In Progress (Drarry)

The first time the scarf was ever used on Harry was by complete accident.

First a barely depictable shriek, then a fierce blow nearly knocked the wind out of Harry.

"Ow!"

It should probably be mentioned that Harry managed something called a 'daily normal meter.' He had eventually made peace with the fact that he, Harry James Potter, was never destined to be normal. No, Harry Potter's life was as abnormal as it could be, even after the wizarding war ended. The normal meter was something that Ron had originally come up with as a joke, seeing that the most bizarre things happened to him almost on a daily basis.

The meter recorded the exact point when something absolutely bonkers first happened to Harry every day. Three months later, the trio was still keeping track daily and it only got more and more hilarious as time went by.

Pulling back to this moment, Harry checked his watch. Half-past seven, not even breakfast yet. Must be a new record.

"Harry! Are you alright?"

Hermione's immediate concern was answered by Harry's sheepish wince as he awkwardly rubbed his stinging cheek that was apparently slapped by... well, something.

Ron, on the other hand, was busy bellowing himself hoarse.

Malfoy.

Well, Malfoy and Parkinson, who was busy laughing her head off at the moment.

"We're sorry honey," Pansy cooed with a wicked smile that indicated she was having the time of her life, "Draco here was just mildly disturbed. He heard some surprising news and turned his head around just a tad too forcefully. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Malfoy mumbled something indistinctly. He was blushing from the tips of his hairline down to his collarbone, Harry noticed.

In fact, Harry was surprised that Malfoy's head didn't pop off under the force of him whipping around his neck. Though Harry wouldn't admit it, he had to slightly hold back his manly tears from the pain.

Ron spoke in a dangerously calm voice. "Who, may I politely ask, would wear a five-feet scarf," he said pleasantly through gritted teeth, "and not tie it in a way that won't be a slapping hazard?"

"It's called fashion," Pansy cut in with a cold glare, though it changed to sickly sweet in an instant. "Draco, you're sorry for slapping Potter in the face, aren't you?" Pansy said, prompting her silent friend.

"M' sorry," Malfoy mumbled.

"It's alright," Harry replied awkwardly. Both groups stood in silence for a moment before sauntering off in separate ways.

Ron at least waited until they were out of sight. "I can't believe that bloody git!"

"Harry, do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"Er, it's fine," Harry said, feeling oddly wrong-footed at the moment.

"Are you sure? It's purpling."

"I'm alright," he assured both his concerned and simmering friends.

He wasn't. It took a week for his cheek to stop hurting, and another for the bruise to fully dissipate. Strangely enough, it never occurred to Harry to actually treat the wound, which earned speculating looks from Hermione. She never said anything, just observed.

The second time the scarf got between Harry and Malfoy was by a stupid mistake. This time on Harry's part.