The Changing Lights by lazywonderland

chapter nine

When they were fifteen years old, Draco had once caught Pansy staring at Anthony Goldstein during a study hall. She had given him the excuse that when women were menstruating, it was an evolutionary response to become more aware of masculinity - something about human genes' instinctive drive to procreate. Draco had rolled his eyes and proceeded to tease her relentlessly for having a crush on Goldstein.

Now, Draco thought maybe she had had a point. That was really the only excuse, after all, for the way he absolutely could not stop staring at Potter. The way even the slightest shift in the muscles hidden beneath Potter's sun-kissed skin sent Draco into something that felt like a hormonal frenzy.

At breakfast on Saturday, he was uncomfortably aware of the heat incessantly pooling between his legs every time he so much as glanced in the direction of the Gryffindor table and caught sight of Potter's easy smile and bright eyes. Part of the problem, Draco knew, was that he hadn't gotten himself off in well over a month. Having been adamantly avoiding his new genitals, that sort of release had become frankly impossible.

For the first time ever, Draco thought he understood where the term "going into heat" had come from. His entire body felt flushed more often than not, and no matter what he used in an attempt to distract himself - books, homework, even desperately reorganizing his entire room - the memory of kissing Potter never quite departed the forefront of his mind, and it left Draco in a perpetual state of being unbearably turned on. This perhaps would fade into something much more manageable once his period had ended, but for the time being, and because he had no idea how long it would last, Draco was stuck with this utterly humiliating infatuation.

Pansy, meanwhile, had decided to move past her grudge in favor of using Draco as a human-sized doll in preparation for the ball. She'd outfitted him in some of her most elegant, emerald-green dress robes and slathered his face in so much makeup he felt rather like he was wearing a mask, at which point he'd wiped the whole thing clean and told her to try again. In the end, he looked in the mirror to find that a little bit of eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow had made his grey eyes much more pronounced, and there was a permanent flush to his cheeks that he attributed to rouge. His hair, already short, hardly needed styling at all.

When they walked into the Great Hall at just past seven, the ball was already in full swing. Tables littered the perimeter while the very middle was being used as a dance floor. At the far end, a large, marble half-wall had been erected, and on it were hundreds of names - everyone, apparently, who had given their lives in the fight against the Dark Lord. Floating above it, surrounded by hovering candles, was a picture of a red-headed woman and a man beside her who looked startlingly like Potter. They were dancing in their little frame, taking part in the festivities in their own way, Draco supposed. He had grown up knowing James and Lily Potter's names, yet he realized now he'd never actually seen a decent picture of them.

Pansy was less fascinated by the couple in the photograph, and when Draco moved towards the monument to take a closer look, she left him to find Blaise.

"He looks just like his dad, doesn't he?"

Draco turned to find Granger standing beside him, looking at him contemplatively. He nodded.

"He got the color of his eyes from his mum," Draco noted, nodding towards the picture, and when Granger gave him a knowing grin, he rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows Potter's eyes are green, Granger. Don't look too far into it."

Granger merely chuckled, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Harry knows you've been watching him, you know," she said suddenly. Draco turned wide eyes on her, feeling remarkably like he'd just been caught red-handed. Perhaps he had, in fact. Perhaps his staring hadn't been quiet as sneaky as he'd have liked to believe.