Chapter 2
Harry had hoped that a good night’s sleep, comforted by the familiar cosiness of Gryffindor's red-curtained beds and the faint rhythmic snores of Ron the next bed over would dissolve any annoyance and insecurity Malfoy had provoked in him the night before. But, no luck. He couldn’t stop thinking about it when he first tried to sleep. Not even the laughter and chatter from his dormmates could fully distract him, and despite turning in before them, he didn’t go to bed until after they did, or after Ron did at least, because the familiar sound of his friend lightly snoring quieted his brain and lulled him to sleep finally. And, when he woke up the next morning, he was reminded of how ‘girlish’ Malfoy had said he looked as he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to tame his hair. It was even worse than usual given he’d just woken up, and he struggled to pull a brush through it. No wonder it took some girls so long to get ready. This was the price he had to pay for such thick, luxurious hair. Luxurious, manly hair he thought to himself. This hadn’t been a problem for most of the summer, because he’d spent most of his time with his parents, and he didn’t need to look presentable around family. They were lucky if he even changed out of his pyjamas really.
He mentally cursed himself now for not thinking enough through the choice to keep his hair long that he’d figured out how to actually do anything with it but throw it into a sloppy man-bun ringed in frizzy curls. He settled for that eventually, giving his reflection an annoyed look, when in the mirror, he saw the curtains of Ron’s bed rustle and his friend get out of bed with a grand yawn. Harry averted his eyes when he saw that Ron was wearing only a pair of flannel purple, red and maroon pyjama pants. He’d seen his friend shirtless plenty of times, but it would be weird if he stared, especially now with the silly little flutter that went through him at the sight. He wished he could go back to not understanding that feeling, back before he’d realised last year that he liked his best friend in a way you shouldn't’ like your best friend, especially if your both dudes one of whom having never admitted to liking other dudes, and especially when Harry had dated Ron’s little sister.
He and Ginny had been together for a month. It had been his first and so far only relationship, unless you count the whole fiasco between Cedric, Cho and him that had happened in his fifth year. He definitely didn’t count that. And he didn’t want to think about it. He still felt bad, even if that disaster had been less his fault than he believed.
It was like Harry was cursed when it came to romance. He barely had feelings for anyone, and when he thought he might it always ended up turning into a mess. Ginny didn’t seem to be mad at him after he broke it off with her. It had been a pretty clean break up too, though it didn’t feel like that to Harry. He had felt anxious ever since he first asked her out, and the anxiety had only grown when Ron found out they were together. And after he’d finally got back to talking like normal with his friend, he’d made the awful discovery that he didn’t even like Ginny like a girlfriend, and that all the things he had thought he liked about her were things he liked about Ron. He felt so disgusting for that. He’d really thought he liked Ginny. It would make sense. Ron and Hermione had been dating at the time, and Ginny had always had a crush on him, and he loved the Weasley family. It just seemed like it should add up. Why wouldn’t he want to date Ginny? Why wouldn’t he like her the way she’d liked him. He almost wished he could, but moreso, he wished he could go back to not knowing that he felt the way about Ron that he was supposed to think about a girl who on paper seemed so perfect and right for him.
He hadn’t told Ginny any of that though of course. That would be even more awful of him. ‘Hey, so I found out I don’t like you like that, and I really only thought I did, because I’m into your brother.’ Yeah, that would go over well. The only person he’d been able to tell was Sirius, and while it was nice that someone knew and didn’t think he was total scum, he still felt like total scum.
Sirius had told him he should go for it, tell his friend, and let what happens happen. Sirius seemed to think that what happens wouldn’t be Ron hating him forever and never again being able to look at him or speak to him again. Sirius seemed to think that in the worst case scenario, Harry would be rejected, and maybe it’d be awkward for a bit, but they were best friends and neither of them would let a silly crush get between them. Harry wasn’t so sure. But at least confiding in Sirius had helped him past the denial stage. Maybe if Harry stopped shoving them down like they were evil unnatural things and just let them be, his feelings would come to their senses and fizzle out. Maybe. He didn’t know. He’d never had a crush like this before.
“Were you just gonna let me sleep through breakfast?” Ron’s voice cut through Harry’s self-loathing, and he glanced back at his friend who was pulling on his school uniform.
“You were sleeping so peacefully,” Harry replied wryly. The other boy’s in their dorm were gone already, leaving just Harry and Ron left, but the last of them had only left a few minutes ago, and breakfast wouldn’t be over for another half hour. “Besides, there's plenty of time left. What? Are you rearing to get to divination?”
Ron groaned at the thought of divination first thing in the morning. Like last year, the two boys had the same exact schedule, and their first class of the year was divination, an insufferable course with an insufferably melodramatic professor. Both of their least favourite class, but they couldn't drop it, because they wouldn’t have enough classes if they did, and it was easier to get through than history of magic at least.
“Then we’ve got potions, your favourite,” Harry chimed teasingly as he threw the books and supplies he’d need into his school bag. Ron hated Professor Slughorn, understandably given how frequently the man seemed to forget Ron even existed. Harry didn’t like him either, but he was a good teacher, and even if Slughorn’s prattling on about what kind of spectacular things Harry would do in his future - “Would he be a famous quidditch star like his father? Or a brilliant alchemist like his mother? Or an auror so feared by dark wizards the ministry would recruit him right out of Hogwarts like they’d tried to with his father and Sirius” - was annoying at best and existential at worst, Harry was bolstered by his skill in potions. He might be more confident if Slughorn stopped talking about how much of a success he’d be after school. Because as it was, the confidence the old professor put in Harry only reminded him more of how he had no idea what he was going to do, or if he could even do anything. It affected him so much that he’d mess up his potions when Slughorn spoke like that. But, they could definitely have a worse potions teacher, he supposed.
Tossing his bag over his shoulder, Harry swore as he felt a light snap on his head and his hair fell out of the bun he’d struggled to fold it into. Looking over from where he’d been sloppily throwing his own books into a school bag, Ron laughed lightly. “You should ask Hermione for tips,”
“Shut it,” Harry said, going over to his trunk to find another hairtie.
“No, I mean it. I’m not tryna be a prick this time,” Harry rolled his eyes at his friend as he lifted his hands, a new hairtie stretched between the fingers of one, to twist his hair back again. “She manages to do her hair sometimes, right? And her’s seems way thicker than yours,”All his things together now, Ron sidled over to Harry as he spoke, lifting a hand to ruffle the hair on the top of his friend's head, making Harry’s heart beat out of rhythm. “Yeah see, feels way more manageable than Mione’s. Sure she’s got some tricks that’ll help you,” He grinned, and Harry flashed him a glare, warmth rising in his cheeks. Thankfully Ron turned away seeming not to notice as he beckoned for his friend to get going.
***
At breakfast, Ron ended up asking Hermione for hair help for Harry before he himself had even had the chance to warm up to the idea. Hermione too thought Ron was taking the piss at first, but after his indignant denials and dramaticized offence at being accused of “such a thing!” Hermione turned to Harry, her fork tapping against her plate pensively as she seemed to consider the mess of curls and bun on Harry’s head.
“You can have my Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. I’ve got a ton of it, and it’ll probably tame your frizz easier than mine,”
“Tame,” Harry repeated the word, suspiciously eying Hermione’s hair which was as bushy as ever, though he did notice now an impressive lack of frizziness or flyaways to his friend’s dark brown locks.
“Yes, tame,” She repeated, giving him a chiding furrow-browed stare in return. “But, fine if you don’t want my help. You’ll figure it out eventually. Only took me fifteen years to learn to do my hair, so it should take you …”
He never got to find out just how long it would take him, because at that moment Draco’s drawlign voice cut through the buzzing chatter in the hall. “You two girls trading hair tips?” He had been passing by with the usual flock of slytherins, slowing down to toss the snide remark towards the gryffindors.
“Please Draco, don’t be rude,” Pansy started her voice betraying the cutting remark to come. “They can’t possibly know any beauty tips, or they wouldn’t look like that,”
“Fuck off Malfoy,” Ron spat furiously, fists clenching on the table like he was already to throw a swing at the slytherin.
“Aww, so chivalrous, protecting your poor little damsels in distress,
“I swear-” Ron started, but Harry gave him a look that wordlessly communicated to his friend not to bite, because that’s what they wanted. It stopped him for the moment, giving the slytherins a hard glare.
Hermione, who hadn’t even turned around to look at them before, glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy. “If you’re asking because you want some, I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about preventing bald-spots and a receding hairline, but you seemed to have mastered the comb-over coverup already,”
Harry covered his mouth, unable to hold back the smile and little laugh Hermione’s blasé response elicited. He’d always admired and envied how she was able to reply to Malfoy’s bullying like it didn’t affect her in the slightest.
Malfoy’s ears reddened at that, but he turned his glare to Harry rather than Hermione. “What’re you laughing at, Harriet?” Harry choked on his laughter, surprised at the seemingly weak attempt at an insult. Weak as it was, it still bothered him, bringing back the insecurity he’d felt yesterday at being called a girl.
He rolled his eyes at Malfoy, doing his best to look like he didn’t care what the other boy said. “Wow, so clever, Malfoy,” He said sarcastically, and Malfoy scoffed as the gaggle of slytherins moved away apparently done with their name calling for now, given it hadn’t gotten the big reaction they wanted.
They might have got it from Ron had they continued a bit longer. He glared at their backs all the way until the slytherins had disappeared into the corridors, and his fist was still clenched around his fork. “What’s wrong with that dikchead. What was he even trying to say,” Ron muttered, anger still in his voice.
They hadn’t been genuine questions, but Hermione seemed to take them as such, answering, “He was being a misogynistic ass like usual, and calling Harry feminine because he has long hair, which is so juvenile and brainless, especially given his father’s hair is way longer than Harry’s,”
“Lucius would look so odd with short hair, though,” Harry mused, expertly ignoring any negative emotion he might feel at Malfoy’s jabs.
Ron’s eyes went big and he bent forward laughing at the mental image of a short-haired Lucius, like such a thing was as ridiculous and comical as the austere man dressed up like a clown. Harry smiled at the top of his friend’s head, glad his anger had dissipated and they could move on from Malfoy’s teasing.
“He’s probably just insecure about how he’ll never have the confidence or genetics to have hair as good as yours, Harry,” Hermione said in a tone so stern, he would think she was scolding him if he hadn’t known her for so many years. But he knew her more than well enough to know if she was telling off anyone it was the spirit of Malfoy, and she was more than anything giving him a compliment. He flashed her a smile before she turned to Ron across the table still stifling giggles. “Your hair is all sticky now. Sit up straight,” When he’d dipped his head in laughter, some of the syrup left on his plate had managed to get on the tips of his hair. “Don’t touch it, how is that going to help? God, you’re a mess,” She scolded him as he brushed his fingers through his hair in a very well thought out attempt to somehow rid his hair of the sticky substance. Harry coughed and spluttered, giggling now too which caused him to choke up the food he’d been in the process of eating.
Hermione sighed next to him, though he spotted a fond smile on her lips as she scourgify Ron’s sticky hair and hand while her friends laughed stupidly. When the two boys had finally gotten over their silly spell, it was Hermione’s turn to choke on her food, as Ron asked, “What’s genetics?”
Harry was back to cackling then as Hermione gave their pureblood friend the most distressed look Harry thought he’d ever seen.