A/N: Er. Don't exactly know what to say... *shrugs* Go read. Comment at the end though!!

Being a Master at Ignoring the Obvious

"Merry Christmas!"

In Harry's opinion, those words were only to be said with joy and warmth. It was, after all, a day to be celebrating. A day to be with family, sitting around a fire and opening presents, laughing.

Those words should never ever be screamed into one's ear, waking said person from a deliciously erotic dream filled with licks and touching and rubbing and-


It rather killed the mood.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry mumbled, flinging an arm over his head.

"Presents, Harry, presents!" yelled the voice, now slightly muffled as it sneaked around skin and pajamas to float into Harry's ear.

"Presents," Harry repeated dutifully, now scrunching his eyes up against the harsh glare of wandlight.


He could feel Ron's glare burning into his skin. Or maybe it was just the heat from the light. He couldn't be sure.

"Did you not hear me? Get up!"

"Sure, sure," Harry mumbled, fumbling around for his covers. Unfortunately, Ron found them first. "Hey!" he yelped and curled up into a ball, attempting to conceal the rather obvious fact that he'd been having a good dream.

Fortunately, Ron was a master at ignoring the obvious.

"Harry," he moaned. "I'm dying. Dying. Please take that into consideration as you lie there being lazy!"

"What time is it?" Harry croaked, stalling as much as he could.


Harry felt like crying.

"Just let me go to the bathroom first," he sighed, sitting up and crossing his hands in his lap. It really didn't help to reduce the excitement level.

"No! Now!"

Which was how Harry found himself downstairs, in his pajamas, attempting to conceal an erection from Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of their day.

"Would you pass me that one?" he asked her, not wanting to move from his position of sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Oh honestly, Harry," she snorted, getting up and throwing it to him. "How lazy can you get?"

"I'm just feeling a little sick," he lied, putting a hand on his stomach for good measure.

"Oh, sorry Harry."

She looked guilty, and for a moment Harry considered taking it back but he had no better excuse and really didn't want to face any embarrassment that early in the morning. He could deal with embarrassment in the afternoons; hell, anytime after ten was fine. But at six thirty? AM? No.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked from under a pile of his presents.

"Uh…" He looked around for a tag. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's another invisibility cloak," Ron grinned gleefully.

"It's clothes," Harry said, bewildered, ripping open the packaging. "A lot of them."

"Wow, no kidding," Hermione gasped, eyes lighting up. "It's one of those present boxes that are charmed to hide the shape of the items inside! I've never seen one up close before," she said, staring at it with a look of reverence.

Harry gave it to her to play with. "Look," he said, sorting through them. "Four shirts, two pairs of trousers, and a cloak."

"They look nice," Ron commented, now looking at his jumper forlornly.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, running a hand over them.

They felt nice, too. All silky and soft and they really, really weren't helping his body calm down!

Visions of silk sheets surrounding his naked body, encasing him in the smooth and luxuriousness of it all. Visions of kissing someone, pushing them further into the silk as they pushed up against him, their skin silk in its own right. Visions of-

"Oh, Harry, there's a note!" Hermione cried happily, turning the box upside down.

A creamy piece of parchment floated down, covered in elegant scrawl. Harry knew that writing, but there was no way…

Potter, it said.

You have an appalling lack of taste in clothes.

No, don't stop reading and throw the garments away, this is too important for you to follow your usual Gryffindorish tendencies.

This is not a present from me to you. This is a gift to the wizarding world in general. They do not deserve to look at a shabbily dressed hero any longer. There are some good people out there too, you know. I, for one, will be sick if I have to look at another cover of the Prophet or Pansy's Witch Weekly with you on the cover looking the way you do.

I understand that you must be poor, having no parents and all that, but really, that is no excuse at all. Nobody should wear the rubbish you do. You actually give Lupin a run for his money. And that is just sad.


Draco Malfoy

Harry gaped. There was no other word for it, really. He gaped.

"Who're they from?" Ron asked, now biting into a piece of toffee.

Harry handed the note over wordlessly.

"WHAT?" The toffee went flying.

Thereinafter followed the inevitable loud rant by Ronald Billius Weasley the Second about Malfoys and their presumptuousness.

Hermione, of course, tried to calm him down. "Ron!"

Harry, not wanting to deal with any of it, snuck off to the bathroom and wanked.

He was in the shower, biting his lip and trying not come right away - going back downstairs wasn't a particularly inviting option at the moment - when Malfoy floated into his mind. Which was ridiculous, of course, because Harry wasn't gay in the least and even if he was, he wasn't about to be fancying Draco bloody Malfoy.

It didn't explain how he wasn't able to still his shudders, he thought as he came all over the side of the stall. But Harry, too, was a master at ignoring the obvious.

It'd taken a bit of work to build up the skill, but overall he was rather proud of the results. He could deny almost anything. It helped rather a lot after various traumatic events. He'd just say nope and go on about his business.

Sirius? Dead? I don't know what newspaper you've been reading. Cedric? Murdered? Pff, of course not.

Sneaking back downstairs, he saw that he really didn't have to.

"-And they should just die, should just die Hermione! And they know it too, they know it, the bloody bastards!"

Harry sat back down in his spot on the floor feeling much more refreshed and relaxed and not at all disturbed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in the shower, of course not. What shower were you in?

"Harry, you agree, right?" Ron said, turning to him, face flushed and eyes sparkling.

"'Course, Ron, of course," Harry nodded, turning his attention back to the clothes.

They were rather nice…

No. They were from a Malfoy. A Malfoy, as Ron would say. He obviously wouldn't wear them. He'd throw them out and pretend he'd never seen them before.

It didn't matter that the silk, or whatever it was, felt amazing sliding over his skin, recalling his various fantasies. It didn't matter that the green perfectly matched his eyes. It didn't matter that they looked like they were tailored specifically for him. They were from a Malfoy. A Malfoy.


"Harry," Ron squawked the next morning. "Are those the clothes Malfoy bought for you? Malfoy?"

"What?" Harry replied, looking down at them. "Of course not."

"Yes they are," Ron said, peering at them intently.

"No they're not," Harry insisted. "These were already mine. How do you think he knew what to get me if he didn't mimic what I already owned?"

This, of course, was a somewhat convoluted and unclear sentence, not to mention untrue in every sense. But Ron, being a master of ignoring the obvious, just nodded, satisfied.

"Whew," he said. "I was scared there for a moment."

"You nearly scared me," Harry replied. "But I burnt those other clothes, remember? You were there."

"Oh yes," said Ron. "I'd forgotten."


"Potter," Malfoy smirked the next Potions class, after the holidays had ended. "Are those the clothes I bought for you?"

The people nearby went silent.

"What?" said Harry, looking down at his shirt. "Of course not."

"Oh, right," Malfoy frowned. "Of course they aren't."

"These were already mine," Harry shrugged.

"Oh yes," he smirked. "I'd forgotten."

The people nearby breathed again, thankful that the world was still spinning.

"You scared me for a minute there, Harry," Seamus said, wiping his brow theatrically.

"You nearly scared me," Ron replied.

Malfoy smirked.


"Mister Potter," said Madam Pomfrey one evening, coming up to him when his mouth was unfortunately full of peas. "I have been informed that you wanted a magical eye correction procedure performed on you."

Harry, his mouth full of peas, could only stare at her.

"It's quite a simple procedure," she continued over Ron's splutters. "If you come by the Hospital Wing this evening I can have the potion ready for you and will be able to perform the accompanying spell."

Not giving Harry a chance to answer - or, indeed, swallow the peas - she swept back off to the High Table and started chatting with Dumbledore as he made a mashed potato mountain.

"I didn't know you were getting an eye correction procedure," Ron said, sounding very indignant indeed. "How could you not tell me?"

"I didn't know," Harry said, truthfully.

This, of course, sparked another rant from Ron, this time on the subject of women and how you could never understand anything they were saying or trying to tell you and why didn't anyone ever write any books, any books, not that he'd read them if they did.

Hermione tried to calm him down again - "Ron!" - while Harry decided to head to the Hospital Wing. He didn't have anything better to do that night, why not make a major, life changing decision? It was better than listening to Ron and Hermione argue.

"Mister Potter," said Madam Pomfrey again when he entered.

"Madam Pomfrey," he replied, mainly because there was nothing else to chat about. Why not their names?

"Are you sure about this, Mister Potter?" She gave him a grave look and continued with, "This is a major, life-changing decision and I want you to consider it carefully before you proceed."

Harry thought about his glasses. He thought about how well his green shirt would go with his eyes. But there was no real reason to do it, right?

He thought about Ron's rant and Hermione's calming tones.

"I'm sure," he said.

"Very well," she nodded.


"You know what we need, we need a manual!" Ron cried as Harry the common room. "A manual, that's it!"


"A manual isn't a book, I'm sure I'd be able to read it! Right, Harry?"

"Of course, Ron." Harry scratched at an ear, resisting the urge to sigh. "Of course. A manual."

"Yeah," nodded Ron, collapsing into his chair. "A manual."

"Harry," Hermione said, suspiciously.

"Hermione," Harry said back. Saying people's names was such a safe way to go. He should do it more often.

"You didn't actually get your vision corrected, did you?" she asked, looking incredibly incredulous.

"No," he shrugged. "Of course not."

"You're not wearing your glasses," she stated, not looking particularly convinced.

"I know," he said, looking at her. "I got in a fight with Malfoy and he broke them. I can see well enough without them, things are just a bit blurry." He yawned.

"Oh," she said, squinting at him. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four," he said.

"Oh," she repeated. Frowned.

Hermione was not a master at ignoring the obvious. She was the direct opposite, actually, a master at noticing the obvious. But she did tend to get distracted rather easily.

"Look," said Harry, pointing toward a window. "Thestrals."

"Ohh, really?" she squealed, turning to gaze at the window intently. "I can't believe they've come this close to the school!"

Harry nodded. "I know," he said.

"You know," she continued, "I know that I've never seen anyone die or anything, but I'm fairly sure that I know where it is, just from the currents in the air. Is it there, over to the left a bit?" She pointed, eyes wide.

"Yes, you're exactly right, Hermione," Harry monotoned, staring at his nails and marveling at how well he was able to see them. "However did you guess?"

Hermione started to explain complicated things to him, gesturing and flicking her hair excitedly. Harry sat back and decided to take a little nap. There was plenty of time for homework later.

"So do you see, Harry? It all has to do with perception and understanding the minute movements and the projectory and angle they're following."

"Ah," said Harry, stretching out his back. "I do see."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Look, I think the Thestrals are flying away."

"You're right," he nodded. "They're returning to the forest. "Nice prediction of angles."

Hermione beamed.

Harry felt vaguely guilty.


"Potter," Malfoy said, the next morning in Defense.

"Malfoy," Harry nodded.

"Did you actually get your vision corrected?" He looked somewhat stunned.

"No," Harry shrugged. "Of course not. I got in a fight with you and you broke my glasses. Don't you remember?"

"Oh," said Malfoy. "Yes. I'd forgotten."

Harry wasn't quite sure whether Malfoy was a master at ignoring the obvious or if he was just humoring him, but he did know that he was as easy to distract as Hermione was.

"Look," he said, pointing somewhere behind Malfoy's head. "Something expensive."

"Where?" Malfoy spun around.

"It's there, can't you see it?" Harry said. "Right there."

"Oh, yes, I do see it now," said Malfoy. "It's right there."

"Of course," replied Harry.


"Potter," drawled Malfoy three days later as they were heading for lunch.

"Malfoy." Harry stopped when the other boy did and glanced at him questioningly.

"Look," pointed Malfoy. "Someone evil."

"Where?" Harry turned around.

"Right there, can't you see him? He's right there," Malfoy said, gesturing out the window.

Harry found that there was something moving through his hair as he looked, feeling rather comfortable and relaxing.

"I can't quite see him," he replied, holding still.

"There," said Malfoy. "You see now? Right there."

"Ah yes," said Harry as Malfoy's hands left his head. He found himself somewhat disappointed. "There."

When he turned around, Malfoy was smirking up a storm. Not that he really knew what that expression meant, or was particularly fond of it, but it really was the only way to explain the current events. He was smirking up a storm.

"Harry," said Hermione when he plopped down beside her at the table.

"Hermione," he said.

"What've you done to your hair?" she frowned.

"What? What's wrong with it?" He grabbed a sandwich and the pumpkin juice, wishing feverently that it was some other kind. Apple, orange, cranberry, grape, hell, he'd take pomegranate over pumpkin day after day.

"It's looking all … nice," she said incredulously.

"Really?" he said. "I hadn't noticed."

"But it's … nice," she repeated, staring at it.

When Harry returned to his dorm that night, he found an eagle owl staring at him balefully. Taking the package attached to his leg, he found mousse and step-by-step instructions on how to use it.


The next time Harry showered something completely undisturbing happened. It was not disturbing, because it didn't happen. Of course not.

He hadn't stood in the shower, a bit bored and a bit tense, and purposely wanked off to thoughts of Malfoy touching him, running silky-smooth hands up his thighs, whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to Harry and making them sound like music.

Hadn't imagined Malfoy raining a trail of butterfly kisses down his chest and then up both legs, followed by his tongue, licking and kissing, tickling and burning, and making Harry whimper and moan and beg.

And he definitely hadn't imagined Malfoy's hands where his were, pumping his cock until he was left dazed and panting for air, slumped against the same wall that he hadn't come all over nearly three weeks ago.

No, all that Harry did was wash his hair. Ask anyone.


"Potter," Snape sneered.

"Professor Snape," Harry nodded.

"You're late. Five points off Gryffindor."

Harry had been the third person into the classroom.

"Yes sir," he sighed.

"You're insolent," Snape glared. "Five points off Gryffindor."

"Yes sir." Harry looked down at his cauldron, hoping that he wouldn't get more than the obligatory fifteen taken this afternoon.

"Your station has not been properly set up," he snarled. "Five points off Gryffindor."

Snape had not assigned any work yet.

"Yes sir." Harry ran his fingers over his I must not tell lies scar.

"You're assigned to work with Mr. Malfoy," he barked suddenly.

"What?" Harry's head shot up.

"You're even more insolent than usual, Potter," he sneered. "Five more points off Gryffindor!"

"Sorry sir," Harry sighed, forcing himself not to look at Malfoy.

"Everybody get to work," Snape barked. "And Potter, go work with Malfoy."

"Yes sir," he said and gathered up his materials.

"Potter," Malfoy smirked as Harry dumped his stuff down.

"Malfoy," he replied, trying to find his armadillo bile.

"Harry," said Malfoy.

"Draco." He found the bile in the cauldron itself and pulled it out gratefully.

"I'll go get the knarlgrass," Draco announced and strode over to the cupboard.

Harry didn't look at his ass. Didn't attempt to discover a previously unnoticed talent for x-ray vision. Seamus was sitting right behind him, he'd tell you.


"Harry," said Draco, approaching him in the hall.

"-And it's just idiotic, idiotic, how that damn Minister goes on and on about things we don't need to know and don't care about and aren't even important anyway!"


"Draco," said Harry, looking him over. He looked good. Healthy, thought Harry and told himself to eat more vegetables.

"Have you done the Defense homework?" Draco asked, his eyes flicking down Harry and back up again.

Harry knew he should have worn something else. His current clothes obviously looked ridiculous on him.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Why?"

"I can't do the spell," said Draco. "Will you come to the Library and help me?"

Harry looked back at his friends.

"-When will people realize, realize, I tell you, that their Minister is sprouting absolute garbage? Absolute garbage!"


"Yeah, sure," he told him. "Let's go."

Draco smirked.


"Harry," said Draco as Harry sat down beside him again next Potions class.

"Draco," he said and Draco smirked slightly.

"Potter?" Snape said, features twisted slightly.

"Sir," said Harry.

"Professor Snape," Draco said, nodding a bit.

"Malfoy?" Snape asked, turning to him.

"Well, at least you're all aqcuainted," Blaise said in a stage whisper as he passed by.


"I feel I should tell you," said Harry one day in the hall, "that I'm not poor."

"Of course you are," said Draco.

"No," he shrugged.

"Maybe you just think you're not," suggested Draco, smirking slightly.

"Maybe," said Harry doubtfully, feeling like he might be insulting the Weasleys.

"Well how much do you have, then?" Draco asked with a vaguely condescending smile.

"I don't know, exactly," said Harry, now rummaging around in his bag.

"You don't know?" he repeated. "How can you not know? That's practically a crime!"

He looked delightfully dismayed, and Harry paused in his search long enough to give him a grin. "I've just never bothered to count."

"Well give me an estimate," he said impatiently.

"I haven't even seen it all," Harry said. He was starting to wish he'd never gotten into the conversation.

"You haven't even seen it all?" Draco squeaked. "Why?"

"Because Sirius gave me all his gold and I haven't gone in to see how much that is exactly," said Harry wearily.

"Well find out!" came the outraged cry.

Harry had forgotten how much of a drama queen the other boy was.


"Hey, Harry," purred Daphne Greengrass as Harry was heading to Herbology a day later.

"Hello, Daphne," he said, his mind on Nevi's Mimbulus Mimbiltona and the essay assigned on it.

"So, it's a Hogsmead weekend in two days," she said, slinking closer to him. "Are you already going with anybody?"

"Yes," said Draco, appearing so suddenly that Harry wondered if he was the only one in possession of an invisibility cloak.

Draco stared at Daphne coldly. "He's going with me."

"I am?" Harry turned to him in surprise.

"Yes," he said. "Don't you remember? We talked about this yesterday. You're going to take me to the Three Broomsticks and then Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"Oh yes," said Harry. "I'd forgotten."

"Oh well," Draco smirked. "You remember now."

Daphne sent them a rather frightened look before leaving quickly.

"Where are we meeting again?" Harry asked him.

"The front entrance," Draco said smoothly. "At ten o'clock."

"See you there," said Harry, now rather late for Herbology.

"See you later, Harry," Draco said, smirking again.

Harry didn't think it made him look rather becoming. He didn't even use words like becoming.


"I think you two should go out on a date," said Harry as he sat next to Ron and Hermione in the common room.

Following this announcement was approximately three and a half minutes of spluttering from both of his targets.

"No, think about it," he said, cutting them off as his patience wore thin. "You two are destined to be together. Why not start now? Your relationship has to start at some point."

"How are we supposed to go on a date here?" Hermione said, cutting Ron off mid-splutter.

"Hogsmead weekend is in two days," he said. "And you two are already going with each other. So I think you should make it a date."

He left them there, as they spluttered and danced around the topic, not particularly wanting to hear it. He knew the evening would be ending late at night, with Hermione giving Ron a peck on the lips.

"Harry," sighed Ron as he came into their dorm around eleven. "Hermione kissed me."

"Good for you, Ron," murmured Harry, turning over in his bed.

"Yeah," he sighed again. "Good for me."


"Harry," said Draco on the day of Ron's big date.

Oh, and Hermione's too, of course.

"Draco," said Harry.

"I like your cloak," he said, looking rather intently at it.

"I like your robes," said Harry, returning the favor.

"Shall we go?" Draco asked, gesturing to the entrance doors and the masses of students piling out of them.

"Yeah," nodded Harry.

"Harry!" Ron cried, striding over with Hermione in tow. "Are you going to Hogsmead with Malfoy? Malfoy?"

"No," said Harry, giving him his best 'are-you-stupid?' look.

"Yes you are," protested Ron, looking in between them.

"Of course not," said Harry.

"Harry," said Hermione suspiciously. "Are you going with him on a date?"

"Are you gay?" asked Ron, his ears turning red and his eyes popping. "Gay?"

"No," shrugged Harry. "Are you?"

"What?" Ron spluttered. "Of course not!"

"Oh, okay," said Harry. "You had me worried there for a second. I just don't like you that way, Ron."

He made a faintly apologetic face.

Ron made a faintly apoplectic face. Well, maybe not so faintly.

Draco just laughed and took Harry's hand, pulling them out of the group of students swarming all about.

"-People just assume nowadays, just assume! And you know the old saying about assuming, don't you?"


Harry considered taking his hand back but he hadn't brought any mittens and it was quite chilly. Draco's hand was warm, and felt rather nice surrounding his.

"I don't like you, you know," he told Draco, swinging their hands a bit and watching, fascinated.

"I don't like you too," Draco smiled, looking over at him.


Nothing happened in Madam Rosemerta's washrooms.

Draco didn't pull him in there. Harry didn't push Draco up against the wall, pressing his lips down on the other boy's. Their tongues didn't dance together and Harry didn't explore each and every bit of Draco's mouth.

There was no tingling, no delicious warmth, no moans, no whimpers, no mewls, no burning ache for more. It was not the highlight of Harry's day.

Because it didn't happen.

Where were you?


"I've got the Gringotts letter," said Harry, sitting down next to Draco in Transfiguration.

"Mister Potter," squawked McGonagall.

"So, how much d'you have?" Draco asked, turning to face him.

"I haven't opened it yet," said Harry.

"What are you doing?" she spluttered.

"Haven't opened it yet?" Draco repeated incredulously.

"You sound like McGonagall," said Harry.

He didn't bother looking up at the dead silence in front of him, ripping open the letter instead.

"Mister Harry James Potter," he read. "Regarding the matter … blah, blah, blah, … we are pleased to inform you that the sum total of galleons in your Gringotts account is-" he broke off, choking. "Holy Merlin!"

"What?" squealed Draco, snatching the paper from him. "In your Gringotts account is-" he stopped. Stared. Blinked.

"Oh my Merlin," snapped McGonagall, snatching the paper. "It's only-" her eyes bugged out.

"That's a lot of fucking money," gasped Harry.

Draco turned to him, a new light in his eyes. "Harry," he said. "You're richer than me."

McGonagall stopped trying to make them do work after the first twenty minutes.


Harry sat next to Draco the next day in Potions when Snape hadn't told him to. The professor didn't comment, but then he didn't seem to like talking to them at all anymore.

Harry supposed he was confused. Though about what was still a little evasive. It's not like there was anything between Draco and him. Everybody knows that.

"Draco," he said, plopping down.

"Harry," said Draco.

Crabbe and Goyle looked in between them, blinking.

"Huh?" said Crabbe.

"Er…" said Goyle.

Blaise patted them each on the shoulder. "I'll explain later," he said.


When Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall together, chatting amicably, there was an uproar.

When Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter didn't separate to go to their own tables, wandering over to the Gryffindor one instead, there was an outcry.

When Ronald Billius Weasley the Second stood up and cracked his knuckles threateningly, there was silence.

"Harry," he growled.

"Ron," nodded Harry, plopping down at the table and dragging Draco with him.

"What is he doing here, Harry?" Ron scowled. "What?"

Harry was very very lucky to have Ronald Billius Weasley the Second for a best friend.

For one thing, he was loyal, nice, humorous and amusing. Generally Gryffindorish, which could be a very good thing once in a while.

For another, he was a true master at ignoring the obvious. It was a strength gifted to him at birth. Unlike Harry's man-made skills. He had an innate talent for it. And that could be very useful, once in while.

For one more other, he was easy to distract. Very easy. Easier than Hermione, in fact, and that's saying something. Which came in handy a little bit more than once in a while.

"Look," said Harry, pointing toward the entrance doors. "Fleur."

"What?" he cried, spinning around so fast that Harry winced. "Where? Where?"


When Ronald Billius Weasley the Second and Hermione Granger started arguing, there was disinterest.

When Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter started eating lunch together, there was a collective ripple of shoulders.

"I told you so," Harry smirked.

"You stole that smirk from me," Draco said and pouted, his face suddenly looking like a kicked puppy's.

Harry thought he'd finally realized how Draco could have been so spoiled. He also thought he'd need to steal that look too.


A/N: Review!! What was your favorite line? Or scene? My fav to write was the Thestral scene hehe :P Loved it. You?

EDIT: Shinemegami says that I should write another one about the Malfoy family finding out about the relationship. Yes, No, Maybe So?