HP one shots

Storm in a Teacup // Drarry

Summary:

For reasons he'd rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter's hair. This cannot end well.
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It all happened because Potter was apparently unable to get a haircut. His hair had always been a wild mess, but these days the jet-black strands were everywhere. They curled around his ears, brushed against his cheeks, and would surely try to poke Potter's eyes out if Potter's glasses didn't protect them.

Draco suffered a severe case of second-hand itchiness whenever the damned things attacked Potter's face.

Potter, on the other hand, was apparently unconcerned by the ridiculous state of his hair, and he seldom reached up to brush away a strand or two, not even attempting to repeat the motion when the insolent strands neatly returned to their attacking ways.

A particularly stubborn lock was always intent on tickling Potter's right cheek. It stuck out, longer than the rest, and was one of precious few that had the ability to attract Potter's ire. Not that the impatient tug of Potter's fingers ever successfully tamed it.

One day, Draco was sure, he would lose his patience and curse the shocking black chaos off Potter's head.

*

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just the hair. The adoring masses with yet unheard of ability to swoon and simper were equally at fault.

Draco couldn't help drawing a parallel: the Hogwarts student body was a lot like Potter's hair. A wild mess of black, intent on claiming at least a tiny part of the great Harry Potter.

It wasn't like they chased him around, exactly, but that was only because Potter had learned the hard way not to run and give them ideas. But someone always had something to say to Potter, something to show him, something to give him. They stopped him in the corridors to shake his hand and give him chocolate, to ask him something about defensive spells, to talk to him about the weather and the likelihood of rain next weekend, which, coincidentally, was a Hogsmeade weekend, and oh-are-you-going-with-someone-Harry-or-will-you-go-with-me?

Potter would smile and shake his head, then walk away to disappear as mysteriously as a ghost, undoubtedly with the aid of his Invisibility Cloak.

Where Potter disappeared to, no one knew. Except maybe Granger and Weasley, but they weren't telling.

The most popular theory was that Potter ran off to shag some oh-so-fortunate girl. If he were truly shagging someone for hours every day, it would at least explain the state of his hair.

No one could blame Draco for being curious. Everyone was curious. But not everyone knew Hogwarts hidden passageways as well as the person who had spent a year trying to find a way to let Death Eaters into the castle.

Though not proud of the reason he'd obtained that knowledge, Draco was grateful for it when he finally discovered Potter's hideout.

It wasn't an earth-shattering discovery. He found Potter in a narrow corridor on the fourth floor, sitting on the floor of a small alcove, brightly lit thanks to a high window overlooking the lake. He was alone and appeared to be studying. Definitely not shagging anyone.

He looked up when Draco stepped forward, and then blinked twice. A strand of black hair was dutifully tickling his right cheek.

"Sorry," Draco hurried to say before Potter drew a conclusion of his own. "I didn't know this place was occupied."

"I..." Ink dripped from Potter's quill down to the yellow parchment. As far as Draco could see, other than a few black blotches, the parchment was empty. "I didn't know people knew about it. Is this—" A tentative smile stretched Potter's lips. "Is this your spot or something?"