Drarry- Bad Romance

Chapter 8- He Hates Me, He Hates Me Not

Harry Potter sat in the large library, accompanied by Hermione. She walked around, picking out any books that mentioned anything about the Black Lake. Any. Books. This baffled Harry, for there were already stacks upon stacks that had about ten books in each one. Although the second task was still a few weeks away, Hermione insisted on studying deeper. Harry didn't know exactly what was to come of this next task, all he knew was his egg sung a melody about the deepest depths. Harry was reading a book that seemed like it had nothing to do with the Black Lake, but it was talking about some quite interesting facts about seahorses. He was positive the Lake had no trace of seahorse in it, but he got carried away as it talked about how they ate, a lot. Almost like Ron. Harry then heard the door to the library slowly creek open, causing him to look over his shoulder and through a crack in the wood bookshelf behind him. He immediately noticed the figure's short, platinum hair. Harry felt his chest tighten a little as the blonde appeared to be moving closer. Harry averted his eyes back down to his open book, pretending to be reading, but his mind wasn't repeating the words in each sentence. He was too focused on the fact that Malfoy had now decided to sit behind him at the nearest table. He could hear the light shuffling sound of books brushing against each other as he heard the Slytherin carefully take a book off of the shelf. Harry heard the sound of crisp pages turning against each other rhythmically. Harry had the sudden urge to turn around and ask Malfoy what he was doing here, as he kept listening to the deafening silence. 

"Malfoy." Harry then said, turning to face the boys back, giving his mind what it wanted.

Malfoy looked up, acting smug as if he hadn't known Harry was right there. 

"Oh, Potter." He turned, also facing Harry. Harry looked at him blankly, then curving in his brows slightly, frowning softly.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked densley.

"I don't know what-" Malfoy started, but was cut off by Harry.

"Why are you here." He repeated, making it sound more like a demand than a question. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, turning completely in his chair this time, sitting in it backwards.

"I heard about the egg thing. Some of your little Gryffindorks were talking about it." 

Harry's frown deepened as he looked at Malfoy with confusion, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I have something that could help you breath underwater." the blonde simply stated. He quickly added, "I'm assuming it's underwater?"

Harry nodded slowly and cautiously, wondering why Malfoy would want to genuinely help him. Malfoy then handed Harry a dark green, heavy, small, bag. Harry took it from him, staring into his deep grey eyes, Draco returning the contact. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, like a staring contest. 

"It's gillyweed. Just swallow it before the task starts. It'll give you temporary fish-like features until you resurface." Malfoy said, breaking the silence and eye-contact, his eyes trailing down to the small bag in Harry's hand. Harry didn't nod this time, instead he kept staring at Malfoy. He was about to say something when Hermione appeared from around the corner. 

"I've got more- Malfoy?" She announced with a smile, it suddenly faltering when she noticed the boy. Her confused expression turned to one of anger, and she looked at Malfoy like she wanted to punch his mouth.

"Potter and I were just having a little chat." Malfoy reassured slyly, Harry looking at Hermione blankly. She didn't take her eyes off of Malfoy, until she said to Harry, "Let's go back to the common room. Go put these away." Harry didn't protest, for he could tell Hermione was being serious by her expression. 

-----

"What, Granger?" Draco asked as a bushy-haired girl stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

"What did you say to him, Malfoy?" She tested, her eyes looking dangerous.

"Nothing." Draco said simply. He wasn't really  lying. He hadn't said anything that could potentially hurt Potter. In fact, he gave him something that would help him. 

"Just stay away from him, alright?" She commanded, beginning to take a stack of books herself, "He already has enough stress from the tournament. He hates you, Malfoy, and by you bothering him, you're just making it worse."

Draco felt as though someone had stuck a single needle in his heart. He didn't really realize it, but that stung. Bad. He had been told it a million times before, but suddenly, it started to mean something to him. He didn't come up with some snarky reply, he just looked to the ground, hurt. He knew Potter didn't hate him. You don't go on a... date with someone you hate, do you?

Potter quickly came back, ready to leave with Granger. The Mudblood didn't even give him so much as a glance on her way out, which Draco didn't care for. Potter however, kept eye-contact until he had to turn around to exit. Draco sat in the library contemplating what Granger had said. 

He hates you, Malfoy.

The word 'hate' stuck out the most in her sentence. He then thought back to the boys note. Potter said he wasn't sure if he was convinced they were soulmates either, so that's why he wanted to go out. But at the end of their date, he called Draco his soulmate. This all puzzled Draco as he rested his head on the table beneath him, an imaginary bubble of confusion clouding around him.

The day before the Yule Ball and Christmas came around quicker than Draco and many other's had anticipated. It felt as though just yesterday was the first task. Everyone was finding dates and getting into two week relationships solemnly for the purpose of the dance. Draco assumed he would just go with Pansy, for he didn't feel like asking around for some random girls arm. 

In the mid-afternoon, he sat in Transfiguration, attempting to turn a whole book to one singular piece of parchment. Along with plenty of other students, Draco was failing. This particular period was shared with the Gryffindors. Draco found himself looking to the back of Potter's head quite often when he wasn't concentrating on his book. The boy seemed to be having just as hard of a time as Draco, for he kept laying his head on the desk in frustration. The class time went by relatively quick, and Draco got it correct once. He was walking down the narrow isle to get to the door, when he walked by Potter's desk. He was expecting to just share eye-contact for a second, then leave, but instead, Draco felt Potter push a small note into his palm, the familiar warm chill rolling down his spine as their fingers met ever-so-slightly. He looked into the boys emerald eyes with curiosity, and although the moment only lasted a split second, and nobody even noticed, it felt like everything was going in slow motion. 

Once Draco finally had the chance to be alone later that day, he quickly took out Potter's note from inside his pocket. He unfolded it to see Potter's messy writing, that had continued to annoy him.

Same place, same time.

Actually bring a broom :)

- You know who

Draco stared down at the letter. He frowned. He wasn't sure if he should go on another date with Potter. What if it was a mistake the first time? What if going on a second date would deepen their connection? Draco wasn't sure that he wanted that, in fact. He stuffed it back into his pocket, deciding that he'd deal with it later. 

Draco thought about what to do for the remainder of the day, up until dinner. He was sitting in his bed, his broom mocking him from the corner. He scowled at it, making a face. He knew that if he didn't go on this date, Potter would never ask him on another date again, maybe he would just treat Draco the way he did before they switched bodies. But Draco didn't want that either. If he did go however, that would open a gate to possibly more dates. He then made the rational decision to attend. He hadn't told Pansy about tonight, so he no longer had personal stylist. He didn't mind it though, for he found a Slytherin knit sweater and grey sweatpants just fine, especially considering the fact that the sweats complimented his arse quite nicely. He grabbed his broom, and headed straight for the Black Lake, being sure that nobody saw him exit the large castle.