Drarry One Shots

Happy Lupercalia Day

A/N I can't believe I haven't written a one-shot based around Valentine's Day. Includes the Amortentia trope (of course), prompted by a thought in the last story about Harry coming from a long line of Potion Makers in his family.

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It almost went without saying that the one day of the year that Harry Potter hated more than the 31st October was the 14th February. It was, in his mind, a plague worse than the Black Death. A day to be feared. A day that should be obliterated from the calendar, all records of it destroyed, and the whole world should be Obliviated so it was never to be seen or heard of again. He inwardly cursed Saint Valentine, whoever, Saint bloody Valentine was.

And the year after the war, as the day approached, the dread increased to near crippling anxiety because Harry knew it was going to be a candyfloss version of hell: a torture worse than detentions with Dolores Umbridge.

Not that Harry saw himself as this wonderful lothario with guaranteed attention from the adoring masses because he was the most attractive bloke walking the planet... no, that didn't fit with Harry's view of himself. Harry saw himself as just this geeky bloke with glasses and a scar and terrible hair who was generally a bit awkward, moody, ineloquent, and nothing special academically. His one saving grace was that he was a bloody good Seeker. However, Harry knew that people turned a blind eye to his faults, well, everyone except Malfoy. What everyone else saw was his 'fame', even within the school and from people who should know better. He was an 'idea'. They thought they knew him from what strangers wrote about him in the Press and the gossip in the corridors. They thought they adored him because he managed, somehow, to defeat Voldemort and now he was forever the Boy Who Lived Twice, the Chosen One, the Master of Death, their Saviour, a Vanquisher... and that spelt trouble because people thought they loved him...

He didn't feel much like A Vanquisher. He just felt like he always did: someone struggling to make sense of the world. More so after the war.

And Harry knew... he just knew... that all those silly titles and all those silly articles and all that ridiculous fame meant that the forthcoming Valentine's Day was going to be hideous. And pinker than Umbridge's wardrobe. And undoubtedly more embarrassing than his very strange nightmare about turning up to play Professional Quidditch in the World Cup only to realise he'd forgotten his kit and the coach made him fly completely naked in front of thousands of spectators. He tried not to think about that particular nightmare too much.

His answer was to ignore the day and pretend it wasn't happening. Though, to ensure minimal exposure, he decided to avoid all public spaces at any cost and that it would require extensive use of his Invisibility Cloak.

Yes, invisibility would be good. Very good. And he thought of two people in particular that he wanted to hide from during the day: the first being Malfoy, the second being Ginny.

Malfoy because he was Malfoy and would take the piss cruelly with his unerringly accurate observations and deductions of how Harry was handling the situation and then turn that to his advantage. Normally by repeatedly suggesting loudly to everyone in the room that Harry was feeling the exact opposite. Harry recognised that Malfoy's teasing made him flustered and, if he was caught off guard, angry. And he knew Malfoy just loved to provoke a reaction from him, preferably an embarrassing one, because that created more material for Malfoy and so the cycle continued.

Harry was doing his best in life not to be seen as an embarrassment and he almost managed, until Malfoy came along and tripped him up at every turn.

Harry had vaguely hoped that things were going to be better between him and Malfoy after the war but no. Malfoy seemed to be perfectly reasonable towards everyone else but him. Harry repeatedly wondered why it was impossible for Malfoy to be nice to him. His Slytherin friends managed it. Harry even got on well with Pansy these days. But Malfoy's condescension towards Harry hadn't lost any of its bite and, unsurprisingly, it still smarted. Harry recognised that it was, to a degree, little more than attention seeking by Malfoy. Harry had long since realised that Malfoy revelled in attention, he liked everyone to focus on him, what with all that drama and overreactions and shouting at him across the Great Hall during their first six years. But it was strange, Harry thought, because Malfoy had dropped this behaviour with everyone else or, at least, changed his behaviour because he still managed to gain attention. But it seemed that Malfoy still craved Harry's attention more than anyone else's and fell back on the old ways whenever they were in the same room. It was always about Harry, always Harry...