Fic - With a Little Help From My Friends
Title: With a Little Help From My Friends
Author: sophia_clark
Word count: 5,815
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Pansy/Ginny
Rating: R
Warning(s): None that I can think of.
Summary: Harry hates Draco and Draco hates Harry. Right?
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Beta: nenne
Author's Notes: Written for teas_me's prompt at serpentinelion's 2012 Glompfest.
Harry glanced up at the clock and sighed. It was half five; time to leave the Ministry for the day, and for this week's Snarky Night of Torture (SNOT) to begin. Ever since Ginny had started seeing Pansy Parkinson a few months back, Harry had found himself dragged out for a night on the town every Friday after work. This would not have been so bad (Parkinson had lost most of her hostility, if not her Slytherin attitude, since school) had it not been for the fact that Draco Malfoy was always present.
Malfoy was as high-handed and insufferable as ever. The prat still managed to get under Harry's skin whenever he saw him, and he seemed to enjoy watching Harry squirm. The worst part, however, was that even though Harry still hated him with every fibre of his being (no really, he did), he couldn't deny that Malfoy was without question the hottest thing, male or female, he'd ever seen. God damn the beautiful, poncy git.
As he gathered up his things and attempted to straighten the paperwork on his desk, Ron popped his head into the office. He looked so miserable, like a kicked puppy, and Harry had to suppress a fond smile. He quirked an eyebrow at his fellow Auror, silently asking him what was wrong.
“'Mione wants to go out with you lot tonight!” he moaned, sinking into the chair by the door and hanging his head in his hands. “I don't think I can handle it, mate. It's bad enough just knowing that my sister's...that she's...” Ron struggled to find the words, finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “I won't be able to stomach watching her and Parkinson being all lovey-dovey. It'll throw me off my dinner.”
Ah, so that was the problem. Ron had been surprisingly supportive of both Harry and Ginny when they had ended their romantic relationship for good two years previously. Harry had been worried that his best friend would be more upset, but it seemed even Ron could accept that them both being gay meant they really never had a chance together. His objection now seemed to be strictly Parkinson-related.
“Pansy's not so bad now, Ron. She’s much less angry than she was in school. Besides, she seems to make Ginny happy. Isn't that the most important thing?” He knew this was an unfair tactic, but if Ron and Hermione came out with them, he wouldn't have to worry so much about being stuck with Malfoy. Hell, maybe the git wouldn't even show! A man could dream, anyway.
Ron looked like he agreed, albeit grudgingly. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I just don't want to see Parkinson's tongue shoved down my sister's throat, you know?” he shuddered at the image. “Please tell me they keep that to themselves.” He looked desperately up at Harry, who couldn't contain his grin this time.
“Sorry, mate. They have been known to snog in public on occasion,” Harry chuckled as Ron groaned. “And hold hands, and make doe-eyes at each other across a crowded room...”
Ron sent him a glare, which had Harry laughing so hard his eyes began to water. He would have continued his teasing had it not been for Ron's next words:
“Yeah? And how's it been spending every Friday night with the ferret? You two picking out china patterns yet?”
His ink bottle narrowly missed Ron's ear as the bastard ran out the door, howling madly down the hallway.
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Draco surveyed the tiny pub with growing distaste. Why he continued to let himself be roped into spending his Friday nights with the Weaslette and Potter, of all people, was anyone's guess. It was all Pansy's doing, of course. The harpy did not know the meaning of the word 'no,' or more than likely she simply chose to ignore it whenever anyone was foolish enough to say it to her.
As such, Draco was currently crowded into a booth between Potter and Granger, with the Weasel glaring daggers at him from the other side of the table. Draco smirked at him; he'd take sitting next to Potter over an amorous Pansy any day of the week.
As if she could sense that someone nearby was thinking about her, Pansy abruptly surfaced from her checking of the Weaslette's tonsils and looked around at the group, thoroughly unembarrassed about her very public display. She smirked and wrapped her arm around Miss Ginger's waist. The Weasel now looked faintly green.
Draco just shook his head at her behaviour; she'd always been over the top, no matter what she was doing or who she currently had her sights set on. Draco was only glad her attention was no longer focused on himself.
Besides, he had to admit (only in his own mind, of course) that Ginny Weasley wasn't completely horrible to be around. It had taken him months to come to terms with Pansy's choice of lover, but after a number of outings such as this, Draco had realised that the redhead was surprisingly funny. If nothing else, he could tolerate her company when Pansy required it. The same could not be said for the man sitting on Draco's right, however.
Potter had not changed one bit since school, and Draco could no more stand him now than he could back then. The git had the same hopeless hair, wore the same horrible clothing; for the love of Merlin, he even had the same stupid pair of glasses! How come no one but Draco seemed willing to tell Potter just how ridiculous he looked on a daily basis? He could only do so much; he was only one man, after all.
The Ever-Loving-Saviour had, somewhat surprisingly, testified on behalf of Draco and his mother during the war trials, unquestioningly ensuring their freedom. Draco had briefly thought that they might be on friendlier terms after that. He had been wrong. Potter was nothing short of cold and distant towards him all throughout their repeat-seventh year. He thought he might prefer the insults and hexes; at least then Potter was paying attention.
Ever the good little hero, Potter had run off to join the Aurors as soon as they had finished school. Draco had chosen to become a Healer. He hoped that by helping others for a living he might balance out at least some of the evil his family had helped unleash upon the world, both during the war and before. So far his plan appeared to be working. People no longer threw tomatoes at him on the street, at any rate.
“So, Granger, Ginny tells me you two have finally set the date. Congratulations. Are we soon to hear the pitter-patter of little Weasel feet, then?” Draco glanced at Granger's face, surprised to see a small smile blooming there. Much more predictably, her fiancé was glaring at Pansy, his face a bright red.
“Thank you! We’re both terribly excited, aren’t we, Ron? And we do want children of course, but that will still be a few years off. Won’t it, Ron?” Everyone turned to the man in question, who merely grunted and nodded once in reply. Draco saw Pansy's delighted smirk, and immediately knew they were all in for some trouble.
“Well now, isn't that a pretty colour? You’re a perfect Gryffindor red. Let’s say we play a little game to loosen this party up a bit, hmm? Every time Weasley turns red we all have to take a drink! That should keep the alcohol flowing well enough.”
Draco had not thought it possible for Weasley's face to redden further, but clearly that was not the case. The colour now stained his neck, face and ears, clashing with his hair tremendously. He looked about ready to hex Pansy, but then Granger spoke up again.
“Oh! That sounds like fun! I do know some good ways to make him blush,” she smirked, looking much more Slytherin than Draco had ever seen her. It was a bit unnerving. Then she held up her glass saying, “to the start of new friendships, and new beginnings!”
Ginny and Pansy raised their drinks as well, shouting, “hear, hear!” in unison before downing the contents of their glasses. All three of the women were grinning widely at one another, which made Draco’s feelings of unease grow. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but something most definitely was.
“What the hell,” a wide-eyed Potter mumbled from his right. Draco watched as he picked up his own glass and quickly drained it, his Adam's apple bobbing enticingly as he swallowed. Draco gulped and turned before Potter caught him staring. God damn the speccy, gorgeous git.
He too lifted his glass and unceremoniously emptied it. Getting smashed seemed like a brilliant idea right about now.
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The sunlight streaming in through the windows was an evil, evil thing. Harry gave a piteous groan and shifted gingerly on the bed, trying to ascertain that he was all in one piece without moving too much. Movement caused pain, and pain was another thing to put in the evil column.
Having determined that nothing vital was missing; Harry began the slow process of what he called GOOBWAH, or Getting out of Bed with a Hangover. It was no easy feat. Just getting his eyes to open comfortably took nearly five minutes, and when he finally was able to manage it, the sight that met him made him regret all of his immense effort.
He could honestly say that at twenty-seven, he had never had a one-off before. The idea just didn't appeal to him. He liked to go out to clubs to drink and dance with strangers, but he had never invited one home for more, even at his most intoxicated. It seemed that that was no longer the case.
Deciding it would be best to get this over with quickly, he rolled over onto his back, reaching for his glasses and sliding them into place. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned two cups of water and a few vials of hangover potion from the medicine cabinet in his en suite. Popping the cork on one of the vials, he drank down the bitter liquid it contained as quickly as possible, grimacing and tossing it aside. He then chugged his water to remove the horrid taste from his mouth before finally turning to get a better look at his companion.
The man was pale, almost luminescent in the soft morning light. His skin stretched smoothly over the lithe frame of his back and shoulders, marred only by a few tell-tale markings of passion from the night before. Harry found himself blushing as he noted the fresh love-bites and scratches that he had obviously made on the man's flesh. He usually wasn't quite so possessive with his lovers.
The sheet covered the man's lower half, but Harry was still able to admire the rounded swell of his arse, imagining what all that glorious skin would look like there, just beneath the thin material. He only just managed to stop himself from yanking the cloth away. He should at least get a look at the bloke's face first. It was only polite.
“Er...hello?” he said awkwardly, shaking the man's shoulder slightly. “Wake up.”
He was met with a groan and the man's feeble attempt to swat Harry's hand away. An indistinguishable noise followed as Harry continued to shake his mystery bed partner.
“Did you just growl at me?” Harry didn't know if he should be worried or amused. “Come on, up you get. I've got some water and a magic headache cure here for you.”
This was evidently the right thing to say, because as soon as the words “magic headache cure” left Harry’s mouth, the man began turning over to face him. What he saw then made Harry freeze in shock. Oh, and horror, of course.
Draco Malfoy was lying in Harry's bed. Naked. In. His. Bed.
“Well,” the familiar voice rasped, “hand o'er 'he goods. ’m dying o'er here.”
Of its own accord, Harry’s hand found Malfoy’s and he dropped the little vial into it quickly, unable to utter a sound. Malfoy proceeded to swallow the potion down, grimacing for a moment just as Harry had done. “Ah, tha’s terrible. M’ throat’s drier than a kneazle’s arse crack. D’you have that water or not?”
A sudden burst of laughter bubbled out of Harry before he could stop it. Malfoy’s eyes opened a crack, and then flew wide as he saw Harry beside him.
“Potter! Wh-what are you doing here?” He was clutching the sheet tightly to his chest now, and Harry was inexplicably regretful that he had not looked at Malfoy’s front when he had had the chance.
“This is my bed, Malfoy. I’d say that my being here isn’t really that strange.”
Malfoy blushed faintly, just a spot of colour high on his cheekbones. The reaction Harry’s body had to the sight of that pretty pink had him shifting uneasily and wishing he were wearing some clothes. Memories of last night were slowly making their way back into Harry’s mind, and sitting so closely to the man who starred in every one of them was rather overwhelming.
“Your…your bed…” Malfoy looked around the room for the first time and gulped. Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob, his mouth watering at the sight. He shook his head quickly to derail his thoughts. What was wrong with him? This was Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake!
“Malfoy,” he said firmly, more to remind himself than anything else. The man in question focused abruptly back on Harry. His eyes were narrowed and his lip was curled up into a sneer, vastly different from the sleepy, almost open expression he’d worn only minutes before. Harry opened his mouth, not sure of what he was going to say, and was promptly cut off.
“Save it, Potter. I don’t know how you managed to get me into bed with you, but you can rest assured you’ll be hearing from my solicitor. I must have been absolutely out of my mind! Plied me with drinks all night, did you? I told Pansy nothing good would come of these stupid bloody nights out. Now look what’s happened; I’ve been defiled by a Gryffindor! Bloody fucking hell!”
All this was said (or shouted, rather) as Malfoy sprang out of bed and moved about the room gathering up his clothes. Harry was too stunned to say anything, let alone move. After a few more seconds of Malfoy’s colourful cursing echoing around the room, however, Harry found his voice. “Hang on just a minute, Malfoy. I wasn’t plying you with drinks! You were playing along with Pansy’s game, same as the rest of us. And don’t act like you don’t remember what happened either. You do remember, and you bloody well know it.”
The two of them glared at each other for a few long, tense moments, neither one wanting to blink or look away first. Harry was so angry, he didn’t know whether he wanted to punch the git or snog his infuriating brains out. What a strange feeling.
Malfoy huffed and began to pull on his clothes hurriedly. “All I remember is waking up just now with a massive headache and seeing your stupid face,” he spat. “It’s my worst nightmare realised!”
For some reason, Malfoy’s words stung. Harry didn’t want to like Malfoy, but he could no longer deny that not only was Malfoy attractive, but Harry was attracted to him. Hearing the object of one’s affections saying such harsh, cruel things was rather unpleasant. It was a blow that Harry had definitely not expected.
“Yeah, well it was no picnic for me either, Malfoy. I make it a point to avoid looking at you as much as possible. This has exceeded my limit for the next three decades, at least.”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared. Harry was grimly pleased that he had managed to upset the prat after what he’d said. It served him right for making Harry want him in the first place.
“Don’t worry, Potter, you won’t be seeing me any more,” he said as he finally finished setting his clothing to rights. He strode briskly over to the door, then paused and turned. When he looked back at Harry he wore a truly evil smirk on his handsome face. “Well, only in your dreams.”
With that, he left the room quietly. Harry heard the pop of Apparition from the hall before he fell back on the bed with a groan. What the hell was he going to do? He had no doubt that Malfoy was right, the arse. He would most assuredly be dreaming of that pale skin and those kissable lips tonight, not to mention the small green dragon Harry had glimpsed on the man’s hip as he pulled on his shirt. Fuck. This was not good.
He was so screwed, and not in a good way.
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Draco was sitting outside his favourite little French café nursing his fourth cup of tea. His over-large sunglasses covered most of his face, which, even after stopping home for a shower and a shave (Malfoys can never been seen with stubble!) was still looking rather more pale than usual. He didn’t really want anyone to see him like this, not even French strangers.
He was meeting his former best friend here for their traditional Saturday morning brunch. He didn’t know why he’d bothered showing up today. This was all her fault, after all. Hers and Potter’s.
Potter.
Just thinking about him made Draco shiver unconsciously. Waking up naked next to an obviously-just-as-naked Potter this morning had been extremely disorienting, not to mention mortifying. Add his pounding headache to the mix and Draco could honestly say that he'd just had the worst wakeup call in recorded history.
Upon finding himself in Potter's bed, Draco had panicked; when Draco panicked, he tended to get defensive and lash out at people. Namely, Potter. He took another fortifying sip of tea as he thought about what he'd said to Potter before he'd left the git's flat, and winced internally at the downright lie he’d told. He did in fact remember everything from the night before. Every last sodding, mind-blowing detail.
He remembered how he'd leaned against Potter in the booth after his eighth...ninth...whatever drink. He remembered laughing at Potter's increasingly stupid jokes as the drinks kicked in. He remembered Potter catching him in his arms as he tripped over his own feet on the way to the loo.
He remembered Potter brushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes and asking softly, “you okay, Draco?” Then he had inexplicably brushed his lips against Potter's in reply. Even now, he remembered the hot surge of lust that had lanced through him when Potter moaned and clutched his hair, mashing their mouths more firmly together.
He didn't actually remember them Apparating, but he did remember the feel of Potter's hands caressing every inch of him as his clothing was removed and he was laid out on a huge bed. Those petal-soft lips soon followed the same path, leaving a burning trail of want and need in their wake. He remembered the gasped pleas of harder, faster and more that had come spilling from his own mouth as Potter had pounded into him, his fingers surely leaving bruises on Draco's fair hips. He very clearly remembered barrelling at top-speed into the most satisfying orgasm of his life before blacking out for a few blissful moments and then floating peacefully in the afterglow.
Just as clearly, Draco remembered the earnest words Harry had murmured in his ear as they lay tangled together afterwards. He had drifted to sleep with phrases like wanted you for ages and so beautiful dancing through his mind.
The chair across from him was suddenly pulled out, making a slight scraping noise and jarring Draco from his memories of the previous evening. He shook his head and looked into the dark, piercing eyes of Pansy Parkinson. Draco scowled at her and she smirked, amusement lighting her features. “I take it you had an enjoyable time last night, love?”
Draco just barely managed not to hex her, but it was a close thing. His hand was on his wand as he gritted out, “not particularly, no.”
Pansy rolled her eyes and accepted her tea and pastry from an attractive man with blond hair and blue eyes. Pansy saw Draco watching the waiter, and as soon as he'd walked away, she said, “I don't think Potter would appreciate you ogling other men, dear. You know how possessive Gryffindors get with their toys.”
Draco flushed with embarrassment and rage. “I am not Potter's toy, you shrew,” he hissed, glaring at Pansy and sneering his nastiest sneer. “I am completely at liberty to ogle whomever I want. Just because I was foolish enough to-” Realising what he'd almost revealed, Draco shut his mouth with a snap and folded his arms over his chest tightly. But there was a gleam in Pansy's eyes that unsettled him. He was so screwed.
“Ah, so you did sleep with Potter! We all saw you two snogging by the loos of course, but then you up and Disapparated a second later, and I couldn't be sure you'd sealed the deal. Well done. You've only been mooning after him for the last sixteen years or so.”
Draco sat gaping at her in mute shock for a few moments before snapping out of it. “I have not...you saw...how dare you...evil cow...” he spluttered, mentally kicking himself for his incoherence. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Pansy was once again smirking at him. Evil cow, indeed. “I don't know what you think you saw, but I can assure you-”
“Oh do shut it,” Pansy snapped, all amusement slipping suddenly from her face. “Draco, you have fancied Potter since our sixth year, and don't you dare try to tell me otherwise. I know you better than anyone, even your mother, and you cannot lie to me. Not about this.” The look on her face brooked no argument, and Draco deflated faster than a popped balloon.
“Alright, let's just say that I find the wanker attractive. In a scrawny, speccy sort of way, mind you. That doesn't mean-”
“Yes, it bloody well does! It does mean something when it comes to you and Potter, and you fucking know it. Draco, why do you think I've been forcing you to come out with Ginny and me all these months? I'm tired of seeing you so unnecessarily miserable all the time. You want him, Draco, and obviously he wants you too. He slept with you after all, and you know how Gryffindors are with their feelings,” she shivered delicately and Draco had to bite back a smile. “Ginny says he talks about you constantly; he's just as obsessed as you are, so stop holding on to your ridiculous schoolboy rivalry and let yourself be happy, damn it.”
Pansy huffed and sat back in her chair, still watching Draco intently. He was staring down the busy street packed with locals going about their usual business and a few obvious tourists out enjoying the fine weather. He saw none of them. His mind was too busy trying to wrap around everything Pansy had just said, which was quite a lot, thank you very much.
So Pansy had been trying all this time to get him together with Potter? And it sounded like the Weaslette had been helping too. Hell, Draco wouldn't be surprised if Granger was in on it as well. God damn evil meddling girls.
He had to admit that Pansy did have a point about Gryffindors: the lot of them seemed wholly incapable of no-strings-attached fucking. It had taken Blaise forever to shake off that girl he'd slept with after the Halloween feast in their last year at school, and Pansy had never seen anyone longer than a few weeks before Ginny came along.
All in all, it did seem more than likely that Potter was not one to screw-and-dash, meaning there was a slight possibility that he might actually like Draco. That he might actually want him for more than one night. But did that even matter? The real question was did he want Potter for more than one night.
Yes.
The answer came to his mind without hesitation, and he was momentarily shocked with himself. Then he really thought about the rest of Pansy's rant and realised that she was right. He had been (some might say unhealthily) fixated on Potter since the age of eleven; and if he let himself admit it, he'd fancied the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World from about fourth year on. The prat could still make him angrier than an insulted Hippogriff, but Merlin, he looked incredible doing it.
“...Draco? Are you even listening to me?” Draco turned his attention back to Pansy, who had clearly been attempting to talk to him for a while. She looked a bit put out at being ignored.
“Yeah, Pans. Sorry, I was just thinking.” Her face softened a bit at this.
“And?” she pressed gently, not quite hiding her impatience underneath a neutral tone. “Have you come to your senses yet?”
Draco smiled at his overbearing friend. He didn't know what he'd do without her, the harpy. “Yes, I believe I have. But I'll thank you to stay out of my business from now on. I really do not need two mothers, you know.”
Pansy grinned unashamedly. “Fat chance, love. I'll stop helping you only when you stop making stupid decisions.” Draco rolled his eyes and her grin transformed into another smirk. “Now, let's talk strategy. We need to figure out how to bag you your Gryffindor...”
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Looking around the room, Harry grudgingly had to admit that Hermione had been right: he was in fact not over-dressed in his fancy new dress robes. At least, he thought they were fancy. They actually seemed to fit right in with what everyone else was wearing, which made sense considering Hermione had picked them out and forced him to buy them. That did not make Harry any more comfortable in them though. He missed his jeans and trainers.
The hall was packed with friends, family and co-workers, all there celebrating Ron and Hermione's engagement. Servers were carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne through the crowd while a band played sappy love songs to a number of couples on the dance floor. Real fairies fluttered near the ceiling, twinkling prettily. It was all very nice, and Harry was extremely happy for his best friends, but while his body was at the party, his mind was still back with the blond prick who had so thoroughly addled him a week prior.
Just as he had feared, Harry had been able to think of little else ever since waking up with Malfoy in his bed. Naked Malfoy. He couldn't seem to stop fixating on that part. Most of the anger that Malfoy's harsh words had stirred in him at the time had dissipated the more that he thought about that morning, leaving a deep ache in Harry's chest that he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.
The only person he'd told about his night with Malfoy was Hermione; he hadn't really wanted to tell her, but he'd never been able to keep anything from her for long. She'd not seemed all that surprised by the news, and she'd also pressed him to tell Ginny, which Harry found suspicious. Why would he tell his ex-girlfriend about having a one-off with her new girlfriend's best friend? Who also happened to be Malfoy. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.
A tapping to his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and face-to-face with Ginny herself. She smiled at him and looked appreciatively at his outfit. “Nice robes, Harry. Did Hermione dress you?”
He flushed and smiled back sheepishly. “She said she didn't trust me not to wear my 'hideous old trainers'. She did Ron as well.”
Ginny threw her head back and laughed, causing the people around them to turn and stare at her. “She's a smart girl,” she chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes, not saying anything. She was right, after all.
“Where's Pansy?” he asked as casually as he could. He didn't want Ginny to know who he was really asking about. The smirk she gave him was devilishly amused, and Harry had the feeling that he'd not been so casual after all.
“Oh, she'll be here soon, I expect. She just needed to help Draco with some sort of crisis, and then - Ah!” her eyes brightened as she looked at something past Harry's shoulder. “There they are now!”
Harry spun around so fast he was momentarily dizzy. When his head stopped spinning enough for him to see clearly, he looked over to the double doors across the large room and saw Pansy dressed in a gorgeous black gown, arm in arm with Malfoy.
Harry couldn't help but stare. Malfoy was bloody fucking hot. How had it taken him this long to realise that? The pale blue robes he wore looked lovely with his complexion, the colour making his eyes sparkle and the fit showing off his toned body. His hair was shorter than it had been a week ago, and it seemed even shinier and softer than usual. Malfoy turned his head towards Pansy, and Harry saw a glint of light flash near his ear. His breath whooshed out of him in a rush and his mouth went suddenly dry; Malfoy was wearing an earring.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, openly staring and not caring one bit. If he hadn't wanted Malfoy before, he certainly did now. Someone giggled to his left, and only then did he remember Ginny's existence.
“Well, that answers that question. I was afraid I might have to hex the truth out of you. Much easier this way.”
He finally tore his eyes away from Malfoy and turned back to face her. “What?” he replied in a daze. She rolled her eyes at him.
“Honestly, Harry. You're absolutely hopeless, you know that right?” When he only continued to gaze stupidly at her, she sighed and continued in a tone of great patience, “Harry, I know you fancy Draco. We all do. Well, maybe not Ron, but Hermione and I have known for ages. It's very obvious.”
Harry's eyes widened in shock. “It...it is?” he asked in astonishment. Trust Hermione to figure that out before Harry had even realised it for himself.
“Yes, Harry, it's written all over your face. You've only been obsessed with him for forever. Is it really that much of a surprise that you fancy the pants off him?”
He supposed that when you put it that way, it was not surprising at all. He shook his head and Ginny smiled brightly. He found that he was actually very relieved that she not only knew about his feelings for Malfoy, but that she didn't seem bothered by it at all. He was truly lucky to have her.
“Draco's not a bad sort, really. I've spent a fair amount of time with him these past few months you know. He's smart and funny, and bloody fit. And,” she said, smirk back on her face, “he talks about you all the time. Almost as much as you talk about him.”
Harry could feel his face heating in another blush, but he could do nothing to prevent it. Ginny laughed happily. “He talks about me? Probably all about how stupid and worthless I am.”
Ginny's eyes danced. “I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you. Besides, you should just ask him yourself; he's on his way over right now.” With that, she kissed him on the cheek and left. Harry turned to see her chatting briefly with Malfoy before she and Pansy greeted each other rather ardently. Malfoy caught his eye for the first time that night and made his way over to Harry, not looking away once.
“Potter.”
Harry looked at Malfoy warily. He was unsure what to say to the man who had, only a week before, said that they wouldn't be seeing each other again. He didn't know what Malfoy was thinking or how he felt, and he did not want to make a fool out of himself. He was spared having to come up with a response when Malfoy spoke again.
“I wanted to...apologise for my behaviour the other day.” He paused and cleared his throat, glancing around the room before his eyes came back to Harry's. “What I said was rude and uncalled for. So...I'm sorry.”
“You're...you're sorry?” This was the last thing Harry had expected to hear. He watched as Malfoy sighed and fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, exposing a pale wrist. Harry’s heart sped up at the sight. He was utterly transfixed.
“I like your robes.” Harry's brain was half a step behind his mouth. He wanted to kick himself for blurting out such inane drivel, until he saw that oh-so-pretty pink colouring Draco's cheeks, that was.
“I...I like yours as well,” Draco said quietly. “Who knew you cleaned up so nicely?” Warmth spread through Harry's chest at the compliment. Was he actually having a pleasant conversation with Malfoy? Was Draco really flirting with him?
“In all honesty, I had help. Hermione,” he said with a shrug. This was so surreal. Malfoy's lips turned up at the corners in a small smile and he moved closer to Harry.
“It seems we both had some help getting here. I'd be upset with Pansy if I wasn't so grateful.”
Harry looked over Draco's shoulder and saw Pansy, Ginny and Hermione all standing together a short way away and watching the two of them intently. When they noticed Harry looking, all three of them smiled smugly and Pansy waved, calling, “don't mind us, boys! We're just admiring the fruits of our labour.” The girls burst into hysterical laughter.
Harry snorted and turned back to Draco. He had moved even closer; their hands were now brushing together at their sides. Feeling reckless and impulsive, Harry grabbed Draco's hand and brought it up to his mouth. He brushed his lips lightly over the knuckles and watched in delight as silver eyes darkened and became dilated. He smirked.
He had the best friends ever.
Author: sophia_clark
Word count: 5,815
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Pansy/Ginny
Rating: R
Warning(s): None that I can think of.
Summary: Harry hates Draco and Draco hates Harry. Right?
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Beta: nenne
Author's Notes: Written for teas_me's prompt at serpentinelion's 2012 Glompfest.
Harry glanced up at the clock and sighed. It was half five; time to leave the Ministry for the day, and for this week's Snarky Night of Torture (SNOT) to begin. Ever since Ginny had started seeing Pansy Parkinson a few months back, Harry had found himself dragged out for a night on the town every Friday after work. This would not have been so bad (Parkinson had lost most of her hostility, if not her Slytherin attitude, since school) had it not been for the fact that Draco Malfoy was always present.
Malfoy was as high-handed and insufferable as ever. The prat still managed to get under Harry's skin whenever he saw him, and he seemed to enjoy watching Harry squirm. The worst part, however, was that even though Harry still hated him with every fibre of his being (no really, he did), he couldn't deny that Malfoy was without question the hottest thing, male or female, he'd ever seen. God damn the beautiful, poncy git.
As he gathered up his things and attempted to straighten the paperwork on his desk, Ron popped his head into the office. He looked so miserable, like a kicked puppy, and Harry had to suppress a fond smile. He quirked an eyebrow at his fellow Auror, silently asking him what was wrong.
“'Mione wants to go out with you lot tonight!” he moaned, sinking into the chair by the door and hanging his head in his hands. “I don't think I can handle it, mate. It's bad enough just knowing that my sister's...that she's...” Ron struggled to find the words, finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “I won't be able to stomach watching her and Parkinson being all lovey-dovey. It'll throw me off my dinner.”
Ah, so that was the problem. Ron had been surprisingly supportive of both Harry and Ginny when they had ended their romantic relationship for good two years previously. Harry had been worried that his best friend would be more upset, but it seemed even Ron could accept that them both being gay meant they really never had a chance together. His objection now seemed to be strictly Parkinson-related.
“Pansy's not so bad now, Ron. She’s much less angry than she was in school. Besides, she seems to make Ginny happy. Isn't that the most important thing?” He knew this was an unfair tactic, but if Ron and Hermione came out with them, he wouldn't have to worry so much about being stuck with Malfoy. Hell, maybe the git wouldn't even show! A man could dream, anyway.
Ron looked like he agreed, albeit grudgingly. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I just don't want to see Parkinson's tongue shoved down my sister's throat, you know?” he shuddered at the image. “Please tell me they keep that to themselves.” He looked desperately up at Harry, who couldn't contain his grin this time.
“Sorry, mate. They have been known to snog in public on occasion,” Harry chuckled as Ron groaned. “And hold hands, and make doe-eyes at each other across a crowded room...”
Ron sent him a glare, which had Harry laughing so hard his eyes began to water. He would have continued his teasing had it not been for Ron's next words:
“Yeah? And how's it been spending every Friday night with the ferret? You two picking out china patterns yet?”
His ink bottle narrowly missed Ron's ear as the bastard ran out the door, howling madly down the hallway.
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Draco surveyed the tiny pub with growing distaste. Why he continued to let himself be roped into spending his Friday nights with the Weaslette and Potter, of all people, was anyone's guess. It was all Pansy's doing, of course. The harpy did not know the meaning of the word 'no,' or more than likely she simply chose to ignore it whenever anyone was foolish enough to say it to her.
As such, Draco was currently crowded into a booth between Potter and Granger, with the Weasel glaring daggers at him from the other side of the table. Draco smirked at him; he'd take sitting next to Potter over an amorous Pansy any day of the week.
As if she could sense that someone nearby was thinking about her, Pansy abruptly surfaced from her checking of the Weaslette's tonsils and looked around at the group, thoroughly unembarrassed about her very public display. She smirked and wrapped her arm around Miss Ginger's waist. The Weasel now looked faintly green.
Draco just shook his head at her behaviour; she'd always been over the top, no matter what she was doing or who she currently had her sights set on. Draco was only glad her attention was no longer focused on himself.
Besides, he had to admit (only in his own mind, of course) that Ginny Weasley wasn't completely horrible to be around. It had taken him months to come to terms with Pansy's choice of lover, but after a number of outings such as this, Draco had realised that the redhead was surprisingly funny. If nothing else, he could tolerate her company when Pansy required it. The same could not be said for the man sitting on Draco's right, however.
Potter had not changed one bit since school, and Draco could no more stand him now than he could back then. The git had the same hopeless hair, wore the same horrible clothing; for the love of Merlin, he even had the same stupid pair of glasses! How come no one but Draco seemed willing to tell Potter just how ridiculous he looked on a daily basis? He could only do so much; he was only one man, after all.
The Ever-Loving-Saviour had, somewhat surprisingly, testified on behalf of Draco and his mother during the war trials, unquestioningly ensuring their freedom. Draco had briefly thought that they might be on friendlier terms after that. He had been wrong. Potter was nothing short of cold and distant towards him all throughout their repeat-seventh year. He thought he might prefer the insults and hexes; at least then Potter was paying attention.
Ever the good little hero, Potter had run off to join the Aurors as soon as they had finished school. Draco had chosen to become a Healer. He hoped that by helping others for a living he might balance out at least some of the evil his family had helped unleash upon the world, both during the war and before. So far his plan appeared to be working. People no longer threw tomatoes at him on the street, at any rate.
“So, Granger, Ginny tells me you two have finally set the date. Congratulations. Are we soon to hear the pitter-patter of little Weasel feet, then?” Draco glanced at Granger's face, surprised to see a small smile blooming there. Much more predictably, her fiancé was glaring at Pansy, his face a bright red.
“Thank you! We’re both terribly excited, aren’t we, Ron? And we do want children of course, but that will still be a few years off. Won’t it, Ron?” Everyone turned to the man in question, who merely grunted and nodded once in reply. Draco saw Pansy's delighted smirk, and immediately knew they were all in for some trouble.
“Well now, isn't that a pretty colour? You’re a perfect Gryffindor red. Let’s say we play a little game to loosen this party up a bit, hmm? Every time Weasley turns red we all have to take a drink! That should keep the alcohol flowing well enough.”
Draco had not thought it possible for Weasley's face to redden further, but clearly that was not the case. The colour now stained his neck, face and ears, clashing with his hair tremendously. He looked about ready to hex Pansy, but then Granger spoke up again.
“Oh! That sounds like fun! I do know some good ways to make him blush,” she smirked, looking much more Slytherin than Draco had ever seen her. It was a bit unnerving. Then she held up her glass saying, “to the start of new friendships, and new beginnings!”
Ginny and Pansy raised their drinks as well, shouting, “hear, hear!” in unison before downing the contents of their glasses. All three of the women were grinning widely at one another, which made Draco’s feelings of unease grow. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but something most definitely was.
“What the hell,” a wide-eyed Potter mumbled from his right. Draco watched as he picked up his own glass and quickly drained it, his Adam's apple bobbing enticingly as he swallowed. Draco gulped and turned before Potter caught him staring. God damn the speccy, gorgeous git.
He too lifted his glass and unceremoniously emptied it. Getting smashed seemed like a brilliant idea right about now.
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The sunlight streaming in through the windows was an evil, evil thing. Harry gave a piteous groan and shifted gingerly on the bed, trying to ascertain that he was all in one piece without moving too much. Movement caused pain, and pain was another thing to put in the evil column.
Having determined that nothing vital was missing; Harry began the slow process of what he called GOOBWAH, or Getting out of Bed with a Hangover. It was no easy feat. Just getting his eyes to open comfortably took nearly five minutes, and when he finally was able to manage it, the sight that met him made him regret all of his immense effort.
He could honestly say that at twenty-seven, he had never had a one-off before. The idea just didn't appeal to him. He liked to go out to clubs to drink and dance with strangers, but he had never invited one home for more, even at his most intoxicated. It seemed that that was no longer the case.
Deciding it would be best to get this over with quickly, he rolled over onto his back, reaching for his glasses and sliding them into place. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned two cups of water and a few vials of hangover potion from the medicine cabinet in his en suite. Popping the cork on one of the vials, he drank down the bitter liquid it contained as quickly as possible, grimacing and tossing it aside. He then chugged his water to remove the horrid taste from his mouth before finally turning to get a better look at his companion.
The man was pale, almost luminescent in the soft morning light. His skin stretched smoothly over the lithe frame of his back and shoulders, marred only by a few tell-tale markings of passion from the night before. Harry found himself blushing as he noted the fresh love-bites and scratches that he had obviously made on the man's flesh. He usually wasn't quite so possessive with his lovers.
The sheet covered the man's lower half, but Harry was still able to admire the rounded swell of his arse, imagining what all that glorious skin would look like there, just beneath the thin material. He only just managed to stop himself from yanking the cloth away. He should at least get a look at the bloke's face first. It was only polite.
“Er...hello?” he said awkwardly, shaking the man's shoulder slightly. “Wake up.”
He was met with a groan and the man's feeble attempt to swat Harry's hand away. An indistinguishable noise followed as Harry continued to shake his mystery bed partner.
“Did you just growl at me?” Harry didn't know if he should be worried or amused. “Come on, up you get. I've got some water and a magic headache cure here for you.”
This was evidently the right thing to say, because as soon as the words “magic headache cure” left Harry’s mouth, the man began turning over to face him. What he saw then made Harry freeze in shock. Oh, and horror, of course.
Draco Malfoy was lying in Harry's bed. Naked. In. His. Bed.
“Well,” the familiar voice rasped, “hand o'er 'he goods. ’m dying o'er here.”
Of its own accord, Harry’s hand found Malfoy’s and he dropped the little vial into it quickly, unable to utter a sound. Malfoy proceeded to swallow the potion down, grimacing for a moment just as Harry had done. “Ah, tha’s terrible. M’ throat’s drier than a kneazle’s arse crack. D’you have that water or not?”
A sudden burst of laughter bubbled out of Harry before he could stop it. Malfoy’s eyes opened a crack, and then flew wide as he saw Harry beside him.
“Potter! Wh-what are you doing here?” He was clutching the sheet tightly to his chest now, and Harry was inexplicably regretful that he had not looked at Malfoy’s front when he had had the chance.
“This is my bed, Malfoy. I’d say that my being here isn’t really that strange.”
Malfoy blushed faintly, just a spot of colour high on his cheekbones. The reaction Harry’s body had to the sight of that pretty pink had him shifting uneasily and wishing he were wearing some clothes. Memories of last night were slowly making their way back into Harry’s mind, and sitting so closely to the man who starred in every one of them was rather overwhelming.
“Your…your bed…” Malfoy looked around the room for the first time and gulped. Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob, his mouth watering at the sight. He shook his head quickly to derail his thoughts. What was wrong with him? This was Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake!
“Malfoy,” he said firmly, more to remind himself than anything else. The man in question focused abruptly back on Harry. His eyes were narrowed and his lip was curled up into a sneer, vastly different from the sleepy, almost open expression he’d worn only minutes before. Harry opened his mouth, not sure of what he was going to say, and was promptly cut off.
“Save it, Potter. I don’t know how you managed to get me into bed with you, but you can rest assured you’ll be hearing from my solicitor. I must have been absolutely out of my mind! Plied me with drinks all night, did you? I told Pansy nothing good would come of these stupid bloody nights out. Now look what’s happened; I’ve been defiled by a Gryffindor! Bloody fucking hell!”
All this was said (or shouted, rather) as Malfoy sprang out of bed and moved about the room gathering up his clothes. Harry was too stunned to say anything, let alone move. After a few more seconds of Malfoy’s colourful cursing echoing around the room, however, Harry found his voice. “Hang on just a minute, Malfoy. I wasn’t plying you with drinks! You were playing along with Pansy’s game, same as the rest of us. And don’t act like you don’t remember what happened either. You do remember, and you bloody well know it.”
The two of them glared at each other for a few long, tense moments, neither one wanting to blink or look away first. Harry was so angry, he didn’t know whether he wanted to punch the git or snog his infuriating brains out. What a strange feeling.
Malfoy huffed and began to pull on his clothes hurriedly. “All I remember is waking up just now with a massive headache and seeing your stupid face,” he spat. “It’s my worst nightmare realised!”
For some reason, Malfoy’s words stung. Harry didn’t want to like Malfoy, but he could no longer deny that not only was Malfoy attractive, but Harry was attracted to him. Hearing the object of one’s affections saying such harsh, cruel things was rather unpleasant. It was a blow that Harry had definitely not expected.
“Yeah, well it was no picnic for me either, Malfoy. I make it a point to avoid looking at you as much as possible. This has exceeded my limit for the next three decades, at least.”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared. Harry was grimly pleased that he had managed to upset the prat after what he’d said. It served him right for making Harry want him in the first place.
“Don’t worry, Potter, you won’t be seeing me any more,” he said as he finally finished setting his clothing to rights. He strode briskly over to the door, then paused and turned. When he looked back at Harry he wore a truly evil smirk on his handsome face. “Well, only in your dreams.”
With that, he left the room quietly. Harry heard the pop of Apparition from the hall before he fell back on the bed with a groan. What the hell was he going to do? He had no doubt that Malfoy was right, the arse. He would most assuredly be dreaming of that pale skin and those kissable lips tonight, not to mention the small green dragon Harry had glimpsed on the man’s hip as he pulled on his shirt. Fuck. This was not good.
He was so screwed, and not in a good way.
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Draco was sitting outside his favourite little French café nursing his fourth cup of tea. His over-large sunglasses covered most of his face, which, even after stopping home for a shower and a shave (Malfoys can never been seen with stubble!) was still looking rather more pale than usual. He didn’t really want anyone to see him like this, not even French strangers.
He was meeting his former best friend here for their traditional Saturday morning brunch. He didn’t know why he’d bothered showing up today. This was all her fault, after all. Hers and Potter’s.
Potter.
Just thinking about him made Draco shiver unconsciously. Waking up naked next to an obviously-just-as-naked Potter this morning had been extremely disorienting, not to mention mortifying. Add his pounding headache to the mix and Draco could honestly say that he'd just had the worst wakeup call in recorded history.
Upon finding himself in Potter's bed, Draco had panicked; when Draco panicked, he tended to get defensive and lash out at people. Namely, Potter. He took another fortifying sip of tea as he thought about what he'd said to Potter before he'd left the git's flat, and winced internally at the downright lie he’d told. He did in fact remember everything from the night before. Every last sodding, mind-blowing detail.
He remembered how he'd leaned against Potter in the booth after his eighth...ninth...whatever drink. He remembered laughing at Potter's increasingly stupid jokes as the drinks kicked in. He remembered Potter catching him in his arms as he tripped over his own feet on the way to the loo.
He remembered Potter brushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes and asking softly, “you okay, Draco?” Then he had inexplicably brushed his lips against Potter's in reply. Even now, he remembered the hot surge of lust that had lanced through him when Potter moaned and clutched his hair, mashing their mouths more firmly together.
He didn't actually remember them Apparating, but he did remember the feel of Potter's hands caressing every inch of him as his clothing was removed and he was laid out on a huge bed. Those petal-soft lips soon followed the same path, leaving a burning trail of want and need in their wake. He remembered the gasped pleas of harder, faster and more that had come spilling from his own mouth as Potter had pounded into him, his fingers surely leaving bruises on Draco's fair hips. He very clearly remembered barrelling at top-speed into the most satisfying orgasm of his life before blacking out for a few blissful moments and then floating peacefully in the afterglow.
Just as clearly, Draco remembered the earnest words Harry had murmured in his ear as they lay tangled together afterwards. He had drifted to sleep with phrases like wanted you for ages and so beautiful dancing through his mind.
The chair across from him was suddenly pulled out, making a slight scraping noise and jarring Draco from his memories of the previous evening. He shook his head and looked into the dark, piercing eyes of Pansy Parkinson. Draco scowled at her and she smirked, amusement lighting her features. “I take it you had an enjoyable time last night, love?”
Draco just barely managed not to hex her, but it was a close thing. His hand was on his wand as he gritted out, “not particularly, no.”
Pansy rolled her eyes and accepted her tea and pastry from an attractive man with blond hair and blue eyes. Pansy saw Draco watching the waiter, and as soon as he'd walked away, she said, “I don't think Potter would appreciate you ogling other men, dear. You know how possessive Gryffindors get with their toys.”
Draco flushed with embarrassment and rage. “I am not Potter's toy, you shrew,” he hissed, glaring at Pansy and sneering his nastiest sneer. “I am completely at liberty to ogle whomever I want. Just because I was foolish enough to-” Realising what he'd almost revealed, Draco shut his mouth with a snap and folded his arms over his chest tightly. But there was a gleam in Pansy's eyes that unsettled him. He was so screwed.
“Ah, so you did sleep with Potter! We all saw you two snogging by the loos of course, but then you up and Disapparated a second later, and I couldn't be sure you'd sealed the deal. Well done. You've only been mooning after him for the last sixteen years or so.”
Draco sat gaping at her in mute shock for a few moments before snapping out of it. “I have not...you saw...how dare you...evil cow...” he spluttered, mentally kicking himself for his incoherence. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Pansy was once again smirking at him. Evil cow, indeed. “I don't know what you think you saw, but I can assure you-”
“Oh do shut it,” Pansy snapped, all amusement slipping suddenly from her face. “Draco, you have fancied Potter since our sixth year, and don't you dare try to tell me otherwise. I know you better than anyone, even your mother, and you cannot lie to me. Not about this.” The look on her face brooked no argument, and Draco deflated faster than a popped balloon.
“Alright, let's just say that I find the wanker attractive. In a scrawny, speccy sort of way, mind you. That doesn't mean-”
“Yes, it bloody well does! It does mean something when it comes to you and Potter, and you fucking know it. Draco, why do you think I've been forcing you to come out with Ginny and me all these months? I'm tired of seeing you so unnecessarily miserable all the time. You want him, Draco, and obviously he wants you too. He slept with you after all, and you know how Gryffindors are with their feelings,” she shivered delicately and Draco had to bite back a smile. “Ginny says he talks about you constantly; he's just as obsessed as you are, so stop holding on to your ridiculous schoolboy rivalry and let yourself be happy, damn it.”
Pansy huffed and sat back in her chair, still watching Draco intently. He was staring down the busy street packed with locals going about their usual business and a few obvious tourists out enjoying the fine weather. He saw none of them. His mind was too busy trying to wrap around everything Pansy had just said, which was quite a lot, thank you very much.
So Pansy had been trying all this time to get him together with Potter? And it sounded like the Weaslette had been helping too. Hell, Draco wouldn't be surprised if Granger was in on it as well. God damn evil meddling girls.
He had to admit that Pansy did have a point about Gryffindors: the lot of them seemed wholly incapable of no-strings-attached fucking. It had taken Blaise forever to shake off that girl he'd slept with after the Halloween feast in their last year at school, and Pansy had never seen anyone longer than a few weeks before Ginny came along.
All in all, it did seem more than likely that Potter was not one to screw-and-dash, meaning there was a slight possibility that he might actually like Draco. That he might actually want him for more than one night. But did that even matter? The real question was did he want Potter for more than one night.
Yes.
The answer came to his mind without hesitation, and he was momentarily shocked with himself. Then he really thought about the rest of Pansy's rant and realised that she was right. He had been (some might say unhealthily) fixated on Potter since the age of eleven; and if he let himself admit it, he'd fancied the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World from about fourth year on. The prat could still make him angrier than an insulted Hippogriff, but Merlin, he looked incredible doing it.
“...Draco? Are you even listening to me?” Draco turned his attention back to Pansy, who had clearly been attempting to talk to him for a while. She looked a bit put out at being ignored.
“Yeah, Pans. Sorry, I was just thinking.” Her face softened a bit at this.
“And?” she pressed gently, not quite hiding her impatience underneath a neutral tone. “Have you come to your senses yet?”
Draco smiled at his overbearing friend. He didn't know what he'd do without her, the harpy. “Yes, I believe I have. But I'll thank you to stay out of my business from now on. I really do not need two mothers, you know.”
Pansy grinned unashamedly. “Fat chance, love. I'll stop helping you only when you stop making stupid decisions.” Draco rolled his eyes and her grin transformed into another smirk. “Now, let's talk strategy. We need to figure out how to bag you your Gryffindor...”
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Looking around the room, Harry grudgingly had to admit that Hermione had been right: he was in fact not over-dressed in his fancy new dress robes. At least, he thought they were fancy. They actually seemed to fit right in with what everyone else was wearing, which made sense considering Hermione had picked them out and forced him to buy them. That did not make Harry any more comfortable in them though. He missed his jeans and trainers.
The hall was packed with friends, family and co-workers, all there celebrating Ron and Hermione's engagement. Servers were carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne through the crowd while a band played sappy love songs to a number of couples on the dance floor. Real fairies fluttered near the ceiling, twinkling prettily. It was all very nice, and Harry was extremely happy for his best friends, but while his body was at the party, his mind was still back with the blond prick who had so thoroughly addled him a week prior.
Just as he had feared, Harry had been able to think of little else ever since waking up with Malfoy in his bed. Naked Malfoy. He couldn't seem to stop fixating on that part. Most of the anger that Malfoy's harsh words had stirred in him at the time had dissipated the more that he thought about that morning, leaving a deep ache in Harry's chest that he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.
The only person he'd told about his night with Malfoy was Hermione; he hadn't really wanted to tell her, but he'd never been able to keep anything from her for long. She'd not seemed all that surprised by the news, and she'd also pressed him to tell Ginny, which Harry found suspicious. Why would he tell his ex-girlfriend about having a one-off with her new girlfriend's best friend? Who also happened to be Malfoy. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.
A tapping to his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and face-to-face with Ginny herself. She smiled at him and looked appreciatively at his outfit. “Nice robes, Harry. Did Hermione dress you?”
He flushed and smiled back sheepishly. “She said she didn't trust me not to wear my 'hideous old trainers'. She did Ron as well.”
Ginny threw her head back and laughed, causing the people around them to turn and stare at her. “She's a smart girl,” she chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes, not saying anything. She was right, after all.
“Where's Pansy?” he asked as casually as he could. He didn't want Ginny to know who he was really asking about. The smirk she gave him was devilishly amused, and Harry had the feeling that he'd not been so casual after all.
“Oh, she'll be here soon, I expect. She just needed to help Draco with some sort of crisis, and then - Ah!” her eyes brightened as she looked at something past Harry's shoulder. “There they are now!”
Harry spun around so fast he was momentarily dizzy. When his head stopped spinning enough for him to see clearly, he looked over to the double doors across the large room and saw Pansy dressed in a gorgeous black gown, arm in arm with Malfoy.
Harry couldn't help but stare. Malfoy was bloody fucking hot. How had it taken him this long to realise that? The pale blue robes he wore looked lovely with his complexion, the colour making his eyes sparkle and the fit showing off his toned body. His hair was shorter than it had been a week ago, and it seemed even shinier and softer than usual. Malfoy turned his head towards Pansy, and Harry saw a glint of light flash near his ear. His breath whooshed out of him in a rush and his mouth went suddenly dry; Malfoy was wearing an earring.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, openly staring and not caring one bit. If he hadn't wanted Malfoy before, he certainly did now. Someone giggled to his left, and only then did he remember Ginny's existence.
“Well, that answers that question. I was afraid I might have to hex the truth out of you. Much easier this way.”
He finally tore his eyes away from Malfoy and turned back to face her. “What?” he replied in a daze. She rolled her eyes at him.
“Honestly, Harry. You're absolutely hopeless, you know that right?” When he only continued to gaze stupidly at her, she sighed and continued in a tone of great patience, “Harry, I know you fancy Draco. We all do. Well, maybe not Ron, but Hermione and I have known for ages. It's very obvious.”
Harry's eyes widened in shock. “It...it is?” he asked in astonishment. Trust Hermione to figure that out before Harry had even realised it for himself.
“Yes, Harry, it's written all over your face. You've only been obsessed with him for forever. Is it really that much of a surprise that you fancy the pants off him?”
He supposed that when you put it that way, it was not surprising at all. He shook his head and Ginny smiled brightly. He found that he was actually very relieved that she not only knew about his feelings for Malfoy, but that she didn't seem bothered by it at all. He was truly lucky to have her.
“Draco's not a bad sort, really. I've spent a fair amount of time with him these past few months you know. He's smart and funny, and bloody fit. And,” she said, smirk back on her face, “he talks about you all the time. Almost as much as you talk about him.”
Harry could feel his face heating in another blush, but he could do nothing to prevent it. Ginny laughed happily. “He talks about me? Probably all about how stupid and worthless I am.”
Ginny's eyes danced. “I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you. Besides, you should just ask him yourself; he's on his way over right now.” With that, she kissed him on the cheek and left. Harry turned to see her chatting briefly with Malfoy before she and Pansy greeted each other rather ardently. Malfoy caught his eye for the first time that night and made his way over to Harry, not looking away once.
“Potter.”
Harry looked at Malfoy warily. He was unsure what to say to the man who had, only a week before, said that they wouldn't be seeing each other again. He didn't know what Malfoy was thinking or how he felt, and he did not want to make a fool out of himself. He was spared having to come up with a response when Malfoy spoke again.
“I wanted to...apologise for my behaviour the other day.” He paused and cleared his throat, glancing around the room before his eyes came back to Harry's. “What I said was rude and uncalled for. So...I'm sorry.”
“You're...you're sorry?” This was the last thing Harry had expected to hear. He watched as Malfoy sighed and fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, exposing a pale wrist. Harry’s heart sped up at the sight. He was utterly transfixed.
“I like your robes.” Harry's brain was half a step behind his mouth. He wanted to kick himself for blurting out such inane drivel, until he saw that oh-so-pretty pink colouring Draco's cheeks, that was.
“I...I like yours as well,” Draco said quietly. “Who knew you cleaned up so nicely?” Warmth spread through Harry's chest at the compliment. Was he actually having a pleasant conversation with Malfoy? Was Draco really flirting with him?
“In all honesty, I had help. Hermione,” he said with a shrug. This was so surreal. Malfoy's lips turned up at the corners in a small smile and he moved closer to Harry.
“It seems we both had some help getting here. I'd be upset with Pansy if I wasn't so grateful.”
Harry looked over Draco's shoulder and saw Pansy, Ginny and Hermione all standing together a short way away and watching the two of them intently. When they noticed Harry looking, all three of them smiled smugly and Pansy waved, calling, “don't mind us, boys! We're just admiring the fruits of our labour.” The girls burst into hysterical laughter.
Harry snorted and turned back to Draco. He had moved even closer; their hands were now brushing together at their sides. Feeling reckless and impulsive, Harry grabbed Draco's hand and brought it up to his mouth. He brushed his lips lightly over the knuckles and watched in delight as silver eyes darkened and became dilated. He smirked.
He had the best friends ever.