfoy smirked slyly, his eyes raking upon the dumbfounded Gryffindor, not that Harry could tell over the distance. "Do continue, Potter, and worry not, I'm not here to jot down your strategies! Just making the value of my time here! Wouldn't miss this for the world!" Malfoy finished his speech with a wink and almost forgot breathing again when his eyes fell on the tutu skirt Harry's wearing.
"Salazar's beard, I'd pay for this to happen again!" Harry heard Malfoy exclaim to his fellow Slytherin, and thinned his lips, settling into a stance once again.
Want a show? I'll give you one, Harry rolled his eyes and spat inwardly, fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white and took flight, his pink skirt blown by the wind.
That afternoon was — by far — the most productive, time-efficient practice Harry has ever had.
"Ahh! Stop piling carrots in my fucking locker!"
A shout so loud, it was heard all the way to Beauxbatons, was torn out of one Harry Potter's throat that he felt the need to drink right away after he'd just done chugging two goblets of pumpkin juice at lunch.
The Weasley twins laughed uncontrollably as they watched, Harry, who had caught and was now chasing off a group of students from all sorts of houses, be it Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin alike, out of their locker room.
They were caught red-handed with a sack of carrots in each of their hands when the Gryffindor Quidditch team was just done practising.
Luck was playing on their side — for once, thank you, Lord! — one from the group tripped on a rock, landing face-first on the grass with a groan and yelped when Harry hurriedly turned him around and held him in place before he could run.
"I'm going to say this for the last time and I'm not going to repeat myself," Harry started, their faces close enough that Harry had to ignore George's "Oi, mate, you just gonna snog out here in the open? Kinky," and the snickers ensuing to maintain his intimidation that was working surprisingly well despite his...well, embellishment.
"Don't pull this shite again, you hear me?" Harry refused to say "Don't throw carrots at me again!" it'll only make him stupid — correction: stupider.
The boy, clad in black and yellow robes and perhaps a year younger than him, trembled. To top it off, Harry smirked, "Nice scarf you have, your mum knitted it? Would be a shame if...something happened to it."
Guilt stirred in his chest at having to prod what he knew was the weakness of many Hufflepuffs, but it had to be done.
Lips trembling, the boy thrashed under him frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I— we won't do it again! And it was M-Malfoy! He threatened me to do this or he'll steal my rabbit!"
"Godammit Eli, you bloody snitch!" Harry almost snorted.
"Well, that's our rabbit, right there. Thank Merlin, he could fend for himself," Harry heard Fred comment and shared a laugh with the rest of the team.
Harry sighed, bringing a hand to press his nose bridge before lifting himself from the poor boy and extending his hand for the other to take and hoisted him up.
"Just...go," Harry tiredly said, to which the Hufflepuff immediately took off as quickly as his legs could run.
"Malfoy, huh? Should've known..."
He turned on his heel, heading to the locker room where his friends had retired to.
Harry sauntered over his locker, where it was filled with carrots just minutes ago, and grabbed a new clean pair of boxers. Upon doing so, a tie accidentally fell on the ground and he bent down to pick it up, his hand brushing a certain blasted article of clothing in the process before he stilled and cussed audibly.
"Seamus! You better take this off, I want to take a shower!"
The boy in question gave a mere smirk, giving Harry indication on what to expect to hear, and it couldn't be pleasant for his part.
"Our deal, Harry — don't you remember, 'No taking it off until the next 24 hours'?" Seamus shared a fist bump with Dean who looked just as smug at the look of dismay colouring Harry's visage.
With a last, "Damn you," Harry sulked and stomped his way — rather petulantly — to a shower stall, gratefully taking note of Seamus' "It's waterproof, so don't worry, mate!"
With a twist of the knob, warm water poured down on him, calming the unknowingly tense nerves and the taut muscles on his face. Harry let out a sigh of satisfaction as he brought his hands up to massage his scalp, revelling in the tranquillity he was in.
The fork clattered against the plate as he placed it down. Harry dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and rose from his seat, nodding to his friends as he dismissed himself to retire to the common room early for the evening.
On the way a body crashed onto his, sending him tumbling to the hard floor with a thumb.
Looking up, Harry groaned in utter disappointment to see the bane of his existence looking back down at him.
"Is this your new creative way of greeting me, hm, Malfoy?" Harry grumbled irritably, rubbing his sore arse.
Malfoy peered down his nose at him, seeming to find the other boy's expense pleasing as an arrogant smirk made its way onto his pointy face.
"Unintentional." Harry rolled his eyes. "But rather creative, I agree. You're giving me ideas — I might consider making a habit out of this." Harry rolled his eyes again harder.
Just as Harry thought nothing could be more shocking in his life than having a giant busting the door of your house and declaring you a wizard, Malfoy proffered his hand without a hint of malice in his eyes as if he...as if he wanted to help him up.
But that can't be right? a rational part of him doubted, thinking that it was must be some kind of trick Malfoy liked to pull off. But on the other hand, another part of him was yelling at him to just take the damn hand and see how it played out.
The next thing Harry knew, his hand was already in Malfoy's before he could even make the decision. His heart stuttered and eyes slightly widened at the realisation that he was giving into whatever force coercing him into taking action and so did Malfoy's eyes, Harry noted, it was as if he didn't expect it either despite him being the one to initiate it.
In a split second, the mask veiled upon Malfoy's face, putting the blond in the facade of a perfect Malfoy — composed and untouchable.
With Harry's hand in his, he hauled him up. With more force than intended and the lost chance to catch the momentum to stand on steady feet, Harry tumbled forward.
Heart thumping inside of his chest at the late dawning realisation, Harry braced for what's to come, or that he thought of happening — Malfoy elegantly stepping aside for the satisfaction of him falling flat on the floor.
But that didn't happen.
He instead hit a wall. Said wall was Malfoy's chest, clad in a silk dress shirt, scented in what must be an expensive perfume. Harry subconsciously breathed in the fragrance — fresh mint and vanilla with a slight musk, and a vague smell hinting at Malfoy spending more time in the Potion's lab more than legal.
"Oomph!" a yelp escaped Harry's lips, his nose bumped the in-between of Malfoy's collarbones, exposed from the two unhooked buttons of his shirt.
A flush splattered across his face in mortification as it sank in. Harry hastily pulled back from Malfoy as though the latter was an infectious disease, though, perhaps a tad too quickly for he stumbled upon his feet and almost landed on his arse the second time if not for the strong hands steadying him in place.
Harry's eyes darted up to meet Malfoy's firm gaze — dear Merlin, were they the most beautiful shade of grey Harry had ever seen.
And for what Harry experienced the first time in his life, the world seemed to stop around them as he found himself unable to look away from Malfoy's trapping silver eyes. Dare Harry say it, he found them beguiling.
Were his eyes always this grey?
Harry wanted to shake himself out of it, quite badly may he add, but it quickly went over his head when he found himself drowning deeper and deeper into the beautiful depths of grey.
And Malfoy appeared to undergo the same thing as him. Judging from the entranced look on his remarkable face, he wasn't any different than him.
Without a thought, Harry leaned forward — his body seeming to have gained a mind of its own. Malfoy's eyes had long softened, staring back into Harry's green emerald ones and down onto his soft pink lips. And that was enough encouragement for Harry to slowly ascend to his tippy toes, face tilting backwards as he neared Malfoy's own whose expression was mirroring his own.
The two inched closer, their lips hovering over each other. Harry drew in a sharp breath at the feeling of Malfoy's breath ghosting against his lips, his eyes half-lidded as they continued to look at those deep grey ones.
Malfoy then closed his eyes, leaning closer to him, the grip he had on Harry's waist tightened and so did Harry's fingers clutching at Draco's robes as he was pulled flushed onto the other's solid form.
"Harry? Mate, I thought you went back to..."
Harry stilled, and so did Draco, his eyes snapping open in shock.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!" a panicked Ron shouted.
"'MIONE, ARE YOU SEEING WHAT I'M SEEING?!"
What's happening?
"'MIONE, SAY SOMETHING!"
...oh fuck.
With his hands still on Malfoy's chest, Harry pushed him away, staggering back out of the warm encasement of Malfoy's arms. And dared he miss it immediately.
Harry's mouth was open, agape, at loss for words as his frantic eyes looked into Malfoy's now hard ones. The blond spared him a last look, his face took on an unreadable look and sneered at Ron and Hermione before fleeing gracefully from the scene.
Harry stared off in a daze. Inside of him built a bizarre urge of desire to chase after the Slytherin and to put it quite simply, it scared him.
A hand on his shoulder brought him out of a stupor, finally looking away from where he was staring off in the direction Malfoy had disappeared into. "Mate, are you okay? Did Malfoy force himself on you? Bloody hell, that was so uncalled for," Ron said with a sense of wonder and bemusement.
"It's...fine, Ron. And no, he didn't."
Harry drew in a shaky deep breath, missing the worried looks Ron and Hermione exchanged with each other. He then turned to take the shortest route back to the Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione short behind him.
Just what the hell was that? the question lingered long in his mind that night, keeping him occupied and away from the land of the living, causing Harry to perpetually drift off amidst conversations. He was beyond thankful his friends didn't question any further than a "You sure you're okay?" And thanked Hermione and Ron, too, for not bringing it up — despite the questioning and worried looks they kept throwing at him. It was far too...baffling, disconcerting, you name it.
To make matters worse and even more confusing, Harry found he wasn't all that disgusted nor did he hated almost kissing Malfoy, unlike he thought he would — that was talking if the idea even ever crossed his mind before — and that terrified him.
And to top it off, they hated each other so, why had that even happened? Why did he and why was he the one to initiate it? And last but not least, why had Malfoy go along with it? The git loathed Harry more than anything in this damned world.
Or did he actually...?
No, Harry shook his head mulishly, clamping his eyes shut.
Harry's heart picked up its pace, hammering against his rib cage hard enough to almost force the breath out of him, causing his lungs to constrict. He hugged his blanket closer to his chest as he curled in his bed. For long, long hours Harry tossed and turned, never wanting more but to fall asleep and get away from everything but it seemed impossible. His body was tired, but mind wide awake, filled with images of a certain Slytherin and myriads of question.
And after a lot of musing, he came up with the most logical explanation.
It was a mistake. The potion must've messed up my mind, as well. That's all.
And so he was lulled to sleep with that reassurance.
