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Harry Potter hissed in pain when his head was slapped harshly, making his face bow down into the dining hall table and nearly break his glasses. For what would have been the third time this week, he thought ruefully, before snapping his posture back up.
"What the hell was that for?!" He demanded, green eyes aflame as he glared at no other than Ronald Weasley, who's red hair seemed to match his annoyed face.
"You've been staring at her for fifteen bloody minutes!" Ron nearly screeched at Harry. "Look, you're my best mate 'n all, but she's my sister. I can't help it if it creeps me out a little!" The Great Hall was loud enough, as per usual, to drown out what they were talking about, and Harry was exceptionally grateful for that at this moment in time.
Feeling the blood in his body rush to his face, Harry suddenly had a rather convenient coughing fit, avoiding his friend's gaze to look at his comparatively non-judgemental shoes.
Hermione Granger stared at the two from behind her new copy of The Wizarding World And How Dragon's Are Actually A Muggle's Best Friend by S.S. Alturn, eyebrows raised in slight irritation from having her reading been disturbed, but also in mild surprise.
"I didn't know you liked Ginny, Harry," she said, putting the book down gently and looking at the flustered Harry who's ear were most certainly not as red as their Gryffindor robes.
The ravenette almost choked on his water.
"I - I do not!" He said quickly, indignantly so, putting his chalice down shakily, water slipping out and staining the wood. "I just - I was just looking at their food! I've never seen brown porridge before!" He had, actually; cooking with Aunt Petunia did not always turn out as it should have, sometimes not even edible, but they didn't have to know that.
Hermione and Ron exchanged looks with one another, before looking to where Ginny sat a fourth of the way down the table with her friends. There was, admittedly, brown porridge on the table near them, to both their surprises. However this was not enough to deter one of them from the current conversation. Ron shook his head.
"I do not want to talk about this, too weird," he said breathily and turned his attention solely onto his plate of food.
The brunette of the trio rolled her eyes, looking at Harry with a small smile on her lips. "Ignore Ron, he's being his usual idiot self --" Ron looked up and opened his mouth to say something, his brows furrowed together, but Hermione's glare silenced him before he could, "-- and I think you should go talk to her. Maybe ask her to the Yule Ball?"
Harry shook his head. "Look, Hermione, I appreciate the concern but -- but there're more important things I need to pay attention to than some silly little crush."
Ron almost jumped out of his seat with a heated glare directed at Harry that seemed to say 'Did you just call my little sister a silly little crush?!', but Hermione promptly hit him upside the head with her book the moment his palms touched the table and his knees bent.
"We know that. But there won't always be a convenient ball every school year, nor... nor do we know what will happen in the future."
Harry knew what she was talking about. A war was going on, though not everyone seemed to realize it; Voldemort would be playing his cards soon enough, and as would Dumbledore. He didn't want to think of it being the case, but there was a good chance the battlefield would be his beloved home and school, Hogwarts.
Harry sighed, running a lone hand through his hair. He knew Hermione was right, like always, but even so...
Harry shook his head. Unfortunately, Hermione was still looking at him with pensive eyes.
"Alright, alright," said he, "I'll think about it." Finally disengaging her gaze, the girl nodded in approval, then went back to her book.
Stealing one last glance at Ginny, and feeling a glare at his head and then a foot stomping onto his, he finally went back to his meal.
As he stared at the disheveled reflection that was himself in the bathroom mirror, Harry realized asking a girl out was not something he had really ever done before. (He was not counting Cho, thank you very much), and unfortunately, it seemed to be the least concerning issue when it came to what he now dubbed the 'Ginny Problem.' Asking a girl out took courage and words, but then when Harry thought about things like kissing
-- He nearly started coughing again at the image.
Kissing took skill. It took experience. Both of these things, Harry Potter lacked, and it made him want to mess up his bushy head of hair in frustration. The thought of running around the school in nothing but his knickers seemed more preferable than kissing the girl he liked and her being put off by it how bad it was.
However, there was no time for such frustrations; the ball was a month away. He had time to do something about his kissing skill, but what he didn't have time for, was getting the courage to actually ask Ginny to the ball. What would he say? What should he be doing with his hands when he's saying whatever he's saying? Where she he look while his hands are doing whatever they should be doing while he's saying whatever he's going to say? Thoughts like these swam round and round in Harry's head like an oceanic wormhole with a tornado inside it, effectively making his insides queasy.
Inhaling a deep (slightly pathetic) breath, he looked at the mirror and started practicing.
Little did he know that he was being watched by someone who was deeply surprised to find his usual bathroom occupied, but also trying his best to control the breaths of laughter trying to escape his body and rattling his ribs.
"Ginny, could I tell you -- I mean -- could I ask you if it's fathoma -- if you would enjoy -- like to um -- the ballerina and I -- " Harry damn well nearly tore his hair out.
He had never had a sentence he wanted to say, a message he wanted to convey so much so that his brain wasn't able to put it into functioning words. (Then again he had many a bottled up thing he wanted to say to Snape but that was a far darker feeling than what he felt for Ginny so he chose not to compare the two.)
Harry didn't know what time it was, but he had probably been in the bathroom for hours at the very least. And this was the fourth day in a row too. Ron, Seamus and Neville were beginning to become more than a little suspicious as to why his robes were beginning to smell of toilet. But it wasn't like he had much of a choice; this bathroom was in one of the farthest hallways Hogwarts had, so it was the only one he knew to be deserted for his practice. His failing practice. His pathetically --
"-- failing practice again, Potter?"
Harry's blood instantly went ice cold, and through the mirror he could see his gaze had hardened before he turned around, robe sweeping across the tile floor, to meet the sickeningly amused gaze of Draco Bloody Malfoy.
"What's it to you?" Harry said, trying to keep his voice even, but even so, the hostility was blatantly obvious.
Draco shrugged, leaning into the bathroom entry pillar with a smug look Harry wanted to punch off his face. "Never would 'ave pegged you as fancying a Weasel, to be honest; thought that was more Granger's thing," Harry knew he was being baited, but he also knew that Malfoy was giving him his honest opinion, which made his blood boil more than he would have liked to admit.
He pointed to the door, directly behind Draco's back. "Leave." His voice echoed throughout the room, the single word repeating dangerously.
"Aw, Virgin Potter getting all defensive 'cause he can't ask out a Weasel. What would the people say?" Draco insulted sarcastically.
Harry was about to growl out: "No one holds value to your words, Malfoy," but before he could, the blonde's mouth was already open again. Oh how he wanted to shut that thing permanently --
"Your invitation to her is going to be lacking no matter what, Potty. But I wonder; what about the anchor?"
Harry was too focused on his anger to let the confusion of the statement settle on his face. Draco, however, took his silence as his confusion instead.
"Bloody hell, you really are an unpopped cherry. I'm talking about kissing, Potter, k-i-s-s-i-n-g."
Unfortunately, without his consent, Harry's face flushed and his mouth fluttered open and closed, but no words were uttered. If he had managed to say something, it would have probably been a mix between a battle cry and a groan of frustration -- because as much as he hated to share anything with or admit anything to the blonde git, he was right.
Balling his hands into fists, he stared defiantly at Malfoy, who's smirk only grew.
Then (Harry didn't think Draco had the balls for it), Malfoy began walking towards him.
Harry instinctively grabbed underneath his robe for his wand, but realized in a panic quickly, that he had left it in his dorm. Stupid, he cursed at himself. Because the pureblood was the taller of the two, Draco was making a steady but quick and effective advance on the trapped Gryffindor.
"Do you know what to do before you kiss a girl, Potter?"
Harry glared as he almost took a step back, but willed himself not to do such a cowardly action.
"Well?" Draco prompted. "Do you?"
Suddenly Draco was much too close for Harry's comfort. He could feel his breath on his nose. Feeling threatened, he raised his fists and was about to punch the prat in the face when --
Malfoy grabbed both his arms.
"No, I don't suppose you do." The blonde sighed. "I guess I'll just have to show you." Wait was that a toothy grin Harry just saw --
"First --" Draco grabbed the ravenette's waist through his thick robes. "You grab her by the waist." Harry's pulse jolted and skyrocketed.
"Then, you pull her close to your body."
Harry found it hard, no, impossible to breathe.
"...Next, you look into her eyes," Draco said, his voice suddenly soft, softer than Harry had ever, heard it be before. He knew Draco's eyes had been gray, but he'd never seen them look so... intimate.
"Then you look at her lips, while biting your own."
If Harry's ears could turn as red as his face, they would have.
"And back to her eyes again, taking hold of her face gently." He felt a hand creep up to his cheeks, but surprisingly, the warm touch felt timid and soft. He wasn't disgusted, or creeped out. (Like he should have been!)
"Then...slowly," (wait why was he closing his eyes Harry get a hold of yourse--), "lean in..." (oh hey... Malfoy smells kinda nice actua-- wAIT THAT IS NOT WHAT HE SHOULD BE THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW THEY'RE IN THE BLOODY LOO--).
"And kiss her."
Needless to say, the 'Ginny Problem' quickly morphed into the 'Malfoy Problem'.