Draco was sat next to Harry in the Great Hall.
It was early on a Saturday, and due to the lack of Quidditch practice, the hall was pretty empty. For this reason, Harry had decided to sit with Draco at the Slytherin table when he came in. He was currently blabbing on about his latest development in Herbology Club with Neville. Draco was only half listening, more focused on the way Harry was buttering his toast.
Harry wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, and was sort of just smearing the butter back and forth with no real intention behind his actions. He kept slipping up and sliding his hand across the toast, leading him to lick it off his fingers like a dog. Draco was completely mesmerised, and it was frankly insulting that anyone should be expected to focus on anything else whilst Mr Talking-Wet-Dream over there was sliding his tongue over his fingers like it was his bloody job or something.
"-and apparently it's sap has some serious healing qualities, although Neville says it's not possible to grow it in the UK, because the climate here is too 'magically volatile,' whatever that means-"
"Potter could you-" Draco interrupted, losing the battle with his wandering mind, "Could you stop doing that?"
Harry blinked, "Doing what?"
"That- all that licking. Your fingers, it's..." Draco trailed off, "Disgusting." He settled on, valiantly fighting the blush rising to his cheeks.
"Disgusting? Ugh, really? You're so posh. Everyone licks their fingers, you know? You're really weirder if you don't."
Draco had the Daily Prophet and was holding it tightly in front of his face. Harry raised a suspicious brow, however did not question his unusual behaviour, instead returning to his toast and this time wiping the stray butter on a napkin.
Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, Granger and Weasley were in deep conversation. Draco wasn't paying them any particular mind, until Granger stopped her whispering and frowned right at him, squinting her eyes and tilting her head curiously.
Draco looked down at himself self-consciously, wondering if perhaps he'd spilt something on his clothes, or if maybe Harry's poor buttering skills had caught him in the crossfire, however Granger appeared not to be looking at him.
She was looking at something before him, but only just. Draco put down the Prophet, scanning the large table for anything unusual. Harry had now noticed his distracted behaviour, and paused in his Herbology spiel.
"What?" He asked. Draco ignored him, making eye contact with Granger who was no longer staring intently but rather just looking in their direction with an odd look on her face. He shrugged at her, mouthing a 'what is it?' across the hall.
She shook her head in response, getting up and walking over to their place at the Slytherin table.
"Hermione?" Harry inquired, "What's up?"
"Your newspaper. Can I see it?" She said to Draco, who frowned.
"It's just the Prophet, Granger. Nothing especially exciting." Draco handed her the newspaper, and she flipped it over to the side Draco hadn't read yet.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," She responded warily, "You haven't seen this, have you?"
"No.. why? What's happened?" Draco shared a panicked glance with Harry, wondering for a fleeting second if another unpredicted Death Eater event had taken place.
"Oh, God. She must have been planning this for months." Granger said, face growing more concerned by the second.
"What is it? Quit being cryptic, Granger, and show us."
"What's going on?" Weasley asked, having now also migrated from Gryffindor over to Harry and Draco.
"Oh, Ron, look at this!" Granger fretted, thrusting the pages into Weasley's hands. Weasley grimaced.
"Shit. That's bad, mate."
Harry and Draco were growing increasingly more confused by the second, "What is it?!"
Weasley shoved the newspaper back in front of Draco, and to his horror, and enormous photograph of himself and Harry almost nose to nose was emblazoned across the front, titled with the headline 'The Boy Who Loved?'.
Draco spread out the paper fully, taking in the tens of images of he and Harry in rather compromising positions plastered up the margins. None of the moments in the photos had actually been quite so romantically charged, but whoever had taken them had obviously intentionally waited until they'd gotten themselves into situations where they looked less platonic than expected. The several photos lead to a combination which made them look as if they were some sort of overly-touchy couple, rather than just friends with snaps shot at the right time.
"Merlin fucking fuck." Draco said ineloquently.
"Holy.." Harry trailed off.
Hermione snatched the print from the table, beginning to read the first article out loud.
"Our fan-favourite, Harry Potter, seems to have found some rather expensive taste in the form of none other than saucy schoolmate Draco Malfoy. It's common knowledge that Potter has a flare for the dramatic, with his tragic backstory and rebellious intention, however we're certain none of our rabid readers could have predicted this turn of events! Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the line of Malfoy and descendant of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, has been seen seducing our ditsy dignitary. An unlikely pair, as the houses of Potter and Black have had a notorious enmity, blah blah blah..."
"Oh my god.." Harry said, bewildered.
"Shit. Oh, shit! Everyone is gonna see this!" Draco professed.
"Yep." Ron affirmed, pursing his lips, "Least they didn't call you a poofter or anything, mate." He said, patting Harry on the back in what was a poor attempt at consolation.
"Yes, it's actually surprisingly un-derogatory for the usual tripe they spill. Although, I would be careful. People will certainly be angry, they might send you some nasty things by post, or perhaps even some people here will try things." Hermione said gravely, "Hopefully most people will know the two of you well enough to know it's obviously fabricated, but some people are really thick about this stuff. I'd watch out."
Harry still appeared to be processing the whole situation, reading frantically through the lines of text. Draco, however, was grateful for Granger's advice. He suddenly felt bad, remembering how in the 'Good Old Days,' it had been her who'd been in this situation, and he'd been nothing but horrible to her. Yes, things were slightly different this time, due to his and Harry's friendship, but he felt as if even if that weren't a factor, she'd still be sympathetic towards him, if not kind.
All at once, a wave of remorse for the terrible way he'd treated her hit him like a tidal wave. He almost felt a little sick with it, and stood up from the table abruptly.
"Granger?" He asked. Granger blinked, surprised.
"Yes?"
"Can I talk to you for a second?" He glanced between Weasley, who was surveying him carefully, and Harry, who was entirely engrossed in the Prophet article. "Alone, preferably."
Granger's brow furrowed, "Yes, I suppose so. Come on."
She took him by the arm, leading him over to the entrance hall.