One Thing

Chapter 1

"...So then the priest replies, 'They're not Italian; they're Irish!'" The Gryffindor table erupted with laughter as Seamus finished his joke. Ron had his head on the table and was convulsing uncontrollably as Harry choked on a bit of bacon he'd accidentally inhaled. Hermione tried to look disapproving, but a hint of a smile twitched at her lips as she patted Harry's back, trying to get him to resume breathing.

Everyone calmed down as Dumbledore rose and cleared his throat. Ron sat up, his face still slightly flushed, and looked up at the Head Table as the Headmaster began to speak.

"Good morning, students. I hope you have all enjoyed a delicious breakfast. Now that you are all full and content to focus on your lessons, I have some news sufficient to distract you for the rest of the day, at least." There was a twinkle in the old wizard's eye and Harry could tell that he was enjoying making this announcement.

"I have received an excellent suggestion from one of our students," he paused to glance in the direction of the Gryffindor table and Lavender smiled nervously, "and have decided it would be a lovely break from the monotony that can sometimes build between the summer and winter holidays." Everyone waited with keen interest to hear what Dumbledore would say.

"The Halloween Feast, this year, will be accompanied by a Ball." At this point the hall, which had been silent as the grave, broke out into excited whispers. However, as soon as Dumbledore cleared his throat again the whispers ceased. "No, the ball will be complete with an election for the King and Queen. I'm afraid only 7^th years will be eligible, but all students will be able to vote. Nominations may be handed in to the Head of House." At this there were more excited whispers which grew into excited chatter as the Head dismissed them to their lessons.

As they plopped into their seats in Transfiguration, Ron thumped Harry on the back and said, "Good luck, mate. Though I don't expect you'll need it."

Harry turned to Ron with a puzzled expression and asked, "Ron, what are you on about?"

Ron looked at him like he was concerned for his sanity and replied, "The ball? You know, that thing that Dumbledore was just talking about five minutes ago?"

"Yes, but what's that to do with me?"

Ron chuckled. "Geez, Harry, are you really that dense? The Halloween Ball King! I reckon you're a shoe-in."

Harry laughed. "I'm not running for Halloween King, Ron."

"Don't see as it much matters, mate. If you're nominated, you're running," Ron grinned.

"Yeah, all right, but who'd nominate me?" Ron stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head. "I mean, I know I'm Famous Harry Potter and all that, but surely they'd want someone good looking and stylish." Ron snorted. "Or at the very least, someone social."

Ron snorted louder. "Harry, man, you're Mr. Popularity. Of course you're social!"

"I have two friends!" Harry nearly shouted. He was quickly heading from incredulous to miffed. "Ron, look. Even if I get nominated by-by- Colin Creevey or someone, there's not a snowball's chance in hell I'll win. I doubt I'll even be nominated." Just as he said this, a giggling herd of girls stampeded by in the direction of McGonagall's desk, each clutching a slip of paper.

"Oi! Girls!" Ron called and they all turned to him. "Who are you all nominating for Halloween King?" They all looked at him like perhaps this was a trick question and then replied in unison, "Harry Potter," as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry's jaw dropped. "What?! But- but--- why?!" They all stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. Harry turned to Ron, spluttering, and wearing a frustrated, confused, and (in the girls' opinion) adorable expression.

"You're so funny, Harry." Lavender said, giving him an ingratiating smile and a pat on the arm as she passed on her way back to her seat.

Harry was in a decidedly sour mood the rest of the day. Anytime someone tried to approach him, he snapped at him or her. And anytime the word "ball" or "king" was mentioned, the muscle in his jaw twitched. He sat in the common room, attempting to do his homework, entirely sick of people advancing upon him to offer their congratulations or well wishes. Just as Neville Longbottom walked up, he slammed his charms book shut with a band, causing Neville and everyone else at the table to jump.

"I'm going to bed," he stated shortly. Leaving his things where they lay, he turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs. No one made a move to follow him. It was only 8:00, and in his current condition, Harry knew there was no way he was going to get any sleep. So instead he grabbed his firebolt, invisibility cloak, and marauder's map and left. No one said a word as he charged through the common room and out the portrait. As soon as it slammed shut, however, everyone began chattering about how they couldn't believe that he didn't want to run, and who would look good standing next to him as Queen. This annoyed Hermione, because she knew Harry wouldn't appreciate people gossiping about him, and especially about his chances of winning Halloween King. She followed Harry's example and slammed her book shut. Ron followed suit, although halfheartedly, because he still didn't see what the big damn deal was, or why Harry cared. What none of them knew, (although Hermione had her suspicions,) was that Harry had a very good reason for not wanting to be Halloween King.

Harry stalked through the halls, invisible, although it wouldn't make much of a difference. Anyone within five meters of him would be able to hear his curses and angry mutterings.

"Bloody Lavender; of course it was her idea. Stupid sniveling romantic bint. Sodding ridiculous; all of it. All pomp and circumstance. Disgusting. Nothing but a glorified beauty contest. Dress robes will be required, of course. And I'll probably be prompted to make some sort of speech." Wait a moment! Harry stopped walking as he reached the Quidditch Pitch. When had he agreed with all those psychos that he was going to win?! Just because everyone was saying didn't mean it was going to happen. No it definitely was not going to happen. He would make sure of it.

"Yes, that's it," Harry thought, mounting his broom. He would be as foul, uncharming, caustic, and unhygienic as possible for the next month to insure he wouldn't be chosen. Because as much as dress robes, speeches, and constant smiling disgusted him, there was only one thing that revolted him more. He halted his frenzied laps about the pitch, feeling nauseous. Escorting a girl. He descended slowly, suddenly feeling devoid of any anger. Now he just felt drained.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Back whilst Harry Potter was still flying and fuming, Draco Malfoy seemed to be in much the same mood, and for much the same reason.

"Stupid bloody Potter. Always the best at everything. Captain of the quidditch team. Saviour of the wizarding world. Hero of the hopeless. Defender of the downtrodden. Where did he come from, anyway? Planet Look-at-Me Look-at-Me?!

"As opposed to Planet Loser?" Draco spun around to face his intruder.

"What do you want, Zabini?" He snapped.

"Or perhaps Planet Sour Grapes?" Blaise mused, ignoring Draco.

"Are you quite finished?"

"No. Are you?"

"I'm going flying." Draco grabbed his broom, and, not bothering with a cloak, brushed past the taller boy and slammed the door behind him. Blaise stood with his arms crossed, staring after Draco. He raised an eyebrow behind his shaggy dirty blonde hair and thought allowed, "Methinks, perhaps, young Mr. Malfoy has more on his mind than he's letting on."

As Draco neared the Quidditch Pitch, he was still grumbling things like, "Sod Potter and his perfect grace. Damn his chiseled features..." As he walked through the gates still muttering under his breath, he stopped dead. There, in the middle of the pitch, head bowed, shoulders slumped, stood the boy he'd just been cursing with every expletive he could think of. At that moment, any semblance of control he'd had was lost. He snapped. To hell with dignity and facades.

"Oh, just bloody perfect!" he exclaimed, stamping his foot like a five-year-old, and turned to stomp back to the castle. However, as he did, something caught his eye. At the sound of Draco's curse, Harry had started and his head had snapped up. Draco now stood transfixed, staring into the ethereally lit face of a crying Harry Potter. For some reason, the sight struck a chord somewhere deep inside him, and for the life of him, he couldn't move.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry weighed his options. From the stricken look on Malfoy's face, he'd noticed the tears. He could make a run for it, but Malfoy stood in the middle of the gate. He could simply take off and fly over the gate, but his father's invisibility cloak lay over the edge of the bleachers; less than a meter from where his dumbstruck enemy stood. It was no use. He'd have to get closer to Malfoy to retrieve the cloak. He swallowed, took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, and took a purposeful step forward. As Harry neared him, Draco seemed to break out of his trance.

"Bloody hell, Potter, what's wrong with you?" He tried to inject some malice and condescension into his voice, he really did. But all that came out was alarm. Though you really couldn't blame him. It's not every day you stumble upon your worst enemy, crying. I can tell you, it's extremely unsettling.

"Nothing that concerns you." It's just so damn frustrating.

"Pining, are you?"

"No." I just want to be me.

"Stressed about your abysmal marks?"

"Hardly." Why does it have to be so hard?

"Worried about your chances of becoming Hogwarts Halloween King?"

You have no idea.

Draco could tell instantly that he'd hit a nerve. He'd heard from Pansy who'd been told by Padma who'd gotten it from her sister, Parvati, who swore she heard it straight from Harry Potter's mouth that he in no way wanted to be Hogwarts Halloween King. But Draco had hardly believed it. Surely, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor would love a chance at glory, no matter how trivial. At the moment, however, He didn't look too pleased about it. He stopped advancing, and his shoulders shook a bit.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You don't want him to figure it out, do you? He can't know. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

A slow, silent tear slid down Harry's cheek, He turned his head away in shame. Now it was Draco's turn to advance. He closed the remaining distance between them and turned the face of the Boy Who Lived toward his, forcing eye contact.

"Why?" Harry just stared for a second, and then shrugged. He then roughly brushed Malfoy's hand away, let out a hiss of a breath, and brushed past him, picking up his cloak and making to open the gate. "I'm sure you'll get it, you know." There was a touch of bitterness in Draco's voice, now.

Harry looked at him sadly. "I know." And with that he disappeared under his cloak, the gate swinging shut seemingly of its own accord.