It is a cold winter night, snow already falling. The howling wind provides a piece of eerie background music along with the sound of his boots crunching the ice.
Harry isn't scared per se. But one can't be too careful right? Especially in the middle of the night, and in the middle of nowhere, too. It looks like the dilapidated road he is currently walking on hasn't seen a human soul in decades. He knows that is not true but the odd sensation in his gut won't let up.
Harry curses the moment he decided to take the shortcut. He had been walking to the bus stop after a long day of classes and then part-time work when he turned to this shortcut wanting to save time. He knew this road gave him the creeps from the few times he'd walked with his friends but still, he decided to turn right rather than keep walking straight. But it appears his lifespan is what's being cut short. He swears he has lost a good ten years in the last few minutes alone. Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty!
He starts walking briskly, trying to speed up as much as he can without actually breaking into a run. Harry doesn't know why, but the fear claws at his chest, almost like having a life of its own and starts to strangle him.
He steps on a twig and snaps it in half, scaring the bejeezus out of himself. In his defence, the twig snapping sounded a lot more sinister in the near silence of his trekking.
That's when he hears it. Something is coming. Something with... bells? He stops and looks around bewildered. Yep, it sounds like bells jingling, along with a crunching noise. Where is it coming from? He can't identify the sound but what he knows for sure is that it's definitely coming closer, rapidly gaining on him.
As seconds crawl by with the mysterious sound getting closer, Harry starts to genuinely fear for his life. A chill runs down his spine, making him shiver. The disembodied bells are getting closer still. His brain decides this is an excellent time to recall the half-forgotten horror stories from his childhood that Aunt Petunia used to tell him as bedtime stories about the magical wind chimes and bells that would start ringing like crazy when in the presence of malevolent spirits.
Harry whimpers.
Screw you brain! You couldn't have waited for a bit and shared this information when I was already home, under the safety of my blankets?
The logical part of him knows ghosts and demons belong in the world of myths but unfortunately, the superstitious part that took control the moment he stepped foot into this godforsaken road insists that he too now belongs to the world of myths where the supernatural exists.
He takes a deep breath to ward off an incoming panic attack. Realising he's been standing still, Harry starts walking with new vigour.
This time, he is this close to breaking into a run. Slipping in the ice and breaking his neck be damned. At least it is still better than being a snack to the bell-wielding-ghost-demon that's chasing him. Speaking of which, he can tell that his unwelcome companion is now so close to him, closer than a moment before, the peeling of bells like a call of death to his ears.
A cold wind whisper touches the back of his neck.
Oh no! It's over. I was too slow.
The jingling bells, along with that weird crunching noise are right behind him now. Harry imagines his bones making the same crunching noise as he was being gobbled up by the demon. Despite his earlier resolution of running, the mental images freeze him to the spot making his limbs too heavy for any movement.
But apparently, his voice box hasn't got the memo, because he is suddenly screaming like that was his superpower, and the demon or whatever that was coming for him would turn tail and run away from his scream alone, which, to be fair, it very well might have.
If Harry weren't already scared of the ghost, he'd be scared from his own banshee screaming.
Still screaming, Harry tries to turn around, his coordination turned to shit from the intense fear and ends up swerving right into the middle of the road.
"AAAA”, an answering bloodcurdling scream echoes- as though the ghost and he were doing a wild mating call- followed by a loud and incredulous "WHAT THE FUCK!" And a sound not unlike crashing.
Wow, this ghost is a foul mouth, Harry decides. Finally, curiosity wins over fear and Harry opens his eyes– that he didn't even realise that he had closed– to the sight of a boy who looks to be around his age on the ground, a bike half on top of him. Harry takes a double-take, his eyes catching on something in the handlebars. It looks bell-shaped. Oh, that is because it is indeed a bell. Turns out Harry's potty mouth ghost was just a bike rider with bells tied on its handles.
Oops!
So Harry is the one who attacked him? How the turntables!
Looks like his attacker er attackee? had swerved to the side to avoid crashing into Harry, upending the whole thing and ended up being half under the bike, he concludes from the boy's position.
For the first time, Harry turns to get a proper look at the poor soul he's managed to scare into crashing by screaming bloody murder. He sees a handsome face half scowling half pouting clutching at his leg.
The faint moonlight reflecting on his platinum blond hair gives it an ethereal glow. What a pity that Harry thought he was a demon when the boy looks positively angelic even though he's clearly livid.
Hmm.. aside from a small cut on his upper lip, the Pretty Boy looks fine.
"Gah!" Harry says, his voice a little hoarse from the impromptu screaming match a few moments prior. Nevertheless, the adrenalin that is still coursing through him makes his voice a touch louder than the acceptable. But hey, cut him some slack, he is still breathing heavily like he just escaped from the mouth of death.
"You, what're you doing, riding in the middle of the road?" Harry half yells, stabbing a finger in the middle space between him and the Pretty Boy.
He knows full well he's not making sense but he can't bring himself to care the least bit about it.
His victim is yet to look at him, choosing to continue cussing up a storm and trying to get up from under the bike. But at Harry's yelling, he says without looking up, “Where on earth am I supposed to ride then if not on the road?! What the hell are you smoking pothead? You know you're not making any–”
“Not Pothead, it's Potter!” Harry mutters reflexively before he could stop himself.
Harry sees the Pretty Boy starting to look up. “What did you– Oh! You are cute!" The last part is said in a much softer voice as though his breath has left him.
"That I am", Harry mumbles in response and sniffs at the mild confusion he sees in the pretty face.
"You're annoying, I said!”. Pretty or not, Harry is still a little peeved at him for almost giving him a heart attack by riding a monstrosity like that.
"Could've said the same about you too!" The Pretty Boy retorts without missing a beat. "Oh isn't that just lovely? A match made in heaven."
"Uh? A match made-yo! What are you talking about?"
"You said I'm annoying, and I find you annoying too. See, a match made in heaven! So how about we go on an annoying date together?"
What in the world?!
The boy rambles on about how they have so much in common already and how being annoying together is relationship goals and whatnot, completely oblivious to Harry's sudden distress.
"The name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. But you can call me darling or my beloved if you want!" Harry thinks he hears the boy say through the blood that's still thundering away in his ears.
Oh my god is the Pretty Boy concussed?
The way he switched from pissed off to delighted and then flirty is alarming. And now he won't stop talking, opting to yammer Harry's ears out instead.
Harry kneels beside the Pretty Boy, gently tapping his thighs to signal him to look up, which in turn inadvertently makes the boy finally shut his pretty mouth. Thank God for small mercies.
"You alright? Are you concussed? Shit! How do I even know if you are indeed concussed?", Shit shit shit! Harry is starting to panic again.
“You could come closer and look into my eyes to see if the pupils are dilated?"
"Ah right!" Harry scurries to where the boy is still sprawled, almost toppling them both to the ground in his rush to get to his mission, which is the Pretty Boy’s pretty eyes.
He does that, gently cradling the boy's pretty face and looking deep into his stormy grey eyes. They do seem somewhat dazed and out of focus.
“What now?”
"…."
"Did you hit your head?", Harry's voice comes out as a squeak, when the boy has failed to say anything, opting to only blink at him instead.
Shit! Did I break the Pretty Boy?
"Dude, say something!", Harry shakes him slightly with the hand not holding his face.
"Something."
"What? No- I mean did you hit your head?"
The boy smiles at this, "No I didn't, I just cut my lip that's all."
"What?! Couldn't you have said that first instead of asking me to gaze into your eyes and shit?"
"I don't know, you seemed pretty into it."
Harry sputters.
Then, a beat later;
"You know, if you wanted to hold my face you only had to ask."
"What? Idiot, I was only concerned about your well-being."
"Might've been more believable if only you weren't stroking my lip."
And Holy Mother of God, Harry was stroking the Pretty Boy's pretty lip, with his thumb sweeping across that pretty cupid's bow above his upper lip- one that reminds Harry of a cherub- while tenderly cradling his pretty face.
Wow, that's a whole lot of pretty in there. Maybe Harry is the one who is concussed. Can you get concussed from intense screaming? He makes a mental note to Google it once he escapes from this nightmare.
"I- I wasn't- Ugh! I was just looking for any injuries in your pretty fa- I mean your pitiful face, alright?" He stumbles through the excuse and stands up quickly.
"Whatever you say!" Pretty Boy sing-songs, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Say, after you literally sweep me off my feet- uh- tyres, aren't you at least going to help me up?" He continues, fluttering his eyelashes for good measure.
Ugh! What business does he have looking absolutely adorable while trying to act cute at his age? It's infuriating!
Grumbling, Harry kneels again, helping to push the bike off the boy's legs. He winces in sympathy. The boy is definitely going to feel this come morning. He idly wonders if he would still feel like asking Harry out while limping for the next few days. He immediately admonishes himself when he catches the turn his thoughts are taking.
"Um. I'm sorry", he whispers watching the boy struggle to get out from under the bike. "I didn't mean to knock you off like that!"
"Then how were you planning to knock me off? No matter, I've already fallen for you."
Any charitable thoughts fly out at the boy's declaration and Harry unceremoniously yanks him into his feet.
"Ow! What was that for?" The Pretty Boy says, a note of whine in his voice.
He looks cute pouting and whining at Harry like that.
"Go be weird and annoying somewhere else, you weirdo, who drives things like this? Are you five to ride a bike with bells?" Harry says aloud instead, spinning on his heels to walk away only to turn back immediately when he hears a whimper.
He is beside the boy in the next instant who is swaying slightly, clutching his left leg.
"Does it hurt?" He asks, guilt softening his voice.
"When I fell from the heaven?"
"What? No, idiot, when I knocked you off your bike." Harry retorts, caught off-guard again from the Pretty Boy's flirting.
Nevertheless, he continues letting him lean on him. He notices that Pretty Boy is pretty tall. Like, he is a whole head taller than Harry. If they were to kiss, Harry would have to lean on his toes.
He experimentally leans up a little, as though to measure how much more he would have to do that to reach that fascinating cupid's bow. Almost at the same time, the Pretty Boy looks down at him, unwittingly closing the distance between their faces that much more.
He looks as shocked as Harry at the new proximity and licks his lips. Harry valiantly keeps his eyes on the boy's but his thoughts briefly do wander to that cupid's bow again.
Has his tongue grazed that cherubic little bow when he ran it through his lips? Is it glistening from his saliva? Before he knows it, Harry is once again reaching for the Pretty Boy's face. He rests a finger and thumb on his chin and gently nudges his face down and towards his own.
The Pretty Boy gasps, the faint sound jolting Harry back to reality. He snaps his eyes back up to the boy's and stutters out, "I-I don't think you're concussed."
He prepares himself for the ensuing teasing that's sure to follow, but the boy merely manages to swallow. For a change, he seems to be at a loss for words and tries to nod. Harry realises he's still holding his chin and lets go and jumps back a little, nearly sending himself sprawling on his arse. Luckily a hand shoots out and steadies him. Pretty Boy seems pretty amused at his plight, giggling behind his hand.
What the hell! Even his hands are pretty with long and elegant fingers that are so, so delicate. How is any of this fair?
"So, what do you say? When is our first date?"
Here we go again! Seems like Pretty Boy has already recovered from whatever spell he caught himself into. He's back at it again. Harry takes a single moment to silently lament the brief respite from the rambling when the Pretty Boy was tongue-tied and lets out a long-suffering sigh.
"Why should we? We don't even know the names of each other!"
"I'm pretty sure I've said my-"
"And it doesn't matter if you tell me your name now, that doesn't count."
"That's ok, but I'll tell you anyway, my name's Lucius."
"What? You said your name was Malfoy, Draco Malfoy!", Harry says, unconsciously mimicking the cheery way he remembered Pretty Boy said it a la James Bond.
At The Pretty Boy's pleased expression, Harry knew he was busted.
“Busted”, he echoes Harry's thought.
Although flustered, Harry doesn't let up. “But you still don't know mine.”
"I don't? You sure about that, Harry Potter?"
Harry is astonished, and truth be told, a little unnerved. How on earth does he know Harry's name? He is sure he never said it at any point in the conversation. Is he actually Harry's stalker? Is that why he was following him on this godforsaken little road?
"Aww, don't look so alarmed. If you don't want anyone to know your name, take off that name tag from your keychain.” The Pretty Boy winks.
Harry looks down at the keychain attached to his backpack and finds the name tag where 'Harry P.' is engraved in a fancy font. Right! He totally forgot about it.
“But– but what about Potter being my last name?”
“Oh? I thought you'd already corrected me that it was Potter”, he says with a smug smile, proving he was indeed paying attention during Harry's earlier slip-up. His insides feel warm at the knowledge.
But then the Pretty Boy’s eyes go wide, “Or did I hear it wrong? Ah! Is it actually Harry Pothead?”, he gasps, hand flying to his mouth dramatically.
“No! It's Potter alright!” Harry tries to shoot him an annoyed look, though he is not sure how effective it is due to the fact that his stupid lips refuse to cooperate and are instead constantly trying to imitate Draco’s own and trying to raise their corners.
With considerable effort, Harry finally manages to distort his face to a less amicable expression, and even though knowing the other will see through it, announces, “You're a pain in the arse! And this backpack could be my friend's or something."
"Could be. I took a chance, but now I know that's indeed your name from your reaction." The Pretty Boy says, ignoring his first sentence, and continues,
"Which is good since I was calling you Harry in my head this entire time, it'd have been weird if that was not your name, you know."
Harry blushes, realising that despite knowing Draco's name he had been calling him Pretty Boy in his head. Thankfully The Pretty Bo -er- Draco doesn't seem to notice.
"Well, what says I don't already have a boyfriend?"
To his credit, Draco doesn't even pause, “Then I'd say it's not right to ogle at a stranger if you are already taken.” His smirk is ever-present and if possible growing as he watches Harry's blush.
Apparently, Draco's smirk is directly proportional to Harry's blush. Harry looks away lest his face finally catches fire.
“Uh, is your bike alright?”, he asks, partly to change the subject, partly genuinely anxious to know whether he's had caused it to break.
Draco inspects his battered companion, pushing it back and forth to see if the tyres were working. He hops on it, riding it in a small circle around Harry.
“Mhmmm, nothing seems to be broken. A little paint scratched off, that's all.” He pats it down, fondness clear in his eyes.
“It's called gremlin bells, you know?” Draco says suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“These bells”, Draco gestures to the small bells tied to the handles, that still jingle in the light breeze, which scared the living hell out of Harry not even just a few minutes earlier.
“Gremlin bells?”
“Yep. Apparently these bells are tied to the motorbikes to help protect the riders from the evil spirits on the road.”
Well, shit. And here he thought the bells belonged to the evil spirits themselves. But wait, this isn't a motorbike though. It's just a regular bike. He said as much out loud, confusion evident in his voice.
“You're right. This isn't, but someone gave me these bells to protect me.”
“Who?” Harry asks before he can stop himself. Shit! He hopes Draco doesn't take note of how his voice went all sharp and a little bit territorial.
“My little cousin Teddy. He is only five though so maybe what you said earlier about being five for riding a bike with bells might be warranted.”
“Aww! That's adorable. And sorry about earlier. It was my fault that you crashed and then I went on and insulted your bike.” Harry feels the guilt grow.
“Ah! It's okay. I probably scared you with the bells.” Draco says, his voice understanding.
“Scared? Pfft! Who said anything about being scared? I was just startled, is all.” Harry shakes his head, voice getting all high and squeaky. He tries to laugh for good measure but stops immediately when it comes out even squeakier.
“Sure!” Draco shot him with a knowing look.
Harry doesn't say anything after that, realising he'll only dig himself deeper into a hole if he keeps trying to explain and keeps walking. Draco too seems content to push his bike along silently. Harry could see the bus stop in the distance. It's just a matter of minutes till he can hop in one that'll take him near his flat.
“Well, here I go”, he says once they reach the stop.
They both face each other, reluctant to say goodbye yet.
“So, your bike is good, but you sure you're alright too? Are you okay riding alone?” Harry asks, looking at the bike, he doesn't want to look at Draco for long, lest he get lost in those beautiful stormy grey eyes again.
“Why? Are you worried about me? Aww! I'm pleased. But you don't need to worry, I'm perfectly alright since you took care of me so well. I suspect you even cured me of my concussion.” Draco really does look so pleased with himself.
“You were never concussed in the first place.” Harry deadpanned.
“Yeah, because you cured me with your care and looove.” Draco is quick to reply, dragging out the syllable in an annoying yet adorable way.
“Yeah, on second thought maybe you're concussed after all.”
Draco laughs, the sound warm and infectious.
Harry turns away, trying to conceal the smile breaking out on his own face and flips him off for no reason other than for giving him grief with cheesy pickup lines and more importantly for making Harry fall for him a little.
“Oh honey, don't you think that's a bit early, shouldn't we at least go on a date or ride me, I mean ride the bike with me before doing what you just propositioned?"
“What? No, that's not what I, ah you're an arsehole.”
“Hey hey, none of that. No talking about my intimate parts without first letting me take you out on a date.”
Harry sputters, then scowls. "Why should it be you taking me out? If anyone's taking anyone out, it'd be me. I'll take you out!" He huffs, before fully processing what he's saying.
"Ok done", Draco says quickly, leaving no space for an argument. "It's a date!", he says, a little too pleased with himself.
"Why, you conniving little-"
“And because you asked me, I'll pick the location, let's meet here tomorrow at 5 pm?”
“You are a pain in the arse”, Harry repeats, the absolutely petty urge to have the last word strong.
“I hope to be, at least by the end of our date.”
Apparently, Draco has the ability to see the future, because he skips away to his bike just before Harry's fist can make an intimate acquiescence with Draco's mouth before his own lips.
Draco looks back at him grinning, waving while getting on the bike. But Harry dithers, making no move to the bus stop.
"What is it?" Draco asks, looking a little unsure seeing how silent Harry has become.
"You haven't given me your number yet", he mumbles while holding out his phone.
Draco's smile is positively ethereal when he reaches for Harry's phone. And it hasn't waned a bit when he hands it back. It is as infectious as it is so darn cute that Harry finds himself smiling back.
"See you later, Harry!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Draco!" with that, Harry turns back, his lips stretching in a ridiculously sappy smile.