Chapter Text
“Honestly, Harry, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
“I don’t. I’m feeling all the things, Hermione. I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to know when other people are feeling all the things.”
Hermione nodded, biting her lip and looking into the fire.
“I mean,” Harry continued, “if I’d known he wanted to kiss me, I wouldn’t have agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him.”
Hermione nodded again. “Yes, well… in that respect, I think word will probably spread fast enough. I doubt you’ll have any of the other eighth year boys coming onto you.”
Harry stood up, his pulse racing. “But - that’s not - what if I wanted-?”
Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her bushy hair. “So it wasn’t because he was a boy?”
Harry sank back down, shaking his head. “Nah, just, I don’t think of Justin that way.”
“Is there someone in particular you-?” Hermione cut herself off as Harry’s cheeks grew hot.
“I see. And are you planning on telling me-?” Hermione caught the look on Harry’s face. “No. Okay, that’s okay.”
Harry put his head in his hands and groaned.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to confide in Hermione. Part of him desperately wanted to tell her.
But then he imagined the look on her face when he admitted that he was attracted to Draco Malfoy, and fear flooded him.
Not to mention Ron, who, despite not returning to Hogwarts apparated to Hogsmeade every weekend to catch up with them at the Hog’s Head.
Ron would probably stop coming to see him if he told him.
Hermione was still watching the fire.
“What I want to know is how it wasn’t obvious to you that Justin was asking you on a date.”
Harry had also spent considerable time wondering the same thing and had been able to draw no conclusions whatsoever.
He shrugged. “You’ve always told me I’m not observant.”
“Well, yes, but, Harry, this is different. When you are interacting with someone there are certain signs or signals that they are interested in you in a romantic way.”
This was news to Harry, but welcome news. “Like what?”
Hermione sighed. “Like they might stand closer to you than normal. Or give you lots of eye contact. Or smile a certain way.”
Harry was non-plussed. “Smile a certain way? Like in what way? How close does someone stand if they want to kiss you? I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to know these things.”
Hermione sighed again and shook her head. “You might think about a tutor,” she murmured.
“What? In what?”
Harry heard a snort behind him and whipped his head around to see Malfoy smirking at him.
“Clearly what Granger means, Potter, is that you need someone who can show you exactly what it looks like when someone’s flirting with you.”
Harry scowled at him and turned back to Hermione. “Hermione, you can… do that. What he said.”
But Malfoy snorted again, and Harry felt the back of his chair move, as if someone was leaning on it. His pulse raced.
“You’d be better off in more… experienced hands, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was coming from just above his head.
Harry felt his cheeks grow warm but stared determinedly into the fire.
“Are you offering?” Hermione said, and Harry’s gaze snapped to her. She glanced at him, he glared at her, she ignored him, and she looked back to Malfoy expectantly.
Malfoy made his way around to the front of the chair, waited until Harry was looking at him and perched delicately on the arm of the chair, his robes just brushing Harry’s forearm.
“I’m not sure,” Malfoy murmured, his tone like honey. He shifted slightly, turning to look Harry over. “What’s in it for me?”
Harry swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. Malfoy met his gaze evenly. Harry’s cheeks grew warm.
“Oh, I’m sure Harry can come up with something,” Hermione said, her tone amused, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as Malfoy turned back to her.
“Indeed,” Malfoy agreed. “Well, Potter, let’s have your first lesson tomorrow after dinner. You can meet me in the Entrance Hall, we’ll go from there.”
And Harry, his eyes still shut tightly as he willed his cheeks to cool down, felt the chair shift again and the cool ruffle of air as Malfoy brushed past him, the accompanying whiff of shampoo so enticing that he clenched his fists to prevent himself from grabbing the back of Malfoy’s robes to haul him back into the chair and sniff his hair.
Hermione cleared her throat.
“Well, I’d say that worked out. And I don’t think I’ll be needing you to tell me who’s caught your eye after all,” she smirked at him.
Harry put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry Mione. And before you say anything else, I do know it’s absolutely bonkers.”
Hermione shook her head. “Actually it makes perfect sense. And he is… a bit improved, these days. He can only get better under your influence.”