Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Wrackspurts

"Oh Harry..."

Luna's soft, wistful sigh jarred Harry out of his depressed musings. Jerking his head up from where he'd been glaring bloody murder at his untouched lunch, Harry stared inanely at the rainbow-colored stripes in Luna's pale blonde hair. The hot-pink, winged monocle on her right eye completely threw him off-kilter.

"Er, Luna... hey." Harry finally managed after a beat.

Ron spared but a moment to look up from his ridiculously packed plate --- face stuffed to bursting with food --- to nod a wordless greeting at their decidedly eccentric friend.

Hermione glowered at her boyfriend's utter lack of table manners, smiled warmly at Luna, before shooting Harry a measuring gaze. He was no stranger to that look. He'd been the unwilling target of it more times than he cared to count. Hermione knew something had been bothering him. He could practically see the bloody wheels turning in her head.

"It's gotten quite worse, hasn't it?" Luna mused sympathetically, sinking down beside him at the Eighth Year Table.

"What has?" Harry asked, confused but nonetheless grateful for the diversion. He had absolutely no desire to talk to Hermione about his current problems.

"Wrackspurts." Luna nodded sagely, eyeing Harry before shifting her eyes down the table, her gaze stopping at a certain blond Slytherin. "You've a bad case of it." Luna's smile was positively radiant, her monocle-less eye shining knowingly.

"I... what?" Harry's eyebrows rose, his eyes following her gaze, where they'd stopped at Draco. Harry's breath hitched. If he didn't know any better, he'd have believed Luna was a Legilimens --- what with the uncanny way she always seemed to know certain things. Or maybe she was? Horror flashed on Harry's face as he shot Luna another look. Luna merely glanced at him with her usual ethereal smile before looking back at Draco.

Running a hand through his tousled mop of hair, Harry lowered his head and furtively studied the blond Slytherin beneath his lashes.

Draco was pushing peas around his plate, nodding absently at whatever Parkinson was saying. His hair had grown quite long, falling just past his jawline now. Once it a while, he'd tie it in a messy knot, leaving his fringe free to fall over his eyes. The style suited him. It drove Harry quite mad.

The hair was one thing but Draco Malfoy dressed in a fashionable Muggle outfit was positively pornographic --- miles of slender, pale throat and jutting clavicles showcased by a charcoal gray v-neck jumper, perfect arse and legs that seemed to go on for days encased in well-fitted black trousers. How one man could look so seductive in such normal clothing was beyond criminal. The very limits of Harry's sanity was without a doubt being put to the test.

"Your head's getting fuzzy, is it not, Harry?"

Luna's lilting voice once again jerked Harry back to his sense. Grabbing his goblet, he quickly downed a few gulps of pumpkin juice. Fuzzy was a bloody understatement. Harry forcibly cleared his throat. He turned towards Luna and grimaced at the indulgent smile on her face.

"Wrackspurts." She hummed serenely, gracefully rising from her seat. "They're all over you, Harry." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled meaningfully. "It's quite alright though. Draco has them too."

With that, Luna drifted off towards the Ravenclaw Table to mingle with her Housemates, leaving Harry as confused as ever, if not even more so.

"What the hell was that all about?" Ron managed to mumble through a mouthful of food, which only served to earn him a reproachful glare and an elbow to the rib from Hermione.