Harry was in trouble. He knew it from the moment he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and saw the people that he last seen since the war. And it seemed everyone had changed. Parkinson, dressed all in black, with her hair straight almost down to her arse, Zabini with a new haircut and some ink on his arms, Nott with a dash of make-up. Goyle had lost some weight, and had added a bit of muscle, and Malfoy. Malfoy whose hair was also longer, without the gel. Lip gloss on those perfect lips, a transparent shirt that showed off his nipples, bright flowers adorning the dark mark on his left forearm, and tight fitting muggle jeans. He looked intoxicating, and Harry couldn't stop staring.
Which brings me to the first statement. He. Was. In. Trouble. He wasn't going to lie to himself, he knew that Parkinson and Malfoy were a thing. Had been since third year. But it couldn't hurt to look right? He would just have to do it when no one saw him, but he knew that was going to be difficult. Because people were always staring at Harry.
He was a hot blooded male teenager. And he too had changed, even if he said so himself. But he had no idea just how much. In his mind, nobody would ever love him, let alone like him because of his scars and his history. Oh well, whatever. What you see is what you get. Don't like it? Well then please can you fuck off back to where you came from, I am not here to please you. Harry had never been a vain man, he was so down to earth that it irritated his friends. And contrary to popular belief, he DID actually own a hairbrush, so you can all suck it.
He had built up a bit of muscle too, and also had ink done on his body. He wore some jewelry, a pair of earrings and a solid silver bracelet on his left wrist next to his watch. His body was toned, and because he spent a lot of time in the sun, he was tanned. His glasses had been replaced by lenses, and his old clothes thrown out. He was gorgeous. So of course people staring at him was second nature.
He mentioned it to Hermoine and scoffed - it's been months since I killed Voldemort, you would think people would stop staring by now - and his friend would smile at his awkwardness and reply - oh Harry that's not why they're staring. He would be all confused and ask what did she mean by that. When her and Ron shared a look, he would ask again.
She would tell him that he looked like a god. A sex god to be exact. He was beautiful, and he had changed. More mature, more manly, his clothes fit him better, he was confident, and they liked what they saw, hence the staring. And please don't forget the fact that you saved them all Harry. Harry would look at her with his mouth open because he had never considered himself a beautiful man, and are you sure you're not on drugs Hermoine?
She would laugh at that question, and continue reading. Ron would clap him on his back and say something like, better get used to it mate. You're a wanted man. Maybe this year you will find someone.
And Harry would smile at the thought. Whenever he could, he would raise his eyes and look at a certain blond Slytherin. But his smile would always turn into a frown the minute he saw Parkinson sit next to him, or touch him or god forbid even kiss his cheek. And when Harry realized for the third time that day that he was officially in trouble, was when he looked at Malfoy, and Malfoy looked back.
Silver orbs staring into his emerald ones. The look that Malfoy was sending was soft, there was no smirk, as if he wanted something that he couldn't have. Harry wondered what that was about. He was too scared to blink as if capturing that gorgeous face and keeping it in his mind forever, would complete him. And when the stare down was broken by Parkinson grabbing his hand, making Malfoy look away, Harry was upset. He wasn't sure why though. Oh yes, he remembered. He was bisexual. He had come out to his friends shortly after the war, and guess what. They loved him still.
