Hate You || Drarry

7 Out of Luck

Harry was sure he forgot what sleep was after the constant nightmare he got about Voldemort and his strange visions. Harry was mentally exhausted but never said a word of it to his friends (and has a plan to continue). He was certain about one thing though.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters are near. Harry couldn't explain why near, but they just are.

He sat up his bed and fondled himself on the forehead where he was hurting. It had been a week, he realized. He was not just haunted by his dreams because he was haunted by reality itself.

Harry frowned, remembering his pride. Remembering a git.

There was nothing Harry could do about Malfoy anymore, he thought. The blond was hard to convince to talk to him, or rather, it was hard for Malfoy to gain courage and risk himself to do something not him. Harry was feeling neglected mostly. Draco Malfoy was avoidant once again.

Harry trudged down to the Great Hall after doing his morning routine. As always, he ignored the greetings. This time, the students' stares were oddly longer than usual. Was it because he has crumpled face? Stubble here and there along with the ghastly remarkable bags under his eyes? He knew his body frame was thin, but his schoolmates never minded those, so why were they looking at him weirdly? Harry pursed his lips uncomfortably, determined to ignore everyone, including Ron and Hermione to avoid their daily nags about Harry neglecting his health.

Walking pass the tables in a blur, Harry sighed and decided to sit beside Neville, and like all the other students, the Gryffindors' noise died down catching Harry on their vision. The atmosphere suddenly turned awkward and that alone made Harry want to Disapparate.

"Wow," Seamus said, scanning Harry head to toe, opposite his seat. Harry looked at him with intent. "Don't you look... too cozy and formal mate?"

"Formal?" Harry scrunched his eyebrows and stared at his chest and legs. He was wearing his robe normally and he looked decent enough for classes so there was nothing wrong with him. "What are you talking about?"

"It's Saturday," Ginny said, and the Gryffindors started laughing the loudest laugh they could produce. Harry swiveled his head around to look at everyone for a moment and he realized just now that the reason the students were staring was because he wore his robe on a weekend.

Harry blushed as he doffed his robe off in an instant, folding it to his lap in the hopes no one would remember the embarrassing event.

Ron and Hermione shushed all the Gryffindors (oh fuck) at the table and asked Harry questions here and there when they decided it was best to sit in front of him, pushing Seamus away, but none of them received proper answers from Harry. It seemed that they finally noticed Harry didn't want attention at the moment so they resumed talking (with Ron changing the topic to legendary Quidditch matches between Montrose Magpies and Ballycastle Bats without involving Harry, which was highly-appreciated).

It was a decent breakfast, Harry supposed. Not until Neville started talking about Malus Domestica and other varieties of apples with a Hufflepuff who joined them at their table. Ambrosia and Granny Smith seemed to be their favorite to talk about and Harry could feel his eyes grudgingly seeking on the other side of the Great Hall because of what the topic reminded him.

Damn those apples. He caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott first, then Pansy Parkinson holding her wand out, conjuring her flamingo patronus, probably showing off to Millicent Bulstrode. Next he saw, Malfoy who was openly staring at him too.

Shocked and dying, Harry dipped his head down and consecutively shoved spoonfuls of porridge onto his mouth despite his lack of appetite, face warm from embarrassment. Fuck, he might as well be killed right now by Voldemort. Harry would let himself be eaten by Nagini. Indecent thoughts were starting to float in his mind with Malfoy in it, and that was not good. Harry might also be staring at the blond longer than usual, furious about their last encounter. Draco was wearing his dark green sweater, eating slowly - slow enough to torture Harry to bits. There was something odd about the way Malfoy licked some food grease off his spoon and how he glance at Harry when he sucks at his bread crumb-covered fingers. He wasn't staring at Harry after anymore, but Harry knows Malfoy was aware of what was Harry thinking as of the moment.