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“You’re being ridiculous. Just go out there and ask him,” Draco said to himself as he paced up and down an isolated hallway of the DMLE.
Truth be told, Draco had become quite the habitué of this particular hallway. With its eggshell-coloured walls and worn-down beige carpet—likely his doing—it had become a refuge, offering much-needed solace to sort through the mayhem of his thoughts. Thoughts that always seemed to pertain to a certain visually impaired wizard.
“All you have to do is walk out there, open your mouth, and say the words,” he said, pointing to the rows of cubicles at the center of Level Two.
He’d made a promise to himself (a stupid promise, really) that he would finally tell Potter how he felt by Valentine’s Day. Well, technically, Draco planned to ask him on a date, and then let the chips fall where they may.
If Draco told Potter how he really felt—how effortlessly cool and charismatic he was, how genuinely kind he’d turned out to be once Draco got to know him, how fit he’d become (enough to make Draco drool at least once a day), or just how hopelessly in love Draco had fallen—Potter would surely be be weirded out, and would never speak to him again.
When Draco began his career as an Auror exactly three years ago, this was far from the future he envisioned. At one point, his plan had been simple: First, he would right his wrongs by catching dark wizards rather than being one. Second, after a tearful, yet supportive, coming out to his parents, he’d be ready to play the field.
Enter Harry Fucking Potter.
Draco had tried. He really did.
He had tried not to fall for Potter’s ridiculous, tousled black hair or his deep, warm laugh that reverberated uncomfortably low in Draco’s gut. Or the fact that Potter looked utterly adorable when his glasses were askew on his face, which was 85% of the time.
In the end, it was no use.
It had only taken two bloody weeks for Draco to realise he was a goner.
But today was the day he was going to do something about it.
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Draco’s heart thundered in his ears as he forced his feet forward, heading straight for the bustling center of the DMLE. The Pit consisted of four rows of cubicles in the dead center of Level Two, where he hoped to find Potter.
Draco strode past offices and down hallways, making a point not to slow his momentum. Hesitation would invite rationalization, which would ultimately cause him to fall back into complacency.
“The worst thing that he could say is ‘No’,” Draco muttered, continuing toward the cubicles.
If uninterested, Potter would no doubt let him down gently. Three years of yearning gave Draco the opportunity to learn many things about the wizard, and it wasn’t in Potter’s nature to be cruel.
And if that reality came to pass, he could finally let go, quit entertaining every ‘what if’, every unattainable daydream he’d been too weak to abandon.
And maybe… just maybe, he could move on.
With each muffled step against the neutral-toned carpet, the beat of his heart knocked harshly against his ribs. Draco inhaled a deep breath, allowing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment once the chaos of the Pit came into view.
He needed to calm down, lest he have a heart attack before he could even find Potter.
Draco kept his eyes trained on the floor as he turned sharply down the second aisle, only to collide with a solid body.
He looked up to find none other than his best friend and flatmate, Theodore Nott.
“Whoa there, mate. Where’s the fiendfyre?” Theo caught him by the shoulders, steadying them both. His cheeky grin curved upward, giving Draco a few playful pats.
“Oh, I—um—I was just,” Draco stammered.
Before he had the opportunity to form a coherent sentence, an adorably scruffy-haired Potter poked his head into the aisle. “Theo, what time should I be—” Potter broke off as his gaze fell on Draco. A warm, easy smile spread across his face. “Oh, hi, Malfoy!”
Several seconds passed before Draco realised he was standing there, openly gawking.
Draco cleared his throat and ran a hand through his pale hair. “Um, hi, Potter.”
“Well…” Theo said slowly, his gaze flicking between him and Potter. “I’m off… to see a wizard… about a cursed arse plug.”
Theo turned to Potter. “Oh, and to answer your question, eight o’clock sharp. Can’t have you late for our first date.”
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Date.
Date.
The word echoed over and over in Draco’s mind as he roamed the dreary streets of his and Theo’s neighborhood in Muggle London.
Draco had left the Ministry thirty minutes earlier than normal, flooing to the Leaky, then opting to walk the rest of the way home.
But Draco couldn’t go home, especially if Potter planned on meeting Theo there.
Theo.
Draco should have told Theo about his feelings for Potter. Instead, he’d kept them buried, clinging to the foolish hope that they would fade with time, that he would outgrow them, eventually.
But he never had.
And now Potter was dating Theo.
“Malfoy?”
Draco lifted his gaze from the slick, rain-coated sidewalk and froze. Harry Potter stood across from him, that familiar smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
For a heartbeat, Draco could do nothing but stare, dumbfounded by the universe’s apparent delight in his suffering.
“I thought that was you! A bit of a gloomy night for a walk, isn’t it?”
“Oh… um, yeah, I suppose,” Draco muttered, his stomach twisting at the sight of just how bloody gorgeous Potter looked.
A delicious five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. His thin, silver-framed glasses were slightly askew, as always. And under his tan peacoat, Potter was wearing the form-fitted deep purple button-up that Draco adored. The one that made his green eyes breathtakingly bright.
“So, any word of advice or warnings I should heed?” Potter inquired, yanking Draco back to the present once again.
Draco’s brows knitted together. “Sorry?”
“About Theo,” Potter clarified, then quickly waved a hand. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Oh, no… no, nothing comes to mind. Theo is—” he trailed off, struggling to meet Potter’s gaze. “Honestly, he’s the best. Funny, clever, fiercely loyal… there isn’t a single flaw I could warn you about. Theo is exceptional.” Draco finally looked up, catching Potter’s dazzling green eyes. “You’re a lucky man.”
The smile Potter had greeted Draco with at the start of their conversation dimmed slightly as he offered a curt nod.
“Thank you. That’s… that’s really great to know.”
Silence settled between them, rain tapping softly against the pavement as heat crept into Draco’s cheeks.
“Um… it was nice seeing you, Malfoy,” Potter said, turning away.
Draco shook his head, unable to trust his voice.
When Potter started to walk away, Draco’s hand shot out instinctively, grabbing the cuff of his peacoat.
“Potter… wait.”
Potter turned back, a look of anticipation on his face.
Draco swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Everything I said about Theo is true. He’s brilliant. Kind. He deserves you.” His voice faltered, but he pressed on, words coming out faster. “But there’s something you need to know. No matter how perfect Theo is, or how well the two of you fit… he could never love you like I can. Like I… do.”
The corners of Potter’s mouth lifted instantly. “That’s… what Theo said,” he replied. “More or less. Hold on… did you say love?”
Draco scoffed. “Leave it to you to be blind as a bat, but have super sonic hearing.”
A hardy laugh escaped Potter’s throat. “Well, in the spirit of transparency… the feeling’s mutual.”
Potter extended his hand, slow and certain. “We still have time to make the reservation. Technically, the one Theo made for you and me. Care to join?”
Draco stared at the outstretched hand, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope, but Potter didn’t flinch. He simply waited, steady and patient, almost as if he’d been waiting for him all along.
Draco stepped forward and laced their fingers together. Potter’s grip tightened in response.
For years, Draco had dreamed of this moment in the safety of his imagination. But now, with Potter’s hand in his, he realised he didn’t have to imagine anymore.