Just a Boy (in love)

Harry’s first potions class of the year goes… surprisingly well. Professor Slughorn was all smiles and clapping him on the back each time he’d pass Harry’s desk. Harry of course knows why Slughorn likes him so much, considering this is only the first time they’ve ever interacted. It’s because he’s Harry bloody Potter. He pushes this annoying revelation to the side, however, simply because he actually managed to brew a proper potion without it exploding. This new accomplishment is exciting enough that he can’t even bring himself to care that the only reason Slughorn favors him is because of his name and his scar.

“Well done, my boy! Well done,” Slughorn clamps a meaty hand over his shoulder for what must’ve been the fiftieth time within the past hour and a half. Harry smiles sheepishly when students turn in their seats and look at him with a mix of awe and suspicion. He supposes it’s an appropriate reaction considering - again - this is the first time he’s properly brewed a potion. And it’s a rather difficult one, at that. When he looks to his right, Hermione is wearing a disbelieving expression.

“How did you do that?” She whispers accusingly when Slughorn ends the lesson. He simply shrugs in response, which causes her to scoff. Even Ron looks confused.

“Harry, mate… It’s not that I don’t believe in you or anything, except, well…” The redhead trails off, blinking rapidly. Harry can spot a lie when he sees one.

“Well?” Harry raises his eyebrows in amusement while packing his books.

“Well… I don’t believe in you when it comes to potions.” Ron suddenly takes a step closer to Harry then before grabbing ahold of his sleeve. “How did you do it, then?” he asks almost hysterically. Harry snorts.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Harry says with a smirk before brushing Ron off and sauntering over to the door. Ron looks confused while Hermione simply rolls her eyes.

“Harry, my boy. Might I have a word with you before you leave?”

Harry stops in his tracks, Ron and Hermione doing the same. Harry nods his head towards the door. “Go on, I’ll meet up with you.” The pair of them hesitate before ultimately nodding and leaving the classroom. Once alone, Harry turns to Slughorn, heart in his throat.

You see, the only reason Harry was able to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death is because he had a bit of help from his new friend, the Half Blood Prince. It’s not an actual person - it’s a book. 

When he and Ron entered the potions classroom that morning, they were unprepared, of course, considering they hadn’t planned on taking the class that year. Or ever again, really. Slughorn was nice enough to lend them each a used textbook from one of the cupboards in the back of the classroom, however. Harry had originally been a bit annoyed that Ron was quicker and managed to grab the newer-looking copy - but then he opened his own worn copy. 

Each page of the textbook contained notes upon notes about potions and spells alike; Quantities were scribbled out and substituted for different ones, methods were replaced for easier ones, spells Harry weren’t even sure existed were noted in margins. It was, afterall, quite an intriguing book. If that wasn’t enough to convince Harry to keep the damned thing, the fact that it had helped him brew a perfect potion for the first time in his life was.

Standing before Slughorn now, he’s a bit scared that the Professor is going to accuse him of cheating and take his book away. Without this book, he’ll never manage to pass Advanced Potions. He barely managed to pass standard Potions, for Godric’s sake! 

“Very well-brewed potion, if I do say so myself! Professor Snape-” Harry internally cringes, “-had told me you were a rather, oh, shall we say - unversed student when it came to potion making. Bollocks, I’d say!” Slughorn walks around the front of his desk until he reaches his chair, sitting heavily on it with a sigh.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry says cautiously. He’d like to consider himself a decent enough liar, but lying still makes him as nervous as Neville when he comes face to face with Professor Snape.

“I’d already known you were a talented, special boy. Everyone knows, eh?” Slughorn laughs a bit awkwardly. “But today has further proved so. I taught your mother, you know.”

“Really?” Harry asks, intrigued. He takes a few steps closer to Slughorn’s desk.

“Really,” Slughorn confirms before smiling somewhat wistfully. “Lily, lovely Lily. She was exceedingly bright, your mother. One of my absolute favorite students. Excuse me, I know professors shouldn’t pick favorites, but… Your mother had always been one of a kind. You have her-”

“Eyes, yeah. So I’ve been told,” Harry smiles slightly. All of his anxiety has been washed away and replaced with riveting intrigue - intrigue to know more about either of his parents, however small and insignificant the details are.

“She was a part of my Club, she was. Back when I used to teach, I strung together a little group of students that which I thought were extraordinary. We used to meet once every week or two and have dinner and dessert. We all got to learn a bit more about each other. It was called the Slug Club.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, somewhat in amusement. “The Slug Club - was my father a part of it, too, sir?”

“James? Oh no,” Slughorn leans back in his chair with a laugh. “James Potter was quite the troublemaker. Always getting up to something. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy having him in my class, of course. Say, Harry - would you be interested in joining, were I to revive the Club? I could tell you many stories about your mother.”

Stories about his mum… “I’d be delighted to, Professor.”

“Great!” Slughorn claps his hands together. “It’s decided then. I’ll let you know when I’ve put together my little group. Oh and Potter? Bring Miss Granger with you, will you? She seems like she has quite the talent.”

“I will,” Harry smiles, relieved. He didn’t question why I was the only one who managed to brew the potion correctly. “See you later, Professor.”

_____

“The Slug Club? Are you barking mad?”

“I know he only wants me there for bragging rights-” Ron snorts, “-but he said he used to teach my Mum. He said he could tell me stories about her if I joined.”

“So,” Hermione snaps her book shut and turns to him on the sofa. “You’re saying Professor Slughorn is bribing you to join his Club just so he can show you off, correct?”

“Er,” Harry scratches the back of his neck and averts his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d really call it bribing, necessarily… More like we just struck a deal…”

Hermione gives him a pointed look as though to say ‘...Right,’ before sighing in defeat. “I suppose it would look good on my resume…” she mutters before shaking her head and standing. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to finish this week’s homework and get a head start on our Defense paper. I highly suggest you two do the same,” she sniffs before making her way to a secluded table in the corner of the common room.

Harry watches her go before the movement of red hair from a few tables over catches his attention. Ginny is sitting next to Dean, both of their heads bowed together over a book. He tries not to make it obvious that he’s surveying them, letting his eyes roam across the rest of the common room before landing back on the couple to find that they’re - oh. Kissing.

“Blech,” Ron pretends to gag. Harry whips his head over to look at his best friend and wonders if his own face resembles the same scrunched up look of disgust. He knows it doesn’t, however - he can feel his eyebrows raised into his hairline and quickly snaps his mouth shut when he feels it gaping open in shock.

It’s not that Harry is jealous of them. No, really - he’s happy for them. Truly. They’re both two good friends of his. They deserve each other.

…It’s just that, well… Harry had thought that he and Ginny had something going on. There were the longing looks that she threw his way the entire summer; There were the subtle touches on his arm and the shy smiles. Forgive him if he’s stupid, but he could’ve sworn something was blooming between them. Something good. And now, Harry feels rather dense. Was he reading too much into their interactions? Were they friendly gestures? Did they not actually mean anything at all?

Having decided that he’s had enough of - whatever this heavy feeling was - Harry bids Ron goodnight before heading up to his dormitory. Once there, he sheds off his robe and rids himself of his shoes before climbing into bed and spelling his curtains shut.

The first day of classes was a long one. He already has four assignments due in two days and he’s barely even been in the castle for forty eight hours! Hermione would probably roll her eyes and call him dramatic - he’s thankful to have her and Ron in all of his classes this year. He couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy also shared most of their classes - they’ve shared many classes in the past years, but it took Harry a while to even realize he was there.

He sat in the back of each class with his head down and didn’t say a single word the entire day. Even when Snape had ridiculed Harry in front of the entire class for being an ‘arrogant boy who thinks he can get away with his blatant ignorance in everything simply because he’s the Chosen One,’ or whatever the greasy bastard said, Malfoy barely lifted his head. Harry only found out he was there when Ron pointed out how creepy it was that he drifted through each lesson like a ghost.

Harry isn’t sure where he and Malfoy stand, exactly. Malfoy hasn’t looked at him once - okay, call him dramatic because it’s only been two days since they’ve returned - but it just doesn’t sit right with him. Malfoy should be paying attention to him.

Harry bolts upright in his bed at this thought. Perhaps he should see Madam Pomfrey; he’s clearly gone mad. Never once in his life has he ever been worked up over the fact that Malfoy isn’t paying enough attention to him. Can Veela powers still affect you, even from this far away? Maybe it’s an aftereffect… He’ll have to ask Hermione.

Feeling restless, Harry lies back down, only to toss and turn on his sheets. Something just feels off, but he doesn’t know what or why. His mind keeps wandering back to that blond hair and the way it shines in the moonlight.

With a sigh, Harry sits up and crawls towards the end of his bed where his trunk is settled. He rifles through it, leaving his clothes crumpled until his fingers close around the paper that he was looking for. With a triumphant smile, Harry crawls back towards his pillows and settles comfortably under his blankets.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he whispers. He watches names and footsteps begin to fill the page with black ink. He unfolds the map until his eyes find the dungeons. “Come on,” he mutters to himself as he searches for a certain Slytherin. “Where the hell are you?”

He checks the common room and every Slytherin dormitory but comes up short. He even checks the surrounding halls and classrooms, including Snape’s, but still doesn’t find the git. He flips the map over and checks the library - still nothing. He checks the kitchens - still nothing. Feeling more and more paranoid, Harry even resorts to searching the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw common rooms but still finds nothing. He turns the page again and is about ready to give up when he spots him - the name Draco Malfoy is alone and standing still on top of the astronomy tower.

Harry hastily shoves the map in his pocket and pulls his slippers on before reaching into his trunk again. Once he finds his cloak, he throws it on and walks to the door of his dormitory before glancing back at his bed and facepalming. He hurriedly shuts the curtains around his bed again so nobody notices that he’s gone - he can be smart sometimes, as much as Hermione likes to imply otherwise. And Malfoy. And Snape. And- Harry shuts down his disheartening line of thoughts before tiptoeing down the stairs and into the common room. He looks around to make sure that no one is watching before slipping through the exit, ignoring the Fat Lady’s suspicious call of ‘Who’s there?’

Pulling the map from his pocket, Harry checks to ensure Malfoy is still at the astronomy tower before he takes off. It’s nearly curfew and Harry doesn’t fancy getting stopped by Filch and questioned where he’s going at this time of night, so he makes sure to keep his steps as quiet as possible. He just knows that Malfoy is up to something - he can feel it in his gut. He’s about to find out just what it is that the Slytherin is planning.

When Harry makes it to the tower, he has to climb the stairs extra slowly. The castle may be put together with magic, but the damned stairs still creak if you step on them a certain way. Once he’s finally reached the top, Harry freezes at the sight of Malfoy.

The blond is leaning on the railing that overlooks the grounds, head tilted back slightly and eyes closed. From this angle, Harry can see the moonlight reflecting off the other’s face, highlighting the paleness of his hair and eyelashes. He’d never realized how long the other’s lashes were before - with his eyes closed, they look as though they just barely graze his cheeks, even with the slight curl at the end of them that makes him look rather girly. Girly sort of suits the blond, anyways. Harry has to catch himself from snorting in amusement as he imagines Malfoy’s reaction to him telling him he looks good with his girly features.

When Harry processes his thoughts some more, he feels his body temperature rise, despite the cool September breeze flowing through his cloak. It’s from anger, not embarrassment. Anger because it seems that every time he finds himself near Malfoy, his thoughts always stray to how fucking good the git looks, even without him trying. And then even more anger because Harry knows that these aren’t genuine thoughts - it’s definitely because Malfoy is part-Veela.

Harry’s brain short circuits when Malfoy sighs and blinks open his eyes. The moonlight makes them look so silvery; Harry swears he’s seen that exact shade of silver before, but he can’t place where from. As he gazes at Malfoy for longer, he can’t help but take in the broken expression on the other’s face, along with the sad way he carries himself. He just looks so done with everything, and Harry suddenly feels guilty for coming all this way under the pretense that Malfoy was up to something evil when he so obviously just needed time to himself because he’s hurting. He wants to facepalm himself again - it’s almost like his talk with Hermione about how Malfoy is obviously afraid and bloody traumatized went in one ear and straight out the other. He feels like an arsehole.

Malfoy turns towards him then and Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out some shitty excuse as to why he’s stalking him when the blond takes steady steps towards him. It takes Harry a second before he realizes that Malfoy still can’t see him - he’s just walking towards the set of stairs that Harry is currently blocking. Panic sets in and Harry has to sidestep the other last second, holding his breath lest his raggard exhales alert Malfoy to his presence. Malfoy almost grazes the edge of his cloak with his arm when he walks by, he’s so close. Harry closes his eyes tightly as the blond makes his way down the stairs without a single suspicion. Once the sound of his footsteps fade out, Harry releases his breath heavily.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself. He can’t tell whether the scent of smokey wood and wintery air is from the breeze or from Malfoy.

_____

The following morning finds Harry pushing around his scrambled eggs distractedly. His eyes keep finding their way towards the blond on the other side of the hall and he has to keep mentally slapping himself to keep from getting caught staring. His view of Pansy fucking Parkinson touching Malfoy’s arm is cut off when Hermione sits down across from him.

“Morning!” she cheerfully greets him and Ron.

“Mornin’,” Harry replies while Ron grunts in greeting. The redhead has never been much of a morning person.

“Did you guys start your Defense papers like I suggested?” Harry and Ron glance at each other with wide eyes and Hermione scoffs.

“This year’s workload is going to be much more difficult than last year’s. If you want to be accepted into Auror training once we graduate, you’re going to have to work for it, you know. They won’t accept anything below Exceeds Expectations on your Newts.”

“Look, ‘Mione, I would’ve started my essay - truly - except I was too busy wondering where Harry had disappeared to last night.”

Harry chokes on his pumpkin juice and Ron reaches up to slap his back in consolation. Hermione leans forwards in intrigue.

“Disappeared? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ron glances at Harry in apology and Harry can’t help but scowl at his friend’s obvious attempt at changing the subject away from schoolwork. “You see, I went to bed around ten and saw Harry’s curtains closed, but his trunk was open. I may have… gotten a bit nosy and decided to snoop through his stuff - can you blame me?” he asks when Harry’s scowl deepens. “And I couldn’t help but notice that his cloak and map were both missing. So I thought to myself, ‘Huh. Now why would Harry sleep with his cloak and map?’ So then I pulled open his curtains and realized he wasn’t there. I even reached out to make sure he wasn’t hiding under his invisibility cloak.”

Harry averts his eyes from his friends’ own searching ones and clears his throat. Hermione leans forwards even more and lowers her voice. “You weren’t having… nightmares again, were you, Harry?”

“Er…”

“Ah, leave the bloody man alone, ‘Mione! He was probably off getting a good shag from some lucky girl.”

“Who’s shagging who?” Ginny suddenly questions as she takes the seat on the other side of Harry, Dean quick to follow her. Harry has the sudden urge to facepalm again.

“Harry, I bet,” Neville butts in as he sits on Ron’s other side. “He was missing from the dorm last night.”

“Oh?” Ginny raises a teasing eyebrow and looks at Harry. “So? Who's the girl?”

“Er…” Harry says again, at a loss of words.

“Is she a Gryffindor?” Ron asks.

“A Ravenclaw?” Neville asks next.

“Hufflepuff?” Ginny adds in helpfully as she fills her plate with breakfast.

“Oh, Gods…” Ron moans. “Please don’t tell me you’re shagging a Slytherin, please!” Hermione rolls her eyes and feigns disinterest at the conversation. Harry knows her better than that, though - his friend is still listening intently, waiting to hear the next piece of juicy gossip just like everybody else. Bloody great friends, he has.

“No! Jesus…”

“Well, who was it, then? Don’t tell me it’s a secret love affair…” Ron widens his eyes and lowers his voice dramatically and Harry snaps.

“I wasn’t shagging anybody! I’ve never shagged a bloody day in my life!” Harry exclaims. All of his friends stop what they’re doing and stare at him in surprise. “Fucking hell,” Harry mutters as the whispers start at each end of the Gyffindor table and quickly spread to the Ravenclaw table. Harry pushes his plate away from himself and stands up, ignoring Hermione’s call of ‘Harry, your breakfast!’ and Ron’s muttered ‘Sorry, mate.’ Without his permission, his eyes find their way over to the Slytherin table and he watches in poorly concealed horror as Pansy Parkinson leans close to Malfoy and whispers to him and Zabini with a wicked smile. Malfoy whips his head to the side and immediately locks eyes with Harry and the Gryffindor almost trips over his feet when the blond raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk. Not wanting to be scrutinized by Malfoy for being a bloody virgin any longer, Harry hurries out of the Great Hall and towards the library.

“Nosy arseholes… So what if I’m a bloody virgin… I’m only sixteen! I bet the rest of the sixth years are virgins, too…” Harry mutters to himself angrily. He knows Ron is a definite virgin. He would’ve been the first person Ron told, had he shagged a girl. Hermione probably is, too. He sincerely hopes she and Krum didn’t get down and dirty during fourth year… Neville is definitely a virgin, too. Every time he tries to talk to a girl, he stutters and stumbles over his words before running away. He’s much too pure for that. Seamus, well. Okay, he has no bloody idea. Dean…?

Harry stops just outside the library and throws his head back with a groan. He hears Madam Pince’s loud ‘Shhh!’ from inside, but he pays it no mind as he angrily stomps his way into the library. 

Dean and Ginny have been awfully… touchy. Even at breakfast this morning, Ginny was leaning into Dean while he had his hand wrapped around one of her thighs. He isn’t sure exactly how long they’ve been dating, but with how they act around each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already done the deed.

He doesn’t know why this revelation bothers him so much. He surely isn’t the only virgin in his year, but it’s as if everyone expects more from him. ‘He’s Harry Potter! He could shag any girl he wants. He’s probably shagged loads of girls!’ He rolls his eyes as he wanders into the ‘Creatures’ section of the library.

As he searches through the different books on creatures, he can’t help but scoff in disgust as he imagines himself… doing it with a girl. He isn’t sure why, but the thought makes him uncomfortable. He even tries to imagine Ginny, with her long hair and pretty eyes - but all he feels is… well, nothing. He tries to imagine her naked - she looks as though her skin is pretty soft. She’s rather skinny and her curves are very slight and- Oh Gods, he doesn’t want to think about that any further. Maybe it’s because she’s younger than me? He closes his eyes tightly and tries to imagine Madam Rosmerta, with her curly, dark hair and her more noticeable curves. He tries to picture her without clothes this time and - “Ouch!”

Harry leans down with a sigh and picks up the book he’d just dropped on his foot. He’s about to put it away before he realizes it’s just the book he was looking for. Happy for a distraction from his rather disturbing thoughts, Harry goes to Madam Pince’s desk and checks it out. She never once removes her glare from his face as he walks out of the library and heads to his first class.

_____

Come lunch time, the whispers have only just barely died down. Girls keep sending him their ‘sex eyes,’ as Ron calls them jealously, but Harry pays them no mind. He’s still in a mood and he wants nothing more than to hole up in his room and read the book that he has hidden deep within his backpack.

Harry’s eyes unintentionally land on Malfoy from across the hall, again, and he lets his mind wander. Has Malfoy had sex before? Realistically, yeah, most likely. I mean, he may be an outright git, but anyone could admit that he’s easy on the eyes. Harry has already admitted that to himself multiple times. He’s probably used his Veela powers to seduce whatever woman he wants. 

He feels a pit form in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy having had sex. The heavy feeling only intensifies when he watches that Parkinson cow laugh at something the blond said before said blond’s eyes flick up and lock onto Harry’s own. Harry blinks and hastily glances away when he registers the fact that he was just caught staring, but not before noticing the other raise his eyebrows in amusement. He seems to do that a lot. Harry’s face must just be so hideous that the Slytherin finds it funny.

“Say, Hermione…” Harry interrupts Hermione and Ron’s argument over whether or not House Elves deserve to be paid for their services. Hermione immediately stops what she’s doing and gives Harry her full attention, concern shining plainly in her eyes.

“Er- how much do you know about Veela?”

“Oh! Um, not too much, actually,” she blinks in surprise. “I know that they’re native to Bulgaria, hence why they’re the mascots of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. They’re pale and blonde and hypnotically attractive, especially when they dance. Their allure is so seductive that it can cause its victims to become completely mesmerized by them, leading to them performing impulsive and typically foolhardy acts just to keep the Veela’s attention.”

Harry sits there unseeingly for a moment as he absorbs this information. He’d already known about the paleness and the blondeness - hence why he highly suspects a Veela being a part of the Malfoy family tree. He’s never seen Malfoy dance, so… he can’t say for sure whether or not he’s been completely hypnotized by him before. There was that moment back at the Burrow where Harry had thought Malfoy just looked so beautiful that he stupidly spouted out the question of whether or not him and Parkinson were dating - could that be considered impulsive and foolhardy? Harry thinks so.

“I see… Would these traits be present in someone who’s only partially Veela? Let’s say… A quarter Veela, maybe?”

“I’m not too sure,” Hermione furrows her eyebrows. “If they were, I’d imagine they wouldn’t be as strong as a pure Veela. Why are you asking me this, Harry?”

“Er…” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “I was just wondering. Was thinking of writing my defense paper on them. You know, ‘Dark Creatures of Europe.’”

“Right…” Hermione drags out the word. She looks at Harry as though she doesn’t believe a single word he’s said. “I’m not sure Veela can be classified as dark creatures, but… Maybe I can do some more research for you.”

“Would you, please?” Harry grins at Hermione before giving her his best puppy-dog eyes until she scoffs and agrees with a smile. Harry thanks her and returns to his lunch, as well as his unintentional staring of Malfoy from across the hall. He takes in the shadows under the other’s eyes that are visible even from this distance, as well as the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline. It’s only then that Harry realizes that he hasn’t seen the blond eat a single thing since they’ve returned to school.

_____

Today the Gryffindor’s had their Quidditch tryouts, which went surprisingly well. Ron had actually done great and landed a position as Keeper; Harry chose Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as Beaters, and Ginny and Demelza Robins joined Katie Bell as Chasers. Harry is happy with his team, especially considering the fact that Ginny and Ron are now a part of it.

“Great job out there, Katie. I knew I wouldn’t be replacing you,” Harry smiles at the dark haired witch as they make their way over to the broom sheds.

“Thanks, Harry. I think we’ve got a strong team this year.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “We’re gonna whoop Slytherin’s ass. Can’t wait to see the look on Malfoy’s face.”

“Harry,” Katie furrows her eyebrows at him as she puts away her broom. “Didn’t you hear? Malfoy dropped out of Quidditch this year. He didn’t even bother trying out.”

“What?” Harry whips his head around and stares at her disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Katie nods her head as she walks out of the shed. “Probably because his father isn’t here to bribe the captain with new brooms this time,” she jokes over her shoulder before running off. Harry remains in the shed for a minute longer, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Malfoy, the boy who’s known for being a great seeker, didn’t even bother trying out for his team this year. 

As Harry makes his way back up to the castle, he hesitates for only a moment before turning away from the Great Hall and making his way towards the Hospital Wing. Everyone else is headed in the opposite direction for dinner. He’ll just stop by the kitchens on the way back.

When Harry enters the Hospital Wing, he breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it empty. Madam Pomfrey must have superhuman hearing because she exits her office only a moment later and eyes him with a mixture of concern and exasperation.

“Potter,” the old lady greets. “Three days back, and you’re already here. Why am I not surprised? Now, what is it this time, dear?”

“Oh, er- I’m not sick or hurt or anything. I actually wanted to report - uh… I wanted to voice my concerns about a certain student.”

“Oh! What seems to be the matter with them?”

“Well,” Harry clears his throat. “He hasn’t been eating. I’m not really sure he’s been sleeping much, either. I know for a fact that over the summer, he, er… He was barely eating and sleeping. It seems that he’s gotten worse since we’ve come back here.”

“Poor boy,” Madam Pomfrey coos in concern. “I’ll be sure to check in with them. May I ask who this boy is, Mr Potter? Is it Weasley?”

“No,” Harry says awkwardly. He takes a deep breath. You’ve got this, Harry. You’re doing something good. “It’s Draco Malfoy, Ma’am.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows rise into her greying hairline in surprise. She blinks a few times before summoning a clipboard and quill and writing something down. “Alright then, I’ll be sure to take care of him. Anything else I should know?”

“No, Ma’am,” Harry shakes his head before heading towards the exit. He stops just in front of the doorway and looks over his shoulder.

“Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You’ll help him, right?”

Madam Pomfrey smiles in understanding, the crinkles beside her eyes making her look much older than she actually is. “Of course, Potter. I’ll prescribe him some nutrient and dreamless sleep potions. He’ll be in tiptop shape in no time.”

“Alright,” Harry breathes out with a relieved smile. “Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, Potter?” She asks him exasperatedly, but Harry can see the amusement on her face.

“Please don’t tell him it was me that reported him. He’ll have my hide, and I’d rather not fight with him this year.”

Madam Pomfrey’s understanding smile returns to her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

_____

“Hey, Mate.”

“Hey, Ron,” Harry greets him distractedly. It’s been two days since Harry had talked to Madam Pomfrey, and Malfoy has somehow gotten even worse. He’s constantly scowling, which isn’t that new, but he’s still resolutely not eating. Harry watches as he snaps at Zabini when he tries to give him a plate of dinner. He can’t help but wonder why the git bothers showing up to meals if he’s never gonna eat anything.

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize for outing you the other day. That wasn’t cool of me. I just wanted Hermione to get off our backs with all that schoolwork talk. I forgot how bloody annoying people could gossip when it involves you.”

Harry watches Ron throw a glare at a pair of whispering, giggling girls passing them by. Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Ron. I’m used to it. Just ignore them.” Ron nods solemnly but lightens up when Harry digs his elbow into the redhead’s side.

Ignoring the whispers and stares is definitely easier said than done, but Harry is used to it. Sort of. I mean - he’s been stared at his entire life; well, the entire part of his life that he’s been in the wizarding world, anyway. It’s still bloody annoying.

“You know, you’re not the only one,” Ron whispers. Harry cocks his eyebrows. “I mean- we’ve hardly gotten a chance. Maybe this year though, yeah?” Ron glances behind them with a dopey smile.

“I’m gonna go talk to Lav. Meet up with you later, ‘kay?”

Harry nods and withholds his grimace; ‘Lav,’ bleh. Harry makes his way through the halls - it’s finally Saturday and he just wants a chance to breathe. Without thinking, he finds himself outside. The sun is beating down today, even as it sets, and Harry closes his eyes and lets it warm his face. 

There won’t be many warm days like this left - autumn will be gone before they know it, the cold, brutal winter ready to take its place. Harry finds a tree by the Black Lake and sits below it, taking his book out of his bag.

He hasn’t had a single moment of privacy since he’s checked his book out of the library; Ron has been by his side basically every minute since - don’t get him wrong, he appreciates Ron with all of his heart. He always has Harry’s back - he tells off all the girls that giggle and whisper behind his back and he always has a comeback for the guys that make jokes.

Harry is perfectly capable of sticking up for himself, but he simply doesn’t care enough to do so in this instance. He has bigger problems to worry about. He cracks open ‘Veela: Beautiful but Deadly,’ and begins to read.

 ‘Veela (both singular and plural) are human-like magical beings that are known for their beauty and hypnotic abilities. Native to Bulgaria, Veela are typically women with pale skin and light hair. Their looks and especially their dance are hypnotic, causing those who are attracted to women to perform foolhearted and impulsive actions to gain the admiration of said Veela.

 Those under their hypnotic spell would experience a blissful blankness of the mind, believing that the Veela and their dance was the only thing that mattered, and that something terrible would happen if they stopped. The mesmerised people would feel compelled to do something crazy to try to impress the Veela, giving no thought to personal safety.

 When Veela became angry, however, they could transform into something more like Harpies — their faces turned into cruel-beaked bird-like heads, while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders, and they could launch balls of fire from their hands.’

Harry leans his head back against the trunk of the tree with a sigh. This book didn’t give him much information that he didn’t already know. It only leaves him with more questions - like, what about those who are only part Veela? Can men be Veela? If yes, does their allure function the same way that women’s do?

He would read further, except the rest of the book appears to just be about the history of Veela. He hates reading - he’ll just have to hope that Hermione has found some more useful information.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Potter the virgin, sitting all by his lonesome under a tree. Waiting for some bird to come swoop you away?”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry mutters without heat.

“Now, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Harry cracks open his eyes just enough to throw a glare at the blond. Malfoy merely smirks in response before stepping closer and sitting next to him, leaving about a foot of space between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read outside of class. I was beginning to wonder if you even could read.” Harry doesn’t have enough time to react before Malfoy reaches out and snatches the book out of his hands. “‘Veela?’ Interesting text subject. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been pestering me about my supposed ‘Veela status,’ now, would it? I’ll have you know, my blood is as pure as it gets.”

Harry rolls his eyes and snatches the book back from the Slytherin. “I said fuck off, Malfoy. I don’t want to fight.”

“Who said anything about fighting? I’m merely starting a conversation with you, Potter. Is my company really that bothersome?”

“No,” Harry internally curses himself for responding so quickly. He was supposed to say ‘yes!’ goddamnit! Harry watches with a grimace as Malfoy’s smirk widens into something more predatory.

“No? I’ve always known you’ve secretly admired me.”

“Wha-” Harry scrambles to his feet. “I do not admire you! You’re an annoying git!”

“So? It’s a part of my charm.” Malfoy raises an eyebrow as he gracefully stands on his feet - that is, gracefully until he nearly topples sideways into the tree. Harry just about reaches out to steady him but the blond brushes him off in annoyance. 

“Merlin, Malfoy. You’re still not eating, are you?”

Malfoy freezes up and looks at Harry with an expression of disdain. Harry mentally slaps himself; he was just getting used to seeing friendlier expressions on the other’s face. If you can call a taunting smirk ‘friendly.’

“Excuse me?” Malfoy’s voice comes out icy cold, yet Harry can feel himself begin to sweat under his long-sleeve. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fight with him this year.

“Er…”

“Eloquent as ever, Potter.” Harry winces under the deadpan stare now being directed his way. He liked it better when the other was teasing him.

“Why didn’t you try out for Quidditch this year?” he asks to quickly change the subject. Malfoy turns his head, hiding his expression.

“I wanted to focus on my studies.”

“...Right.”

“What, gonna miss getting your ass handed to you?” Malfoy is looking at him again.

“As if,” Harry scoffs, letting a slight smile make its way onto his face. “Was just hoping I’d get a worthy opponent. I’ve never seen another seeker as good as you.”

Malfoy blinks at him and Harry swears he sees a hint of red make its way onto the other’s pale face. Harry presses on. “Nobody else stands a chance. At least when I’m playing against you, you give me a run for my money.” Malfoy furrows his brows. Ah, right. Muggle reference. “I mean- you’re almost as good as me. Almost, but not quite.”

Malfoy’s face is properly red now. He opens his mouth to respond, but Harry cuts him off.

“I suppose you could always make it up to me, though.”

Malfoy blinks once. Then twice, but slower. When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re blazing; they’re filled with so much heat, so much warmth. Harry has never seen anyone’s eyes look so expressive before. Malfoy takes a step closer to him and tilts his head up. Like this, standing nearly toe to toe, Harry has to crane his neck up to look at the blond properly. Malfoy looks down his nose at him before his lips curl up into a smile. It’s a smile similar to the ones that Harry has caught Dean sending Ginny the past couple of days. Harry is distracted by the way it brings out Malfoy’s dimples, however, so he doesn’t give himself any time to dwell on that thought.

“Yeah?” Malfoy asks, voice low; it’s barely above a whisper, but he speaks so clearly that it sends tingles down Harry’s spine.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, voice catching. He clears his throat awkwardly. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so softly. He’s supposed to have the upper hand! Malfoy takes a step closer to Harry and Harry instinctively steps back and back until he can see the tree’s leaves above him once more, yet Malfoy moves closer still. The blonde leans in until Harry can feel his breath ghosting across his face. 

“And how do you suppose I’ll do that?” Harry squeezes his eyes shut and stands as still as possible, willing his heart to stop trying to escape his chest. He takes a deep breath in hopes of calming himself, but it only makes his panic worse - all he does is take in a deep lungful of Malfoy’s scent. That smell of cold air - like crisp snow, fills his nose. It’s mixed with an underlying scent of smokey wood, like a fire. He can picture the scene - the wind blowing and the ground covered in a thick layer of snow, except where a fire pit is lit, melting the snow surrounding it. It’s rather… calming. Comforting, even. Despite this fact, Harry’s heart decides to beat even faster.

“Please eat. Or take your potions, at the very least,” Harry whispers. He feels the moment Malfoy stops breathing and takes a staggering step backwards. When Harry blinks his eyes open, he’s faced with Malfoy’s accusing expression.

“It was you,” he breathes out. 

“I-”

“It was you!” Malfoy steps close to him, expression furious. He grabs Harry by his shirt and pins him against the tree. Harry winces when he feels the bark dig into his back.

“I only wanted to help!”

“I don’t need help, Potter! My wellbeing is none. Of. Your. Business!”

“You do need help though- fuck, Malfoy, ease up on your wand!” Harry tries his best to glare through his tears as the bark digs even deeper into his back. Malfoy has his wand in hand and is currently trying to stick it directly through Harry’s neck, it seems.

“When will you learn to stop meddling in other people’s business? I don’t need the Chosen One looking out for me, of all people!” Malfoy is basically hyperventilating by this point, eyes wild as he snarls in Harry’s face. Harry reaches up and grabs onto Malfoy’s shoulders and pushes him. He watches with no amount of guilt as the blond staggers backwards.

“Stop acting crazy for a second! You’ve barely eaten all summer and you’re clearly not sleeping, either! Now you’re all quiet in class and you’re not even playing Quidditch anymore! You’ve barely even looked at me since school started - it took you three bloody days to even insult me! This isn’t you, Malfoy,” Harry says the last part quieter, eyebrows furrowed. He takes a cautious step towards the blond who’s shaking his head, eyes darting around frantically in panic. “It’s okay, Malfoy. Just let me help you. I can help you.”

Just as Harry is about to reach out and grab the other’s shoulders, Malfoy seems to snap out of it and punches Harry straight in the jaw. He punches surprisingly hard for someone so weak - Harry falls to the ground from the impact. He looks up in anger as he holds onto his jaw.

“I don’t want your fucking help,” Malfoy snarls. Harry grabs the other’s shirt and drags him onto the ground, relishing in the yelp he hears when Malfoy’s back makes contact with the dirt. Harry immediately rolls on top of him and lands blow after blow onto the other’s face. Mafoy finally grabs ahold of his fist and twists until Harry hears a concerning crack come from his wrist.

“Fuck!” Malfoy takes advantage of Harry’s distraction and pushes him off of himself before rising on his knees and punching Harry in the stomach. Harry’s breath leaves him in a pained gasp, but he manages to quickly roll to the side before Malfoy lands another. He makes it onto his feet quickly and whips out his wand before pointing it at the blonde. Malfoy whips out his own wand and stumbles to his feet - Harry watches in horror as Malfoy squeezes his eyes shut with a gasp before falling forward, wand falling from his fingers and rolling away.

“Shit,” Harry curses, reaching out and grabbing Malfoy by the waist, lest he fall directly on top of Harry and land them both on the ground again. Malfoy leans his entire weight onto Harry, head lolling forward until it reaches the shorter boy’s shoulder.

“Jesus, Malfoy. Are you alright?” Malfoy feels limp in his arms. Harry wishes he could see his face.

“Mmph.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

“No,” he feels Malfoy wince as he leans backwards, clearly trying to steady himself on his feet. Harry didn’t even realize the blond had grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt until he feels it being tugged as Malfoy leans back some more, blinking down at Harry hazily. “You didn’t beat my ass that bad, Potter. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Harry scoffs. “Care to explain what the fuck just happened, then?” Harry stares back at Malfoy as those silver eyes dance across his face. They seem to be taking in every detail, searching for something. Harry tries his best not to fidget, but his fingers flex against the other’s waist anyways. Malfoy twitches.

“That happens when I stand up too fast. The less I eat, the weaker I become. Every time I stand, now, I black out for a few seconds. It’s not so bad, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Malfoy,” Harry furrows his eyebrows, now more concerned than he was all summer. “You have to eat. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Why?”

“Wha- Why?” Harry splutters. “Because you’re slowly killing yourself, that’s why!”

“No-” Malfoy’s lips twitch. “I mean, why do you care?”

“Why do I-” Harry cuts himself off, blinking rapidly. Why does he care? “Because,” Harry forces out behind gritted teeth. “I’m… worried.”

Malfoy tilts his head to one side, causing strands of his blond hair to fall over his forehead and into his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows what the git wants him to say. “Because I… care about you.”

Malfoy’s lips twitch again. “Why?”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” Malfoy actually smiles, then. “I don’t fucking know, okay? I just do.”

“You just… do,” he repeats slowly. Harry nods his head, avoiding those searching eyes. He covers up his anxiety with an irritated expression. “We’re not friends, Potter. You don’t have to care about me.”

“We could be,” Harry mutters, still resolutely avoiding the other’s eyes. He still can make out the other’s face twitching in response. Twitchy ferret.

“What was that?” Malfoy presses. “Could you repeat that, please?”

Harry finally looks at him, then. “Bloody hell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’ the entire time I’ve known you,” he mutters, yet he feels the corners of his lips rising, betraying his amusement. Malfoy’s eyes look wide and hopeful and Harry feels his heart begin to race again.

“I said, we could be. I mean, would it really be so bad? We acted pretty civilly over the summer, so…”

Malfoy’s breath tickles Harry’s face when he exhales. “I dunno,” he says quietly. “Being friends with you sounds… horrid.”

Harry snorts. “You seemed pretty eager when you were begging for my friendship back in first year.”

“I was not begging!” Malfoy finally releases him, affronted. Harry immediately misses the warmth of the other’s hands against him.

“Were too,” Harry teases with a smile. Malfoy pouts and Harry’s eyes are drawn to his lips. He catches himself and averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to be accused of staring at the git’s lips again.

Malfoy turns with a dramatic sigh, picking up his wand before looking over his shoulder. “I suppose we could try to be… friends. Don’t expect me to sit at Gryffindor table, though. I’d never stoop that low,” he snuffs. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. I have one condition, though.” Malfoy turns back to him and waits patiently.

“Drink your potions. Then- eat. At least, try to eat. When you can. Deal?”

Malfoy purses his lips for a few moments but eventually gives in. “Deal. But this means you have to go flying with me again once I’m feeling a bit better.”

“Deal!” Harry smiles brightly at the Slytherin. Malfoy’s eyes widen and he doesn’t smile back - he just simply blinks at Harry. Harry doesn’t let this reaction ruin his relief, however. Malfoy is just weird. He’s already used to it.

_____

When Harry makes it back to his common room that night, he drops onto the couch next to Hermione, feeling dazed. He notices her shooting glares at Ron and Lavender across the room from behind her book, but she seems to snap out of it once Harry lands.

“Harry! I was beginning to worry. I’ve done some research on Veela, like you asked me to.”

“You did?” Harry sits up, all of his attention on her. “What did you find?”

“Well,” Hermione turns her body towards him and looks down at the book in her lap. “It says here that when a Veela mates with a wizard or a muggle, they can pass down some of their allure to their kids. The more generations it passes through, the weaker the genes become.”

“So, you mean that eventually, the Veela genes will be mated out until there’s none left?”

“Correct. It also says here that those with partial Veela genes don’t experience their inheritance until the age of sixteen.”

“That makes so much sense!” Harry exclaims. He knew he could count on Hermione to find out more information. “Wait- what about men? Do they have the same effects as women Veela?”

“Somewhat,” Hermione says slowly. “There’s never been a full Veela-blooded male recorded in history, but those who have Veela parents or grandparents receive some of the same allure that women do. People claim that their allure isn’t as strong as a woman’s however.”

“I see.” Harry stares out at nothing as he processes this information. Hermione closes her book and scoots closer to him.

“Are you ready to tell me why you’re suddenly so invested in Veela? I know it’s not because of our Defense paper.”

Harry smiles tightly as he turns towards her again. “How’d you know?”

“Please,” Hermione waves her hand. “As if you’d have started your paper yet. I know you’re saving it for the last minute, just like always.”

“You caught me,” Harry raises his hands in defense but smiles genuinely. Hermione knows him so well.

“So…?” she presses gently. Harry sighs. He looks around to make sure no one is listening in before lowering his voice.

“I think Malfoy might be part-Veela.”

Harry watches as Hermione’s eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly in the shape of an ‘o’ before she blinks rapidly in surprise.

“And… Why do you think that, may I ask?”

“Well,” Harry clears his throat. “He sort of fits the description, doesn’t he? Pale, light hair, er- attractive. Objectively speaking, of course.” Hermione bites her lips in a clear attempt at suppressing a smile as she nods along with him. “Also, he, er… I keep having these moments where I’m alone with him and- and the moonlight keeps shining on his face just right and I sort of just freeze up and… act all stupid. All I can think to myself in those moments is ‘Gods, he’s so beautiful.’ And I know this isn’t normal! This- this isn’t like me. I’ve never been attracted to him before. He must’ve come into his inheritance, right?”

Hermione is wearing an expression best described as pity. She smiles gently at him before reaching out and laying her hand on his arm. “Harry, you do know that in order to be attracted to Veela, you first have to be attracted to women, right?”

“Yeah..?” He nods his head in confusion. “So? Malfoy isn’t a girl.”

“It also says in this book that in order to be attracted to a man who is part-Veela, you must first already be attracted to men.”

Harry freezes up, ignoring the way that Hermione’s eyes soften even more. His eyes are so wide that he feels them filling with water - he is definitely not crying. His eyes are just dry.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Harry?”

Harry stands up suddenly, causing Hermione to drop her hand from his arm. He begins to make his way over to the stairs leading to his dormitory.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathes out. He ignores her.

“Thanks for all of your help, Hermione.” Once out of sight, he runs the rest of the way up the stairs and to his dormitory, all but slamming the door behind him and leaning against it heavily.

This is all just - it’s too much. Malfoy must not be part-Veela, then - Harry obviously was just confused and, and- oh Gods, he doesn’t even know anymore.

It makes sense - but he doesn’t want it to make sense. He’d always wondered in the back of his mind why Ron and the rest of his friends were all attracted to Fleur Delacour in his fourth year, while he simply viewed her as a regular witch. He wouldn’t have even known that she was part-Veela, had Ron not gone on and on about it.

Harry changes into his pajamas as quickly as he can before shuffling under his blankets and spelling his curtains shut. He hopes that if he just goes to sleep now, tomorrow he’ll wake up feeling normal.