Chapter 3
Harry winced as he recalled Luna’s reaction to his statement. It wasn’t that she was mean about it or upset in any way, but how she had expressed her support felt like a stab to his pride. In true Luna fashion, she’d smiled brightly before delivering the killer blow.
“That’s great, Harry; I’ve never heard you say that before!” She had said, completely seriously.
From there, Harry waved goodbye to Luna as he hopped onto his bike and rode to the coffee shop where he and his date had decided upon. Or, it would be more accurate to say that the blonde had decided. Harry had never been to this cafe—it had always seemed a little too pricy for his tastes—but he assumed from his previous (and only other in-person) experience with the guy that he liked to live a bit large. Harry still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to go out with the guy. The man whose number he’d gotten from the fake business card printed on the back of his fake ID. Harry had to keep reminding himself that it was just one date, and if it went badly, he could just as easily block the guy and never have to see him again. As long as he didn’t show up at his work. But no one would pull that stunt after getting caught with a fake ID and a bad date. Right?
Harry was a few minutes early to the cafe, so after he chained his bike to a pole, he checked his phone to see a message from Ginny. He didn’t open it (he wanted to make sure he got a table before the lunch rush began) until he was seated at his table. It felt weird to him that he was the one waiting for somebody, but he had scanned the room and hadn’t seen the blonde. When he finally did open his text, in the back of his mind, he was reminded that Ginny was picking up Luna, meaning she had to be driving. Harry kept this in mind while texting her back.
So, glasses, I hear you’ve got a date
Harry rolled his eyes.
Didn’t Molly ever teach you not to text and drive?
But if you must know, I do have a love life.
Harry didn’t get to turn his phone off before he got a response. He scanned the room again for the blonde, however, there was no sign. The waitress was waiting for the other person in his party to get to him, although he did get himself a fancy peppermint drink while he waited. Harry didn’t care what anyone said; peppermint was a good flavor all year.
Voice to text dumbass
Don’t insult my mother
Where are you having your love life?
Harry was about to respond when he saw a person approaching the table in his peripheral vision. At first, he thought it was the waitress; however, when he looked up to meet their eyes, he was met with steel gray. Harry’s eyes peered back at his phone quickly. He’s right on time. He then texted Ginny back before putting his phone face down on the table and turning his notifications off.
I wasn’t insulting your mother; I was insulting you.
JuneBean
The blonde took the seat opposite Harry, taking notice of the latter’s drink.
“Were you waiting long?” He asked.
It took Harry by surprise how smooth the other’s voice was. He supposed he had only really heard the man before when he was angry, but it still came as a surprise. It also allowed Harry to get a better look at the blonde, for he hadn’t really taken in his features before. The man sitting across from him held himself in such a way that almost made Harry feel like a schlub in comparison. His features were so defined, whereas Harry had more of his babyface than he’d care to admit. While Harry was by no means a slouch (he was a fairly talented sports star, after all), he couldn’t help but almost immediately compare himself to the man in front of him. Harry reminded himself to reply before he was caught staring for too long.
“Oh, uh, no, sorry. I got here a bit early—errands and whatnot—and I was kinda thirsty because of my bike. I hope you don’t mind.”
The man offered a small—and if Harry didn’t know better, smug—smile, “Not at all; I was just worried I’d gotten the time wrong, is all.”
“I see,” Harry nodded, “Hey, um, sorry, I never got the chance to ask you, is your name pronounced Drăco? I haven’t met anyone with your name before.”
“Close, it’s like the constellation, Drāco.” He smiles, “I haven’t met anyone with my name either.”
From there, the conversation flowed naturally. The waitress returned to take their orders (Harry indulged in another froofy drink that his bank account wouldn’t appreciate later; this was one of those restaurants that didn’t put the prices on the menu, so he tried to order something that didn’t look expensive), and Harry couldn’t believe that this was the same underaged kid (now that he thought about it, Harry didn’t actually know the other’s age) trying to buy alcohol from a Lawmart a couple of days ago. Draco was like a new person, and Harry wasn’t sure what to think about the switch. He sure wasn’t complaining, though, that’s for sure. This Draco was much more calm, cool, and collected. He’d listened intently whenever Harry was speaking, and he seemed genuinely interested when Harry would go on a minor tangent about something he was passionate about. While he certainly never felt silenced by his friends, Harry felt a bit warm and bubbly, having someone seeming to care so much about what he had to say. At some point, between Draco’s questions and Harry’s excited indulgence of the blonde’s curiosity, the green-eyed cashier realized that he was doing most of the talking. When their food arrived, Harry quickly flipped the switch and began to ask Draco questions about himself, half because it was only fair and half because Harry needed to know how a person could be so irresponsibly juvenile and yet the most seemingly eloquent and put together person Harry had ever seen at the same time.
Draco, it seemed, was somehow responding to some of Harry’s questions without ever answering them. It wasn’t all cryptic, no, when Harry had asked the other about a favorite color (1. Because Harry wasn’t used to getting to know new people and 2. It seemed a good starter question as any), the blonde had promptly responded “Green. Specifically sacramento green, I find it rather complimenting.” However, when Harry asked, “Complimenting to what?” Draco had danced around the answer, saying something about gray, and then there was a compliment somewhere in there about Harry’s eyes. It was a confusing response, to say the least, but not half as strange when the raven-haired had tried asking about Draco’s childhood. The blonde had nonchalantly said he’d had an unusual upbringing compared to most but then abruptly changed the subject. After taking a little talking break to eat (the food wasn’t as good as Molly’s, but it was good enough to forget about the price tag), Draco had the mind to ask about Harry’s own childhood.
While Harry wasn’t ashamed of his childhood by any means, he didn’t think going into his rocky relationship with his aunt and uncle and growing up going back and forth between that house and his godfather’s while Sirius was fighting for full custody for years was really a first date kind of topic. Especially when he didn’t quite know what to think of the guy yet; for some reason, Harry didn’t want to scare him away. Maybe he feels the same way about his childhood. Harry pondered briefly. The green-eyed wondered if he should be just as brief as the blonde, but his mind quickly shot that down. If he wanted to learn anything personal about the person sitting opposite of him, he had to divulge some information, too.
Instead, Harry said, “I guess also sort of unusual, but I was practically raised by my godfather. Unless we count my best friend’s folks, he’s the closest thing I have to a parent.” Harry then laughed, “He’d likely think I was daft if he knew I was on a date with the guy who handed me a fake ID. How old are you actually, if not 21?”
The boy in question took another bite of his sandwich before answering Harry, “Just about 20.”
“You’re kidding,” Harry said, almost choking on his peppermint drink, “You’re nineteen, and you made a fake ID just to buy alcohol? You know you could’ve gone to any bar with your legitimate one, right?”
“Now, now, I don’t mean to be defensive, but it just so happens that I prefer the classiness of drinking in my own home rather than in a bar with a bunch of loud, obnoxious strangers.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were too good for bars.”
Draco scoffed, “Says the boy who’s never stepped into one.”
Harry was almost offended. “How do you know I’ve never been in a bar before? Clearly, I know my way around a fake.”
The blonde just raised an eyebrow, asking Harry to lie to him. And it would be a lie if Harry told Draco he’d ever been in a bar. Despite his above-average knowledge of fake IDs, he’d never actually attempted to get or make one himself. The closest he’d come to drinking was butterbeer (and the alcohol content in that was almost non-existent), and the time when Harry had taken a sip out of his friend Dean’s water bottle after practice when he ran out of water in his own only to find out that Dean had filled it with vodka. Thinking back, the latter might be the reason he didn’t care for the idea of drinking.
Puffing his cheeks in exasperation, Harry reluctantly responded, “Fine, you’ve caught me. I don’t go to bars, and I don’t really drink. You don’t need to patronize me for it.”
“Who’s patronizing you? I never said there was anything wrong with that. Harry, it’s a good thing you don’t go into bars illegally and get blackout drunk. You’re seventeen; you don’t need to be ruining your life like that. It’s honestly more impressive that you have access to all that alcohol at work and don’t take advantage of it.”
Against his will, Harry’s face flushes. He hadn’t expected the compliment. He was used to being, albeit lightly and all in good fun, chastised by his friends (except Luna and Hermione, who tended to share his opinion) for being a bore at parties. It was more expected from Hermione because she was always responsible, and nobody really wanted to know what Luna was like when she was drunk, so they never pushed her. Harry, however, was the quick-witted, bitingly sarcastic, popular (even if he didn’t think so) athlete. He, out of everyone, was the most expected to get buzzed. He expected to get more of the same from the blonde in front of him. But he didn’t. And it made him feel kind of warm inside.
When the waitress returned, asking if the two needed anything else, Harry and Draco agreed that they were stuffed. Before Harry could ask the waitress to split the check—like he had been planning on doing since he first sat down—Draco handed her his card. A Black Card. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried his best to be inconspicuous as he did a double take. He blinked a couple of times just to be sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Harry had never seen a Black Card in real life, and some of him thought they were just a myth to make the working class feel even more poor. Sure, legally, Draco was an adult and could be making his own income. It was technically possible. It was also possible that it wasn’t a Black Card and it was just a regular credit card that was dark and shiny. However, when Harry looked at the waitress, she looked just as taken aback as Harry felt. That’s a real card. Harry thought. And then, He didn’t even look at the bill.
Harry’s vision started to blur a bit. Who the hell is this guy? Harry grabbed his peppermint drink and took a long sip from the straw as he tried to compose himself again. Damn, this tastes good. Willing himself out of his stupor, Harry sets his drink down again to address Draco. The blonde didn’t even look phased that he’d handed over a card with that much power. Instead, he was fixing his hair in what must’ve been his phone camera. Harry really meant to say something, he did, but all he ended up doing was staring. When the waitress came back and handed Draco the mythical piece of plastic, she asked the blonde if he wanted the receipt. Draco declined, but Harry quickly reacted.
“Oh! Um, actually, could I have it? I need to know how much I need to pay you back.”
The waitress nodded and was about to hand it over when Draco waved his hand, “No need.”
Harry was about to protest, but the blonde acted first and thanked the waitress for her service, sending her away with a smile. Harry puffed his cheeks and blew air out of his mouth in frustration before Draco stood up and motioned for Harry to follow him out of the restaurant. Harry couldn’t tell you why he automatically followed the blonde’s lead. Draco waited for Harry to find and unlock his bike—which was thankfully still there.
“I was going to pay for my own stuff. You didn’t have to.” Harry said, a little less irritated than he wanted to sound. He was still a little dazed after discovering how rich his date really was. He really should’ve been more prepared for that. It wasn’t just any bottle the blonde had tried using a fake to buy.
“And while I appreciate your willingness to do so, I was the one who asked you. Naturally, I should be the one to pay for it.” Harry opened his mouth to counter when Draco continued, “And I wanted to.”
With burning cheeks, Harry mumbled, “If this was your way of trying to butter me up so I’ll let you buy that wine later, you were sorely mistaken.”
Draco actually laughed, and once again, Harry felt all warm and content inside. He really had to stop feeling that way, or else he might have to go see a doctor. Harry had been on dates before, none of them as easy as this one, but he’d never felt like this. Finally, clicking open the bike lock, Harry figured this was their parting moment. Harry turned to say his goodbyes to Draco, but the taller’s eyebrows were scrunched.
“How far away is your house from here?” Draco asked.
It was Harry’s turn to scrunch his eyebrows. It had taken him about another 10 minutes to get to JuneBean from Luna’s store. Maybe more. He’d arrived with plenty of time to spare, and he’d been waiting around 8-10 minutes before Draco had gotten there.
“Um, I don’t know, actually. About 30 minutes, if I had to guess. I’ve done it before—from shops even further away—so it’s not that big of a deal. I just hope it doesn’t start raining”
The blonde pursed his lips tightly before shaking his head, “Absolutely not. Come with me.”
And once again, Harry would be hard-pressed to give an answer if someone asked him why he took his bike by the handlebars and walked with it behind Draco. A couple of paces away, Harry saw a seriously fancy car. Now, Harry wasn’t really one to know cars by name. He was more of the kind to be excited when a car is new rather than old, and to him, that’s a nice car. This car, however, looked expensive, shiny, and spotless. It looked like a well-cared-for car, and while Harry didn’t know the exact name of the car, he did know the symbol. What is a Rolls Royce doing in this parking lot? And, of course, that was the car Draco was leading him to. Just who is this guy? A bit of reality set into Harry’s mind. Scratch that: Who are his parents?
Draco unlocked the car, opened the back door to slide in Harry’s bike, and leaned it against the back seat like it was no big deal. He just put the dirty wheels of my bike on the floor of this car. This car that probably costs more than a hundred of these bikes. Harry himself was dumbfounded at this point and allowed Draco to put a hand against the small of his back and guide Harry to the passenger’s seat. Like a perfect gentleman, the blonde opened the door for Harry and motioned for him to sit down. Once the raven-haired did, Draco shut the door and opened the door on the driver’s side, settling into his seat. This was about the time when Harry broke out of his stupor for the second time in less than half an hour. Harry felt too poor to be in this car right now.
“Woah, hey, I appreciate the offer, but I really can just bike home.”
Draco pulled out his phone without acknowledging Harry's statement, “What’s your address, love? ”
Ignoring the dryness that was overtaking his mouth, Harry bit down the annoyance at being ignored, “This is starting to feel an awful lot like the beginning of a true crime documentary. You aren’t about to kidnap me, are you?”
Alright, maybe he didn’t clamp down on the sarcasm as much as he meant to.
“If I wanted to kidnap you, I wouldn’t be doing it in broad daylight in a noticeable car after being seen leaving with you after spending at least an hour with you in a restaurant, Potter.” Harry was almost surprised at how serious the tone was, but then the blonde quickly broke into a smile, “I’m much smarter than that, love. Now, your address. Unless you wanted to drive around until you had work.” Draco then blanched, “You aren’t biking to that treacherous place, are you? I might have to reconsider this ‘not kidnapping you’ idea.”
Harry laughed before he realized the blonde was dead serious.
“Someone’s usually around to give me a ride. If not, yeah, I’ll bike it. I haven’t quite learned how to fly yet, but when I do, I’ll update you.”
Draco pursed his lips in thinking before handing his phone over to Harry. The green-eyed was bewildered until he realized that Google Maps was open on the blonde’s phone. Draco finally placed his key into the ignition and twisted it to rev the car to life. Harry was almost in awe by how smooth it sounded.
“Since I can’t seem to get you to tell me, buckle up and put your address into my phone.” Draco waited for Harry to click his seatbelt into place before continuing, “ I’ll come pick you up from your house again at around 5:30.”
Harry was midway into typing in his address when he questioned, “What? Why?”
“You have work at around six o’clock, no? I’ll take you.”
“But why? You don’t know me.”
Harry hands Draco’s phone back to him, and the blonde sets it up to vocalize the directions. He pulls out of the parking lot, and Harry studies the other boy’s face. I can’t read him at all. Why did I agree to do this again? What Harry did notice was that Draco looked as expensive as his car. His skin was flawless, he didn’t have a hair out of place, and Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but his features were almost that of a model. If anything, the blonde had a uniqueness about him that set him apart from any model Harry had ever seen.
“Look,” Draco said, pulling Harry back into reality, “I can’t be putting in all the effort here.”
Harry tried thinking of a response, but Draco spoke again before he could.
“You’re right, I don’t know you.” The blonde’s gray eyes darted over to green for just a moment before they returned to the road. “But I’d like to.”