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‘Potter just asked me on a date.’
This is what I say when I get out of the Floo, my heart coming out of my throat.
Pans is stretched out on her couch with a book and a glass of wine. Her black-rimmed reading glasses flash at me and her lips curl as I stand there out of breath because I’ve just ran for my life to get here. And away from Potter as fast as I could.
‘Oh Draco,’ she says and I don’t like her tone.
It’s the tone she always uses with me as she slowly shakes her head and says “sweet summer child". She usually pets my hair then and I’ll never admit that I like it, because it makes me feel like she has my back, and I know she does. Anyway, I can’t be blamed for being a summer child, now can I? Blame my parents.
Yes, I do know what “sweet summer child” means. My brain sidetracks into non-sense when I’m nervous.
And I’m so bloody nervous right now that I snatch her glass and drink it down before I collapse on her couch, face in my hands. The wine burns my throat and I need more. I’ve just made a complete fool of myself in front of Potter.
‘I’m so stupid,’ I say and she closes the book with a sigh.
‘Did you say no?’ she asks.
I look up at her and she’s levitating the bottle of wine from the other side of the living room, Merlin bless her, and filling the glass again. I empty it in one go before I answer her.
‘I said yes.’
Because I’m fucking stupid and I’ve been dreaming he’d ask me out one day and I can’t stop thinking about him. And then I fucking ran away from him, because I’m deranged like that.
‘Then you’re less stupid than you think. That was really brave of you,’ she says and I hate her. Why does she always make me feel like a better person than I am?
‘It’s fucking ridiculous. I said yes, then I left him there, standing,’ I swallow. ‘Looking stupidly hot in his fucking Auror robes.’
She laughs.
‘Well done, Draco. Men love a mystery, didn’t you know? He’s probably all worked up right now, wondering why you left...’
‘Yeah, he’d be totally baffled by the reason,’ I say, in my best grim tone. ‘Hey, I left because I fucking can’t keep from getting a hard-on everytime you speak to me. Fucking romantic.’
Pansy serves me more wine. We’ve been friends for so long she’s totally unimpressed by my language or drama.
‘You should tell him that,’ she says, like that’s so easy and I’ve not been trying to hide this exact fact from Potter for years now.
‘Right. Then I’d check myself into St. Mungos, if he didn’t hex me on the spot and send me there himself.’
Suddenly it seems like a good idea.
‘Oh Draco,’ she sighs and it’s the sweet summer child tone again. I’m probably missing something around here, but I don’t care. She knows nothing.
Pansy picks up the glass, fills it again and this time she’s the one to drink it down. I have the distinct impression she’s trying to be patient and that’s never a good sign with her.
‘He just asked you out. I’m sure he did not do that just to better hex you in a more public setting.’
I ignore her sarcasm. She arches an eyebrow at me, but I’m immune. I know her eyebrow-lift. I also know her theory. She seems to believe, in her alternate version of reality, that Potter is besotted with me. She fucking believes he’s been pining over me for ages. She even tried to convince me this was true by telling me that even Granger thinks so. Like that proves anything. Really. She thinks it does. Something about Granger never being wrong and knowing Potter better than anyone. I think they’re both delusional. Potter doesn’t even look at me while I’ve done nothing with my life except pretend I’m not fucking hung up on him. I even tried dating other blokes but they all had the problem of not being Harry Potter. Apparently my kink is too specific for the universe to have fucking mercy on me.
‘This is going to be a fucking disaster. I don’t know how to date. You know this. Most days I can’t even string two sentences together around him. I had him repeat the fucking question three times.’
I don’t tell her that happened because I could not stop watching his lips as he spoke, instead of fucking paying attention to what he was saying. Sue me. I have an imagination. It works better at perfectly inappropriate times.
‘And then I said yes and left. He must think I’m mental.’
Merlin, I think I’m mental. It’s funny how the War fucked me up and the man that ended it seems to be finishing the job nicely.
‘Where’s he going to take you?’
Her tone is casual. Normal. Like this is a normal thing that happens every day. Like a Potter and a Malfoy dating is a normal version of reality anywhere in the world. I wouldn’t even think it normal in a work of fiction. But Pansy is a believer in impossible things. Must be from all the books she reads. I’m sure her new found friendship with Granger is also to be blamed for this. I remember a time when Pans was the sceptic one. Now, look at her. I refuse to do just that now - look at her - because I know what she’s doing. She wants to make me talk. If I keep talking I’ll convince myself this is real and I stand a chance. Yeah, a chance to make a total and complete fool of myself - my mind supplies. But I answer, trying the words in my mouth just to check if they sound insane.
‘Some Muggle restaurant. He says it’s very famous, italian. He said he’d prefer somewhere Muggle because of the Prophet’s reporters always lurking. He doesn’t want us to be bothered by them.’
They do sound insane, thank you very much. I’m tense. I just said I’d go out with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. On a fucking date. Even in my head the words date plus Harry Potter make me feel like I want to throw up. I can’t breathe. Tomorrow at 7 pm I’ll be having a heart attack. I can feel it already. I jump from the couch and pace the room.
‘Why does he always know what to say to me, while I just stand there looking like an idiot? He always knows what to do. And he’s fucking sexy doing it. Why? Why is he so fucking hot? Why does he have to wear those fucking robes? No one looks that good in fucking ministry official clothing. One’s not supposed to look good. Seriously, look at Weasley. Look at Kingsley. It’s the same fucking attire. Why?’
The wine on my empty stomach makes my tongue loose. I snatch the bottle from Pansy’s hands and drink directly from it. My manners just took a time-out, together with my sanity. Which reminds me I can’t have any wine on my date with Potter. I’m told I get really fucking honest when I drink. I could end up telling I’m fucking, hopelessly, in love with him.
I’m going on a date with Potter. Tomorrow. I’m not even sure I like italian. I’m probably allergic. I shouldn’t even go out during the week. I’ve been working too hard. I have an early start the next morning. Potter works in the same building I do, even though we don’t work together this probably counts as dating your co-worker and certainly there are rules against this sort of behaviour. I can’t go out with him, this is totally irresponsible. I’m going to fuck up my life. Potter is going to fuck up my life. I’m insane. Why does he want to have a date with an ex-Death-Eater? Is he crazy? He’s probably crazy. The War left him so fucked up he thinks he wants to be around people like me. His friends should tell him this is not a good idea. Don’t they worry about him? I mean. Granger should stop this. She knows about this date, she knows everything that goes on in Potter’s life. Why didn’t she stop him? I should have sneered and said no. Why didn’t I do that? I feel sick. I am sick. I need bed rest. I can’t go. I’m going to owl him and politely excuse myself. Yes.
‘Stop right there,’ it’s Pans and she looks dead serious. I don’t like this. It’s like she knows what I’m thinking. Or was I speaking out loud?
‘I know what you’re doing, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and you’re going to stop right fucking now.’
I even stop pacing the room, the bottle of wine in my hand. I cling to it like a lifeline, watching Pansy for signs that she’s going to try and take it from me. I’m sick, I want to tell her. I feel feverish. Really, I need to see a Healer. She’ll have none of that. So I change tactics.
‘I’m perfectly fine being single,’ I hear myself say. ‘I’ve got it all figured out. I don’t need to date. Dates are for straight people. I just need to fuck and I can’t fuck Potter, so this is useless.’
Yes, sometimes I do believe this. Pansy snorts. Really, she has no respect for me whatsoever.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being single, Draco. I’m perfectly happy with it, as you know. But I haven’t been pining over my ex-arch-enemy half my life, so yeah, I’m great,’ she points at me, for emphasis. I take a long sip from the bottle.
‘You’re not. You’ve been dreaming about something like this for how long?’
I hate it when she’s all knowing and reasonable. When did she get like this? I think she spends way too much time with Hermione Granger - to hell with all that talk about being single, I do think there’s something going on there between them. I stare back at her. Well, look at me, I can’t even phantom a snarky comeback to give my oldest friend. I resort to drinking.
‘Let me tell you what’s gonna happen. You are going home, you’re going to take a long bath,’ she says and snatches the bottle away from me. I don’t react.
‘You’re not touching any more wine and you’re gonna think clothes. For tomorrow.’
I start shaking my head. She has to understand I won’t be able to go, because I’ll be sick tomorrow. I’ll be calling in sick at work, too. I open my mouth to explain just that and she silences me with one of her looks. Outch. You don’t want to be on the other side of those looks, I tell you.
‘Yes. You are. I suggest those new trousers you bought, the tight black ones, to show off your arse. Then if you run out of things to say, you just have to get up and walk over to the loo like you don’t have a care in the world. Believe me, he will look.’
She has a weird sort of smile on her face. It’s like she knows something I don’t and that makes me want to kill her. I decide just to contradict her, it’s safer. Also, Azkaban is a place I don’t want to come back to, ever. I promised Potter he’d never have to save me again.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Oh Draco.’
This time, I simply stare at her with what I think might be my murderous look number 24, but she’s also immune to it. I sigh. This is no fun.
‘Tell me again why I want to do this.’
I sound hopeless. She’s quite ready for this, as I knew she would be.
‘First of: because you’ve been fucking crushing over him since the end of the fucking War and you’re driving me and Blaise crazy - crazier , at least,’ she adjusts her glasses, looking all important.
‘Secondly, because he’s your fucking personal hero, the one that got you out of Azkaban and he always asks about your mom and you know you love that,’ she smiles. I can't deny anything.
‘Thirdly, because you fucking want to shag him and if he knows what’s good for him he’ll want that too. And last, but not least, because I, and Granger - take note of this - say so.’
I cross my arms over my chest.
‘I don’t want to shag him. I don’t want to shag anyone. Ever. I should go celibate.’
‘That’s funny Draco, but I can’t afford that. You assault my mother’s wine cellar everytime you go out of sex for more than two months. And this is Potter we’re talking about.’
‘That’s the problem, Pans. We’re friends now. I don’t want to mess it up. And I will.’
I’m a natural pessimist. I wake up and my mind conjures seven possible terrible outcomes for the day ahead without even breaking a sweat. By breakfast I have already planned the end of the world in twenty one variations, ask anyone. I can turn every good thing into an apocalyptic realistic scenario and in such detail I could fucking write a book series about living inside my head. Seriously, I should just get a pseudonym and do it. Pans would probably read it, even though she’s familiar with most of the plot. It’s even worse when Potter is the issue. I’m still coming to terms with the fact that he considers me his friend. That he likes to be around me. Seriously, that bloke has issues, right? Right.
Enter exhibit A: all of a sudden, out of the fucking clear blue, he asks me out. On a date. He actually used the word - three times, mind you - otherwise I wouldn’t believe it. And I just know I’m going to fuck it all up because I always fuck it up with him. Ask anyone. But not Pans. She’ll tell you it’s not true. She likes me too much, okay? She has issues too.
I still think this is a very bad idea. The worst. A mistake, and I’ve done many. But suddenly I know I’m going to do it. No matter how difficult it will be or how ridiculous I’ll look, I’ll do it. Even if I end up fucking our friendship forever. I sink on the couch again, looking miserable - I’m sure. Pansy smiles.
‘Just imagine he’s going to be all sweaty after a day’s work…’
Seriously, Pansy, do you think that helps? Like I need to imagine him all sweaty and naked and in my bed... But then she goes on and I get her meaning.
‘...and under-dressed for the occasion, wearing those ratty trainers you hate. And when he sees you he’s going to make a fool of himself because you’re Draco Malfoy, you always look good and you can handle him. You always did handle him, right?’
Well. I always had some sort of comeback. Even if it was kinda childish. And stupid. Not that it matters now, we’re not the same boys anymore. We’ve come a long way. Even I did.
I focus on the ratty trainers. He wears them too much. They’re old. But they’re so… Harry. Casual. Down to earth. Human. With no pretence. I’m everything he’s not. And I love him.
Pansy picks up her book. I sort of cuddle next to her. Don’t tell anyone. Heck, I don’t care, I’m a cuddly person around people I love. Life is too short.
‘What are you reading anyway?’ I ask her.
Her eyes brighten up.
‘This awesome novel Hermione recommended me. There’s this fucked up political plot and a brilliant critique of the establishment, like seriously good. And then there’s this main character… Actually I think the author was inspired by Potter himself to create this bloke, the resemblance is extraordinary. He has this very dangerous job and he’s fucking sex-’
‘Forget I asked.’
***
First thing I notice is he’s not wearing the ratty trainers, he actually has a pair of trainers that looks new and they’re black and I don’t hate them. Fuck. I can’t stop my fucking eyes from travelling all over his body and I’d never seen Harry Potter dressed-up and this is him dressed-up, I’m sure. He’s wearing a tight black shirt that fits him way too well and I’m about to have a fucking heart attack. As I predicted. I had to fight 235 perfectly reasonable excuses out of my head to be here and now all of them are presenting themselves to me as an escape route.
I want to bolt. His eyes are trained on me. He has that half-shy, half-shag-me smile and I look away fast because who can take a smile like that? Where’s the fucking table?
There it is. We sit. I thank Merlin and the universe for the fucking menu on my hands because it gives me something to do, so I can pretend I’m not fucking awkward for like five minutes. Or ten. I think I can stare at the menu for fifteen minutes and play it cool. I stare at the words in italian. There’s an excuse to stare some more. No?
He’s talking to me. He looks awkward. Sweet. He asks me what wine I prefer and I’m answering even before I know it. He calls the waiter and orders for us. He’s even awkward with the waiter. He keeps pushing his glasses up his nose. Does he not know those things can be fixed? Why does he still wear glasses? He’s a fucking Wizard, he could fix his eyesight. But that would be a pity. The glasses really look good on him. Oh no. He’s adorable. Why is he adorable? He was never adorable before. What’s happening? Help, Pans! I can’t deal with adorable. I can’t deal with fucking sexy. And he’s both. All my weaknesses wrapped into one. The chosen one. I’m so fucked. I wish.
I stare at him and I know I’m supposed to say something, this is a two person thing, but my tongue feels tied up in a knot and now my brain is supplying me with an immense array of images of Potter tying me down to his bed because I fucking can’t help it. Seriously, why does my mind work like this? It’s like a fucking porn fest in here.
He’s looking at me and I fucking search for something to say. Something not porny.
‘How was your day?’
Fucking kill me now. How was your day? Seriously? Elaborate, Draco. Really. You’re a charm. Next time ask him where he sees himself in five years. Clearly, not on your bed if you fucking keep this up.
He gives a quiet laugh. He seems totally untroubled by my lack of originality. His smile puts tiny dimples on his face and I wish I didn’t notice them but now I do and I want to kiss them. And that’s another stupid train of thought. I can’t escape my fucking mind. He’s talking, I tune in.
‘Er… I kinda spent the whole day thinking about our date, fretting,’ he laughs. He’s nervous and his laugh goes through me and I can’t breathe. ‘And then I got off work and went to beg Hermione to help me decide what to dress.’
What?! He blushes. I blush. We’re a pair of flowers on a wall, really. Fucking kill me, but I laugh too.
‘You look really nice,’ I say and bite my tongue. Nice? Right, nice. Nice as in I would fuck you right now and I can’t deal with how “nice” you look and now I know that Granger is to blame and fuck her too for having such nice taste. And fuck Potter for letting me know this. Oh no, stop right there brain.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he says suddenly.
Well, that was effective. If he’d stunned me the effect wouldn’t be much different. My brain has stopped and my face burns up. I don’t even care because he’s completely flushed himself.
‘But you always do,’ he adds.
I’m at a loss for words, trying to get a grip on reality. My mind is supplying me with the information that this is not as one-sided as I thought and I’m not ready to receive the memo yet. I grip my glass and drink it down even though I promised I wouldn’t drink around him. I feel drunk just from him, anyway.
‘Sorry, I-’ he rans a hand through his hair and all I can think of is how much I want to be that hand right fucking now.
Before I know it I’m stopping him mid-sentence.
‘No, it’s fine. I… actually like it that you think so.’
Oh Merlin, and now I’m being honest? Me? What’s wrong with me? I’m a Slytherin. This is Harry fucking Potter. Where are my snarky comebacks and shitty arrogance? They always kept me alive, and now I’m just being honest? He’s staring at me, eyes wide - seriously, were they ever this green? - and he looks completely lost. And fucking gorgeous.
‘Fuck. I don’t ever know what to say around you,’ he says.
Excuse me, but what?! That’s my line.
I tell him so, he laughs. The universe is sending me all kinds of mixed signals because I’m making Harry Potter laugh and I can’t get a grip on myself. Half of me is having a panic attack, the other half is contemplating the surreal possibility of him actually liking me.
‘I want to go back on what I said before. You also look gorgeous. Granger has great taste.’
There. I said it. I’m about to throw up and the only thing that keeps me from it is the look on his face. He’s bewildered.
‘I can’t believe it. You just paid me another compliment, two in a row. Are you even real?’
‘Very much so, Potter. Don’t get used to it, though.’
‘Wouldn’t think of it.’
It’s like I can’t stop my mouth. He’s laughing. The food looks fucking good but none of us are eating. I want to kiss him. I imagine leaning over the table and grabbing his shirt and just like that tease his mouth open under mine. It’s so real in my mind I can hear him gasp and I’m straining against my pants. Fucking nightmare.
Seriously Draco, just focus on the present because Potter is here and you’re wasting it. Just fucking enjoy it. He’s looking at you. His eyes are really something. Crap.
Suddenly we’re really talking. I don’t know how but he’s telling me about his life with the Dursleys. The Muggle family who treated him like shit. I decide I don’t like them one bit. Later on, after I know about the fucking cupboard under the stairs, I decide I hate them and that they’re on my murder list. Without noticing I’m telling him about the Manor. How I don’t go there any more because it reminds me of too much shit. He listens closely. He never judges. I’m falling for him even more and I didn’t even knew that was possible. We drink. We talk Quidditch. He tells me about the Weasleys. He tells me about Weasley and Granger’s breakup and how they’re trying to find a new life without each other. I tell him about Blaise and his boyfriends (he has two, and they all get along) and Pans and her love of books. He also thinks there’s something with her and Granger. We plan how to confront them. We talk and talk, I realise we’ve been talking for hours. The food is cold, I’m not hungry. Not for food, at least. And all the time I notice everything about him. How he’s always nice to the waiter. How he always remembers what I’ve said, even if it was weeks ago. How his smile is breathtaking. How he laughs so hard his eyes tear up. He’s so beautiful. What’s worse is he fucking has no idea how hot he is. Suddenly I want to enlighten him. To make him see. He’s staring at me and we’ve both stopped talking for some time. The silence is not even awkward. His hand is on the table. I want to reach out and touch him. I imagine doing it over and over in my head, all the thousand ways I could lean in and brush my fingers over his. I don’t do it.
‘Want to get out of here?’ he asks, and I imagine his voice is shaking.
Yes, I scream inside my head. But I don’t really know what he means. Are we leaving together? Is he taking me somewhere? Does he want me to ask him over? Or?...
‘Yeah, it’s, er, late,’ I say, instead. Like a fucking idiot.
There was once a time when I had all the smart comebacks and could pin anyone down with my snark. Now I pin myself down. It’s pitiful, really. I wish I could show him how funny I am. I’m always making Pansy laugh. And Blaise. I’m fun to be around and I can’t even show it to him.
He’s about to ask for the paycheck and then it will be over. I make a gesture towards my wallet but he stops me with his hand on mine and I’m on fire.
‘Let me, please. I invited you.’
He smiles. He seems about to say something else, but then he doesn’t. I nod, my mind is on overdrive. He’s going to leave, it’s over, this was my one chance at him and I wasted it. My whole body is burning.
We’re out on the sidewalk and I stand there wishing for a cigarette. Or a kiss.
‘So…’ I say, because I’m great at this fucking shit and I can’t even tell him how much I enjoyed this and how desperate I am for him to fuck me on his bed or anywhere else for that matter.
‘I really liked this,’ he says. Because he fucking knows what to say and acts like a normal person even though he’s the less normal you could get in the wizarding world.
‘Me too,’ I say, jumping on his train, but getting out on the next stop anyway.
My mind is reeling. I want to kiss him. I can’t think of anything else, I want to lean over and kiss him, and I want him to press me down against the wall and kiss me back. My body is under a fucking assault as I try to suppress the images, so I don’t notice that he’s moving closer to me.
‘I’m thinking... ‘
‘Is that a good thing?’ I ask, snarky, because I can’t deal with this closeness. He smells like summer, and polished wood and my mouth is watering.
He laughs and this close it’s even worse because it almost reverberates through me and his laugh is contagious and I want to drink it down. Suck it down. Seriously, Draco, get your mind out of the fucking gutter.
‘I want you, Draco. I’m completely hung up on you.’
I’m so fucking shocked by this that my mouth hangs open and all I see are green eyes on me like a fucking hex. He’s waiting for me to say something. And suddenly my brain unfreezes and I resort to grammar, because I’m fucking brilliant like that.
‘Hung up is what you say when you’re pining for someone who doesn’t want you back,’ I inform him, all snide and posh voice. ‘It’s not what you say when the other person is fucking head over heels with you.’
I don’t pause to take in his reaction. I don’t pause to let it sink in inside me. I don’t pause to let all my anxiety win over me.
My lips crash over his and he gasps under me and from then it’s fucking on, because I forget everything.
He’s kissing me and my back hits the wall, and it’s a good thing too because my legs are giving in and I can’t breathe. He drags his tongue over my lips, his teeth bite on my lip and nothing could have stopped the moan out of my mouth. And, oh Merlin, he’s moaning inside my mouth and I’m fucking going to come in my pants from this.
‘Apparate us, Harry,’ it’s my voice, hoarse, inside his mouth. He grabs my waist and then, as if pulled irresistibly down, his hands drop and cover my arse, pressing us flushed together. I cry out.
I spare two last thoughts for the rest of the world: fucking Pansy and Granger were right. I’ll never - ever - doubt them again.
And then, for the first time in fucking years, I stop thinking altogether. I just let go.