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'Hermione,’ Harry said, expression chagrined, glaring petulantly across at the general direction of the Slytherin table. ‘He’s doing it again.’
Hermione didn’t even look up from her book, having lost all hope of taking some sense into her friend. ‘Exist? Yes, we all know it’s very annoying.’ Her voice was the same voice one had when talking to a particularly dim-witted child. Harry didn’t appreciate it in the least.
‘But he’s speaking French, Hermione,’ Harry whined. ‘Just imagine all the dastardly schemes he’s doing, speaking to everyone in a foreign language…’
‘Harry…’ Hermione said, silently begged for patience from a God she didn’t believe in. It was at that moment that she wished Ron was here – he would at least understand the utter insanity her best friend was causing her. On the other hand, The Malfoy Problem was keeping Harry sidetracked from the fact that Ron wasn’t talking to him.
But it was also keeping him sidetracked from everyone else except Malfoy.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Hermione,’ Harry snapped. ‘I’m just concerned for my safety, that’s all.’
Hermione looked at him disbelievingly. ‘Harry James Potter,’ she said. ‘There’s an actual dragon for the first task, and you’re worried about a 14-year-old teenager? The only harmful thing he’s done to you are making those awful badges, but I don’t think that constitutes as dragon worthy.’
‘It does to me,’ Harry glowered. ‘It’s driving me bloody mad, Hermione. Just when I think he couldn’t get more…’
‘More what, Harry?’ Ginny joined in the conversation, an all too familiar shit-eating grin on her face. Hermione resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands, her book completely forgotten on the table; an all-new low for her. ‘Irritating? Attractive? Snoggable?’ The barely restrained humor in her voice was audible.
Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. ‘I-It isn’t like that-shut up, Ginny!’ He spluttered, color high in his cheekbones. Then, unable to come up with a timely retort, he just gathered his textbooks and strode off, trying his level best to look as if he wasn’t fleeing the Gryffindor table.
Ginny looked at Hermione, the same surprised glint in her eyes reflected back at her. ‘Well,’ Ginny rolled the words around her tongue, and Hermione silently applauded herself for not letting her eyes linger. For that long, anyway. 'That was interesting.’
‘My best friend has a crush on Malfoy,’ Hermione muttered, loud enough that only Ginny could hear her. ‘This is great.’
Ginny just laughed at her. Hermione sometimes wondered why her friends were this way. She really did.
Hermione didn’t think it would take a long time for the eventual confrontation between Harry and Malfoy to happen, especially with the way he’d been complaining about his French skills every single day. At least Ron was with her in it, this time.
(Though his complaints really couldn’t be called complaints – it was more a mixture of; Hermione, I didn’t know he had a fucking French accent and Ron, did you hear those Beauxbatons girls laughing with him, I’d like to see what they were laughing at, enough so that even Ron was concerned for his friend’s mental health.
Enough so that the entire Gryffindor house had a betting pool going as to when Harry would either punch him or kiss him with sexual frustration.
Boys. Honestly.)
However, the confrontation happened in a way that none of them expected, least of all Harry.
It was after a potions lesson, and Snape had been as unpleasant to Harry as usual – nothing less than losing 20 points per lesson would convince Harry that the world had turned its head sideways, and Snape had been delightfully obliged to remove 30 points for a flaw in his Calming Draught that only he saw.
The Gryffindors, as per usual, couldn’t resist leaving as soon as Snape’s dismissed them. Harry, like all the other Gryffindors, packed his bag and fled the Potions classroom, the Slytherins packing at a more sedate – and though Harry hated to admit – and comfortable pace.
He stopped short at the sight of two Beauxbatons girls outside the Potions classroom, obviously waiting for someone inside. And from what Harry had observed – No, it wasn’t stalking, Hermione – those two girls usually hung around Malfoy, conspiring in his evil plans.
It was with this thought that Harry unsubtly stopped at the sight of them, determined to get to the point of Malfoy’s actions. And not to see how Malfoy’s mouth curled around the French syllables, no, not at all.
Hermione took one look at Harry’s face and the Beauxbatons girls that Harry was unsubtly trying to get closer to and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ‘I have Arithmancy in five minutes,’ she said, virtually breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He’s all yours, Ron.’
Ron’s betrayed groan followed her down the corridor as she fled the scene.
‘Weasley and Potter, what a pleasure,’ a familiar voice drawled, prompting the two girls to break out into smiles and for Harry’s face to become crimson. ‘And Alana and Claire. Enchante.’
Harry didn’t know Malfoy was capable of being something other than a somewhat attractive git whose middle name was ‘elitism personified.’ He certainly didn’t know he was capable of being charming, and the knowledge was doing weird things to his already flustered mind.
‘Would the Golden Duo care to explain why you two are blocking our path?’ Malfoy rose an eyebrow at them, the disdain evident in his voice, though his eyes were more… teasing than not.
Harry belatedly realized he wasn’t wearing a Potter sucks badge. And that he wasn’t surrounded by Crabbe, Goyle, or Parkinson either. In fact, they’d already slipped past Harry with obvious scorn, not even acknowledging Draco’s presence.
(Which was hard to miss, really. Harry should know.)
‘I’m trying to see what evil plans you’ve been up to, Malfoy,’ to Harry’s horror, the words which were supposed to come rough and accusing ended up sounding teasing and vaguely flirty, instead. He could feel Ron, who had somehow remained quiet throughout the whole scene give an inaudible sigh and whisper: ‘Why is it always me’ way more dramatically than the situation called for. ‘Speaking foreign languages, interacting with strangers…’
‘It’s called socializing, Potter, but I really wouldn’t expect you to know,’ Malfoy’s words too, lacked their usual bite. He seemed to be in a similar state as Harry; both of them were suddenly equally unaware of how they stood with each other.
‘Is that an offer, Malfoy?’ Harry heard his own voice as if from a distance, distinctly flirty and friendly and not like his voice when he spoke to Malfoy at all –
‘And what if it was?’
They both stared at each other and Harry couldn’t help but observe how close they were, one step further and they would be within kissing distance…
Which was when Snape strode out of the classroom, taking in the scene before him and raising an eyebrow at them. ‘What are you dunderheads loitering around my classrooms for? Potter, Weasley, detention with me tonight.’
Harry’s somewhat feeble protests were cut out as Ron practically dragged them back to the Gryffindor common room, Ron muttering curses under his breath, and Harry’s face blotched scarlet with an emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to.
The Incidents, as Hermione called them, occurred more frequently after that. There wasn’t a day when Harry and Draco didn’t seek it each other out – at first in the pretext of fighting but when they realize that neither the Slytherin, Gryffindor, or the whole fucking student body didn’t believe them… well.
The betting pool was still going strong, the entire Gryffindor table way too interested in their Triwizard Champions love life to be healthy. With the recently announced Yule Ball coming up, the lions’ scope for imagination was wild with many unrealistic ideas as to how they would ask each other to the ball – and who. These all paled in comparison as to how Harry actually asked Draco to the Yule Ball.
To Harry’s credit, he didn’t plan on asking Draco to the Yule Ball the way he did, either.
Hermione had always said his impulsive nature and ‘inability to leave well enough anything alone, Harry’ would get him in trouble someday.
Or utterly humiliate him, as the case might be.
As most of the school knew, it was common to see Draco speaking in French to most of the Beauxbatons girls, more so since he’s realized it drove Harry absolutely mad as a result. Harry was sure it was intentional, anyway.
What wasn’t common was to see a gaggle of Dumstrang boys surrounding Draco, who all appeared to be clearly flirting with them.
Harry wasn’t annoyed. He was absolutely not annoyed.
‘Harry,’ Hermione chided, ‘Stop glaring at the Slytherin table.’
‘Yeah, mate’ Ron agreed. ‘Or at least do it less… obviously.’
Harry’s glare only got increasingly bigger. It was official. He had the worst friends in the world. And Malfoy still didn’t look as if he was encouraging them to go away – the git looked pleased with the attention.
That was the last straw. ‘Fuck it,’ Harry muttered, abruptly standing up, chair making a spectacular crash as he did so. It took all of Harry’s effort to will away his blush as he felt the entire Great Hall’s attention on him.
He bypassed the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, heading straight for the Slytherin table.
‘Malfoy!’ he said, in what he thought was a calm and collected voice. It came out sounding near homicidal and jealous, but Harry would take what he could get. ‘Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?’
The entire Hall collectively held their breath. Some particularly sentimental Hufflepuff nearly swooned. Then Harry, realizing exactly what he had blurted out, where he had blurted it out, and who he had blurted it out to, turned around and fled.
Not fast enough to miss Malfoy's reply: ‘Well, of course, I will, Potter, who else would I want to annoy ceaselessly throughout the Ball?’
(Harry wasn’t smiling when Hermione and Ron found him quietly panicking in an abandoned classroom, thinking of Malfoy’s words. He wasn’t.)
(Hermione, aware of Harry’s infatuation with Draco even before he was, merely said: ‘I still think Malfoy’s a pillock, but he hasn’t made a pureblood supremacist comment this whole year and if he keeps that up, I can resist cursing him,’ when he tentatively asked her opinion. Then: ‘If he hurts you, however…’
Her resultant grin sent a shiver up Harry’s spine. Harry sometimes really wished his friends weren’t so murderous, but that was probably a side effect of associating with him, to be honest.
He decided not to ask Ron’s opinion after that.)