Rude
Look who, in a fit of writer's block, wrote H/D.
Title: Rude
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humour
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Length: 5,550
Summary: Draco feels absolutely nothing when he spots Potter at the Ministry one-year-free-from-the-war-whoopee (though not quite in those terms) anniversary party.
Canon compliant, give or take the epilogue, which doesn't factor in anyway.
And the French is from an English-to-French website, so obviously wrong.
He probably should have felt anger and hatred. Either that or gratitude. But really, what he felt was…nothing.
More of an oh-there's-Potter--ooh--look--cocktails!
So he ignored Potter, who was kind of staring at him, though he'd said nothing, and rushed to the bar. He wasn't old enough to legally drink yet--it'd only been one year since the end of the war--but his parents had funded about one hundred and twelve percent of the Ministry one year celebration, so he could do whatever he wanted. To a degree. The stuffy, thick dress robes his mum had forced onto him was making him sweat.
He'd asked his dad how they paid for over a hundred percent but his dad had just smiled and walked away. Whatever, their name was slowly climbing back up the social ladder, so that's really all that mattered.
That and cocktails. He loved them, in a wholly unnatural way, if Pansy was to be quoted and believed. Draco didn't think so, but he liked the perverted insinuation so he quoted her anyway.
The cocktail was pink, so very nancy, but he drank it anyway. He did not shy away from gay drinks, especially not if they happened to be alcoholic. So he sat at the bar, sipping elegantly, which meant he took a tiny sip, savouring the taste, looked around a bit with his head held high and fringe kept out of his face, and took another tiny sip, and it continued like that. Repetitively. He liked doing it. It made him feel pretty.
Masculine.
Hot.
Elegant. That one sounded better. Maybe. Were men supposed to be described as elegant? He tipped his head to the side a tad, knowing it made him look thoughtful and deep.
"Neck not working properly?" a voice snorted from his side.
Slowly, so the person knew he did not appreciate being interrupted, Draco straightened up, took another sip, this one longer in the hopes of annoying the intruder, and turned his head to face Potter.
This time he felt something: irritation. For being interrupted and insulted. Not really for any reasons concerning their past. Potter still had his wand, that was right. Though, Draco smirked, knowing him, he'd probably tossed it in the dustbin the moment he got the chance.
The thought made him smile. Potter smiled back curiously.
Must have been the cocktail, Draco reasoned. It wasn't like he was a regular drinker anyway. Just whenever the opportunity arose, and wine for dinners at home.
He stretched his legs out, pressing his feet flat against the bar, and swivelled around to face Potter. Might as well get this over and done with. Whatever needed to be over and done with. He just wanted to be left alone to drink his cocktail in elegant peace.
But Potter just looked him up and down, then ordered himself a beer. Had Draco ever spared the thought before, that's exactly what he would have figured a common half-blood to order. Not that cocktails were exquisite, but he was allowed a few mishaps, and cocktails were a right side better than beer.
The barman gave Potter the same look he'd given Draco for ordering drinks underage, then slid the glass to him. Draco pouted. Of course Potter would get a drink, being the Boy-Who-Lived and all.
"So," Potter started, looking into his beer but not taking a sip of it.
Draco refused to acknowledge such a pathetic, plebeian word. You should never say 'so,' 'um,' or any other of those silent-conversation fillers. They only led to rambling and stupidity--unattractive qualities.
"Heard you, er, finished school in France," Potter said. He dipped his finger into his mouth and ran it along the rim of the glass, causing it to whistle. Draco grimaced and nodded. "Was it hard, since it's in French?"
Draco shook his head wearily, already bored with this conversation. Why did Potter want to talk to him anyway? This was a Ministry function; there would be no shortage of people wanting to talk to their saviour. "I can speak fluent French."
Potter nodded. "Show me."
Another sip, this one even longer. He finished by licking his lips, pleased when Potter's eyes glazed over. He may not be feeling any emotions connected to their past, but at least trying Potter's patience still thrilled him. "I don't care if you believe me or not."
A crease formed on Potter's brow, then a few seconds later smoothed out. "I believe you, I just want to hear French." He paused. "Please?"
"You're creeping me out." He stood and took a few steps away, down the tiny flight of stairs, then turned around swiftly and walked back up. Watching the smile form on Potter's face made him giddy, especially when all he did was pick up his cocktail. And walk away.
"I do hope you're not being rude," his mum reprimanded under her breath.
"He's being dumb," Draco complained. Surely she'd understand.
But she only frowned, her disappointment palpable. "Draco, talking to Mr. Potter could really help our standing in the wizarding community. Our reputation." The grip on his shoulder turned hawk-like. He hated when she got all commanding on him.
"But I don't want to talk to him."
Her face softened, so much so that he grinned triumphantly. Being an only child had its many perks, and not only that he'd inherent all of the Malfoy fortune. "He saved your life," she reminded him, as if he'd forgotten. How could he forget? He owed the brat a wizard's debt now.
For once he found himself wishing something was done the Muggle way. If a Muggle saved your life all you were expected to do is thank them. Profusely, but you didn't owe them a debt.
"If he wants to talk to you, you will talk to him," she said, her voice still soft, and therefore, completely out of sync with her words and body language. She squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. She looked like cold stone, and Draco wanted to lash out in a temper tantrum. He didn't want to talk to Potter!
He whined, dipping his face into his cocktail and taking a large gulp. He was mad now, he didn't care about elegance.
She tsked and brushed her long hair over her shoulders. She caught someone's eyes across the crowded room and waved in a way fit for a queen. "Go apologize for being so rude, or do you want to start unravelling all the hard work your father and I have done for the family name?"
He was eighteen now, he didn't have to listen to her. It didn't matter; she glided over to whoever she'd waved to, leaving Draco to pout into his cocktail. Why'd it have to be pink? Why not purple. Purple was better.
Downing the rest of the glass, Draco tipped his head back, letting his hair move away from his face and look slightly dishevelled, because slightly dishevelled was in, and stalked importantly back to the bar.
Well, he tried to stalk, but the stupid Ministry employees in their stupid, ugly dress robes kept getting in his way so he ended up winding through the masses like a snake.
He found Potter in the same seat, his drink still untouched, though he'd progressed to dipping his finger in the amber fluid and watching it drip back into the glass. "Je ne veux pas vous parler mais ma maman me fait," he said, leaning into Potter's ear. He pulled back, satisfied. If he couldn't tell Potter how displeased he was with this arrangement then he'd do so in French.
Potter turned and smiled at him quizzically, and so did Weasley, who Draco couldn't believe he'd missed on his way over, what with that hair.
"Malfoy," Weasley greeted, a disgusted look on his face, but otherwise terribly civil. Now all Draco needed would be for the Mudblood to pop up and ask how he was doing and the little reunion of creepy behaviour would be complete.
Potter gestured to the seat on his left side, and Weasley groaned. At least someone hadn't gone entirely off the deep end.
"What?" Potter snapped, and Weasley leaned in, whispering something that made Potter's face scrunch up. He rolled his eyes, tsked, and added "Eww," but it sounded more like he was obliged to say it, not that he was sitting there in abject horror and disgust.
Weasley left.
And now, damn it, he was bloody interested and wanted to talk to Potter. He slipped sulkily into Weasley's absent chair and ordered another cocktail. Unfortunately they still only had pink, or red but Draco hated red with a passion. He never knew why.
And then he noticed Potter was wearing some horrid red jumper with the letter H stitched onto it. "Lose your dress robes?"
Potter grinned. "No, I just hate wearing dress robes."
"It's a horrid colour."
"I normally get green, but Mrs. Weasley started stitching the wrong letter into it so she just finished it that way."
How unfortunate, a jumper from the Weasleys. Draco himself would want a silver one. Or white. Or black. Probably silver, he looked best in silver. Actually a dusty blue silver. Black tended to wash him out and white blended in--curse his horribly pale skin. If he had some colour to it he'd be so much more attractive. Of course, then he'd have to figure out all news ways of how to look even more attractive. He'd already figured out how to with this body and complexion.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" Potter asked. There was an annoying twinkle in his eyes that reminded Draco of Dumbledore. Some did say they had an unnaturally close relationship, and suddenly it'd come out that Dumbledore was as gay as pink cocktails, though why that mattered now that he was dead, Draco couldn't fathom. People really did get rallied up over the stupidest of things.
But the thing was, "The phrase is knut for your thoughts, Potter, get it straight."
An impish grin crept onto Potter face. "I know, it just sounds so wrong that way."
Draco lifted one perfect eyebrow. If Potter wasn't careful, Draco might actually start liking him. And that just couldn't be. He opened his mouth, to tell Potter he was a repressed Gryffindor, and found he was the one that needed to be careful, because "Do you want to visit the manor sometime?" came out. And that just couldn't be.
Thankfully, Potter laughed. "I'm not stupid."
Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself." He didn't care.
~~~
"And he was being all civil and joking to me," Draco whined, tilting his head to the right a tiny bit and pouting ever so slightly. If he widened his eyes enough it took attention away from his too pointy chin, so he widened them enough, but not so much as to look comically surprised.
Pansy simpered, as expected. "Oh it must have been so horrible." She pawed at his arm, probably trying to burrow inside him. Draco wouldn't put it past her.
His mum chose that moment to glide into the room, her frosty white evening dress swishing around legs that Draco felt should never see the light of day. "What happened?" she asked, always up for sticking her scrunched-up nose where it didn't belong.
At the sight of his mum, Pansy latched onto him tighter. She'd been trying for years to change his parents' minds on them marrying, because somewhere along the line she'd got the inane idea that his parents supporting a marriage would make him take her hand. "Oh, Draco was telling me about the Ministry party."
"How was it horrible?" Draco's mum asked, eyes already rolling in their sockets.
Pansy bounced on the couch, tucking her feet under her arse. "How you made him talk to Potter!"
This time she rolled her eyes so hard that Draco wondered if it hurt. He tried it, and it hurt, not to mention his mum gave him a what-the-bloody-hell look. He nodded his head towards Pansy, because that was always a reason.
"It was not horrible." His mum crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling. "They seemed to be getting along perfectly."
Draco sneered. "But he's so dim, and he was being nice, and even the Weasel didn't freak out when Potter asked me to sit with him. I mean, why did he ask me to sit with him? I'm a Death Eater, or did he forget?"
His mum stiffened. "Was, not am. And why don't you ask him yourself if you are so bothered by it."
"I will," he answered decisively, nodding his head resolutely.
Pansy groaned and danced her fingers up his sleeve to his neck, where she rat-tatted them in a highly annoying fashion. "You're not going to get all obsessed with him again, are you?" She pouted, but it looked really dumb on her. She'd never mastered exactly what to do with her eyes or just how far to push her bottom lip out.
"I was never obsessed with him, or anything." Pansy just couldn't understand why it was so much more fun to talk about Potter than her. But, really, there was only so much he could say about a pug-nosed girl who touched him too much.
His mum and Pansy snorted, probably one of the few times they actually did the same thing, save breathing and sticking their noses where they didn't belong. They both had terrible-looking noses. Draco smiled. At that and the fact that they'd snorted. How plebeian.
Pansy excused herself for the loo, and before she was even out of earshot, his mum shook her head and asked, "Why do you put up with that girl? She's so simpering."
Draco didn't mention that it was her and dad who'd pushed Pansy onto him when they were in the single-digits age.
~~~
Draco Malfoy
This is Harry Potter I was woundering if since you asked me over to your home if you'd want to go out for tea or something to catch up. It's been a while.
Harry.
On principal--those grammar and spelling mistakes!--Draco didn't respond, even though he was aching to yell at him that they had nothing to catch up on because they'd never been caught up on. Probably on some principal of his own, Potter didn't owl again.
~~~
"How was your day?" his dad asked at the dinner table. It'd been a few days since Draco had seen his dad, what with him always out throwing money at the Ministry and charity events, because apparently saving the Boy-Who-Lived's life alone couldn't dig them out of their social hole. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes and his long blond hair slightly frazzled.
Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement and thought. "Did I tell you about the owl Potter sent me?"
His dad's head whipped up, filling the silence with a loud crack that made his hand flutter to his neck and his mouth grimace. "What did he have to say?"
Before Draco could rant about his stupid spelling and grammar mistakes, his mum tsked and looked down the table to shake her head. "It's nothing to worry about, darling. Potter wants to be friends with Draco, and Draco's being a spoilt brat about it, which is really pointless because he's always wanted to be Potter's friend."
Draco mouth dropped open, and even more when his dad nodded in agreement. "I never wanted to be his friend!" he snapped, startling a house elf into banging its head into the door on its way in. This made him so happy he admitted, "Well, once I did, but I was stupid then."
His mum smiled. "Nice to see you can admit it."
Draco sneered.
His dad cleared his throat. "Don't make any trouble, Draco. That's the last thing we need." He looked down at the house elf, which was rubbing its head. "Where's the wine?"
The house elf squealed and snapped its fingers, the wine instantly pouring itself into their glasses. Draco drank his in one long gulp, glowering into the glass.
~~~
The next time Draco saw Potter, it was July, and Potter walked through the manor's front door. Albeit, he was with the Weasel and Mudblood, and Longbottom, and the Weaselette, and some guy who looked vaguely familiar that was sticking his tongue down the Weaselette's throat, but still. Had he the nerve to show up at their house, even though he'd been invited, since the Ministry made a point of inviting him to every Ministry function, and since the Malfoys were funding, they'd decided on a Christmas in July Orphanage charity party shite thing.
Draco hated charity.
The moment Potter noticed him, which happened to be pretty much instantly, he removed his arm from the Mudblood's shoulders and beelined for him, the rest of his entourage following at a much slower pace.
"Guess I ended up at your home anyway," greeted Potter, interrupting Draco's sudden one-sided conversation with Goyle.
Draco glared, having had his impromptu conversation interrupted.
"What?" Potter frowned. "If anything, I should be mad at you. You never owled me back, and you've had tons of time."
"Why did you owl me?" He crossed his arms over his chest in a way that he knew made him look imposing. Goyle shrank away from him, probably to seek refuge with the food, but Potter just shrugged.
That's when the Mudblood intervened. "He was just being polite, which is more than you deserve."
Draco bristled. "My mother saved his sorry life!"
Granger crossed her arms in the exact same way he did, looking suspiciously like she was mocking him. "Yes, she did, not you. In fact, Harry saved your life twice and you never even thanked him."
Draco pressed his lips together and stalked away, their voices rumbling indignantly behind him. He picked his pace up, having found a stretch with no people in the way, so his dress robes bellowed out just enough to make him look indignant, intimidating, and important.
He ended up threatening the house elves because they wouldn't give him any cocktails. Something about his mum having seen his display with Potter and his entourage, and this being his punishment. Life was so unfair.
The house elf stared up at him with large glassy eyes, repetitively apologizing and offering to cut its nose off, though Draco suggested severing its head.
"Hello," Potter said, popping up to actually say that to the house elf, not Draco. "Could I get a drink, please?"
The elf nodded, its large ears flapping and slapping him in the face. It snapped and Potter was holding a purple cocktail.
Draco left, only Potter grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Can't you let go of the past?" he snarled, looking mad, like he had something to be mad about. "I did. I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Why won't you leave me alone?" He eyed up the cocktail. Potter hadn't drank it yet, it was still clean.
"Because. Why do you hate me?"
After checking his emotions again--still irritated--Draco admitted, "I don't hate you. I want to be left alone."
"Fine," Potter said crisply, then to himself, "What was I thinking?" He started to walk away, and Draco watched him, waiting for the pleasure to rise in him, but it didn't.
He rushed up and tapped Potter on the shoulder, and Potter turned around, a smug look on his face.
"Can I have your cocktail?"
He did get it. In his face.
~~~
Malfoy
You are a wanker.
Draco laughed and laughed. And then, just for good measure and because he liked the sound of his laughter, he laughed some more, only it started to sound more forced than genuine so he slowly dwindled off.
Pansy and Goyle stared at him from their perch on his bed.
"What?" he snapped, good mood instantly gone.
Goyle shrugged and started picking at a pimple, while Pansy gaped. "Isn't that Potter's owl?"
Draco nodded. "Way to state the obvious."
She wrinkled her already unattractive nose. "Well, what's so funny about it? Are you two friends now?"
Draco looked off to the side, portraying clearly that she was the most difficult person he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. "Of course not, have you completely lost it?"
Properly abashed, she pressed her lips together and said nothing more. Draco glanced back at the letter and smiled.
He stopped smiling at dinner when he gloated to his parents about the pathetic letter--even showed them it--and his parents stared at each other. And then his dad nodded. And then his mum opened her mouth and made him cry.
Almost.
He hadn't cried since he was extremely young, give or take a few times here and there. Either way, she made him…very angry and upset.
He did not go until he'd reached his threshold of threats and received enough promises for nice, expensive things.
But when he stood on Grimmauld Place, Muggle children out playing on the grubby road, in front of a house that looked like it'd seen better days--or it should have, because it looked like shite--Draco wished he'd just locked himself in his bedroom with a very strong spell and hibernated until his parents forgot all about making him apologize in person to Potter.
He knocked lightly on the door, hoping it would be missed. How could his parents carry on with the threats if he tried but no one answered?
Only the door opened. To the Mudblood.
"Granger," he greeted, his voice strained.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'll get Harry!" she said, screaming his name and making Draco jump back in alarm. She chuckled at him, like being uncouth and rude was funny, and walked back into the darkened house, leaving the door wide open. A stupid idea, Draco thought, considering he was a Death Eater.
Granger wasn't dumb. She found him as no threat. He glowered at a stupid umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like a troll leg, just because it was the closest object and hideously ugly.
"Er, did you trip over it or something?"
Considering he was standing outside, Draco considered it a very dumb question, and refused to answer. Instead he moved his glare to Potter and said, "I am sorry for being impolite to you at the Ministry parties and through the owl post." He nodded satisfactorily.
Potter rubbed his eye, smudging up his glasses so he had to clean them. Horrified, Draco watched him lick the lenses and dry them off on his shirt. "To be honest," Potter mumbled, because obviously too much of his attention was taken up by cleaning his glasses so he couldn't talk properly, "I don't really care if you apologize or not." He settled the glasses on his face and peered out of them, deemed them unworthy and continued cleaning.
"So you don't accept my apology?" Draco asked calmly, to be sure he'd heard correctly.
Potter shrugged and looked Draco in the eye--squinted actually. Without the glasses in the way his eyes looked huge and very green. It unsettled Draco, who had to look away.
"Well, I dunno. I mean, I saved your life twice--"
"Does everyone have to bring that up?" wailed Draco.
"And I was trying to be nice to you, but you were just being a spoilt little brat, which I probably should have expected. I don't know why I even thought we could have a civil conversation, but you're too hung up on the past to even say hello without glaring and spitting."
Draco spat, "I'm not hung up on the past!"
"Uh-huh. Then why can't you have a civil conversation with me?"
"I don't know. Maybe I just don't like you?"
Potter stood there with his mouth agape slightly, then shoved his glasses on. "I don't accept your apology."
"Fine." That's okay. Draco didn't care.
He really didn't.
Okay, but seriously. Like. "Do you know what I had to go through?!" he burst. "Do you know the threats I got?!"
Potter cocked his head. "From who?"
"My parents!"
That made Potter frost up. He crossed his arms, no longer leaning casually against the doorway, and slitted his eyes. "So you're only apologizing because your parents made you?"
"Not to be uncouth, but duh." He sniffed regally and tossed his bangs out of his eyes. "What do you care? You won't accept my apology anyway."
"Well especially not if you're only doing at because someone made you!" At this point in the heated conversation, Potter slammed the door shut. In Draco's face.
It took a full minute for Draco to get over this rude slight. And when he did, he pounded on the door as loudly as he could.
Potter flung the door open and smiled sweetly, but snapped, "What?"
"You slammed the door in my face." And with that, he reached into the house, grabbed Potter's middle finger and lifted his hand off the doorknob, placed his own hand on the door, and slammed it shut. This time in Potter's face.
He felt much better.
He hummed his favourite song, Poisoned Love and Liquor, the whole way to a safe Apparating space.
~~~
"Draco."
Draco paused in the middle of the hallway and backed up a step to peer into his dad's study. "Yes?"
He patted the spot beside him on the loveseat, though his eyes never lifted from the sheaf of papers in his hands. Draco sat, happy to spend some alone time with his dad, even if he was more concerned with papers.
"Harry Potter's birthday is this Saturday."
Draco huffed and hooked his ankle over his knee, shaking his foot impatiently. With his back straight and a disdainful look on his face, he knew he looked so importantly irritated, and it almost made him forget the fact that he was finally spending time with his dad, to talk about Potter.
"How fortunate," Draco said, deciding that the polite route might get him out of whatever his parents were making him do now. "A Saturday is convenient for a party, since most people don't work."
His dad nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, and since you don't have a job, and you will just be sitting at home this Saturday, you are going to go to his house and apologize again."
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his lips together, and counted to ten. Actually, he only got to three before he talked, but that was okay because it came off as a cute fault, his inability to calm down in stressful situations. He ended up yelling, "I already tried! Remember? He wouldn't accept my apology!"
Lifting his eyes from the papers, Draco's dad pulled a paper from the bottom of the pile and handed it to him. "Gifts can change people's minds. You bought him a Quidditch team. The Appleby Arrows."
"I'm eighteen. I'm two years overage. I don't have to listen to you." He stood and shook his head in a hah-beat-that kind of fashion.
His dad's eyes flashed. "Until you start acting your age you will do as your mother and I say."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"All you've done since the end of the war is whine, sit at home, and act like a ten year-old."
Draco found that a very unfair assessment and stomped out of the study, all the way to his bedroom, where he slammed the door as loud as possible.
~~~
"Here," he said, trying to shake the Weasel off because apparently he didn't trust Draco wondering around the house.
Potter looked down from the ladder he was standing on, removing a banner from the wall that exclaimed it was Potter's birthday, in bright, shimmery letters that distracted Draco a little too much. He didn't realize Potter had spoken until he'd finished.
He repeated, "Here," and handed the paper up to him. "Happy birthday, apologies, and all that rot."
Potter just stared at it, so long that the banner fell off the wall to the floor. Why they hadn't used a sticking charm instead of push pins, Draco would never understand.
"What is it?" Weasley finally asked, bounding around Draco and climbing up the stepladder to get a glimpse.
"You got me a Quidditch team?" He didn't sound pleased. Or displeased. Shocked, more like. Hopefully he wouldn't like it. That would show Draco's parents that they should just give up. Potter's influence didn't matter that much. They'd, after all, got this far without him, if you didn't count the whole testifying that Draco's mum had saved his life.
"Which team?" Weasley jumped up and tripped, falling off the ladder into a gangly pile.
"Appleby Arrows."
Weasley grimaced, then looked at Draco. "If you really want Harry's forgiveness you'll have to get him the Chudley Cannons."
"Excuse me?" Draco said, staring down at him. "That team isn't worth their weight in air. The Appleby Arrows are one of the best teams, and my personal favourite, so, believe me, it's torture handing the team over to Potter. It'll go to the pots now."
The Weasel growled. Did weasels growl? Draco would have to look it up.
"Oh, well, erm, thanks." Potter paused and rubbed the back of his neck. Draco looked around the room pointedly, glancing at the door more than a few times. "Er, did you want to go for tea?"
"Let me think about it…no." Supremely satisfied with his way of handling his parents' demands and managing to not follow them exactly, and with the way Potter's face fell to disappointment then anger, Draco let himself out, kicking the ugly umbrella stand along the way.
~~~
Monday morning one of the house elves woke Draco much too early. It was only going on noon, and the elf knew he'd stayed up until three the night before, convincing Goyle that Pansy would never, ever date him, and not because Draco wanted her himself because he so didn't, but because he was on the chubby side and Pansy like handsome, thin, aristocratic rich boys--men, which was why she fancied Draco like mad.
Honestly, Goyle was either brainless with hurting capabilities or irritatingly emotionally girly with hurting capabilities.
He opened the door, very displeased, so find Potter standing there, and his bad mood pretty much evaporated. If he had to wake up for something, at least the something was Potter. Insulting people always made Draco feel better about himself, and if it the insulted happened to be Potter…even better.
"'Ello," Potter said, apparently attempting to smile but it came off more as a grimace.
Draco nodded, highly amused that Potter had to take a deep breath before talking. This time, Draco crossed his arms lazily and leaned against the doorway.
"Call me crazy, but I think I like you." Potter rolled his eyes.
Draco preened. "A lot of people like me. I'm very likable."
Potter shook his head. "No, no. Like, erm, like I might want to kiss you like you."
Well. Extremely different than what Draco had been expecting. "But I've been rude to you."
"I know." He scrunched his face, like this was the greatest mystery in the entire universe, forget the fact that the Dark Lord, an otherwise smart wizard, had been defeated by a seventeen year-old. "It makes no sense. I don't understand it."
"Oh." Draco found himself rubbing his wrists, something he didn't do because it was so common and made him look like nerd, or a junkie. Something like that. "You're a poofter."
Potter shrugged. "I dunno. Could I kiss you?"
Draco looked behind him, into the foyer, but no one was around. What would his parents have him do? He found he had no idea, so he just smiled slightly, his head tilted just so, in a way that always made Pansy swoon. "I might not be adverse to the idea, but I'm not sure."
Potter frowned and nodded. "Okay. So, are you going to shut the door in my face now or something?"
Honestly bemused, Draco asked, "Why would I do that?"
"Because you're rude."
"I could if you want me to," he suggested, already wondering if he should take it all back. Potter obviously had some issues, and Draco didn't like issues.
Potter nodded. "Okay, but, um, first, do you want to go out for tea of something? Er, Thursday?"
"That could possibly be arranged." This felt like the perfect time to slam the door so he did, snagging his sleeve in the door so he was stuck, but he didn't dare open the door to free himself. It would ruin the whole look, which was pretty impressive if he did say so himself.
"Is that a yes?" Potter called through the door, voice tinged with annoyance.
"Owl me," Draco returned. He stared out the peephole, watching Potter twist a lock of hair in his fingers, open and close his mouth a few times, then nod grudgingly and walk away. When the coast cleared, Draco pulled his sleeve free and surveyed the damage. It would have to be trashed.
He turned around to find his parents standing on the stairway, staring. Draco shrugged, sauntered past them slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing and they'd better not think about interrupting him, and walked to his bedroom. He needed to practice his perfect facial expressions for Thursday.
Fin.
Title: Rude
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humour
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Length: 5,550
Summary: Draco feels absolutely nothing when he spots Potter at the Ministry one-year-free-from-the-war-whoopee (though not quite in those terms) anniversary party.
Canon compliant, give or take the epilogue, which doesn't factor in anyway.
And the French is from an English-to-French website, so obviously wrong.
He probably should have felt anger and hatred. Either that or gratitude. But really, what he felt was…nothing.
More of an oh-there's-Potter--ooh--look--cocktails!
So he ignored Potter, who was kind of staring at him, though he'd said nothing, and rushed to the bar. He wasn't old enough to legally drink yet--it'd only been one year since the end of the war--but his parents had funded about one hundred and twelve percent of the Ministry one year celebration, so he could do whatever he wanted. To a degree. The stuffy, thick dress robes his mum had forced onto him was making him sweat.
He'd asked his dad how they paid for over a hundred percent but his dad had just smiled and walked away. Whatever, their name was slowly climbing back up the social ladder, so that's really all that mattered.
That and cocktails. He loved them, in a wholly unnatural way, if Pansy was to be quoted and believed. Draco didn't think so, but he liked the perverted insinuation so he quoted her anyway.
The cocktail was pink, so very nancy, but he drank it anyway. He did not shy away from gay drinks, especially not if they happened to be alcoholic. So he sat at the bar, sipping elegantly, which meant he took a tiny sip, savouring the taste, looked around a bit with his head held high and fringe kept out of his face, and took another tiny sip, and it continued like that. Repetitively. He liked doing it. It made him feel pretty.
Masculine.
Hot.
Elegant. That one sounded better. Maybe. Were men supposed to be described as elegant? He tipped his head to the side a tad, knowing it made him look thoughtful and deep.
"Neck not working properly?" a voice snorted from his side.
Slowly, so the person knew he did not appreciate being interrupted, Draco straightened up, took another sip, this one longer in the hopes of annoying the intruder, and turned his head to face Potter.
This time he felt something: irritation. For being interrupted and insulted. Not really for any reasons concerning their past. Potter still had his wand, that was right. Though, Draco smirked, knowing him, he'd probably tossed it in the dustbin the moment he got the chance.
The thought made him smile. Potter smiled back curiously.
Must have been the cocktail, Draco reasoned. It wasn't like he was a regular drinker anyway. Just whenever the opportunity arose, and wine for dinners at home.
He stretched his legs out, pressing his feet flat against the bar, and swivelled around to face Potter. Might as well get this over and done with. Whatever needed to be over and done with. He just wanted to be left alone to drink his cocktail in elegant peace.
But Potter just looked him up and down, then ordered himself a beer. Had Draco ever spared the thought before, that's exactly what he would have figured a common half-blood to order. Not that cocktails were exquisite, but he was allowed a few mishaps, and cocktails were a right side better than beer.
The barman gave Potter the same look he'd given Draco for ordering drinks underage, then slid the glass to him. Draco pouted. Of course Potter would get a drink, being the Boy-Who-Lived and all.
"So," Potter started, looking into his beer but not taking a sip of it.
Draco refused to acknowledge such a pathetic, plebeian word. You should never say 'so,' 'um,' or any other of those silent-conversation fillers. They only led to rambling and stupidity--unattractive qualities.
"Heard you, er, finished school in France," Potter said. He dipped his finger into his mouth and ran it along the rim of the glass, causing it to whistle. Draco grimaced and nodded. "Was it hard, since it's in French?"
Draco shook his head wearily, already bored with this conversation. Why did Potter want to talk to him anyway? This was a Ministry function; there would be no shortage of people wanting to talk to their saviour. "I can speak fluent French."
Potter nodded. "Show me."
Another sip, this one even longer. He finished by licking his lips, pleased when Potter's eyes glazed over. He may not be feeling any emotions connected to their past, but at least trying Potter's patience still thrilled him. "I don't care if you believe me or not."
A crease formed on Potter's brow, then a few seconds later smoothed out. "I believe you, I just want to hear French." He paused. "Please?"
"You're creeping me out." He stood and took a few steps away, down the tiny flight of stairs, then turned around swiftly and walked back up. Watching the smile form on Potter's face made him giddy, especially when all he did was pick up his cocktail. And walk away.
"I do hope you're not being rude," his mum reprimanded under her breath.
"He's being dumb," Draco complained. Surely she'd understand.
But she only frowned, her disappointment palpable. "Draco, talking to Mr. Potter could really help our standing in the wizarding community. Our reputation." The grip on his shoulder turned hawk-like. He hated when she got all commanding on him.
"But I don't want to talk to him."
Her face softened, so much so that he grinned triumphantly. Being an only child had its many perks, and not only that he'd inherent all of the Malfoy fortune. "He saved your life," she reminded him, as if he'd forgotten. How could he forget? He owed the brat a wizard's debt now.
For once he found himself wishing something was done the Muggle way. If a Muggle saved your life all you were expected to do is thank them. Profusely, but you didn't owe them a debt.
"If he wants to talk to you, you will talk to him," she said, her voice still soft, and therefore, completely out of sync with her words and body language. She squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. She looked like cold stone, and Draco wanted to lash out in a temper tantrum. He didn't want to talk to Potter!
He whined, dipping his face into his cocktail and taking a large gulp. He was mad now, he didn't care about elegance.
She tsked and brushed her long hair over her shoulders. She caught someone's eyes across the crowded room and waved in a way fit for a queen. "Go apologize for being so rude, or do you want to start unravelling all the hard work your father and I have done for the family name?"
He was eighteen now, he didn't have to listen to her. It didn't matter; she glided over to whoever she'd waved to, leaving Draco to pout into his cocktail. Why'd it have to be pink? Why not purple. Purple was better.
Downing the rest of the glass, Draco tipped his head back, letting his hair move away from his face and look slightly dishevelled, because slightly dishevelled was in, and stalked importantly back to the bar.
Well, he tried to stalk, but the stupid Ministry employees in their stupid, ugly dress robes kept getting in his way so he ended up winding through the masses like a snake.
He found Potter in the same seat, his drink still untouched, though he'd progressed to dipping his finger in the amber fluid and watching it drip back into the glass. "Je ne veux pas vous parler mais ma maman me fait," he said, leaning into Potter's ear. He pulled back, satisfied. If he couldn't tell Potter how displeased he was with this arrangement then he'd do so in French.
Potter turned and smiled at him quizzically, and so did Weasley, who Draco couldn't believe he'd missed on his way over, what with that hair.
"Malfoy," Weasley greeted, a disgusted look on his face, but otherwise terribly civil. Now all Draco needed would be for the Mudblood to pop up and ask how he was doing and the little reunion of creepy behaviour would be complete.
Potter gestured to the seat on his left side, and Weasley groaned. At least someone hadn't gone entirely off the deep end.
"What?" Potter snapped, and Weasley leaned in, whispering something that made Potter's face scrunch up. He rolled his eyes, tsked, and added "Eww," but it sounded more like he was obliged to say it, not that he was sitting there in abject horror and disgust.
Weasley left.
And now, damn it, he was bloody interested and wanted to talk to Potter. He slipped sulkily into Weasley's absent chair and ordered another cocktail. Unfortunately they still only had pink, or red but Draco hated red with a passion. He never knew why.
And then he noticed Potter was wearing some horrid red jumper with the letter H stitched onto it. "Lose your dress robes?"
Potter grinned. "No, I just hate wearing dress robes."
"It's a horrid colour."
"I normally get green, but Mrs. Weasley started stitching the wrong letter into it so she just finished it that way."
How unfortunate, a jumper from the Weasleys. Draco himself would want a silver one. Or white. Or black. Probably silver, he looked best in silver. Actually a dusty blue silver. Black tended to wash him out and white blended in--curse his horribly pale skin. If he had some colour to it he'd be so much more attractive. Of course, then he'd have to figure out all news ways of how to look even more attractive. He'd already figured out how to with this body and complexion.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" Potter asked. There was an annoying twinkle in his eyes that reminded Draco of Dumbledore. Some did say they had an unnaturally close relationship, and suddenly it'd come out that Dumbledore was as gay as pink cocktails, though why that mattered now that he was dead, Draco couldn't fathom. People really did get rallied up over the stupidest of things.
But the thing was, "The phrase is knut for your thoughts, Potter, get it straight."
An impish grin crept onto Potter face. "I know, it just sounds so wrong that way."
Draco lifted one perfect eyebrow. If Potter wasn't careful, Draco might actually start liking him. And that just couldn't be. He opened his mouth, to tell Potter he was a repressed Gryffindor, and found he was the one that needed to be careful, because "Do you want to visit the manor sometime?" came out. And that just couldn't be.
Thankfully, Potter laughed. "I'm not stupid."
Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself." He didn't care.
~~~
"And he was being all civil and joking to me," Draco whined, tilting his head to the right a tiny bit and pouting ever so slightly. If he widened his eyes enough it took attention away from his too pointy chin, so he widened them enough, but not so much as to look comically surprised.
Pansy simpered, as expected. "Oh it must have been so horrible." She pawed at his arm, probably trying to burrow inside him. Draco wouldn't put it past her.
His mum chose that moment to glide into the room, her frosty white evening dress swishing around legs that Draco felt should never see the light of day. "What happened?" she asked, always up for sticking her scrunched-up nose where it didn't belong.
At the sight of his mum, Pansy latched onto him tighter. She'd been trying for years to change his parents' minds on them marrying, because somewhere along the line she'd got the inane idea that his parents supporting a marriage would make him take her hand. "Oh, Draco was telling me about the Ministry party."
"How was it horrible?" Draco's mum asked, eyes already rolling in their sockets.
Pansy bounced on the couch, tucking her feet under her arse. "How you made him talk to Potter!"
This time she rolled her eyes so hard that Draco wondered if it hurt. He tried it, and it hurt, not to mention his mum gave him a what-the-bloody-hell look. He nodded his head towards Pansy, because that was always a reason.
"It was not horrible." His mum crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling. "They seemed to be getting along perfectly."
Draco sneered. "But he's so dim, and he was being nice, and even the Weasel didn't freak out when Potter asked me to sit with him. I mean, why did he ask me to sit with him? I'm a Death Eater, or did he forget?"
His mum stiffened. "Was, not am. And why don't you ask him yourself if you are so bothered by it."
"I will," he answered decisively, nodding his head resolutely.
Pansy groaned and danced her fingers up his sleeve to his neck, where she rat-tatted them in a highly annoying fashion. "You're not going to get all obsessed with him again, are you?" She pouted, but it looked really dumb on her. She'd never mastered exactly what to do with her eyes or just how far to push her bottom lip out.
"I was never obsessed with him, or anything." Pansy just couldn't understand why it was so much more fun to talk about Potter than her. But, really, there was only so much he could say about a pug-nosed girl who touched him too much.
His mum and Pansy snorted, probably one of the few times they actually did the same thing, save breathing and sticking their noses where they didn't belong. They both had terrible-looking noses. Draco smiled. At that and the fact that they'd snorted. How plebeian.
Pansy excused herself for the loo, and before she was even out of earshot, his mum shook her head and asked, "Why do you put up with that girl? She's so simpering."
Draco didn't mention that it was her and dad who'd pushed Pansy onto him when they were in the single-digits age.
~~~
Draco Malfoy
This is Harry Potter I was woundering if since you asked me over to your home if you'd want to go out for tea or something to catch up. It's been a while.
Harry.
On principal--those grammar and spelling mistakes!--Draco didn't respond, even though he was aching to yell at him that they had nothing to catch up on because they'd never been caught up on. Probably on some principal of his own, Potter didn't owl again.
~~~
"How was your day?" his dad asked at the dinner table. It'd been a few days since Draco had seen his dad, what with him always out throwing money at the Ministry and charity events, because apparently saving the Boy-Who-Lived's life alone couldn't dig them out of their social hole. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes and his long blond hair slightly frazzled.
Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement and thought. "Did I tell you about the owl Potter sent me?"
His dad's head whipped up, filling the silence with a loud crack that made his hand flutter to his neck and his mouth grimace. "What did he have to say?"
Before Draco could rant about his stupid spelling and grammar mistakes, his mum tsked and looked down the table to shake her head. "It's nothing to worry about, darling. Potter wants to be friends with Draco, and Draco's being a spoilt brat about it, which is really pointless because he's always wanted to be Potter's friend."
Draco mouth dropped open, and even more when his dad nodded in agreement. "I never wanted to be his friend!" he snapped, startling a house elf into banging its head into the door on its way in. This made him so happy he admitted, "Well, once I did, but I was stupid then."
His mum smiled. "Nice to see you can admit it."
Draco sneered.
His dad cleared his throat. "Don't make any trouble, Draco. That's the last thing we need." He looked down at the house elf, which was rubbing its head. "Where's the wine?"
The house elf squealed and snapped its fingers, the wine instantly pouring itself into their glasses. Draco drank his in one long gulp, glowering into the glass.
~~~
The next time Draco saw Potter, it was July, and Potter walked through the manor's front door. Albeit, he was with the Weasel and Mudblood, and Longbottom, and the Weaselette, and some guy who looked vaguely familiar that was sticking his tongue down the Weaselette's throat, but still. Had he the nerve to show up at their house, even though he'd been invited, since the Ministry made a point of inviting him to every Ministry function, and since the Malfoys were funding, they'd decided on a Christmas in July Orphanage charity party shite thing.
Draco hated charity.
The moment Potter noticed him, which happened to be pretty much instantly, he removed his arm from the Mudblood's shoulders and beelined for him, the rest of his entourage following at a much slower pace.
"Guess I ended up at your home anyway," greeted Potter, interrupting Draco's sudden one-sided conversation with Goyle.
Draco glared, having had his impromptu conversation interrupted.
"What?" Potter frowned. "If anything, I should be mad at you. You never owled me back, and you've had tons of time."
"Why did you owl me?" He crossed his arms over his chest in a way that he knew made him look imposing. Goyle shrank away from him, probably to seek refuge with the food, but Potter just shrugged.
That's when the Mudblood intervened. "He was just being polite, which is more than you deserve."
Draco bristled. "My mother saved his sorry life!"
Granger crossed her arms in the exact same way he did, looking suspiciously like she was mocking him. "Yes, she did, not you. In fact, Harry saved your life twice and you never even thanked him."
Draco pressed his lips together and stalked away, their voices rumbling indignantly behind him. He picked his pace up, having found a stretch with no people in the way, so his dress robes bellowed out just enough to make him look indignant, intimidating, and important.
He ended up threatening the house elves because they wouldn't give him any cocktails. Something about his mum having seen his display with Potter and his entourage, and this being his punishment. Life was so unfair.
The house elf stared up at him with large glassy eyes, repetitively apologizing and offering to cut its nose off, though Draco suggested severing its head.
"Hello," Potter said, popping up to actually say that to the house elf, not Draco. "Could I get a drink, please?"
The elf nodded, its large ears flapping and slapping him in the face. It snapped and Potter was holding a purple cocktail.
Draco left, only Potter grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Can't you let go of the past?" he snarled, looking mad, like he had something to be mad about. "I did. I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Why won't you leave me alone?" He eyed up the cocktail. Potter hadn't drank it yet, it was still clean.
"Because. Why do you hate me?"
After checking his emotions again--still irritated--Draco admitted, "I don't hate you. I want to be left alone."
"Fine," Potter said crisply, then to himself, "What was I thinking?" He started to walk away, and Draco watched him, waiting for the pleasure to rise in him, but it didn't.
He rushed up and tapped Potter on the shoulder, and Potter turned around, a smug look on his face.
"Can I have your cocktail?"
He did get it. In his face.
~~~
Malfoy
You are a wanker.
Draco laughed and laughed. And then, just for good measure and because he liked the sound of his laughter, he laughed some more, only it started to sound more forced than genuine so he slowly dwindled off.
Pansy and Goyle stared at him from their perch on his bed.
"What?" he snapped, good mood instantly gone.
Goyle shrugged and started picking at a pimple, while Pansy gaped. "Isn't that Potter's owl?"
Draco nodded. "Way to state the obvious."
She wrinkled her already unattractive nose. "Well, what's so funny about it? Are you two friends now?"
Draco looked off to the side, portraying clearly that she was the most difficult person he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. "Of course not, have you completely lost it?"
Properly abashed, she pressed her lips together and said nothing more. Draco glanced back at the letter and smiled.
He stopped smiling at dinner when he gloated to his parents about the pathetic letter--even showed them it--and his parents stared at each other. And then his dad nodded. And then his mum opened her mouth and made him cry.
Almost.
He hadn't cried since he was extremely young, give or take a few times here and there. Either way, she made him…very angry and upset.
He did not go until he'd reached his threshold of threats and received enough promises for nice, expensive things.
But when he stood on Grimmauld Place, Muggle children out playing on the grubby road, in front of a house that looked like it'd seen better days--or it should have, because it looked like shite--Draco wished he'd just locked himself in his bedroom with a very strong spell and hibernated until his parents forgot all about making him apologize in person to Potter.
He knocked lightly on the door, hoping it would be missed. How could his parents carry on with the threats if he tried but no one answered?
Only the door opened. To the Mudblood.
"Granger," he greeted, his voice strained.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'll get Harry!" she said, screaming his name and making Draco jump back in alarm. She chuckled at him, like being uncouth and rude was funny, and walked back into the darkened house, leaving the door wide open. A stupid idea, Draco thought, considering he was a Death Eater.
Granger wasn't dumb. She found him as no threat. He glowered at a stupid umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like a troll leg, just because it was the closest object and hideously ugly.
"Er, did you trip over it or something?"
Considering he was standing outside, Draco considered it a very dumb question, and refused to answer. Instead he moved his glare to Potter and said, "I am sorry for being impolite to you at the Ministry parties and through the owl post." He nodded satisfactorily.
Potter rubbed his eye, smudging up his glasses so he had to clean them. Horrified, Draco watched him lick the lenses and dry them off on his shirt. "To be honest," Potter mumbled, because obviously too much of his attention was taken up by cleaning his glasses so he couldn't talk properly, "I don't really care if you apologize or not." He settled the glasses on his face and peered out of them, deemed them unworthy and continued cleaning.
"So you don't accept my apology?" Draco asked calmly, to be sure he'd heard correctly.
Potter shrugged and looked Draco in the eye--squinted actually. Without the glasses in the way his eyes looked huge and very green. It unsettled Draco, who had to look away.
"Well, I dunno. I mean, I saved your life twice--"
"Does everyone have to bring that up?" wailed Draco.
"And I was trying to be nice to you, but you were just being a spoilt little brat, which I probably should have expected. I don't know why I even thought we could have a civil conversation, but you're too hung up on the past to even say hello without glaring and spitting."
Draco spat, "I'm not hung up on the past!"
"Uh-huh. Then why can't you have a civil conversation with me?"
"I don't know. Maybe I just don't like you?"
Potter stood there with his mouth agape slightly, then shoved his glasses on. "I don't accept your apology."
"Fine." That's okay. Draco didn't care.
He really didn't.
Okay, but seriously. Like. "Do you know what I had to go through?!" he burst. "Do you know the threats I got?!"
Potter cocked his head. "From who?"
"My parents!"
That made Potter frost up. He crossed his arms, no longer leaning casually against the doorway, and slitted his eyes. "So you're only apologizing because your parents made you?"
"Not to be uncouth, but duh." He sniffed regally and tossed his bangs out of his eyes. "What do you care? You won't accept my apology anyway."
"Well especially not if you're only doing at because someone made you!" At this point in the heated conversation, Potter slammed the door shut. In Draco's face.
It took a full minute for Draco to get over this rude slight. And when he did, he pounded on the door as loudly as he could.
Potter flung the door open and smiled sweetly, but snapped, "What?"
"You slammed the door in my face." And with that, he reached into the house, grabbed Potter's middle finger and lifted his hand off the doorknob, placed his own hand on the door, and slammed it shut. This time in Potter's face.
He felt much better.
He hummed his favourite song, Poisoned Love and Liquor, the whole way to a safe Apparating space.
~~~
"Draco."
Draco paused in the middle of the hallway and backed up a step to peer into his dad's study. "Yes?"
He patted the spot beside him on the loveseat, though his eyes never lifted from the sheaf of papers in his hands. Draco sat, happy to spend some alone time with his dad, even if he was more concerned with papers.
"Harry Potter's birthday is this Saturday."
Draco huffed and hooked his ankle over his knee, shaking his foot impatiently. With his back straight and a disdainful look on his face, he knew he looked so importantly irritated, and it almost made him forget the fact that he was finally spending time with his dad, to talk about Potter.
"How fortunate," Draco said, deciding that the polite route might get him out of whatever his parents were making him do now. "A Saturday is convenient for a party, since most people don't work."
His dad nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, and since you don't have a job, and you will just be sitting at home this Saturday, you are going to go to his house and apologize again."
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his lips together, and counted to ten. Actually, he only got to three before he talked, but that was okay because it came off as a cute fault, his inability to calm down in stressful situations. He ended up yelling, "I already tried! Remember? He wouldn't accept my apology!"
Lifting his eyes from the papers, Draco's dad pulled a paper from the bottom of the pile and handed it to him. "Gifts can change people's minds. You bought him a Quidditch team. The Appleby Arrows."
"I'm eighteen. I'm two years overage. I don't have to listen to you." He stood and shook his head in a hah-beat-that kind of fashion.
His dad's eyes flashed. "Until you start acting your age you will do as your mother and I say."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"All you've done since the end of the war is whine, sit at home, and act like a ten year-old."
Draco found that a very unfair assessment and stomped out of the study, all the way to his bedroom, where he slammed the door as loud as possible.
~~~
"Here," he said, trying to shake the Weasel off because apparently he didn't trust Draco wondering around the house.
Potter looked down from the ladder he was standing on, removing a banner from the wall that exclaimed it was Potter's birthday, in bright, shimmery letters that distracted Draco a little too much. He didn't realize Potter had spoken until he'd finished.
He repeated, "Here," and handed the paper up to him. "Happy birthday, apologies, and all that rot."
Potter just stared at it, so long that the banner fell off the wall to the floor. Why they hadn't used a sticking charm instead of push pins, Draco would never understand.
"What is it?" Weasley finally asked, bounding around Draco and climbing up the stepladder to get a glimpse.
"You got me a Quidditch team?" He didn't sound pleased. Or displeased. Shocked, more like. Hopefully he wouldn't like it. That would show Draco's parents that they should just give up. Potter's influence didn't matter that much. They'd, after all, got this far without him, if you didn't count the whole testifying that Draco's mum had saved his life.
"Which team?" Weasley jumped up and tripped, falling off the ladder into a gangly pile.
"Appleby Arrows."
Weasley grimaced, then looked at Draco. "If you really want Harry's forgiveness you'll have to get him the Chudley Cannons."
"Excuse me?" Draco said, staring down at him. "That team isn't worth their weight in air. The Appleby Arrows are one of the best teams, and my personal favourite, so, believe me, it's torture handing the team over to Potter. It'll go to the pots now."
The Weasel growled. Did weasels growl? Draco would have to look it up.
"Oh, well, erm, thanks." Potter paused and rubbed the back of his neck. Draco looked around the room pointedly, glancing at the door more than a few times. "Er, did you want to go for tea?"
"Let me think about it…no." Supremely satisfied with his way of handling his parents' demands and managing to not follow them exactly, and with the way Potter's face fell to disappointment then anger, Draco let himself out, kicking the ugly umbrella stand along the way.
~~~
Monday morning one of the house elves woke Draco much too early. It was only going on noon, and the elf knew he'd stayed up until three the night before, convincing Goyle that Pansy would never, ever date him, and not because Draco wanted her himself because he so didn't, but because he was on the chubby side and Pansy like handsome, thin, aristocratic rich boys--men, which was why she fancied Draco like mad.
Honestly, Goyle was either brainless with hurting capabilities or irritatingly emotionally girly with hurting capabilities.
He opened the door, very displeased, so find Potter standing there, and his bad mood pretty much evaporated. If he had to wake up for something, at least the something was Potter. Insulting people always made Draco feel better about himself, and if it the insulted happened to be Potter…even better.
"'Ello," Potter said, apparently attempting to smile but it came off more as a grimace.
Draco nodded, highly amused that Potter had to take a deep breath before talking. This time, Draco crossed his arms lazily and leaned against the doorway.
"Call me crazy, but I think I like you." Potter rolled his eyes.
Draco preened. "A lot of people like me. I'm very likable."
Potter shook his head. "No, no. Like, erm, like I might want to kiss you like you."
Well. Extremely different than what Draco had been expecting. "But I've been rude to you."
"I know." He scrunched his face, like this was the greatest mystery in the entire universe, forget the fact that the Dark Lord, an otherwise smart wizard, had been defeated by a seventeen year-old. "It makes no sense. I don't understand it."
"Oh." Draco found himself rubbing his wrists, something he didn't do because it was so common and made him look like nerd, or a junkie. Something like that. "You're a poofter."
Potter shrugged. "I dunno. Could I kiss you?"
Draco looked behind him, into the foyer, but no one was around. What would his parents have him do? He found he had no idea, so he just smiled slightly, his head tilted just so, in a way that always made Pansy swoon. "I might not be adverse to the idea, but I'm not sure."
Potter frowned and nodded. "Okay. So, are you going to shut the door in my face now or something?"
Honestly bemused, Draco asked, "Why would I do that?"
"Because you're rude."
"I could if you want me to," he suggested, already wondering if he should take it all back. Potter obviously had some issues, and Draco didn't like issues.
Potter nodded. "Okay, but, um, first, do you want to go out for tea of something? Er, Thursday?"
"That could possibly be arranged." This felt like the perfect time to slam the door so he did, snagging his sleeve in the door so he was stuck, but he didn't dare open the door to free himself. It would ruin the whole look, which was pretty impressive if he did say so himself.
"Is that a yes?" Potter called through the door, voice tinged with annoyance.
"Owl me," Draco returned. He stared out the peephole, watching Potter twist a lock of hair in his fingers, open and close his mouth a few times, then nod grudgingly and walk away. When the coast cleared, Draco pulled his sleeve free and surveyed the damage. It would have to be trashed.
He turned around to find his parents standing on the stairway, staring. Draco shrugged, sauntered past them slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing and they'd better not think about interrupting him, and walked to his bedroom. He needed to practice his perfect facial expressions for Thursday.
Fin.