Understandable Insanity

Chapter III

Harry had been glaring absentmindedly across the Great Hall all throughout breakfast. It was only when Malfoy stuck his tongue out from between his teeth and gave Harry an exaggeratedly lascivious wink that he noticed Malfoy had been staring back at him. Flustered, Harry turned back to the Gryffindors and began to angrily spread jam over a previously forgotten slice of toast.

"Bloody git," Ron commented good-naturedly, dragging a tiny corner of bread crust through his left-over egg yolk.

"Yeah. Who?" He looked up. Hermione shot him a very suspicious look, but Ron was too involved with salvaging the tiniest remnants of breakfast to notice.

"Malfoy. Always staring at you like that; I know it would put me off my breakfast, he ever looked at me that way." Hermione made a derisive sound.

"Oh, please. As if anything short of oozing, dripping acromantula pus would be able to put you off of food." Ron eyed the long yellow strand of egg yolk that was descending from his fork and winced.

"Thanks for that, Hermione."

"What do you think he's up to, Harry?" She ignored Ron, nodding towards Malfoy. Harry glanced cautiously over his shoulder. Malfoy had turned back towards his fellow Slytherins. He was apparently telling a very funny story, possibly one of his infamous reenactments of Harry's worst moments. Harry felt a twinge in his stomach that wasn't entirely anger, and whipped his head back towards his friends. He looked up at Hermione, who was frowning at him.

"Uh, something nasty, I guess." He took a large bite of his toast, which had gone unpleasantly cool, and tried to look innocent.

"Yes." Hermione spoke slowly, and she was still looking at him as though she was trying to puzzle out a particularly difficult riddle. "Yes, that's likely." Ron--dear, dependably oblivious Ron--nodded as he scoured the table for any uneaten food.

"Yeah, definitely. Probably thinking up some evil plan to-"

"Plot," Harry corrected absentmindedly. He sighed and dropped his cold toast onto his plate. He inhaled deeply, and realized no one else had spoken. He raised his head slowly. Now even Ron was giving him an odd look. "I mean, I just, it's only--I'm not really hungry." He stood quickly, bumping into Neville, who promptly sloshed pumpkin juice all down his front.

"My gran just sent me these robes," Neville said with a defeated sigh. He sounded more forlorn than upset, and Harry bit his lip. He wanted to apologize to Neville, but he couldn't stay in the Great Hall any longer. Not with Hermione and Ron looking at him like that, not with Malfoy mere tables away. He had to get away, far away.

He muttered a quick "sorry," and took off. He heard the clatter of movement behind him, but he just quickened his stride. He managed to get out of the Great Hall, but someone grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around. It was Hermione, and the door banged shut behind her. She stared up at him, brow furrowed.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm kind of tired, I think I'll just--"

"Don't you tell me nothing's wrong. We're your best friends, Harry. Don't you think Ron and I know when something is wrong?" She paused and considered her statement. "Well, maybe not Ron, but I know. There's something going on you're not telling us."

"There's nothing, Hermione, honestly." Here he was, lying to one of his best friends. Not bending the truth, not avoiding it; he was telling a total lie right to her face. He couldn't stand what he'd been lowered to, and he turned to leave. Hermione grabbed the elbow of his robe, and walked in front of him, blocking his path.

"You've hardly spoken all morning, you scarcely touched your breakfast, you didn't even acknowledge poor Neville--"

"I said I was sorry."

"Barely." She took a step closer, rubbing his arm gently, trying to soothe him. He couldn't stand that look in her eyes. "Harry, you know you can tell me, don't you? You can always tell me." Not this time, Hermione. Not now. He looked away from her. "Does this have something to do with Malfoy?"

He nearly got whiplash, he looked back at her so quickly. Did she know? Could she know? Who told her? But no, she couldn't know. She didn't know. She was giving him the same puzzled expression. There wasn't a hint of the revulsion in her face and voice that he knew news of his "encounter" with Malfoy would bring.

"What makes you say that?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but from Hermione's expression, she could tell she'd hit a nerve.

"Just, the way he stared at you this morning. And you, you were staring at him too, weren't you?"

"'Course not." Harry looked up at the ceiling. Anything he could watch instead of her eyes. "He's just being Malfoy. Nothing's going on."

"But, Harry--"

"I don't feel well. That's all." He snapped, cutting her off. Her hand stopped its soothing rubbing. Slowly, she drew away from him. He dared a glance back at her. Her eyes were hard, her lips set in a tight line.

"Fine. Keep everything bottled up if you want. But I'm going to find out, Harry. You know that, don't you? Wouldn't you rather tell me yourself?" He said nothing. He didn't even trust himself to open his mouth. He would tell her. If he opened his mouth, it would all come spilling forth. Yeah, Hermione, yesterday? When everyone thought I was off pummeling Malfoy...I was actually cuddling with him. You're fine with that, right? He couldn't bear even the thought of how she would look at him. He could picture her expression of horror, and disgust. So, Hermione, I seem to be strongly attracted to Malfoy. You know the one, the smarmy brat who insults you at every opportunity. Do you think I should ask him to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? Do you think he'd say yes? She would never be able to look at him the same way again. And he didn't want that. He wanted to forget it ever happened, to let things go back to normal.

She stood, waiting. Finally, she shook her head and turned. She paused one more time at the doors to the Great Hall, glancing back at him. Begging him to open up. Harry didn't move. He stared at the floor, biting his lip. She shook her head, and pulled the door open. Something snapped inside him. He had to tell her. He had to tell someone. He would implode if he didn't.

"Hermione, wait!" But he was too late. The door slid shut, his words lost behind the thick wood. He wanted to follow her, so he could apologize, and put things right. But he turned away, and headed towards the stairs.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt his heart sinking. What a perfect example of the horror his life had become. The urge to tell his best friend he was sorry was easily ignored, while the compulsion to kiss Draco Malfoy refused to be pushed aside. It was ridiculous.

"What's the matter, sonny?" A portrait of a kindly old wizard sitting amongst stacks of books twice his height gave him a sympathetic look. Harry glanced at him, and ducked his head.

"You know," the portrait called after him, "it always feels better to let someone in!"

Not this time, Harry thought bitterly. The momentary release of tension would be followed with horror and mockery for the rest of his school career, possibly the rest of his life. He didn't even want to think of what would happen if Witch Weekly got a hold of the story. Towering headlines loomed in his mind: "Teen Hero Trysts With Rival," "Harry Potter So Starved For Affection He Turns to Enemies For Love," "Potter's Psyche Deeply Twisted, No Hope for Normalcy, Experts Say."

It had been hard, that first year at Hogwarts. No one really understood how hard it had been for him. Everywhere he went, he was stared at. Not even his dormitory was a sanctuary from wide, curious eyes. It was full circle for a boy who grew up being ignored whenever possible. Now he was sought out. People knew who he was. That had been the strangest thing. People walking down Diagon Alley, students sitting in class or the Great Hall, parents on Platform 9 ¾; they all knew his name. They knew who he was and they knew who his parents were. People he had never seen before knew his life's story. He was in books, he was in headlines, he was a hero. And he had never known. He had grown up thinking of himself as an average boy. Not particularly bright, or handsome, or witty. Not memorable, except for being related to and living with the infamously large--and twice as infamously nasty--Dudley Dursley. Just Harry: a boy without a real family, or much of a life when it came to that.

Then he came to Hogwarts. And he wasn't Harry, Dudley's cousin, anymore. He was Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Defeater of the Dark Lord, the triumphant hero, and Savior of the Wizarding World. It would have been a lot for anyone to deal with. But for Harry, who had lived his life in the curtains and now was suddenly thrust into the spotlight...it was hell. He was only eleven. He was supposed to think about classes, and making friends, and sports and games. Instead, all he could think was, 'they're watching me.' 'Everyone is watching me. What if I muck things up? What if it all goes wrong? What if--' and this was the question that haunted him, that made him sick to his stomach and left him lying awake all night '--what if I'm not the hero they all think I am?'

It got better. He got used to it. There are things in life that can't be changed. So when Harry came across one of those things, he adjusted. He learned to live with the looks, to laugh it off and focus on the mundane in his life. He learned to live as a normal boy, even with the Wizarding World watching. There were moments, of course; rough times when he felt overwhelmed by expectations. But he had Hermione and Ron. He always had his friends beside him, to ground him and remind him. The world might think of him as the Boy Who Lived, but really he was just a boy who lived with his horrible relatives, a boy who lived for his days at Hogwarts. He was Harry.

But if his tryst--he begged himself for a better, less word, but a tryst was what it was, and that was all he could call it--with Malfoy became common knowledge it would be the end. No more of the relative serenity he lived with. It had taken time for him to deal with everything from curious to worshipful stares. He doubted he would ever be able to cope with revulsion, horror and snickers. A few snickers here and there from the Slytherins weren't too bad. No one respectable put much stock in their opinions anyway. But from the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs? What about the Gryffindors? He didn't even try to imagine how his own house would treat a filthy, perverse traitor like him.

He reached the Fat Lady's portrait and leaned against the opposite wall. He needed a minute to compose himself, in case any other Gryffindors had come up before breakfast was over. He didn't want to go in there looking haggard; they would worry, and they would want to know what was wrong. And when he couldn't tell them, they would get suspicious. It was bad enough that Hermione was suspected him; she didn't need the investigative powers of Gryffindor house at her back. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Taking a bit of a nap, darling?" Harry jerked upright, lost his balance, and was forced to windmill his arms in order to keep from falling. He looked in horror at Malfoy, who was grinning. "I must say, I knew Gryffindor wasn't the most luxurious of houses, but do they really make you sleep in the corridor? That's just--"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry snarled as quietly as he could. He eyed the Fat Lady cautiously. She was still snoozing quietly, leaning against her frame.

"What? Aren't you glad to see me, darl--"

"Don't call me that! That's just, you--ugh!"

"Not one for endearments? You know, there are some who would say that says quite a bit about you and your problems with intimacy."

"Problems with--" Harry shut his eyes again. He was doing it again. He was letting Malfoy get under his skin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I--"

"Don't be smarmy. Just tell me." Malfoy eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged.

"Alright. I came to have a word with you."

"A word with me?" Harry's voice dripped with disbelief, and he was momentarily proud of himself. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Yes, probably more than one, in fact. Contrary to whatever you think, there are fleeting moments when I'm not up to anything devious." Harry arched his eyebrows, putting on his best 'as-if' face. Malfoy shook his head critically. "Now, see, you're doing it all wrong. You have to--" He reached up to guide one of Harry's eyebrows and Harry jerked backwards without thinking. He felt suddenly that he should apologize, but it was too late. Whatever spark of tolerance that had lingered in Malfoy's light eyes disappeared. "As much as I abhor spending even one instant with you, a discussion has become necessary."

Harry--confused and lost as he was--had to pause to work out that sentence. Surely there were much simpler ways to say that? He realized that it was just another thing he'd learned about Draco Malfoy: his tendency to become formal when he was annoyed. That thought made him feel uncomfortable; it was the kind of thing that friends would know about each other.

"Why?"

"Well, I had hoped that we might be finished with the whole sordid affair, but since you can't seem to keep your eyes off me even in public," he trailed off into nasty silence. Harry looked away, embarrassed.

"We can't talk here. Breakfast is nearly over, there'll be people."

"Fine. Where does your infinite wisdom tell you we should talk?" Harry racked his brains for places that would be mostly abandoned.

"Astronomy Tower?" He offered. Malfoy gave him a look of flat incredulity. "What?"

"Potter, not even you could be that naïve." Harry looked at him blankly and Malfoy shook his head almost sadly. "All right, maybe you could."

"What's wrong with the Astronomy Tower?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, per se."

"I don't--" Malfoy cut him off with a stare. Harry watched the other boy think. Malfoy's nose wrinkled when he was deep in thought. Harry smiled a little, then noticed that he had just found something about Malfoy endearing. He scowled quickly, furrowing his brow as deeply as he could. Think of Death Eaters. Think of prejudice, and cruelty and persecution. Don't think about how adorable that tiny pout is. Malfoy glanced over at him, and his look became questioning.

"Are you going to be ill? Not that I care. Your discomfort is, after all, my pleasure." Harry tried to intensify his glare, but he just went slightly cross-eyed. Malfoy gave him another strange look, then shook it off. "There's a classroom on the fourth floor, across from the statue of Elric the Uncleanly. It's usually empty by afternoon. We could meet there to hash this thing out."

"Fine. Sure. Alright."

"Would you like to add another affirmative?" Harry prickled, and imagined punching Malfoy squarely in the nose. That was pleasant enough, so he pictured pounding him into the floor. His plan backfired when his brain decided to give its own treacherous interpretation to "pound." He winced and looked away, trying to wipe the image from his eyes.

When he looked back, unsuccessful, Malfoy was giving him a look that clearly spelled out his intent to call St. Mungo's immediately.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm fine," Harry snapped.

"Of course you are." Harry narrowed his eyes. Draco narrowed his. The sound of not-so distant laughter and footsteps startled both of them.

"Go on," Harry looked feverishly from side to side, "get out of here!"

"Why don't you get out of here?" Draco sneered, suddenly determined to be contrary. Harry looked at him blankly.

"Because I live here."

"Oh." Draco's brow furrowed slightly. "Well." He was obviously searching for something scathing to say, but the approaching students were both a distraction and a deadline. He stormed off, leaving Harry to sigh and lean back against the wall.

"Oof!" He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized he had leaned directly onto the Fat Lady.

Author's Note: Well, that took a long time to write. It's a bit shorter, and not as satisfying, but it's a bit of filler that was needed. Hopefully the next part will come faster, lengthier, and with exponentially more boylove. Thanks for reading!