"We have something to tell you guys..." Hermione began, looking towards Pansy for support. Everyone was here, and by everyone I mean Blaise, Daphne, Neville, Weasley, Potter and me. We were sat in Grimmauld Place: cousin Sirius and Professor Lupin out for a dinner date, so us seventeen-year-olds could have an impromptu mini gathering. It was a few pizzas, a movie or two, maybe some alcohol.
ThBlaise, Daphne, Pansy and I all came from the same school and now all go to the same college. Just about a year in and we (Daphne and Blaise) made friends with The Golden Trio - as I liked to call them - and Neville. Firstly, let me clear some things up: I am not friends with these people minus Neville and Hermione. Weasley is boisterous, loud, obnoxious. Potter is overly emotional, optimistic, suffocatingly generous.
"Me and Hermione-"
"Hermione and I." I helpfully corrected, but Blaise thwacked me in the back of the head.
"Yes, Draco, me and Hermione... Well- we're together."
"Really?"
"I knew it!"
"Oh that's great!"
"I'm happy for you, Pans." I smiled, standing to envelope one of my childhood best friends in a gentle hug. Her and Granger made such a good power couple. Genuinely, they could run the world one day.
0o0
Pansy and Hermione together is very... distracting. Every Wednesday school finishes an hour early, so Pansy and I go to a café in the local shopping space, browse the shop downstairs, then get a coffee or cake to talk about things, slag off people we don't like, and to help each other with our lessons.
Today, I asked her to help me with my Politics course, but she was too busy. Too busy checking her phone.
"My God, I don't believe Hermione is going to call you, Pansy." I rolled my eyes, and she - as she should - looked rather sheepish.
"I'm only checking the volume." Weakly, she defended.
"Well quit it. You said you would help me."
She huffed, "If you ever got a boyfriend you would know what it's like." Complained Pansy, and I laughed. I don't need a boyfriend, I can and am doing perfectly fine on my own.
"I don't care if I'm forever alone, darling. I don't need emotional distractions." She threw a cake at me, which smothered the old ladies' hair behind me. Gasping, we both choked on a laugh and ran before the staff could catch us.
0o0
We were all sitting in the cafeteria. Along the back wall and the left were just solid glass panels, separated by thin wooden beams running where second floor began. We had to push two tables together, and we were definitely the loudest and largest group in there. “Just thought you should all know,” Weasley began, blushing as red as his hair and then lacing his larger hand through Daphne’s smaller, less rosy one. “Me and Daphne are dating.”
“Knew you could do it, mate.” Potter said first. Following him was a chorus of ‘cool’, ‘I want details later’, ‘who asked who?’, etcetera. Smiling at my friend's happiness, I quietly resigned to sipping my black tea – no sugar, no milk, as tea should be.
0o0
I disliked Weasley anyway, but now he has dug himself an even deeper hole. At eight pm, knee deep in clothes I needed to fold, some to iron, I got a text from the second-best blonde in the group – her name Blonde Bimbo in my contacts. Can you meet me at Honeydukes as soon as possible? Then, when I was reading it, another message from Daphne came through, please.
Ever since they had been together, Daphne and I have hung out less. We used to go out to thrift stores and do fashion shows for the nice employees and our own enjoyment. We would lie, saying it was our birthdays, that we were twins, and we would get a discount.
Honeydukes is this very cute little restaurant that only does deserts. On the outside, the walls are painted pink, the place’s name in alternating red and white with bouquets of figurine lollipops just outside the entrance. Throwing on a chequered, jacquard jacket over a plain black shirt and a pair of black trousers, I quickly said goodbye to mother and father and headed to where Daphne was.
Arriving, a wave of nervousness hit me. What could she want? Did I do something wrong? Oh, was it to talk about my dislike towards Weasley? Because, honestly, if he wasn’t such a brass idiot all the time, we would have no issues.
Although it was eight pm, the sun was just setting behind trees and buildings that the golden glow made the place look magical. Even from the inside, all the fake sweets and deserts in glass casings along the walls shimmered with alluring words to potential consumers. Every table had two or more people on – even numbers only. This place doesn’t seem as ‘cute’ anymore. Rather sickening, in actuality.
Nevertheless, I walked over to Daphne who was dressed in her smart clothes. I know this because we did not buy these at a thrift store and the only time she shops at actual clothing stores are for weddings, funerals, parties, or dates. I was right: Weasley is a brass idiot.
“Let me guess,” I said as I sat down opposite a gloomy Daphne, playing with her melting vanilla ice cream. “Was this a date?”
“Ten points to Draco bloody Malfoy: he does it again. A star.”
“You’re never normally sarcastic.”
“Well, this isn’t normal, is it?”
Sighing, I softened slightly, “Look, maybe this is just as misunderstanding. I’ll call him-”
“I’ve tried: three times.”
“Right then.” Pursing my lips, I had insult upon insult on the tip of my tongue but held them back. “I’ll call Potter.” Daphne gasped. Potter and I may have each other’s numbers, but I do not talk to him on his own. Yes, he may have sent me the occasional message, but I never reply unless in the Group Chat or in real life.
“Malfoy?” Potter sounded flabbergasted.
“Yes, Potter, unless you know any other Draco Malfoy’s?” I hope he could tell I was rolling my eyes, “Is Weasley with you?”
“Ron?”
“No, Fred Weasley. Yes, Ron Weasley.”
“Er- yeah. We’re watching the game. Why?” ‘the game’ he was referring to was football. It was an England qualifier for the World Cup, however, I would think a date with your partner took priority, which I said to Potter. “Shit.” He said, then didn’t end the phone as he shouted, “RON! YOU’RE MEANT TO BE ON A DATE!”
“FUCK!”
When he finally arrived it was quarter to nine and Daphne and I were bursting into uncontrollable laughter seeing him wearing opposite shoes.
When Weasley realised, he looked so embarrassed. Just to add to this comedy sketch, Potter came running in wearing the matching shoes and switched one with Ron’s. Apologising profusely, he took my place and it was like I didn’t exist to Daphne anymore. That sweet taste from the cheesecake turned even more sour than a lemon.
“Hey…” Potter tapped me on the shoulder, gaining my attention. “I took the bus to catch up with him… could you drop me home?”
Defeated by his wide, green, desperate eyes, I said yes and we left: Daphne wasn’t fussed that I didn’t say goodbye. The drive home was nice- nicer! Nicer than I thought it would be.
0o0
Potter and I were talking now. Maybe even friends. It was only natural since Pansy was with Hermione and Daphne was with Ron. We were seeing more of each other, even if we didn’t even mean to. In the halls, his face kept appearing with a smile and in French he decided to sit next to me. Very unprompted, I assure you.
“Neville and I are officially a couple.” Nervously, Blaise said.
“Another two!” Exclaimed Weasley, fit pumping the air. Congratulations from everyone arrived, Blaise sending me subtle glances.
“Excuse me, I need to pop to the loo.” I excused myself, standing up and brushing my trousers when nothing was there. A slight murmur followed my exit but what they were saying all combined to this crush culture I did not want to be involved in.
0o0
I popped over to Potters. Not for Potter. Cousin Sirius. Pansy was unavailable, so was Daphne, Blaise, Neville, and Hermione. I even called Weasley ( but just to make sure it was because he and Daphne were doing something together).
Parking outside, the curtains were open. A strange feeling settled in my stomach, so I decided to peek inside. Siting on the love seat were Weasley and Daphne. On the floor was Hermione and Pansy, snuggled together. On the couch Neville rested his head on Blaise’s shoulder. And Potter was walking in with a tray of drinks.
Don’t tell the be-speckled git, but cousin Sirius gave me a key. It was when mother, father and I fell out and I had to stay at there’s for a month, Remus thought best that I get a key, to remind me I am always welcome.
Gently, I opened the door as to not make a single sound, and shut it like the slightest wrong movement meant it would break. “I’m not comfortable doing this.” It was Potter’s voice.
“What else is there to do?” Pansy contemplated, “I don’t like it either but…”
“He just- it’s like whenever he sees us he wants to spill his guts out.” Blaise added.
“Oh I love him, I really do.” Daphne said, “I just think if he finds someone, he wouldn’t be so bitter about us all being together.”
“You aren’t mate.” Weasley said.
“Everyone deals with things differently, I guess.” Dismissed Harry.
“Or are you trying to get into someone’s pants.” Suggested Weasley.
I heard a smacking sound, so Hermione probably hit him, “Don’t be so crass, Ronald.”
“I’m just saying-”
I’d heard enough. Deciding, for the first time, to act before I thought, I made my presence known.
“Thank you for saying exactly how you feel.” I stated, basking in the shock and guilt coming from all of them as best as I could show, because my insides had been ripped in two. Blaise, Pansy and Daphne hurt, but Potter – somehow – hurt more. He knew. He knew about this, and since it was at his house, he probably set this up.
Potter had a golden heart, a dazzling smile, and was always there to talk. It had been two months since Neville and Blaise announced that they were together, and Potter was always there when I needed company. Whether I asked for his or not.
Instead of Pansy and I going to the café, it was me and Potter. He listened to me rant about their relationships, reeling me in when I became too much, talked with me about a book I liked even if he wasn’t a massive reader, and I even let him drab on about football. Even though it was about a sport, whatever he said about it caught my attention because of the way he told it – exaggerated arms, different voices, recreations.
“Dray it’s not-” That’s another thing: Potter had started calling me ‘Dray’.
“No, I know what it looks like. And thank you, all of you, for showing me where I fit.” Storming out, I ignored the loud murmur following my exit, but what they were saying all combined to this crush culture I did not want to be involved in.
School was a nightmare, especially my two-hour periods. Pansy and Hermione cornered me in English, but I sat down, putting my bag on the seat next to me and they went away. In Politics, Blaise debated the impact of love on society with me, even though it was not on the course.
French broke me. Potter, in his terrible French, said “se retrouve plus tard sur le restaurant français du village?” which translates to ‘find himself later on the French restaurant in the village?’ But I understood what he meant.
I didn’t answer him because of his poor French, but I knew I was going. No matter how much I didn’t want to, I longed to. I had to.
Arriving at the restaurant ‘in the village’ (he meant town), the person asked me if I had reservations. I asked, “Is Potter on the list?”
“Ah, this way, sir.” He led me to a dimly lit booth next to the wall where Potter sat dressed in a full suite with a tie and a handkerchief in his pocket.
“Hi! I- didn’t think you’d come.” He stood up, cheeks an adorable red and eyes sparkling with glee. Goodness, those eyes.
“How could I not after you asked me to ‘find myself later on the French restaurant in the village?”
He groaned, “I really butchered that.”
“You did.” Folding my arms, I didn't sit down so the waiter awkwardly scurried off, "What is this about, then?"
He cleared his throat, "I wanted to apologise for what you saw, and to tell you it's not what it looked like."
"And I will re-iterate-"
"But it wasn't!" He jumped in, quickly, "I asked them around so they could help me!"
"Help you?" I edged a tad closer to the table, not ready to sit down yet.
"Yes, help me. Help me with this!" He gestured around him at the restaurant. I raised an eyebrow; it was sweet, it was lovely, but it still doesn't explain everything. He noticed what I was thinking, because he came around the table and took my hands. "I like you, Draco, I really do, but I didn't want you to think I'm only saying this because of how you felt about the rest of our friends. Because, like it or not, you were bitter-"
"I was not-"
His spoke louder and squeezed my hands slightly tighter, "Yes, you were. You were bitter that they were in a relationship and you weren't. I wanted this to be special, so you'd see that I do like you, honestly. Even when you're so sarcastic I can barely tell when you're being honest." One last, desperate attempt, he dragged me over to the dark red leather seats and guided me in. His rough palms feeling so nice in mine, keeping me in the moment, reminding me that I am still here. With him. With Harry Potter.
"Please, sit down. If you don't like it, you can leave. And on Monday you can finally talk to us all again because we can barely function as a group without you."
It was the pleading that got me, and then I realised, I was never able to say no to Harry Potter. "Okay, Harry."
"So... me and you on a date..."
"You and I."
"Me and you."
"Potter."
"Oh, back to Potter?"
"Yes, when you are a git."
"I'll try not to be."
"Whatever you say, Harry."