Hate You || Drarry

2 The Dare

It has been exactly three days since Harry lost himself further to his sulking. After classes, he would ignore all the greetings he was used to having to sit and eat a small portion of his bacon and sausage, all too little for Ron and Hermione's approval. Bacon and sausage used to be on his lists of favorites before, but now he couldn't make himself care for the simplest things such as taking care of his eating habits, or add new foods to his list where his tongue tingled for attention. Not just that, but he was also doing his best to avoid all the possible routes in the castle where there held a possibility he would meet the bothersome prick who inserted itself in the stack of his problems.

That particular bothersome prick he was referring, to Harry's annoyance, seemed to be appearing everywhere in his line of vision, which made it harder for him to maneuver his way around the castle.  He declared days ago he would now antistalk Draco Malfoy, learn his schedule to avoid him, who, to his disappointment, had learned to observe Harry back the same way through the course of those three days. Draco would mock Harry, more aggressive in the middle of their rows. As if those weren't enough, sparks of Hexes would be thrown to Harry, always right on the shin or his poor bruise-covered shoulder from hasty first years who flunked their Quidditch tryout. Malfoy had grown fond of leaving Harry excess damage there, and wouldn't stop until it marked, bloody getting away from it with his Prefect title.

It was obvious that Malfoy did all that for being aware of Harry's favorite past time of I'm Stalking Draco Malfoy, Surprise, and it was all to be blamed to his carelessness. If the cloak did not reveal his feet at that time he was, now he'd admit, stalked Malfoy, then his faith would've been kinder to him as of the moment, sparing him a space of peace in his mind.

Harry was out of it, he knew, holding his essential things for writing, letting the ink from the tip of his quill drop to leave blotches on the self-cleaning paper Professor Snape had lent them just minutes ago. They were given at least ten minutes to finish a quick reflection regarding the Billywig Sting and it's effectiveness of making a magic folk float in the coldness of the dim Potions classroom, and his paper was still visibly blank. 

"Harry? Are you okay? Ron – what... what happened to Harry?” Hermione's voice was hushed, sounding worried, and she was already done with the task. She tentatively waved her hands in front of Harry, who was, to her dismay, eyes drifting at a spot at the ceiling as if the two spiders creating a web there were that much of an importance. She was careful not to get the attention of Snape who was sauntering around to check their progress as he discussed.

“I have no idea, trust me. He’s been like that since this morning! He'd lost it," said Ron.

"Since this morning."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, he never opened up to me about it."

Harry heard that, and, yes, he was aware of it. He would be honest about being irked about Draco Malfoy, the person who made his life harder in school, kissed, lips-bloody-moving, kissed him instead of dropping the difficulty of the task of snogging him who happens to be a man with a willy for peeing exactly like what Malfoy had, and just apologize the way Harry had asked him to. Unfortunately, due to the knowledge Harry learned from staying at Hogwarts for as long as he could remember, he arrived at the conclusion Malfoy doesn't have an ego lower than the seven hundred-feet tall Hogwarts castle. Of course, he'd choose to kiss over apologizing, even if it has to resolve to kissing Harry Potter.

Being up high in his thoughts resulted in a harsh rolled paper being slapped at the back of his neck. He peered past his shoulder to see who did it, eyes twitching from the sting and saw Snape, looming over like a tall building.