When he saw the heart shaped invitation on his desk, his own heart sank. What was it with happy couples that they seemed to want to surround themselves with other couples on this most cursed holiday of the year. It was not even a real holiday, just a Merlin forsaken excuse to boost sales of confectionery, flowers, cards and champagne. Not that he had anything against a glass or two of champagne with friends, but it was the ‘plus one’ bit that was getting him down. Was there a rule against odd numbers at parties? Why did anyone have to be partnered up? He spent most of his childhood on his own, and most of his school years as a trio. He did not mind NOT being introduced as someone’s other half. He was perfectly fine by himself. Just Harry, thank you very much.
He groaned as he put his head on the table in despair.
He couldn’t think of an excuse not to accept the invitation to the Inaugural Wixen Valentine’s Ball, it was a charity event organised by two of his closest friends, but where was he going to find a date at short notice?
As he mindlessly flicked through the latest copy of Yes Glitter! an advertisement caught his eye:
Stuck for that elusive Plus One?
Look no further, indeed
The most wonderful Plus One experience guaranteed
‘One’derful Dates
will impress all your mates
Harry stared at the advertisement for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally he grabbed his coat, copied the address on a scrap of paper and told his Secretary he was going out for a bit.
‘Hells bells’, he thought, it was just one night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The entrance to ‘One’derful Dates was understated, as was the receptionist, who looked like a cross between a school teacher and a nun.
‘Good Morning, Sir,’ she said in a rather posh accent, ‘My name is Sybil, what can we do for you today?’
For a moment he stood frozen on the spot, debating whether to turn on his heels without a word.
What in Merlin’s name am I doing here, he thought to himself.
Sybil, looked at him and then gently asked, ‘A date for the Wixen Valentine’s Ball perhaps? We have been getting a lot of queries these past few days.’
Harry let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t crazy, or at least he wasn’t the only one.
He took a step closer to Sybil’s desk and said, ‘Yes, that is indeed why I am here.’
‘No problem, Sir, take a seat.’
She took out a notebook and pen.
‘Sex?’, she asked.
Harry nearly jumped up again.
‘I beg you pardon?’, he stuttered flummoxed at how forward this woman was. Nun, my ass, he thought.
‘Sex,’ she repeated, ‘Are you looking for a male or female companion?’
‘Oh,’ Harry paused. He had not really thought about that. He had supposed that they would automatically pair him up with a woman, but now that he was given a choice, it dawned on him that he would actually prefer male companionship, even if it was for just one night.
‘Male, would be great,’ he managed to stutter, feeling himself blushing again.
‘Hair preference?’, she asked.
His first thought was that he would like someone with hair, but then realised that she meant hair colour.
‘Blonde’, he said, not knowing why.
‘Physique?’
‘Lean, but muscular,’ he answered. This time without any hesitation.
‘Interests?’
‘Quidditch, I suppose, and maybe English poetry or art?’
Sybil had the decency not to laugh or comment on his choices. He supposed asking for a good looking blonde quidditch player who could recite poetry might be a tall order, but to his surprise, she said, ‘I think I might have just the date for you. If you give me your address, he will pick you up at 7pm on the night of the Wixen Valentine’s Ball.
‘Oh, Ok, yes that is fine,’ Harry muttered, as he scribbled down his address, perplexed that it had been this easy.
It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the office that he realised he never asked for his date’s name.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When a few days later the doorbell rang at 7pm, a very nervous Harry opened the door to a massive bouquet of daffodils, and a vaguely familiar voice reciting:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
‘Malfoy…?’ Harry asked in surprise, trying to look around the bunch of flowers for the face belonging to the voice he had now recognised.
The bunch of flowers was lowered abruptly.
‘Potter? This must be some mistake. I asked for a dark handsome athlete with green eyes and impeccable dress sense.’
‘I do have green eyes, just like my mother I’m told…a lot.
Wait, you asked…you mean you don’t work for ‘One’derful Dates?’
‘Of course I don’t, you think I am an escort? Don’t you know I am the Sports Editor for the Prophet? It’s a dating or matchmaking service, or whatever they call it these days. Did Miss Prim and Proper not tell you that?’
Harry laughed, ‘No, she didn’t and she does have that air about her, doesn’t she. I thought she looked like a cross between a nun and a teacher.’
They both laughed.
‘So I learned that poem off by heart for nothing? It took me ages.’
‘Well, feel free to recite the rest, while I put those daffodils in a vase and pour us both a drink.’
‘You still want to go to the ball then?’
‘Sure, why not. We are both dressed and it is not as if we can get another date at short notice, so we might as well pretend that we are on a date and have a bit of a laugh. It’s just one night.’
‘My Faaaaaather would turn in his grave, you know, fake date or not’, Draco said, as he handed the flowers to Harry.
‘I suppose mine would too,’ Harry admitted, realising for the first time that they now had that in common. They were both fatherless.
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze…
As Harry was arranging the flowers in a vase, he couldn’t help admiring the way Draco was reciting the poem. There was none of the usual sneer or drawl in his intonation. In fact his voice was quite lovely.
Harry was glad he had made a bit of an effort with his outfit for the night. He might not be the impeccable dresser Draco had hoped for, but his midnight blue tuxedo with pocket square that matched his eyes, was quite becoming, if he said so himself.
On the other side of the room Draco was coming to the same conclusion, as he looked his date up and down, while reciting the poem.
… And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
‘You scrub up well, Potter,’ he said when he finished reciting the poem.
‘Maybe you should call me Harry, if we are supposed to be dating and maybe we should come up with a cover story about how we met,’ Harry said, as he handed Draco a glass of wine.
They sat down on the couch and looked at each other awkwardly.
‘I suppose we could say we ran into each other at the opera,’ Draco ventured.
Harry laughed, ‘None of my friends would believe that, I’m afraid. Maybe we can say that we met in the local launderette.’
‘I have no idea what that is, but if it has to do with laundry none of my friends would believe it. Laundry is for elv…’
At Harry’s disapproving look he cut the word short.
‘I do pay them, I have you know and I treat them reasonably well. Better than my parents at least.’
‘Sorry,’ Harry said, ‘for a moment you sounded just like your Dad. The way he kicked Dobby down the stairs still haunts me at times.’
‘I am not my father,’ Draco said defensively and Harry was reminded of the many times he had uttered that exact phrase at Professor Snape each time he was compared to his own dad.
‘Ok, so not the opera and not at the launderette,’ he said with forced cheerfulness, ‘though I have heard that it is a great pick up joint.’
‘Noted,’ Draco said, ‘Did you ever wonder why you are still single?’
‘Not particularly. I quite like my own company, actually.’
‘Same,’ Draco said, as he took another sip of wine.
‘Great wine, by the way,’ he remarked.
‘I might be an orphan, but that doesn’t mean I am uncultured,’ Harry said.
‘Uncultured enough not to frequent the opera,’ Draco said raising an eyebrow. ‘You might like it, you know, if you gave it a try.’
‘Noted,’ Harry said.
Draco smiled, ‘Do you have some more of that wine? It is truly excellent.’