Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Wrackspurts

"Honestly, Ronald." Hermione huffed her displeasure. "Just where are your manners?"

Ron grimaced but cleverly kept his mouth shut. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Harry before going back to devouring his food.

"Wrackspurts." Harry shrugged. "Apparently, I've a bad case of it."

Hermione nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as she eyed Harry. The bloody wheels are turning! Harry inwardly lamented. Then to his utter horror, Hermione slowly and deliberately shifted her gaze towards Draco. She studied the blond awhile, a pensive look on her face, before she nailed Harry with her probing stare yet again.

"Wrackspurts." Hermione repeated, an inscrutable look on her face.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wondering yet again about the possibility of Legilimency amongst his friends. What were the odds of that?

Ron looked up, frowning in confusion, first staring at Hermione, then at Harry, then back at his girlfriend. He swallowed his food, drank some pumpkin juice, and sighed, "Come on, 'Mione, this is Luna we're talking about. You can't honestly believe Harry is sick with Wrackspurts. It's just another one of those things Luna and her dad come up with, like those bloody Kacky Snorgles or whatever the hell they're called. I mean look at him." He motioned towards Harry. "He looks fine." He then leaned towards his best friend, "You feel fine, don't you, mate?"

Harry bit back a laugh. He could always trust Ron to remain so appallingly oblivious to everything around him unless it was just about to hit him right on the noggin.

"Brilliant." Harry grinned, rising to his feet, and grabbed his rucksack. Looking up, he saw that Draco was also getting ready to leave the Great Hall. They had Advanced Potions next.

Steeling his resolve even as his mind still whirled with Luna's subtle allusions about his bad case of Wrackspurts, Harry bade farewell to his best friends, keenly avoiding Hermione's stare, and sauntered towards the opposite end of the Eighth Year Table.

"Heading to class?" Harry casually asked, stopping beside the Slytherin trio. He smiled at the flash of surprise that momentarily coloured Draco's face. At least, he didn't seem angry.

Harry knew he'd definitely acted like a bloody coward the past few days. He'd carefully avoided Draco after that incident, only interacting with the blond when it was absolutely necessary.

He'd been utterly terrified when he thought Draco had been awake at that time and had felt tremendous relief when the blond had fallen right back to sleep, mumbling something about a dream. Since then, he'd felt conflicted, torn between telling Draco the truth or leaving him to believe otherwise.

Gazing at Draco now and remembering how Draco had looked at him that night, dazed and aroused, Harry once again felt the now familiar tightening in his chest. A storm of emotions was slowly yet surely gathering force within him. It was a slow burn but, Harry knew, before long it would eventually erupt into a sea of raging flames and consume him as thoroughly as Fiendfyre would.

Harry suddenly realized he didn't want anyone else to see that side of Draco. Ever.

Wrackspurts. Harry inwardly snorted. Luna might just be on to something.

Draco arched an eyebrow, but the touch of relief on his face was undeniable. He then nodded, face carefully blank as he slung his own bag onto his shoulder. The slight flush that crept up his pale neck towards his cheeks didn't escape Harry's notice though.

It's quite alright though. Draco has them too. Luna's dreamy voice echoed inside Harry's head, causing his grin to widen.