Title: Those Murky Waters

Author: Spider Spider

Summary: H/D SLASH, disregards HBP. When a series of dreams leaves Harry drained and exhausted, he, Ron and Hermione turn to Freud for answers. Featuring chocolate trolls, obnoxious Ravenclaws, a great deal of sneering and far too much psychology.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's notes: The last chapter! It's been a lot of fun writing this, and the reviews really helped—encouragement in my time of need :) Thank you all so much, especially Your Mom Is My Heart and Disco-Dancing on the Roof, who made me happy with numerous reviews!

ooo

Chapter Six

In which we see a fight, a kiss (finally!), and a resolution.

ooo

The next day Harry finally found his opportunity to confront Stephen alone.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and most students were lazing about by the lake, but instead of enjoying the rare March sunshine like any normal person, Stephen was holed up in the library.

With almost all other the students outside, the library was practically deserted. Harry was able to find him easily, sitting at a small table covered with books.

He strode over angrily.

"Ah, Harry," Stephen said. "I was expecting to see you again, after all that was revealed in our last meeting. I was delighted to hear the news of your bisexuality. It takes a brave man to examine the murky waters of his own subconscious."

"You know what your problem is?" Harry began furiously. "You're so wrapped up in solving other people's problems that you can't see what's right fucking in front of you. But guess what? You're not the only one who can understand Freud: I did some research of my own and you know what I found out?"

"What?" Stephen asked, looking amused.

"Projection, arsehole. I don't like Malfoy. I've never liked Malfoy. It's hatred, pure and simple, but what's not so simple is your farce of a friendship. You're too much of a fucking coward to face the fact that you have a crush on Malfoy," Harry said, his voice rising as he let out all of his frustration and anger. "You are the one with the issues, not me! You're too pathetic to face your own stupid crush so you pushed that pile of shit onto me, so that you wouldn't have to deal with it! For three fucking days I was living in some fucking nightmare world where I had a crush on that FUCKER, ALL BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T DEAL WITH YOUR OWN FUCKING SHIT!"

Harry stopped, breathing heavily.

To his fury, Stephen was still sitting calmly in his chair, hands folded on top of the table.

"Now, do you feel better after relieving all that anger?" Stephen asked.

"NO I DO NOT FUCKING FEEL BETTER! DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID?!"

"Yes, I did, and I'm very pleased that you took the initiative to find out more about the common defense mechanisms. It shows a level of acceptance and progress that I had not hoped that you would achieve so soon," Stephen said, smiling at him as though he were a four year old who had managed to tie his shoelaces correctly.

Harry choked, too angry to get any words out.

"But in your sexual bewilderment you have once again denied your feelings for Draco, this time projecting the crush onto me."

"WHAT?! NO! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S PROJECTING! YOU'VE GOT A CRUSH ON MALFOY–"

"No, Harry, can't you see–"

"SEE WHAT?!" Harry shouted, drowning out Stephen's excuses. "THAT YOU'RE A PATHETIC WANNA-BE FREUD WHO CAN'T SEE WHAT'S RIGHT FUCKING IN FRONT OF HIM?! WHO HAS THE FUCKING NERVE TO FUCK UP MY LIFE BECAUSE HE CAN'T DEAL WITH HIS?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SEE?! WHO GAVE YOU THE FUCKING RIGHT?!"

"Harry–" Stephen began, but Harry turned and stormed away.

He was so sick of yelling; so tired of being furious and exhausted and ashamed. He just wanted to travel back in time five months, to before he had started having the dreams. Back to when he was comfortably heterosexual, could actually stay awake in class, and Malfoy was nothing more than an annoying git.

God, he just wanted everything to go back to the way it had been.

But it couldn't, and he was still angry and still tired and Malfoy still drew disgusting responses from him, and he shouldn't feel like this. Not about him.

Harry stopped outside the library, not sure where to go. He could go outside and join Ron and Hermione, but he didn't want to have to deal with the stares of the other students. He didn't want to go to the common room either.

The blonde shepherdess in a nearby portrait giggled, and he glared at her. She started, then became silent.

Harry exhaled angrily, annoyed with himself, and started decisively towards Gryffindor.

It wasn't the portrait's fault his life was shit right now, Harry reminded himself. He just needed to go back to his dorm and tuck himself away from the world before he snapped and took someone's head off.

"Potter!" a voice rang out suddenly in the stillness of the corridor.

Harry turned, coming face to face with the central figure in his current nightmarish existence.

"I want to talk to you," Draco Malfoy said, tilting his chin up arrogantly.

"Do you?" Harry gritted out through clenched teeth.

Malfoy looked startled for a moment before forcing his face into its usual sneer.

"Isn't that what I just said? Oh so sorry, do I have to make an appointment now? I suppose your adoring fans take up so much of your time—" he broke off as Harry's fist connected with his nose.

Harry grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes as the Slytherin began to fall backwards. He jerked the blonde to him and up, so that Malfoy's face was right in front of his, and the blonde was forced to stand on his tip-toes. Harry might not be as tall as Ron, but at least he had a few inches on Malfoy. At the moment it was giving him a vicious satisfaction.

"I am so fucking sick of you hounding me," Harry snarled into the Slytherin's face.

Malfoy ripped himself away, and staggered to lean on the nearby wall. "Maybe if you ever fucking listened—" he began angrily, but Harry barreled into him again.

Harry shoved him against the wall, Malfoy's head making a sharp crack as it knocked against the stone. He pulled himself back so that he could use his fists, but Malfoy got there first. Harry felt a white pain in his temple as Malfoy's fist connected. Harry brought his knee up into Malfoy's stomach. The blonde doubled over, and Harry used his advantage to knock Malfoy to the ground. Malfoy grunted as Harry landed on top of him. Harry tried to get his hands around the blonde's pale neck, but Malfoy grabbed a handful of his hair first and pulled.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy!" came a horrified voice from above them. "What do you think you are doing?!"

Harry froze, and Malfoy took advantage of his stillness to shove him off his body and onto the floor.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

"I was only getting him off, Professor," Malfoy said, holding his sleeve against his nose in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

Harry scrambled to his feet to meet the severe gaze of Professor McGonagall.

"I am very disappointed. You haven't had any fights all year, and I was under the impression that you had put these childish skirmishes behind you."

"I'm sorry . . ." Harry said guiltily. "I don't know I what happened. I just, I've been so tired and stressed, and then Malfoy—"

"He attacked me," Malfoy hissed, "with out the slightest provocation. He's gone completely mad."

"I find that highly unlikely, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said. "And as for you," she continued, turning to Harry, "stress and lack of sleep are no excuse for returning to such immature behavior. Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"But—"

"No 'but's, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter, I trust that you can walk Mr. Malfoy as far as the infirmary without any more of this nonsense. Really, I had expected better of two sixth year students!"

Professor McGonagall continued the lecture, but Harry stopped listening when, to his horror, his least-favorite Ravenclaw appeared at the end of the hallway.

"Erm, yes Professor," Harry said, cutting into her diatribe, "But I think it's urgent that we get Malfoy to the hospital wing right away, so I'll go ahead and take him. Come on, Malfoy."

Malfoy looked at Harry as though he had sprouted a second head. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Come on!" Harry said desperately, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and dragging roughly him to his feet. Stephen was only a little ways away and was heading directly towards them. Harry didn't know what Stephen was going to do, but he had faith that whatever it was, it would only make the situation even worse.

"Get off!" Malfoy said, yanking his arm back.

"Mr. Potter! What has come over you? I have never seen such insolence," Professor McGonagall said sharply, "brawling in the hallway, interrupting a professor. I had hoped that you had matured beyond childish displays."

"I—" Harry began.

"Actually, under normal circumstances Harry is more mature," Stephen said, coming to stand beside Professor McGonagall.

"Pardon?" Professor McGonagall said.

"Let me explain, Professor," Stephen said.

"No," Harry groaned, "please don't."

"Harry has been dealing with some complex issues lately, and it has taken its toll. He is under an incredible amount of stress due to the tension between his personal expectations and his desires, and this is not even taking into consideration the expectations of society itself, considering Harry is in a somewhat prevalent position in the wizarding world," Stephen said.

"Merlin, just get to the point," Malfoy said.

Harry was didn't know whether to run or stay and try to defend himself. Surely Stephen wouldn't say anything about Harry's supposed crush on Malfoy, not with Professor McGonagall, and god, Malfoy himself, standing right there.

"Huh-hem," Stephen said, clearing his throat. "The point is that this tension has resulted in Harry employing a number of Freud's classic defense mechanisms: rationalization, repression, reaction formation, projection, and the like. Here we see Harry regressing, or 'returning to an earlier stage of psychological development' according to the American Wizards' Psychology Foundation."

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Cornfoot, but Mr. Potter was fighting with a fellow student. As I have already informed him, stress is not an adequate excuse," Professor McGonagall said.

"No, that would be rationalization," Stephen said, then chuckled.

There was an awkward pause.

What the fuck? Harry thought.

McGonagall's face tightened. "Mr. Cornfoot—"

"Excuses, rationalization? Get it? It's a joke, playing on the definition of rationalization," Stephen explained, sobering.

"Mr. Cornfoot, if you don't mind, I am trying to speak with these students about their delinquent behavior," Professor McGonagall said, looking as though she was holding on to the last strand of her patience.

"But they don't need a scolding, they need understanding," Stephen said.

Oh god, Harry thought desperately, just make him leave.

"If you graduate and become a Hogwarts professor, then you may deal with trouble makers as you see fit, but until that day, I will decide whether a student needs to be understood or needs a detention," said Professor McGonagall.

"Be that as it may Professor, I consider it my moral duty to interfere, as you are not aware of the complexity of this situation," Stephen argued.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Cornfoot, I have been teaching now for nearly forty-five years. I assure that I am quite able to handle this task, and if you will not leave me to do my job, I will have to start deducting points."

"But this fight was not prompted by ordinary anger! Detention will solve nothing: Draco and Harry need to speak with each other and get to the root of their—"

"I tried to do that, just like you said, and it worked like a flobberworm in pumpkin juice!" Malfoy burst in.

Stephen said, "Harry is in a very delicate condition right now—"

"I AM NOT DELICATE!" Harry yelled. God! Why the fuck was Stephen still here?!

"Moody much?" Malfoy sneered as Professor McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter! Please control yourself, and five points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Cornfoot. This has gone quite far enough!"

"It's a duty, Professor, a duty, and I will not abandon it. Harry is unstable emotionally due to the recent discovery of his true feelings for Draco, a discovery which has undermined the very foundation of his daily existence," Stephen continued.

No, no, no, no, no, no, Harry thought uselessly, no, he wouldn't.

"Mr. Cornfoot!"

"The discovery of his own irrepressible attraction for Draco Malfoy. A 'crush' to use the colloquial term."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Oh god, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut in horror, he did not just say that, he did not just say that . . .

"It's a classic example of reaction formation," Stephen said helpfully into the shocked silence.

Professor McGonagall made a strange gurgled noise.

"Surprised, Professor? It's actually quite common, especially among persons who have trouble accepting their homosexuality. Quite fascinating, really."

Harry forced his eyes open. Stephen was studying at Professor McGonagall, who was moving her mouth uselessly, and Malfoy . . .

Harry forced himself to turn his head and look at him. Malfoy was staring at him in shock, looking as winded as when Harry had punched him in the stomach.

But there was something on Malfoy's face, almost like . . . hope?

"You have a crush on me?" the blonde managed to gasp.

"I . . ." Harry was completely out of his depth. Did he like Malfoy? Like like Malfoy?

He looked wildly over at Stephen, who nodded encouragingly.

"I mean, maybe, I guess," Harry paused, looking into Malfoy's beautiful grey eyes, ". . . yeah," he breathed.

". . . oh," Malfoy said softly. He glanced over at Stephen.

Harry's face burned as remembered Malfoy and Stephen at the Three Broomsticks. God, he felt so stupid, how could he have forgotten?

Stephen nodded again, and Malfoy turned back to Harry.

"And," Malfoy said, uncharacteristically hesitant, "I like you, too."

Stunned, Harry looked over at Stephen . . . was this some kind of joke? He tried to keep down the feeling of elation rising through him.

Stephen just smiled.

"What on earth?" Professor McGonagall croaked.

"I think I'll walk the Professor to the hospital wing, she seems to be a bit unnerved. I suppose that you two will manage to carry on in my absence," Stephen said, raising an eyebrow.

"You really like me?" Harry asked as Stephen led off a stuttering Professor McGonagall.

Malfoy shrugged, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "I'm not about to start giving you roses or anything," he said.

Harry laughed. Draco Malfoy liked him, Draco Malfoy liked him, and it was utterly perfect.

"Just so long as everything is clear," Malfoy said, smiling reluctantly.

"Completely," Harry said, drawing closer and touching his lips to the delicious pink curve of Malfoy's.

He felt the exhaustion of the past few days slough off like a used skin, and Malfoy tasted like winter and expensive sweets.

He lipped at Malfoy's mouth, careful not to brush his nose, until Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry's head and forced them closer together.

Perhaps, Harry thought distantly, as his hands pushed into Malfoy's black robes, and his tongue pushed into Malfoy's hot mouth . . . perhaps psychology isn't so bad, after all.

ooo

the end