𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐒𝐈𝐀| ✔︎

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑|𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋

MONDAY. All Harry wants is to be left alone, but as always it seems the little things he asks for are left extraneous. And he doesn't know how to cope with how he is feeling. Each morning he wakes up, there is another rose awaiting for him — hidden and concealed somewhere in his dorm. Sometimes it's hidden more intricately as if it's incognito.

And each time he'd find one, he'd put it in a small, waterlogged vase, so now it was sitting by the windowsill of the small sitting room of the boys' dormitory. There were now four pink roses.

Obviously, someone is doing this to play with his head and mess with him, because the rose is the exact same in the dreams with Malfoy. Besides, that would be the most impractical coincidence ever, right? But he still couldn't help feeling intrigued, and he still collected each of them anyway, though he didn't know where they were coming from and who the sender was. What owl could possibly fly through his window without making a racket?

There is no physical or logical way that Malfoy is sending him roses like some school girl crush. Right? Because that's just — irrational.

"Potter's losing truly losing it. He's going berserk!" someone sniggered behind him. He was starting to agree with them. In what universe did Harry Potter think so much of Draco Malfoy?

As the new staircase slid into place, he carried on, still unsure of where he was going or what he was trying to accomplish, so he settled his mind on trying to get to class on time — only just remembering he had a free period. So no longer was he 'Harry Potter; Saviour of the Wizarding World', but 'Harry Potter; The boy whose actually gone berserk from roses and a pale-faced ferret who simply can't remember his school schedule.

Bloody brilliant!

And now he stood around the busy corridor like some lost first year, desperately trying to calm an upcoming headache. He was not introspective by nature, but on his walk to desperately head back to the common room, he found himself wondering what exactly galvanized his decisions.

Something missing, but also given.

Shut up shut up shut up!

Surely, he had more important things to worry about. Like Voldemort and how Dumbledore was seemingly banished from school by the Minister. Not his rapid euphoric dreams about Draco. Not about whether he should continue collecting roses to vase. Not about what kissing a certain Slytherin— OH GOD. He shook his head to try to clear the thoughts.

"Alright there, Potter? Trying to rid yourself of voices?"

He looked up. It was Blaise Zabini. Of course, it was. A grouping of snakes. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and – and Draco Malfoy. Harry's stomach gave an odd flip, like he was nervous. Malfoy was staring at him with those pale eyes. His eyebrows knitted together. Harry couldn't tell if it was from concern or irritation.

Harry had to say something immediately — however a retort died on his tongue as Malfoy gave him a small wolffish smirk from his silence.

Harry really couldn't afford getting into a fight.

"He's dense. Just like all of those Gryffindorks,' he's just the worst of em.'" he heard Pansy say. She was glancing at Malfoy — slightly elbowing him to add onto the onslaught of insults. Harry's hands became almost clammy as the current sitch he was in was starting to form a small crowd.

Harry had to say something, fast.

"Go fuck yourself, Parkinson." he uttered, clearly under pressure. Yeah, that would show them. Good one Harry.

He felt like an idiot. The edges of Malfoy's mouth twisted upwards.

Harry's throat went dry and his cheeks went red as he tried to ignore Malfoy staring at him with amusement and Pansy's shrill laughter at his pathetic response. He wanted to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower immediately.

"Oh darling. Unlike you, I have others to take care of that for me," she winked at Zabini as Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering from behind. "you were right, Blaise. Our saviour really is going mad."

And Malfoy never took his eyes off him. Not once.

Harry shot them all a glare before spinning around to leave. He felt aggravated. Immensely. He wanted to rip out his insides to turn them inside-out if it helped with the embarrassment. He was really letting everything get on his nerves these days.

"Potter!"

Harry kept walking.

"Potter, you pillock, over here!"

Harry turned around, although immediately wishing he hadn't, because there Draco Malfoy stood right in front of him. And this wasn't a dream. It was real life. He even pinched himself to clarify. He was becoming awfully hot but tried to stay calm under the current circumstances.

"Back for more, Malfoy? Here to taunt me again? Or is it because your friends are tired of hearing about your exasperating daddy issues? Come to complain about it to me?" Harry snarled. Hopefully that was good enough.

He expected Malfoy to snap back, even hit him — but instead he looked... impressed?

One eyebrow raised, Malfoy snorted. "Bit of a wordy comeback, wouldn't you say so?"

Wait a minute...

But it was too late to think. Not with Malfoy who had hauled him against the wall.

"Do you need something, Malfoy?" he muttered tiredly.

The blonde shrugged.

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you. Ever consider that, Potter?"

"Uh, what?" In the drama of the moment, he had forgotten what Malfoy had even said.

Malfoy gave a breathy laugh. "Mon Dieu, Potter. It truly astounds me how you manage to solve so many mysteries yet you still avoid the obvious. Here, you dropped your books." 

Harry took them with hesitation — not once taking his eyes off Malfoy. It made that nervous feeling in his stomach return.

"Why are you — I mean — you hate me, Malfoy."

"I most certainly do not!" he scoffed. Harry shivered as Malfoy leaned down to whisper at him. "If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you."

And then he was gone. Disappearing into the next corridor in which many students flooded leaving Harry to see only his white-blond head trailing away. His heartbeat is erratic as he tries to puzzle together what Malfoy said. The weird feelings he'd been having lately surely meant something. It wasn't even lately. He could remember those pangs of nerves from third year, too. He had put it down to hate and fear or nerves of confrontation, but now it seemed irrational as well.

"If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you."

There was something in his one of his books that was bulging. Earnestly, he went to open it — it seemed to feel like a bookmark, however it was much thicker and pointier.

There, left in his school textbook was indeed, another rose.

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a/n: Curious... what house are you? (: