Untitled Part 1
A H/D story I wrote because I wanted to catch up with The Wizarding Games, and because the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. :D
Title: Untitled (not yet... lol) Part 1
Rating: G for now
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: none
Word count: 3k
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry swears it's all Ron's fault. But now that Harry has said he's in love with Draco Malfoy in front of everyone, he must do something to fix the mess. The problem is, aside from the fact that Draco is straight ... well, it's just that Harry isn't really in love with him. Yet.
A/N: Written for hd_writers's Wizaring Games, assignment #2. Unbetaread because this isn't finished, I'm planning to finish it soon, though. :)
Thinking back, it was probably a bad idea. Maybe even the worst he ever has. But Harry Potter should never back out because he's the Hero, the Brave Chosen One, the Boy Who Repeatedly Lived to Have Catastrophic Ideas and all that rot. So what he can do now is only wish for a Time Turner-helplessly. He bristles not so discreetly at Ron. If Ron doesn’t realise it, that's because he's too busy moping.
Still, Harry has said to everyone that he's in love with Draco Malfoy. Of all people.
He bristles again.
It was all because of Ron, really. If he'd just shut up after they filed out of Robards’ office this afternoon, this wouldn’t have happened. Alas, keeping his mouth shut is never Ron’s strength, especially if it involves one Draco Malfoy. So when they’d all settled in the break area, attempting to loosen the knots on their backs after more than an hour standing rigid before Robards’ desk, Ron had seethed and said, “Blimey, that ferret got the nerve to act like nothing happened. Why’d Robards let him be his Junior Secretary?”
“He was transferred from the Department of Mysteries, I heard,” said Dean. “Probably got bullied there.”
“Can’t blame them. Who doesn’t want to bully him these days?” said Seamus, stirring his cup of coffee with a straw. “He makes it easy, you know?”
“That’s why he shouldn’t have acted all superior, he’s lucky to even have a job now,” said Ron with scowl.
“Actually, all he did was sit there,” said Morag.
“He ignored us!”
“Er,” said Morag, clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Because he was working on paperwork?”
“That doesn’t make him less of a git, though,” said Dean. Ron nodded vehemently. “He’s just, there’s something about him that always makes you irked, you see?”
“That I felt, too,” Seamus agreed.
Neville looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything as he poured hot water into his cup. Behind him Dawlish and Williamson stood with unreadable expressions, before they shrugged and walked out of the break room. Sitting at the long coffee table, Parvati Patil nursed her tea, while beside her Harry tried hard to ignore the conversation.
Harry had seen Malfoy when he was still working at the Department of Mysteries a year ago. It was one of the rare cases the Auror Department had to ask for reinforcement from other experts, and Harry’d spent the entire time working with Zacharias Smith gritting his teeth to the point his gum swelled and he couldn’t eat the next day. On the contrary, Malfoy was-well, at least he was less irritating compared to Zacharias. He didn’t speak much, or rather, he didn’t say anything the entire meeting. He just sat there, studying the reports and data Harry gave him, and at the end of the meeting he pushed back the parchment to Harry without so much as a glance. Harry had thought of how much of a prat Malfoy was for being there when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to even contribute anything, and spent the rest of the night to make fun of Malfoy’s poncy arse with Ron and Dean over a pint in the Leaky.
It wasn’t until the next day that Harry realised Malfoy’s colleagues didn’t even once talk to him during the meeting.
“I wager Robards’ll sack him once he notices how Malfoy really is,” said Ron. “He can’t even work properly. Right, Harry?” Ron looked up at him from his coffee. The others quickly stared at him, too, expectant.
Harry sighed. “Ron, I told you that I might have judged him wrong. There must have been something. It wasn’t normal that his workmates didn’t talk to him.”
“The only thing that’s wrong is his existence,” said Ron, scowling.
Harry frowned. “He’s just-he’s different and you know that. It doesn’t mean he's not a git any more, but he's not as infuriating as before.”
Dean laughed. “Sorry, mate, I don't see the difference.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who can understand it. I spent years being the object of his torments after all,” said Harry, trying to keep the harsh tone to minimum but failing. “Now can we talk about something else?”
“Harry, mate, you’re contradicting yourself. He tormented you, but you’re all right with him there, in that room, working with us?” Seamus asked, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t you think the ponce deserves worse than this?”
It wasn’t all right for Harry to have Malfoy work with him, but when it was put like that, he couldn’t help but remember how Malfoy had avoided his eyes and maybe even everyone’s eyes in the meeting room, and how Malfoy had tried not to be noticed there in Robards’ office.
“He bloody well doesn’t,” he said. “He deserves better, like respect and acknowledgment from his workmates.”
Ron’s eyes were so wide it was borderline funny, and Parvati’s face lit up as she said, “Wow.”
“Harry, you really think Malfoy has changed, don’t you,” said Neville, smiling and taking a seat beside him.
“Well, I happen to think that he’s not the only one who has to change. Maybe we all have to.”
Seamus laughed, hysterical. But he stopped when he saw Harry fuming. “Mate, you’re serious.”
“I need to fire-call Hermione,” whimpered Ron, looking ashen. “Harry’s defending Malfoy. Maybe she can explain if it’s a sign of apocalypse.”
“I say you should talk to Professor Trelawney instead,” Parvati said, beaming.
“Hermione knows everything, she always does!”
“It doesn’t matter who you’ll talk to,” Harry snapped. “The point is he’s in our department, and we’d better not be an arse like the Unspeakables.”
“Harry, you’re acting like . . .” Parvati couldn’t finish her sentence as she broke into giggles.
“You’re not Imperiused, are you?” Dean asked tentatively, poking Harry’s arm with a teaspoon. “It’s as if you were friends with Malfoy. Funny thought, that was.” His expression didn’t say it was funny, though. Harry swore he could hear his blood boiling in his ears.
“I’m not friends with him, I’m bloody-” In that second Harry knew he should bite his tongue off so he could stop talking, but his treacherous mouth continued, “-in love with Draco.”
The not-girly scream in his head proved that he was utterly, terribly scared of his own words.
The moment that followed was quite chaotic. Ron let out a shriek, and the others had their mouths hung open, except a squealing Parvati. Neville even jumped around as his tea burned his thighs. It was a lie if Harry said he didn’t morbidly enjoy their reactions-again, except Parvati’s-but when Seamus muttered, “Merlin, he called him Draco. He must be serious,” Harry knew he should start denying it and admit his lie. His mouth had a different plan, though.
“What? You all knew I’m gay, why can’t I be in love with Draco?”
“Maybe because it’s Draco?” Ron sounded so pained and strangled.
“Well, I’m in love with him so you’d better accept that,” Harry said. And yep, the scream in his head was definitely a manly scream.
But it was okay. Ron would pressure him to have a second thought, and maybe then he could finally admit that he only said that to annoy everyone. When Ron only sighed in defeat and slumped against his chair, though, Harry started to dread that maybe things wouldn’t be that easy.
“Harry, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but you know that Malfoy won’t fancy the idea of having you all over him, don’t you?”
“Who said he won’t?” said Harry automatically that he could hear Hermione saying, Harry, honestly, you’re too stubborn to admit defeat, in that understanding, yet exasperated way she patented. “He might love me back,” he said, and added after a few panic moments of thinking, “I think.”
“You think. But he'll kill you with his evil plans,” Seamus said, and Harry hated to see something resembling pity in his eyes. “Mate, you truly like challenges, don’t you.”
“But that’s Harry’s strength! I suggest we all cheer on him,” said Parvati in between her giggles and blushes.
“Well, I don’t see why not.” Morag shrugged in that ‘I couldn’t care less’ kind of way.
“I think I see why not, but I’m your best mate, so if you’re really,” Ron paused, “in love with him,” another pause, “then I’ll be supporting you.” He let out a painful whimper, but otherwise remained silent, giving Harry a supportive smile to Harry’s horror. And as Neville, Dean and Seamus patted him on the back-you need it, mate, said Dean-Harry knew it was all too late.
Bollocks.
“I, er, will try my best?” he said with gooseflesh all over his skin, thinking a hundred different methods to kill himself.
So all in all, it's still Ron’s fault. And his own mouth’s, for the most part. That's why he's now pacing in front of Robards’ door, contemplating if he should barge in and haul Malfoy by his collar to demand why it takes him so long to finish while Robards and the others have long gone home. But when the door slams open with a very tired-looking Malfoy stepping out of the office, Harry freezes.
“Potter,” drawls Malfoy while eyeing him cautiously.
“Sod off, Malfoy,” says Harry instinctively. Bugger. “No, I mean. Hi, Malfoy.”
Malfoy stares at him as though he has just sprouted a pig’s nose.
“I have a proposition,” says Harry.
“Proposition?” Malfoy asks, his eyebrows rising. Harry nods.
“I think,” Harry continues, “you should call me Harry.”
Malfoy stares even more intently.
“And I want to call you Draco.”
More staring, until Malfoy nods in understanding, his eyes full of exaggerated sympathy. “Finally all those hits on the head by the Dark Lord show their effects?”
“No,” Harry snaps before he reminds himself that he's supposed to coax Malfoy into a tragic love story. The perfect plan he's perfected perfectly all day, featuring a love-blinded Harry and a socially-challenged Malfoy in a swirl of tentative dates, before they have to call it off tragically for the sole reason of Malfoy’s heterosexuality. Yes, that's a nice plan, which is also realistic considering Malfoy is straight. “So, what’d you say?”
“As much as it will pain me to hear my name from your mouth, Potter, I also understand that support is important for a mental patient,” says Malfoy with a tragic sigh. “Therefore I hereby give you the honour to call me by my first name, as long as you pronounce it correctly. I know it’s hard for a commoner like you, but you can try to enunciate the ‘Dra’ from Draco, and end it with grace. Come now, Draco. See, it gives off an aristocratic air, don’t you think?”
Harry's beginning to think that he might have judged Malfoy too early to say he has changed. “Right, Draa-co,” he says exaggeratedly. “Now call me Harry.”
Malfoy stares at him again in disbelief. “I was joking, Potter. Of course I don’t want you to call me by first name. Are you really mad?”
“Maybe I am,” Harry admits darkly, before quickly adding, “Never mind first names then. I know it’s too hasty and we should start slowly.”
“What are we supposed to start again?” Malfoy asks.
“Something,” says Harry.
“Something?”
Harry waves vaguely between them. “You know.”
“All right,” says Malfoy slowly, carefully, before he turns around towards the office again. “I’m fire-calling St. Mungo’s.”
“Wait!” Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm in panic. “I’m not crazy, okay? I’m just-“
“Unhand me, Potter,” says Malfoy, his voice stiff. Harry quickly releases Malfoy’s arm as he watches how those eyes turn cold.
“Sorry,” Harry says, though he berates himself inwardly for apologising. Malfoy regards him with a slight disgust on his face, leaning his shoulder on the door frame and looking as if all he wants is to burn his robes after Harry touched them. Harry sighs. “Look, I’m actually here to ask something.”
Malfoy observes him, suspicious. After a moment, he nods and all traces of disgust vanish from his face. “Go on then, I don’t have all day, you know.”
Harry wants to roll his eyes. He can’t, though. Not if he wants Malfoy to cooperate.
“Well, it’s simple,” he says. “I want to ask you to . . .” He trails off, his mouth gaping as the words he wants to say refuse to come out. He closes his mouth for a moment, inwardly reciting the phrase he's planned all afternoon, and tries again. “I want to ask you to . . .” He feels his palms clammy and his stomach tightens as he realises Malfoy's watching him too closely. “Hapinwime,” he blurts out.
Shit. Shit. Shit. The flash of himself talking to Cho eight years ago pops in his head.
“What?” asks Malfoy with a frown.
Harry takes several frantic deep breaths.
“I mean,” he says, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs that he's afraid it will leap out through his mouth. “I want you to have a pint with me.” There, he finishes it with a much better composure than fourth year, and the fact that Malfoy’s expression shows he wants nothing more than to laugh and roll on the floor, does not disturb Harry in the slightest.
“God, Potter,” Malfoy wheezes, clutching at his stomach. “Does that mean the legendary ‘wangoballwime’ is true?”
To think that Harry goes through all this humiliation to save Malfoy’s sorry arse from bullying. Regret. For the first time in his twenty two years of life, Harry Potter feels the cruelty of regret that has nothing to do with the war.
“How could you know about that anyway,” Harry says, thrusting out his lower lip. “Prat,” he adds because he can.
“Don’t underestimate my information source at Hogwarts,” says Malfoy, still having difficulties to stop his laughter. Harry glowers.
“I’m sure it was impressive. Did it make sneaking in Death Eaters any easier?”
Malfoy stops laughing, his expression hardens. Harry bites his tongue.
“Well, you knew. You stalked me around after all. Oh, let’s not forget the fact that you slashed me, too.”
Harry winces. Malfoy is glaring at him, and Harry wishes he could take back what he said. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“
Malfoy sidesteps, avoiding Harry’s reach. “Fuck you, Potter,” he says simply, with an expression that tells Harry that it’s too late, and walks away.
Harry messes his hair, sighing before swirling around. “I really didn’t mean to,” he calls out, though his shoulders sag as he sees Malfoy disappear around the corner. So much for trying to flirt-he was so sure he had improved somewhat in that department, what with his experience with Ginny and several one night stands, but turns out he's still a fourteen year old with no tact and control over his mouth when it comes to Malfoy. He sighs again, rubbing his palm at his face and walking towards his desk.
Time to think of another plan.
As it is, planning is never Harry’s forte, so he finds himself the next day with no other ideas. Resisting the urge to slam his head against his desk, Harry clutches his coffee cup like his life depends on it. Caffeine is always good, he may need to consider hogging the Muggle coffee machine from the break area today. When he's entertaining the notion of having a hundred cups of caffeine, Ron flops down his desk, which is located beside Harry’s.
“Okay, mate?” he asks in passing, already shuffling through seemingly endless parchment and memos.
“Yeah.” Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Doubtful things can be worse than yesterday.”
Ron looks up in alarm. “Yesterday? How did it go with Malfoy?”
Harry groans. “What-“
“I know you wanted to ask him something, you looked all nervous yesterday. Did you-“ Ron gulps. “Did he reject you?”
“Ron, leave it,” Harry almost whines. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I knew it,” Ron says darkly. “That git must have done something to you. I’ll get him for that.” He rises, cheeks red from anger.
“No, no, the git was me, I said something I shouldn’t,” says Harry quickly, his tone resigned. “Forget it, it’s not like I want to go out with him.”
Ron looks at him, worrying his lower lip as Harry fidgets on his chair. “Mate, but you’re in love with him.”
Not really.
“Um,” says Harry.
Sighing, Ron sits on the corner of Harry’s desk, looking concerned. “Harry, if you want him, then go for it. It’s not like you’re known for giving up. It’s only Malfoy, he always lost to you.”
“And what does losing to me have anything to do with this?”
“He’ll lose to your charm too this time.” Ron grins. At Harry’s half-snort, half-laughter, Ron pats his shoulder. “Come on, ask him out or something.”
Harry smiles, having no other options aside from nodding his agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try,” he says. As Ron goes back to his desk and begins reading through his stack of parchment, Harry bites the inside of his lower lip, glaring a hole on the top of his desk. He always wants Ron to give his blessing when the time comes for Harry to introduce the bloke he likes, but not like this. Not about Malfoy, and especially not because of his lie. Maybe he can still end this. Maybe he can confess everything to Ron now-he will understand and perhaps he will even be relieved. Harry takes a deep breath, then prepares to say that he’s sorry, that he’s the biggest prat ever, when Malfoy walks in from the door. Harry shuts his mouth, watching as Malfoy’s eyes flick over him for a moment before his shoulders tense. Harry curls his fingers, helpless, while Malfoy decides to ignore him and goes straight to Robards’ office. After a long silence, Harry feels Ron nudge his arm.
“Don’t give up, Harry,” he says, smiling with an expression full of concern and support. Closing his eyes, Harry resists the urge to groan aloud.
--
<3
Title: Untitled (not yet... lol) Part 1
Rating: G for now
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: none
Word count: 3k
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry swears it's all Ron's fault. But now that Harry has said he's in love with Draco Malfoy in front of everyone, he must do something to fix the mess. The problem is, aside from the fact that Draco is straight ... well, it's just that Harry isn't really in love with him. Yet.
A/N: Written for hd_writers's Wizaring Games, assignment #2. Unbetaread because this isn't finished, I'm planning to finish it soon, though. :)
Thinking back, it was probably a bad idea. Maybe even the worst he ever has. But Harry Potter should never back out because he's the Hero, the Brave Chosen One, the Boy Who Repeatedly Lived to Have Catastrophic Ideas and all that rot. So what he can do now is only wish for a Time Turner-helplessly. He bristles not so discreetly at Ron. If Ron doesn’t realise it, that's because he's too busy moping.
Still, Harry has said to everyone that he's in love with Draco Malfoy. Of all people.
He bristles again.
It was all because of Ron, really. If he'd just shut up after they filed out of Robards’ office this afternoon, this wouldn’t have happened. Alas, keeping his mouth shut is never Ron’s strength, especially if it involves one Draco Malfoy. So when they’d all settled in the break area, attempting to loosen the knots on their backs after more than an hour standing rigid before Robards’ desk, Ron had seethed and said, “Blimey, that ferret got the nerve to act like nothing happened. Why’d Robards let him be his Junior Secretary?”
“He was transferred from the Department of Mysteries, I heard,” said Dean. “Probably got bullied there.”
“Can’t blame them. Who doesn’t want to bully him these days?” said Seamus, stirring his cup of coffee with a straw. “He makes it easy, you know?”
“That’s why he shouldn’t have acted all superior, he’s lucky to even have a job now,” said Ron with scowl.
“Actually, all he did was sit there,” said Morag.
“He ignored us!”
“Er,” said Morag, clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Because he was working on paperwork?”
“That doesn’t make him less of a git, though,” said Dean. Ron nodded vehemently. “He’s just, there’s something about him that always makes you irked, you see?”
“That I felt, too,” Seamus agreed.
Neville looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything as he poured hot water into his cup. Behind him Dawlish and Williamson stood with unreadable expressions, before they shrugged and walked out of the break room. Sitting at the long coffee table, Parvati Patil nursed her tea, while beside her Harry tried hard to ignore the conversation.
Harry had seen Malfoy when he was still working at the Department of Mysteries a year ago. It was one of the rare cases the Auror Department had to ask for reinforcement from other experts, and Harry’d spent the entire time working with Zacharias Smith gritting his teeth to the point his gum swelled and he couldn’t eat the next day. On the contrary, Malfoy was-well, at least he was less irritating compared to Zacharias. He didn’t speak much, or rather, he didn’t say anything the entire meeting. He just sat there, studying the reports and data Harry gave him, and at the end of the meeting he pushed back the parchment to Harry without so much as a glance. Harry had thought of how much of a prat Malfoy was for being there when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to even contribute anything, and spent the rest of the night to make fun of Malfoy’s poncy arse with Ron and Dean over a pint in the Leaky.
It wasn’t until the next day that Harry realised Malfoy’s colleagues didn’t even once talk to him during the meeting.
“I wager Robards’ll sack him once he notices how Malfoy really is,” said Ron. “He can’t even work properly. Right, Harry?” Ron looked up at him from his coffee. The others quickly stared at him, too, expectant.
Harry sighed. “Ron, I told you that I might have judged him wrong. There must have been something. It wasn’t normal that his workmates didn’t talk to him.”
“The only thing that’s wrong is his existence,” said Ron, scowling.
Harry frowned. “He’s just-he’s different and you know that. It doesn’t mean he's not a git any more, but he's not as infuriating as before.”
Dean laughed. “Sorry, mate, I don't see the difference.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who can understand it. I spent years being the object of his torments after all,” said Harry, trying to keep the harsh tone to minimum but failing. “Now can we talk about something else?”
“Harry, mate, you’re contradicting yourself. He tormented you, but you’re all right with him there, in that room, working with us?” Seamus asked, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t you think the ponce deserves worse than this?”
It wasn’t all right for Harry to have Malfoy work with him, but when it was put like that, he couldn’t help but remember how Malfoy had avoided his eyes and maybe even everyone’s eyes in the meeting room, and how Malfoy had tried not to be noticed there in Robards’ office.
“He bloody well doesn’t,” he said. “He deserves better, like respect and acknowledgment from his workmates.”
Ron’s eyes were so wide it was borderline funny, and Parvati’s face lit up as she said, “Wow.”
“Harry, you really think Malfoy has changed, don’t you,” said Neville, smiling and taking a seat beside him.
“Well, I happen to think that he’s not the only one who has to change. Maybe we all have to.”
Seamus laughed, hysterical. But he stopped when he saw Harry fuming. “Mate, you’re serious.”
“I need to fire-call Hermione,” whimpered Ron, looking ashen. “Harry’s defending Malfoy. Maybe she can explain if it’s a sign of apocalypse.”
“I say you should talk to Professor Trelawney instead,” Parvati said, beaming.
“Hermione knows everything, she always does!”
“It doesn’t matter who you’ll talk to,” Harry snapped. “The point is he’s in our department, and we’d better not be an arse like the Unspeakables.”
“Harry, you’re acting like . . .” Parvati couldn’t finish her sentence as she broke into giggles.
“You’re not Imperiused, are you?” Dean asked tentatively, poking Harry’s arm with a teaspoon. “It’s as if you were friends with Malfoy. Funny thought, that was.” His expression didn’t say it was funny, though. Harry swore he could hear his blood boiling in his ears.
“I’m not friends with him, I’m bloody-” In that second Harry knew he should bite his tongue off so he could stop talking, but his treacherous mouth continued, “-in love with Draco.”
The not-girly scream in his head proved that he was utterly, terribly scared of his own words.
The moment that followed was quite chaotic. Ron let out a shriek, and the others had their mouths hung open, except a squealing Parvati. Neville even jumped around as his tea burned his thighs. It was a lie if Harry said he didn’t morbidly enjoy their reactions-again, except Parvati’s-but when Seamus muttered, “Merlin, he called him Draco. He must be serious,” Harry knew he should start denying it and admit his lie. His mouth had a different plan, though.
“What? You all knew I’m gay, why can’t I be in love with Draco?”
“Maybe because it’s Draco?” Ron sounded so pained and strangled.
“Well, I’m in love with him so you’d better accept that,” Harry said. And yep, the scream in his head was definitely a manly scream.
But it was okay. Ron would pressure him to have a second thought, and maybe then he could finally admit that he only said that to annoy everyone. When Ron only sighed in defeat and slumped against his chair, though, Harry started to dread that maybe things wouldn’t be that easy.
“Harry, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but you know that Malfoy won’t fancy the idea of having you all over him, don’t you?”
“Who said he won’t?” said Harry automatically that he could hear Hermione saying, Harry, honestly, you’re too stubborn to admit defeat, in that understanding, yet exasperated way she patented. “He might love me back,” he said, and added after a few panic moments of thinking, “I think.”
“You think. But he'll kill you with his evil plans,” Seamus said, and Harry hated to see something resembling pity in his eyes. “Mate, you truly like challenges, don’t you.”
“But that’s Harry’s strength! I suggest we all cheer on him,” said Parvati in between her giggles and blushes.
“Well, I don’t see why not.” Morag shrugged in that ‘I couldn’t care less’ kind of way.
“I think I see why not, but I’m your best mate, so if you’re really,” Ron paused, “in love with him,” another pause, “then I’ll be supporting you.” He let out a painful whimper, but otherwise remained silent, giving Harry a supportive smile to Harry’s horror. And as Neville, Dean and Seamus patted him on the back-you need it, mate, said Dean-Harry knew it was all too late.
Bollocks.
“I, er, will try my best?” he said with gooseflesh all over his skin, thinking a hundred different methods to kill himself.
So all in all, it's still Ron’s fault. And his own mouth’s, for the most part. That's why he's now pacing in front of Robards’ door, contemplating if he should barge in and haul Malfoy by his collar to demand why it takes him so long to finish while Robards and the others have long gone home. But when the door slams open with a very tired-looking Malfoy stepping out of the office, Harry freezes.
“Potter,” drawls Malfoy while eyeing him cautiously.
“Sod off, Malfoy,” says Harry instinctively. Bugger. “No, I mean. Hi, Malfoy.”
Malfoy stares at him as though he has just sprouted a pig’s nose.
“I have a proposition,” says Harry.
“Proposition?” Malfoy asks, his eyebrows rising. Harry nods.
“I think,” Harry continues, “you should call me Harry.”
Malfoy stares even more intently.
“And I want to call you Draco.”
More staring, until Malfoy nods in understanding, his eyes full of exaggerated sympathy. “Finally all those hits on the head by the Dark Lord show their effects?”
“No,” Harry snaps before he reminds himself that he's supposed to coax Malfoy into a tragic love story. The perfect plan he's perfected perfectly all day, featuring a love-blinded Harry and a socially-challenged Malfoy in a swirl of tentative dates, before they have to call it off tragically for the sole reason of Malfoy’s heterosexuality. Yes, that's a nice plan, which is also realistic considering Malfoy is straight. “So, what’d you say?”
“As much as it will pain me to hear my name from your mouth, Potter, I also understand that support is important for a mental patient,” says Malfoy with a tragic sigh. “Therefore I hereby give you the honour to call me by my first name, as long as you pronounce it correctly. I know it’s hard for a commoner like you, but you can try to enunciate the ‘Dra’ from Draco, and end it with grace. Come now, Draco. See, it gives off an aristocratic air, don’t you think?”
Harry's beginning to think that he might have judged Malfoy too early to say he has changed. “Right, Draa-co,” he says exaggeratedly. “Now call me Harry.”
Malfoy stares at him again in disbelief. “I was joking, Potter. Of course I don’t want you to call me by first name. Are you really mad?”
“Maybe I am,” Harry admits darkly, before quickly adding, “Never mind first names then. I know it’s too hasty and we should start slowly.”
“What are we supposed to start again?” Malfoy asks.
“Something,” says Harry.
“Something?”
Harry waves vaguely between them. “You know.”
“All right,” says Malfoy slowly, carefully, before he turns around towards the office again. “I’m fire-calling St. Mungo’s.”
“Wait!” Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm in panic. “I’m not crazy, okay? I’m just-“
“Unhand me, Potter,” says Malfoy, his voice stiff. Harry quickly releases Malfoy’s arm as he watches how those eyes turn cold.
“Sorry,” Harry says, though he berates himself inwardly for apologising. Malfoy regards him with a slight disgust on his face, leaning his shoulder on the door frame and looking as if all he wants is to burn his robes after Harry touched them. Harry sighs. “Look, I’m actually here to ask something.”
Malfoy observes him, suspicious. After a moment, he nods and all traces of disgust vanish from his face. “Go on then, I don’t have all day, you know.”
Harry wants to roll his eyes. He can’t, though. Not if he wants Malfoy to cooperate.
“Well, it’s simple,” he says. “I want to ask you to . . .” He trails off, his mouth gaping as the words he wants to say refuse to come out. He closes his mouth for a moment, inwardly reciting the phrase he's planned all afternoon, and tries again. “I want to ask you to . . .” He feels his palms clammy and his stomach tightens as he realises Malfoy's watching him too closely. “Hapinwime,” he blurts out.
Shit. Shit. Shit. The flash of himself talking to Cho eight years ago pops in his head.
“What?” asks Malfoy with a frown.
Harry takes several frantic deep breaths.
“I mean,” he says, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs that he's afraid it will leap out through his mouth. “I want you to have a pint with me.” There, he finishes it with a much better composure than fourth year, and the fact that Malfoy’s expression shows he wants nothing more than to laugh and roll on the floor, does not disturb Harry in the slightest.
“God, Potter,” Malfoy wheezes, clutching at his stomach. “Does that mean the legendary ‘wangoballwime’ is true?”
To think that Harry goes through all this humiliation to save Malfoy’s sorry arse from bullying. Regret. For the first time in his twenty two years of life, Harry Potter feels the cruelty of regret that has nothing to do with the war.
“How could you know about that anyway,” Harry says, thrusting out his lower lip. “Prat,” he adds because he can.
“Don’t underestimate my information source at Hogwarts,” says Malfoy, still having difficulties to stop his laughter. Harry glowers.
“I’m sure it was impressive. Did it make sneaking in Death Eaters any easier?”
Malfoy stops laughing, his expression hardens. Harry bites his tongue.
“Well, you knew. You stalked me around after all. Oh, let’s not forget the fact that you slashed me, too.”
Harry winces. Malfoy is glaring at him, and Harry wishes he could take back what he said. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“
Malfoy sidesteps, avoiding Harry’s reach. “Fuck you, Potter,” he says simply, with an expression that tells Harry that it’s too late, and walks away.
Harry messes his hair, sighing before swirling around. “I really didn’t mean to,” he calls out, though his shoulders sag as he sees Malfoy disappear around the corner. So much for trying to flirt-he was so sure he had improved somewhat in that department, what with his experience with Ginny and several one night stands, but turns out he's still a fourteen year old with no tact and control over his mouth when it comes to Malfoy. He sighs again, rubbing his palm at his face and walking towards his desk.
Time to think of another plan.
As it is, planning is never Harry’s forte, so he finds himself the next day with no other ideas. Resisting the urge to slam his head against his desk, Harry clutches his coffee cup like his life depends on it. Caffeine is always good, he may need to consider hogging the Muggle coffee machine from the break area today. When he's entertaining the notion of having a hundred cups of caffeine, Ron flops down his desk, which is located beside Harry’s.
“Okay, mate?” he asks in passing, already shuffling through seemingly endless parchment and memos.
“Yeah.” Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Doubtful things can be worse than yesterday.”
Ron looks up in alarm. “Yesterday? How did it go with Malfoy?”
Harry groans. “What-“
“I know you wanted to ask him something, you looked all nervous yesterday. Did you-“ Ron gulps. “Did he reject you?”
“Ron, leave it,” Harry almost whines. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I knew it,” Ron says darkly. “That git must have done something to you. I’ll get him for that.” He rises, cheeks red from anger.
“No, no, the git was me, I said something I shouldn’t,” says Harry quickly, his tone resigned. “Forget it, it’s not like I want to go out with him.”
Ron looks at him, worrying his lower lip as Harry fidgets on his chair. “Mate, but you’re in love with him.”
Not really.
“Um,” says Harry.
Sighing, Ron sits on the corner of Harry’s desk, looking concerned. “Harry, if you want him, then go for it. It’s not like you’re known for giving up. It’s only Malfoy, he always lost to you.”
“And what does losing to me have anything to do with this?”
“He’ll lose to your charm too this time.” Ron grins. At Harry’s half-snort, half-laughter, Ron pats his shoulder. “Come on, ask him out or something.”
Harry smiles, having no other options aside from nodding his agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try,” he says. As Ron goes back to his desk and begins reading through his stack of parchment, Harry bites the inside of his lower lip, glaring a hole on the top of his desk. He always wants Ron to give his blessing when the time comes for Harry to introduce the bloke he likes, but not like this. Not about Malfoy, and especially not because of his lie. Maybe he can still end this. Maybe he can confess everything to Ron now-he will understand and perhaps he will even be relieved. Harry takes a deep breath, then prepares to say that he’s sorry, that he’s the biggest prat ever, when Malfoy walks in from the door. Harry shuts his mouth, watching as Malfoy’s eyes flick over him for a moment before his shoulders tense. Harry curls his fingers, helpless, while Malfoy decides to ignore him and goes straight to Robards’ office. After a long silence, Harry feels Ron nudge his arm.
“Don’t give up, Harry,” he says, smiling with an expression full of concern and support. Closing his eyes, Harry resists the urge to groan aloud.
--
<3