HP Valentine Quickies: Life Advice- Part 2
Title: Life Advice- Part 2
Author: sugareey
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Harry/??? for this part
Rating: PG
Summary: Advice can come to you in some of the oddest ways.
Word count: 2,128
Disclaimer: All character belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury/Scholastic, etc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: Another series for the awdt Valentine Quickies. For the prompts, "being stood up/ dumped", "three's a crowd", "a dozen long stemmed roses", "secret admirer", and "I'm sending you some kisses, I know you like them". That's a lot, but I am now up-to-date! And please disregard my subtle squeeage for Merlin. I really do love that show. Enjoy!
Part 1
Harry grimaced when he left the bookstore. If there was one thing he hated about the Muggle world, it was the way everyone celebrated holidays. Muggles seemed to adore decorations to no end and they didn’t seem to know when to stop. So, Harry was relieved when he was finally able to escape the madness of red, white and pink hearts that taunted him for the last hour. Valentine’s Day was officially stupid and overrated.
It was tradition, though, to get Ron and Hermione something every year. He usually got Ron’s gift once he reached Diagon Alley from Quality Quidditch Supplies or the like since it was out of his way. But for Hermione, Harry always bought her a Muggle book.
She had been delighted when he had presented her first book, which the clerk had suggested. The Life of Merlin, Vita Merlini. At first, he thought the clerk was being ridiculous, because why would Muggles care about some great wizard of all time? But when Harry had skimmed the pages himself, he learned that Merlin had been very involved in not just magical history, but also Arthurian legend. He had been surprised when he found out Hermione actually knew about Camelot, the Pendragons and basically all the folklore of the 12th-century. It had also resulted with Ron glaring at Harry the whole night as Hermione rambled on about the great Camlann battle between King Arthur and Mordred.
Now, a few years later, Harry was carrying a plain rectangular and wrapped parcel in his hand, hoping that this book will suffice. As he walked back to his flat, he couldn’t help but frown.
Harry knew the history about Saint Valentine (thanks to Hermione, once again), and he had never really understood how such a horrible event could create an annual day where people acted as if they had taken huge doses of Amortentia. It was supposed to be about love, but sometimes, it was a bit much. But Valentine’s Day also brought back memories. Like when Ron kept pestering Harry about Romilda Vane after eating the box of chocolate cauldrons during sixth year. Harry had teased him about it for weeks afterward. There had also been Bill and Fleur’s wedding ceremony, the list of engagements between classmates printed in the Daily Prophet…and how there had never really been anyone else after Ginny. After the war, at least.
The memories stopped there. It was a good thing too, because Harry was startled when he heard a small sob come from the green shabby bench occupied by a man with blond hair. He froze. Blond reminded him of fire, noise, fear and-
Just then, the man glanced up, meeting his eyes with a look of grief. Harry released the breath he was holding. Surely, he did not just think this was Malfoy. The last he had heard about Malfoy was that he had moved to France with his parents to do something regarding international relations. It wasn’t like he had kept in touch with the git either, despite saving his arse during combat and in front of the Wizengamot. Harry was really a fool sometimes. Besides, the hair up close looked more golden, he realised, not pale white. The eyes were a brilliant blue rather than a cool grey. And Harry was pretty sure this bloke would be a lot nicer, if he weren’t for his morose state.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked gently, standing there for a moment before taking a seat.
“Everything,” replied the bloke miserably, using the heel of his palm to wipe his eyes. He shook his head and sniffed. “I don’t get it.”
“Err…bad day?”
“Worse than you can imagine. Can you believe it? Valentine’s Day isn’t too far away, and this is what I get?”
Harry bit his lip and shrugged, having a bad feeling about what he was getting himself into. When people talked about Valentine’s Day like this, it usually got pretty ugly. “Did you have an argument?” he persisted, not sure why he felt bad for the bloke all of a sudden.
“Try a break up,” the man bit out angrily. “It wasn’t even my fault. He was the one who decided to fuck this total arse in the stall of a club before going back to his place.”
“Oh,” said Harry lamely, feeling his face flush a bit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I mean, I probably should have expected it. Who would want someone like me anyway?”
“Don’t think like that,” reassured Harry, placing his hand hesitantly on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sure loads of people would like you. They are just too blind to see it.”
The man ran his long fingers through his hair. “I’m glad you think so.”
They sat in silence as they looked out across the street, watching a little girl and her father emerge from the candy shop. The girl clung onto a pink teddy bear that was hugging a heart. The father held the girl’s hand, a paper brown bad hanging on his arm with what Harry suspected was a big box of chocolates and a dozen long stemmed roses. Probably for his wife.
“I shouldn’t have let my grief take over me like that,” the man said a bit dejectedly. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dakin. I apologise you caught me looking worse for wear. And you are?”
Harry stared at the hand in front of him. Perhaps he could just lie to the bloke, especially if he wasn’t going to see him ever again. Just like he did with one-night stands. But the sincerity on Dakin’s face made Harry think otherwise. Perhaps it was time he was honest for once.
“Harry,” he said confidently, accepting the hand and give it a firm squeeze. “And don’t worry about it.
Dakin smiled slightly before letting go. “I didn’t mean to get someone’s attention by feeling sorry for myself, but you know…”
“It’s fine. Really,” insisted Harry. He glanced down, staring at the parcel resting on his lap for a moment. “You don’t happen to like books, do you?”
“As long as it’s good read,” answered Dakin with a shrug. “You’ve got cheap romance novels you can buy at the grocery for the cost of grapes, horror books that will keep you up all night and the occasional adventure book that makes you want to live in that world.”
“I suppose American classics wouldn’t meet your standards then.”
“It depends on what the book is. Not that I would be judging a book by its cover.”
Harry lifted the parcel in his hands, turning it over a few times. He could get Hermione something else. She liked to read too much anyway. He finally decided to offer it to Dakin. “Why don’t you find out then?”
Dakin raised his eyebrows, glancing at Harry with surprise before taking the parcel. He slowly ripped the paper until he held up the book and simply stared at it.
“I guess it’s really that bad,” Harry joked lightly. “I personally thought it was interesting but-”
“What do you mean?” interjected Dakin, flipping through the book with amazement. “F. Scott Fitzgerald is a great writer! Not to mention that this story is famous! If you go to any university, they’ll tell you that The Great Gatsby is a book that must be read, even if you want to be a doctor or a lawyer.”
“I didn’t know. Not many of my friends are familiar with American authors, or even the classics for that matter.”
“You should educate them. They’re missing out.”
“I do have a friend that loves reading though,” explained Harry with a small smile. “She was always the brightest of our class at school, and well, I always buy her a book around this time of year. Naturally, she would be the one that would know about all the classics.”
“You’re not saying that you just gave me her gift because-”
“No! I gave it to you because I wanted to. I…she does have a lot of books piling up on her bookcase anyway. I’ll find her something.”
“You should give this to her,” said Dakin quietly, handing the book back to Harry.
“Keep it,” muttered Harry, shaking his head and pushing it toward Dakin. “There’s still time left and I can reach her through the post. She’ll want to spend time with her boyfriend. He’s a friend of mine too, but sometimes, three’s a crowd.”
If it wasn’t his imagination, Harry was pretty sure Dakin’s lit up with something. Happiness, maybe? Comfort or relief? His mind was trying to thoroughly process what had happened when he almost missed what Dakin said.
“Thank you. For being kind and generous.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Really, Harry,” continued Dakin as he stood up. “You made me feel a lot better.”
“That was the idea,” replied Harry with a grin. Dakin grinned back.
“It worked perfectly.”
Harry nodded and got up from the bench. He watched Dakin give him a nod in return before walking away, book tucked under his arm. This random encounter had been better than sitting at home like usual. Sure, he wasn’t sure what to do about visiting Ron and Hermione this year. Harry had been honest that he wanted to give time for his friends to spend together. Of course, that meant telling them why he wouldn’t be coming over to the Burrow, as if he hadn’t used every excuse before. Besides, Christmas and Easter were already enough.
And he really needed to go out more to meet new people, like Dakin. Dakin, who had a nice sense of humour and if Harry didn’t say so, good looks. That was something he couldn’t ignore. Who knew that a weeping man could be so easily consoled? Usually, Harry had to deal with someone blubbering all over him whenever they told him their life story. At least he wouldn’t have to change into a new shirt later.
All his thoughts were completely forgotten when Harry felt a warm breath ghosting over his neck. He couldn’t help but close his eyes as he felt the sharp and hard angles of a body press up against him.
“I hope to see you again,” murmured a low, sultry voice.
Then it was gone, along with the body contact and the heat. Harry snapped open his eyes, glancing around. But Dakin was nowhere in sight. He was sure that had been Dakin, or someone with a really enticing voice that made his hair stand on end. Harry shivered. Or it could have been his mind playing games with him again. Flustered, he shoved his hands in pockets and walked home.
Harry unlocked the door to his flat, barely shrugging his coat off when he spotted a familiar tawny, tapping against his window.
“Not again,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting the owl in. It cooed before landing on the telly and sticking is leg out. He quickly untied the parchment, petting the owl and watching it take off. As he began to read the letter, he felt his heart stop.
You really are kind and generous. You showed compassion and sentiment to that man when others would simply look the other way. If people knew who you really were, they would send you kisses. I would, but for an entirely different reason. I know you would like them, at least I hope you would.
He reread the letter until his vision blurred. Harry could only come up with a few conclusions, as this letter had come to him oh-so conveniently. He was definitely being watched by a wizard. The sarcasm from the first owl was too crude to come from a witch. Also, this person had been there when Harry had talked to Dakin. Perhaps he was amongst those who decided to sit at the café nearby to enjoy a cup of hot coffee. But this person wanted to kiss him.
Harry wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. Did he know this mysterious person, this secret admirer? Why go through all this trouble, when they just approach him in person? People in the wizarding world had no trouble doing that whenever he walked through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, with pathetic confessions of love for him or overwhelming proposals to have his babies. But of course, letters were easier. There was less chance of rejection. Letters were also frustrating, especially when one was being spied on.
Reading through the sharp clean handwriting once more, Harry rubbed his temples with his fingers. He dropped the parchment on top of the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa. Was it really so much to ask for to live a normal life?
”Yes,” answered his conscience before he drifted off.
Part 3
Author: sugareey
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Harry/??? for this part
Rating: PG
Summary: Advice can come to you in some of the oddest ways.
Word count: 2,128
Disclaimer: All character belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury/Scholastic, etc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: Another series for the awdt Valentine Quickies. For the prompts, "being stood up/ dumped", "three's a crowd", "a dozen long stemmed roses", "secret admirer", and "I'm sending you some kisses, I know you like them". That's a lot, but I am now up-to-date! And please disregard my subtle squeeage for Merlin. I really do love that show. Enjoy!
Part 1
Harry grimaced when he left the bookstore. If there was one thing he hated about the Muggle world, it was the way everyone celebrated holidays. Muggles seemed to adore decorations to no end and they didn’t seem to know when to stop. So, Harry was relieved when he was finally able to escape the madness of red, white and pink hearts that taunted him for the last hour. Valentine’s Day was officially stupid and overrated.
It was tradition, though, to get Ron and Hermione something every year. He usually got Ron’s gift once he reached Diagon Alley from Quality Quidditch Supplies or the like since it was out of his way. But for Hermione, Harry always bought her a Muggle book.
She had been delighted when he had presented her first book, which the clerk had suggested. The Life of Merlin, Vita Merlini. At first, he thought the clerk was being ridiculous, because why would Muggles care about some great wizard of all time? But when Harry had skimmed the pages himself, he learned that Merlin had been very involved in not just magical history, but also Arthurian legend. He had been surprised when he found out Hermione actually knew about Camelot, the Pendragons and basically all the folklore of the 12th-century. It had also resulted with Ron glaring at Harry the whole night as Hermione rambled on about the great Camlann battle between King Arthur and Mordred.
Now, a few years later, Harry was carrying a plain rectangular and wrapped parcel in his hand, hoping that this book will suffice. As he walked back to his flat, he couldn’t help but frown.
Harry knew the history about Saint Valentine (thanks to Hermione, once again), and he had never really understood how such a horrible event could create an annual day where people acted as if they had taken huge doses of Amortentia. It was supposed to be about love, but sometimes, it was a bit much. But Valentine’s Day also brought back memories. Like when Ron kept pestering Harry about Romilda Vane after eating the box of chocolate cauldrons during sixth year. Harry had teased him about it for weeks afterward. There had also been Bill and Fleur’s wedding ceremony, the list of engagements between classmates printed in the Daily Prophet…and how there had never really been anyone else after Ginny. After the war, at least.
The memories stopped there. It was a good thing too, because Harry was startled when he heard a small sob come from the green shabby bench occupied by a man with blond hair. He froze. Blond reminded him of fire, noise, fear and-
Just then, the man glanced up, meeting his eyes with a look of grief. Harry released the breath he was holding. Surely, he did not just think this was Malfoy. The last he had heard about Malfoy was that he had moved to France with his parents to do something regarding international relations. It wasn’t like he had kept in touch with the git either, despite saving his arse during combat and in front of the Wizengamot. Harry was really a fool sometimes. Besides, the hair up close looked more golden, he realised, not pale white. The eyes were a brilliant blue rather than a cool grey. And Harry was pretty sure this bloke would be a lot nicer, if he weren’t for his morose state.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked gently, standing there for a moment before taking a seat.
“Everything,” replied the bloke miserably, using the heel of his palm to wipe his eyes. He shook his head and sniffed. “I don’t get it.”
“Err…bad day?”
“Worse than you can imagine. Can you believe it? Valentine’s Day isn’t too far away, and this is what I get?”
Harry bit his lip and shrugged, having a bad feeling about what he was getting himself into. When people talked about Valentine’s Day like this, it usually got pretty ugly. “Did you have an argument?” he persisted, not sure why he felt bad for the bloke all of a sudden.
“Try a break up,” the man bit out angrily. “It wasn’t even my fault. He was the one who decided to fuck this total arse in the stall of a club before going back to his place.”
“Oh,” said Harry lamely, feeling his face flush a bit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I mean, I probably should have expected it. Who would want someone like me anyway?”
“Don’t think like that,” reassured Harry, placing his hand hesitantly on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sure loads of people would like you. They are just too blind to see it.”
The man ran his long fingers through his hair. “I’m glad you think so.”
They sat in silence as they looked out across the street, watching a little girl and her father emerge from the candy shop. The girl clung onto a pink teddy bear that was hugging a heart. The father held the girl’s hand, a paper brown bad hanging on his arm with what Harry suspected was a big box of chocolates and a dozen long stemmed roses. Probably for his wife.
“I shouldn’t have let my grief take over me like that,” the man said a bit dejectedly. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dakin. I apologise you caught me looking worse for wear. And you are?”
Harry stared at the hand in front of him. Perhaps he could just lie to the bloke, especially if he wasn’t going to see him ever again. Just like he did with one-night stands. But the sincerity on Dakin’s face made Harry think otherwise. Perhaps it was time he was honest for once.
“Harry,” he said confidently, accepting the hand and give it a firm squeeze. “And don’t worry about it.
Dakin smiled slightly before letting go. “I didn’t mean to get someone’s attention by feeling sorry for myself, but you know…”
“It’s fine. Really,” insisted Harry. He glanced down, staring at the parcel resting on his lap for a moment. “You don’t happen to like books, do you?”
“As long as it’s good read,” answered Dakin with a shrug. “You’ve got cheap romance novels you can buy at the grocery for the cost of grapes, horror books that will keep you up all night and the occasional adventure book that makes you want to live in that world.”
“I suppose American classics wouldn’t meet your standards then.”
“It depends on what the book is. Not that I would be judging a book by its cover.”
Harry lifted the parcel in his hands, turning it over a few times. He could get Hermione something else. She liked to read too much anyway. He finally decided to offer it to Dakin. “Why don’t you find out then?”
Dakin raised his eyebrows, glancing at Harry with surprise before taking the parcel. He slowly ripped the paper until he held up the book and simply stared at it.
“I guess it’s really that bad,” Harry joked lightly. “I personally thought it was interesting but-”
“What do you mean?” interjected Dakin, flipping through the book with amazement. “F. Scott Fitzgerald is a great writer! Not to mention that this story is famous! If you go to any university, they’ll tell you that The Great Gatsby is a book that must be read, even if you want to be a doctor or a lawyer.”
“I didn’t know. Not many of my friends are familiar with American authors, or even the classics for that matter.”
“You should educate them. They’re missing out.”
“I do have a friend that loves reading though,” explained Harry with a small smile. “She was always the brightest of our class at school, and well, I always buy her a book around this time of year. Naturally, she would be the one that would know about all the classics.”
“You’re not saying that you just gave me her gift because-”
“No! I gave it to you because I wanted to. I…she does have a lot of books piling up on her bookcase anyway. I’ll find her something.”
“You should give this to her,” said Dakin quietly, handing the book back to Harry.
“Keep it,” muttered Harry, shaking his head and pushing it toward Dakin. “There’s still time left and I can reach her through the post. She’ll want to spend time with her boyfriend. He’s a friend of mine too, but sometimes, three’s a crowd.”
If it wasn’t his imagination, Harry was pretty sure Dakin’s lit up with something. Happiness, maybe? Comfort or relief? His mind was trying to thoroughly process what had happened when he almost missed what Dakin said.
“Thank you. For being kind and generous.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Really, Harry,” continued Dakin as he stood up. “You made me feel a lot better.”
“That was the idea,” replied Harry with a grin. Dakin grinned back.
“It worked perfectly.”
Harry nodded and got up from the bench. He watched Dakin give him a nod in return before walking away, book tucked under his arm. This random encounter had been better than sitting at home like usual. Sure, he wasn’t sure what to do about visiting Ron and Hermione this year. Harry had been honest that he wanted to give time for his friends to spend together. Of course, that meant telling them why he wouldn’t be coming over to the Burrow, as if he hadn’t used every excuse before. Besides, Christmas and Easter were already enough.
And he really needed to go out more to meet new people, like Dakin. Dakin, who had a nice sense of humour and if Harry didn’t say so, good looks. That was something he couldn’t ignore. Who knew that a weeping man could be so easily consoled? Usually, Harry had to deal with someone blubbering all over him whenever they told him their life story. At least he wouldn’t have to change into a new shirt later.
All his thoughts were completely forgotten when Harry felt a warm breath ghosting over his neck. He couldn’t help but close his eyes as he felt the sharp and hard angles of a body press up against him.
“I hope to see you again,” murmured a low, sultry voice.
Then it was gone, along with the body contact and the heat. Harry snapped open his eyes, glancing around. But Dakin was nowhere in sight. He was sure that had been Dakin, or someone with a really enticing voice that made his hair stand on end. Harry shivered. Or it could have been his mind playing games with him again. Flustered, he shoved his hands in pockets and walked home.
Harry unlocked the door to his flat, barely shrugging his coat off when he spotted a familiar tawny, tapping against his window.
“Not again,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting the owl in. It cooed before landing on the telly and sticking is leg out. He quickly untied the parchment, petting the owl and watching it take off. As he began to read the letter, he felt his heart stop.
You really are kind and generous. You showed compassion and sentiment to that man when others would simply look the other way. If people knew who you really were, they would send you kisses. I would, but for an entirely different reason. I know you would like them, at least I hope you would.
He reread the letter until his vision blurred. Harry could only come up with a few conclusions, as this letter had come to him oh-so conveniently. He was definitely being watched by a wizard. The sarcasm from the first owl was too crude to come from a witch. Also, this person had been there when Harry had talked to Dakin. Perhaps he was amongst those who decided to sit at the café nearby to enjoy a cup of hot coffee. But this person wanted to kiss him.
Harry wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. Did he know this mysterious person, this secret admirer? Why go through all this trouble, when they just approach him in person? People in the wizarding world had no trouble doing that whenever he walked through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, with pathetic confessions of love for him or overwhelming proposals to have his babies. But of course, letters were easier. There was less chance of rejection. Letters were also frustrating, especially when one was being spied on.
Reading through the sharp clean handwriting once more, Harry rubbed his temples with his fingers. He dropped the parchment on top of the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa. Was it really so much to ask for to live a normal life?
”Yes,” answered his conscience before he drifted off.
Part 3