Flange
Draco stepped into the quaint little bistro feeling over dressed in his back suit. He didn’t know this lunch date would be so informal, all the ones prior to were done up affairs to suit all the suitors hence forth appropriately. He fingered the calla lily in the buttonhole of his lapel, wondering why his mother chose such out of the ordinary elements to this blind match.
He’d first found out about the desperate pureblood mothers of children of a certain age secret society by his first blind date fixed by them. To say he was not pleased that his name had been thrown into some kind of cross between a game of dwindling gene pool for grandchildren go fish and the goblet of fire, would have been a gargantuan understatement. He was furious, but there was absolutely no evidence to place any blame on. Only subtly placed hints proved the organization did in fact work in their mysterious meddling ways. Draco was almost convinced they were communicating by baked goods, borrowed casserole dishes, and flower arrangements.
Now, after a few weeks of fancy dinners with suitors -men and women alike- all completely repugnant in their own unique ways, a sudden break in the pattern. This breath of fresh air Draco was pondering quite seriously, walked in and then promptly shat all over everything when he spotted a tall ginger weasel carrying a white calla lily.
Draco shrank at his table, shielding his face, cursing his hair and trying to work the flower loose of his lapel despite it being charmed in place.
“ Malfoy?!” he at least sounded just as scandalized as Draco felt. He looked up, his face a mottled conflict of half a sneer and half grimace all painted over with an embarrassed blush. Weasel didn’t seem to be doing much better though, as he took a seat, his head was beginning to strongly resemble a shaggy orange tomato.
Collecting himself at last, Draco managed to lean back in his seat and inquire across the table, “ I thought your family was all about Muggle hugging.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, enjoying how Weasley’s hands turned to fists and he swallowed roughly once or twice before answering with a guarded look on his face.
“ Yeah, well that’s all good and fine, but you know as well as I do that old magic has to stay with old magic. Unless you’re the youngest, a girl and you’ll push out grubs with green eyes called Potter, you’re to shut it and…” he gestured to their surroundings. Draco raised an eyebrow, he knew the Weasel siblings never really got on but he didn’t expect it to be aimed at both the Weaselette and his fearless leader friend.
“ Surely you’re not jealous,” Draco enjoyed watching the way Weasley scowled at him complete misery written all over his face, “ But the real question is: is it because of her freedom, or because of her choice of beau,” he nodded to the girl who’d just set down a cup of tea he’d ordered, pulling the handle toward himself while Weasley asked for a cup of the same.
“ Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, Malfoy, but I’m not interested.” He gave Draco a long and serious look, strangely shocking him in how intelligent and cutting the blue of Weasley’s eyes could be in one moment.
“ I appear to be trying to play at couples, Weasley. That is what we’re both here for after all, isn’t it? Our mothers’ sick sense of duty to pair us off with the first moderately intelligent specimen without any extra appendages.” Weasley grunted neither in agreement nor denial. Draco sipped at his tea idly, waiting for the cogs in his companion’s head to stop whirring so audibly.
“ So you actually want to have a-“ he paused and did that piercing direct stare thing again, “ a-date with me?” he was obviously skeptical, and to tell the truth, Draco was as well.
“ Yes Weasley. I’ll never hear the end of it and be forced to court you further if I don’t at least entertain your company for half of an hour.” Weasley nodded and frowned looking glum.
“ Do you always talk so formally?” he looked at the girl as she placed his tea by his elbow.
“ I don’t know what you mean.” Draco smirked into his own tea, while Weasley cast his eyes down in a cross between embarrassment and frustration as he added three sugars and a dollop of cream to his cup.
“ Look, I really appreciate this -whatever- but, uh, I really don’t think it’s going to work. We’ve got nothing in common. So let’s just agree to disagree, yeah?” He slid his spoon against the china cup, trying to get the last drips off and making a racket and ruining the finish in the process.
“ Not true, my dear Weasel-bee, take Quidditch for example,” Draco patiently set his cup onto his saucer with a soft clank, wondering why he was actually trying to get Weasley to stay.
“ We don’t like the same teams.” Weasley replied in a bored sort of voice as he took a tentative sip of his too hot tea. Draco’s eyes slid down to the bright orange Cannon’s shirt Weasley wore.
“ I can see that. I meant the sport in general,” he drawled, getting a reproachful frown from across the table, “ Look, we’ve probably got more in common than you and the m-“ Draco frowned, “ -Granger,” His mouth felt gritty forming the word, “ And if you’ve managed to have some kind of misguided hetero crush on her-“
“ I never had a crush on Hermione. It just seemed like it. She’s like a sister.” He interrupted quietly, “ Is a sister. Her and my brother Percy are engaged despite-” he bit his lip, “ despite all of...this,” he toyed with his spoon and avoided looking up. It was painfully clear, though, that this Weasel had gotten the crumbs on the family stick far too many times.
“ The Universe isn’t always against you, you know,” Draco found himself saying before he could stop himself.
“ Yeah? How would you know?” His eyes flashed that same cyan fire as before, “Born with a sliver spoon in your mouth, you don’t know what it’s like not to be spoiled or special…” He scrunched up his napkin in frustration.
“ Maybe not but…” he frowned wondering how to express the odd camaraderie he was beginning to feel between the two of them and make Weasley understand his meaning. They were two peas in an isolated unfair predetermined pod; Weasley shadowed by his family his friends, and Draco living in the wreckage of what used to be a respected name and lineage. He took a breath and twisted his mouth into a bitter little smile.
“ Weasley…don’t make me make up another song about you. I don’t think I can find anything that rhymes with violently orange.” Draco frowned at his words, they didn’t fit into the conversation at all, but Weasley’s deflated attitude proved they had had some affect on him.
“ What ‘bout silently…flange.” He tossed his crumpled napkin aside.
“ Flange doesn’t rhyme with orange.” Draco picked it up and smoothed it out.
“ The way you say it. Fl-ange OR-ange,” One ginger eyebrow had raised at him, like some mocking and dirt poor version of himself.
“ Or-ange? No one says Or-ange.” He resisted the urge to snort. Uncultured.
“ I say Or-ange” Unsurprising.
“ That’s because you were raised in a-“ Uncalled for. Their eyes locked across the table a dare swaying unvoiced in the air between them. They had two choices now, either swallow all their animosity and act their appropriate ages, or go back to the way things always were, wands a waving and spit flying.
Draco felt as if he was on the edge of a great precipice, teetering between a bumpy never traveled path and the smooth and utterly unappealing path of his forefathers. Then Weasley laughed and shook his head and booted Draco off the cliff and into the rocky abyss.
He’d first found out about the desperate pureblood mothers of children of a certain age secret society by his first blind date fixed by them. To say he was not pleased that his name had been thrown into some kind of cross between a game of dwindling gene pool for grandchildren go fish and the goblet of fire, would have been a gargantuan understatement. He was furious, but there was absolutely no evidence to place any blame on. Only subtly placed hints proved the organization did in fact work in their mysterious meddling ways. Draco was almost convinced they were communicating by baked goods, borrowed casserole dishes, and flower arrangements.
Now, after a few weeks of fancy dinners with suitors -men and women alike- all completely repugnant in their own unique ways, a sudden break in the pattern. This breath of fresh air Draco was pondering quite seriously, walked in and then promptly shat all over everything when he spotted a tall ginger weasel carrying a white calla lily.
Draco shrank at his table, shielding his face, cursing his hair and trying to work the flower loose of his lapel despite it being charmed in place.
“ Malfoy?!” he at least sounded just as scandalized as Draco felt. He looked up, his face a mottled conflict of half a sneer and half grimace all painted over with an embarrassed blush. Weasel didn’t seem to be doing much better though, as he took a seat, his head was beginning to strongly resemble a shaggy orange tomato.
Collecting himself at last, Draco managed to lean back in his seat and inquire across the table, “ I thought your family was all about Muggle hugging.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, enjoying how Weasley’s hands turned to fists and he swallowed roughly once or twice before answering with a guarded look on his face.
“ Yeah, well that’s all good and fine, but you know as well as I do that old magic has to stay with old magic. Unless you’re the youngest, a girl and you’ll push out grubs with green eyes called Potter, you’re to shut it and…” he gestured to their surroundings. Draco raised an eyebrow, he knew the Weasel siblings never really got on but he didn’t expect it to be aimed at both the Weaselette and his fearless leader friend.
“ Surely you’re not jealous,” Draco enjoyed watching the way Weasley scowled at him complete misery written all over his face, “ But the real question is: is it because of her freedom, or because of her choice of beau,” he nodded to the girl who’d just set down a cup of tea he’d ordered, pulling the handle toward himself while Weasley asked for a cup of the same.
“ Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, Malfoy, but I’m not interested.” He gave Draco a long and serious look, strangely shocking him in how intelligent and cutting the blue of Weasley’s eyes could be in one moment.
“ I appear to be trying to play at couples, Weasley. That is what we’re both here for after all, isn’t it? Our mothers’ sick sense of duty to pair us off with the first moderately intelligent specimen without any extra appendages.” Weasley grunted neither in agreement nor denial. Draco sipped at his tea idly, waiting for the cogs in his companion’s head to stop whirring so audibly.
“ So you actually want to have a-“ he paused and did that piercing direct stare thing again, “ a-date with me?” he was obviously skeptical, and to tell the truth, Draco was as well.
“ Yes Weasley. I’ll never hear the end of it and be forced to court you further if I don’t at least entertain your company for half of an hour.” Weasley nodded and frowned looking glum.
“ Do you always talk so formally?” he looked at the girl as she placed his tea by his elbow.
“ I don’t know what you mean.” Draco smirked into his own tea, while Weasley cast his eyes down in a cross between embarrassment and frustration as he added three sugars and a dollop of cream to his cup.
“ Look, I really appreciate this -whatever- but, uh, I really don’t think it’s going to work. We’ve got nothing in common. So let’s just agree to disagree, yeah?” He slid his spoon against the china cup, trying to get the last drips off and making a racket and ruining the finish in the process.
“ Not true, my dear Weasel-bee, take Quidditch for example,” Draco patiently set his cup onto his saucer with a soft clank, wondering why he was actually trying to get Weasley to stay.
“ We don’t like the same teams.” Weasley replied in a bored sort of voice as he took a tentative sip of his too hot tea. Draco’s eyes slid down to the bright orange Cannon’s shirt Weasley wore.
“ I can see that. I meant the sport in general,” he drawled, getting a reproachful frown from across the table, “ Look, we’ve probably got more in common than you and the m-“ Draco frowned, “ -Granger,” His mouth felt gritty forming the word, “ And if you’ve managed to have some kind of misguided hetero crush on her-“
“ I never had a crush on Hermione. It just seemed like it. She’s like a sister.” He interrupted quietly, “ Is a sister. Her and my brother Percy are engaged despite-” he bit his lip, “ despite all of...this,” he toyed with his spoon and avoided looking up. It was painfully clear, though, that this Weasel had gotten the crumbs on the family stick far too many times.
“ The Universe isn’t always against you, you know,” Draco found himself saying before he could stop himself.
“ Yeah? How would you know?” His eyes flashed that same cyan fire as before, “Born with a sliver spoon in your mouth, you don’t know what it’s like not to be spoiled or special…” He scrunched up his napkin in frustration.
“ Maybe not but…” he frowned wondering how to express the odd camaraderie he was beginning to feel between the two of them and make Weasley understand his meaning. They were two peas in an isolated unfair predetermined pod; Weasley shadowed by his family his friends, and Draco living in the wreckage of what used to be a respected name and lineage. He took a breath and twisted his mouth into a bitter little smile.
“ Weasley…don’t make me make up another song about you. I don’t think I can find anything that rhymes with violently orange.” Draco frowned at his words, they didn’t fit into the conversation at all, but Weasley’s deflated attitude proved they had had some affect on him.
“ What ‘bout silently…flange.” He tossed his crumpled napkin aside.
“ Flange doesn’t rhyme with orange.” Draco picked it up and smoothed it out.
“ The way you say it. Fl-ange OR-ange,” One ginger eyebrow had raised at him, like some mocking and dirt poor version of himself.
“ Or-ange? No one says Or-ange.” He resisted the urge to snort. Uncultured.
“ I say Or-ange” Unsurprising.
“ That’s because you were raised in a-“ Uncalled for. Their eyes locked across the table a dare swaying unvoiced in the air between them. They had two choices now, either swallow all their animosity and act their appropriate ages, or go back to the way things always were, wands a waving and spit flying.
Draco felt as if he was on the edge of a great precipice, teetering between a bumpy never traveled path and the smooth and utterly unappealing path of his forefathers. Then Weasley laughed and shook his head and booted Draco off the cliff and into the rocky abyss.