It's Not A Love Potion (Drarry)

Chapter 7

Harry was standing in front of the mirror in the boys' dorm having a small breakdown. He had never before even had an inkling that he was anything other than a normal (well...), heterosexual teenage boy, and yet here he was, bloody fantasising about Draco Malfoy! Of all people!

Yeah, there was definitely a lot of evidence to suggest that all this Dark Lord battling had seriously affected his mind. Take yesterday, for example: there he was, just catching up on his sleep in the Room of Requirement, and he had such a realistic dream about Malfoy doing – well, doing something that he should really not be doing in Harry's dream. And the terrible thing was, if the completely relaxed state Harry was in when he woke up was anything to go by, he had enjoyed it a lot.

There hadn't been any, uh, physical evidence of Harry's enjoyment, though, which had puzzled him for a while. But then he'd remembered just where he was and figured that the Room of Requirement would do its thing to make sure that Harry didn't wake up sticky and uncomfortable, a fact for which he was admittedly grateful.

But then he'd met Malfoy as usual that night and the memory of the dream had been all he could think about. He was sure that Malfoy had to have noticed something; his face must have been bright red for the whole evening. And then Malfoy had started kissing him...

Harry lifted a hand to the purpling mark on his neck and leaned into the mirror, examining it closely. It had felt so good, Malfoy lavishing attention on him like that. Even Malfoy's weight pressing down on his leg had turned him on, even when Malfoy bit him. There was definitely something wrong with him.

He was just contemplating whether to get Madam Pomfrey to make sure he hadn't hit his head at his last Quidditch practice or something when the dormitory door opened and the freckled face of Ron Weasley poked around it.

"Oi, Harry, get a move on, would you? It's almost—ahh, you're thinking about her."

Oh, yeah. Her. The 'girlfriend'. Malfoy's advice last night had worked like a charm and Harry was accosted by five different people as soon as he'd made it back to the common room. He'd managed to get away with a vague 'we want to keep it a secret, you know', trusting that it'd be all over the school by morning that Harry Potter had a mysterious lover.

As Harry was currently hiding in his dorm, he didn't really know if the plan had worked or not.

Ron came and stood behind his shoulder and peered into the mirror. He ruffled his hair a bit, turning his head from side to side to admire the effect. "Mate," he said, once satisfied. "I don't care if you're too lovesick to eat, I'm starving. Are you coming or not?"

Ah, well. It was probably better to get it over and done with. At least it'd keep attention off Malfoy for a few weeks until he'd taken the antidote, Harry told himself. It was the least Harry could do after abandoning him like that last weekend.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said resignedly and braced himself.

It was as bad as he expected. As soon as he and Ron stepped through the doors, the level of chatter in the Great Hall rose considerably. Harry winced and made directly for the Gryffindor table, taking care not to make eye contact with anyone, least of all Malfoy. Hermione was waiting for them.

"You sure know how to get the school talking, Harry," she said, a little sympathetically.

Harry ignored her and eyed the neatly-folded copy of The Daily Prophet by the side of her bowl of cornflakes. "I'm not in it, am I?" he asked warily.

"Nope," she replied, tossing the paper across the table. "It'll probably take a few days until they pick up on it."

"Gee, Hermione, that makes me feel so much better," Harry told her, and she shrugged.