Chapter 3
I can't do the talks like they talk on the TV
And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be
Draco groggily peeled his eyelids apart.
He was aching all over. He yawned, stretching his legs and arms like a starfish and then blinked into the sunlight.
Where am I?
Running a hand through his hair, he looked around in confusion at the strange apartment. Then, it all came rushing back to him.
Oh, no. Oh, Merlin.
He had bumped into Harry drunk and emotionally vulnerable. The bloody Boy Who Lived had brought him to his apartment and fixed the wounds he had inflicted on Draco. He was wearing the Chosen One's clothes and then he had conked out on his couch. Draco's face burned in embarrassment.
He sat up and cursed himself inwardly.
Now Harry's going to think your a mess! Salazar, I need to leave before he sees me...
Feeling bleary and disoriented, he tried to locate his clothes. They were nowhere to be seen and as he hectically scanned the room, he realised he hadn't gotten a proper picture of Harry's apartment the night before. Now he found himself taking it all in, curious about how the other man lived.
Harry's flat had a small entrance part, with a coat-hanger and a mirror, though no shelves for shoes. Those were just scattered on the floor. The main area, where Draco was sitting, was a combined living-room kitchen. The kitchen part took up one wall, complete with a fridge, cabinets, a sink, an oven and a stove. It was raised on a sort of dais, making the living room part a little lower. There was a round kitchen table with four chairs, though scarves and a hoodie were draped over them. The table was covered in newspapers, books and some muggle electronics. It didn't look like Harry usually ate there, instead using it as a place to put stuff.
The room itself was painted a tasteful dusty grey-blue colour. There were some plants, though most of them looked long dead, and one or two mirrors on the walls, as well as paintings and pictures here and there.
A small sofa table, adorned with remotes, the book Quidditch Through the Ages, a laptop, and two mugs, stood close to the couch. One of the mugs had the words 'World's Best Godfather' printed on them, and the other was the bisexual flag. Draco chuckled.
Additionally, there was a carpet, a muggle TV, a bookshelf, and a couple of odd-looking lamps in different spots in the room. It was an open space, one wall had two windows with a small balcony, but not particularly large. He had used it quite well, and the combination of muggle and magic was charming. His firebolt rested against the wall, as well as a guitar covered in stickers. Some of the pictures and paintings moved, while some were frozen.
Harry seemed to be fairly clean if a little untidy. Random objects were scattered throughout the room, not on the floor but on surfaces and on the bookshelf. There was also a calendar hanging near the entrance, with a picture (of Hermione drinking out of two beer bottles at the same time) for the month of October.
That's the Deputy of the Minister of Magic, kids.
Above the doorway which led to the corridor, Harry had disappeared down last night, hung a peculiar clock, with oddly chunky hands. Draco would have taken a closer look, but he was busy panicking.
Where are my clothes? I can't leave the house looking like this!
He threw back the purple fluffy blanket Harry had evidently covered him with and stood up. A glimpse of himself in the nearest mirror showed dishevelled white-blonde hair and an imprint of the sofa's lines on his left cheek. He tried and failed, to make himself look less crazy.
Fuck it.
Draco made up his mind. Harry could definitely not see him like this. It was bad enough that he had witnessed his breakdown the night before!
He would just summon his clothes, quickly change and then make a discreet run for it. He could apparate back to his apartment, leave an apology note and disappear off the radar. He could avoid this part of town and somehow make sure he never saw Harry again. It was possible.
Just as he searched around for his wand, a voice rumbled, "Going somewhere?"
Draco whirled around on the spot and his eyes fell on Harry. Shirtless Harry.
"Morning," The other man said in an amused tone.
Harry was leaning against the doorway, only sporting a pair of wide, sinfully low-hanging pyjama pants and white socks. One arm was resting against the door frame, the other casually messing up his hair. He was gorgeous.
Draco swallowed.
Harry's dark torso was muscled and covered in tattoos. A hippogriff reared out from under his left arm and across one side of his chest, a snitch placed on his solar-plexus. Something that looked like a key with wings on his lower torso, a paw-print on his collarbone and some words on his hipbone, amongst others. Draco stared at the sight of the messy black hair and lopsided glasses, the lazy smirk and the broad shoulders and strong arms.
Harry had gotten, uhm, fit, through his Auror training.
Draco was transfixed. He had completely forgotten what he was doing and fell back onto the sofa, lost for words.
Harry sidled over to the kitchen sink and turned his back to Draco, "Did you sleep well?"
Draco's mouth had now fallen open. The other man's back was even better. As Harry moved around the kitchen area, his broad shoulders and muscly back rippled elegantly. He had an incredible tattoo of a stag's antlers adorned with some lilies displayed across his entire shoulder blades, like wings. What Draco recognised as the Gryffindor sword was perfectly placed in the middle, down his back. The Deathly Hallows symbol on his neck, a date in Roman Numerals, and some other ones covered his back sporadically. Something dark poked out from the waistband of his plaid PJ bottoms, on his hip. Draco wondered what it was and fought the urge to ask Harry straight-out.
Hey, Harry. Do you mind presenting your arse to me, so I can see what tattoo you have on your legs?
Nope, that does not constitute a light conversation. Not at all...
"So?" Harry had since turned, now holding two mugs loosely in one hand. He looked imploringly at Draco and the blonde man finally managed to feebly croak: "Your sofa isn't exactly five-star hotel material."
Harry laughed and answered, "You're being awfully brazen for someone who was allowed to crash here."
"Brazen?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you knew big words like that."
Another laugh. Draco's stomach squirmed happily, in complete betrayal. "Hmm, ouch." Harry leaned against his kitchen counter and clicked his fingers casually. The kettle began boiling. "Tea or coffee?" He asked, still smirking in a superior fashion and still maintaining eye contact.
Salazar. If you continue staring into my soul like that, I'll never leave.
"Actually," Draco said instead, standing up and bundling the fuzzy blanket in his hands. "I was just going to leave. I've been indebted to you enough, I think. But thanks for the offer-"
"Draco."
"Yes?"
"Sit back down, I'm making us some breakfast," Harry finally turned to pour the water into the mugs. "And you aren't indebted to me. Don't be ridiculous."
Draco sat back down. Breakfast?? "Breakfast?" He asked.
"Breakfast, you know-" The taller man waved a hand, and the mug meant for Draco elegantly flew across the room, right onto the sofa table. This time it was a mug with a London telephone box printed on it. "Eggs, toast, anything the heart desires, really. That is, anything your heart desires, of course."
Harry sipped on his mug, looking across the room at Draco. The pale man picked up the mug and took a sip of the coffee. "This is much better than the coffee at the cafe where we first met," He commented, cherishing the warmth seeping into his stomach. Then he frowned at the other man, "Also, I know what breakfast is. I just didn't know you could cook."
"Well, getting neglected for the first 11 or so years of your life will make a cook out of anyone," Harry said drily. "So, what shall it be, oh guest?"
Draco took another thoughtful sip.
He can cook. Merlin, is he that perfect?
He knew the last thing he would want is pity and somehow he guessed Harry felt the same way. "You choose, I'll trust you - against my better judgement, of course."
"Of course!"
Harry began moving around the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking completely at ease. Draco watched the tattooed man move around comfortably and wrapped himself in the blanket, mug clutched between his hands. He was content.
"Harry, are you still in contact with your extended family?" He asked, finding that he wanted to know more about the man, who was so different and so the same as he had been in school.
"Uh, not really," Harry put a pan on the stove. "The occasional Christmas card, but even that is getting fewer and fewer. My cousin Dudley is married and has a kid on the way, though. His wife is alright, from what I've heard." He turned, pushing his glasses up his nose, and asked, "Do you have any allergies?"
Draco answered, "I'm pescetarian and avoid dairy products." Harry nodded and turned back to the pan. Draco sipped on his coffee and watched his back and his shoulders...and his arse...and those tattoos...
A sexy, funny, fit, talented man is cooking breakfast for me and let me sleep at his house. How will I mess this one up?
"Do you have a spare toothbrush?" Draco set down his mug and sidled over to the counter, leaning against it and facing Harry. Harry was busy making scrambled eggs, but he looked up now. His green eyes briefly roved over Draco's appearance and a slight blush seemed to appear on his face. The blonde man bit back a grin.
"Through the back, the door on the left. Under the sink, there should be a packet." The taller man pointed with one large hand down the corridor and Draco followed the direction. As he turned to leave the room, he could feel Harry's gaze on him. He hoped his hair looked good, and that these sweat pants were flattering.
***
Harry's bathroom was clean if a little small. Draco swiftly found the toothbrush and while he brushed his teeth, he examined himself in the mirror, as he reflected on the situation. His hair was a bit messy, but it looked alright. The circles under his eyes were apparent, but not abominable. He quickly splashed some cold water on his face and through his hair a little and immediately felt fresher.
"C'mon Draco," He muttered to himself. "You are intelligent, witty, and pretty. It's just bloody Harry Potter!"
Steeling his nerves and giving himself a flirtatious wink, he left the bathroom, ready to face the absolute vision that was shirtless and tattooed Harry, brandishing a pan.
When he was back in the living room, Harry was still going at it. He looked up and watched Draco approach, holding his gaze. "Nice shirt, by the way!" He said with a naughty grin.
Draco looked down at himself. He was wearing the same dark-red shirt, but only now did he notice the lion and the writing. It was a Gryffindor shirt. His ancestors would never forgive him.
He rolled his eyes and retorted, "Right back at you, Potter."
Harry had the audacity to wink and briefly flex his muscles. Draco fought a blush.
"Don't get me wrong," The dark-haired man was now saying, still smirking. "It suits you!"
Draco scoffed, "If you don't watch it, I might just run around naked, like you."
Harry expertly shook the pan, grin still very much plastered on his face. "Is that supposed to be a threat? Sounds more like a reward for me.."
"Brazen and bold, that's what you are," Draco walked past him and smacked him lightly on the back of his head. "Shall I set the table?"
"Hmm, you're changing the topic, aren't you?"
"Yes, oh no, you've caught me," Draco said drily and opened a random cupboard. "So?"
"Have I flustered you that much?" Harry chuckled and Draco briefly considered threatening him with the bread-knife.
"Still on that, are we?" He mused instead and removed two plates from the cupboard. Harry's actual kitchen table was too messy, so he decided to put the plates on the sofa table, alternatively. Picking up the three used mugs, he manoeuvred around the cooking Harry and placed them in the sink.
"I can't think about anything else," Harry was now doing a silly sing-song voice. Draco snorted and began washing the mugs in the sink.
Five minutes later the two men were sprawled opposite one another, eating what was basically eggs on toast. It was the best eggs on toast that Draco had ever tasted.
"You know, Harry," He said, breaking the satisfied silence. "For someone who claims to be an excellent chef, this isn't a particularly impressive meal..." He smirked slyly and ducked the lion cushion, that Harry chucked at him.
"Your welcome!" Harry grinned, shaking his head. Then he placed his plate on the table, stretched his limbs and yawned widely, reminding Draco eerily of Merlin. He allowed himself to appreciate the view Harry was presenting but quickly glanced away when the yawn seemed to come to an end.
"So, does that mean you celebrate the holidays with the Weasleys?" Draco asked, finishing the last scraps of his scrambled eggs. He looked up and met Harry's gaze, fork in mouth.
"Pretty much," The other man answered in a measured tone. "They're basically my family, if not by blood. Although," He laughed a small laugh. "I doubt that decision's up to me, anyway..."
Draco smiled. "Molly Weasley, right?"
"A force to be reckoned with," Harry laughed again, fondness evident in his tone. Draco felt the twinge of jealousy that had haunted his teenage years whenever he thought of the Weasley family dynamics. Secretly he'd often longed for the unconditional warmth and openness of that family.
Ironic: all of it...
"Draco, can I ask you something?" The same measured tone. Harry could have been a bloody therapist.
"Yes, doctor?" Draco smirked, teasingly, but the dark-haired man was staring past him and out of the window.
"Hope this isn't intrusive, and obviously you do not need to answer if you don't want to..." Now he looked at Draco, who nodded. "How do you deal with all of it? Your mother, your father. Everything that happened. I just, I've often wondered..."
There was a moment of silence, in which neither of them moved. Draco slowly placed his empty plate on the sofa table, next to Harry's. Then he leaned back on the sofa and zeroed in on the odd clock above the doorway.
"I'm honestly surprised you're even asking me this," He watched one of the many hands (which he assumed was the minute hand) move forward once. "It must have been the same as you. Lots of therapy and getting away from it all, as best as I could. I know I was a mess yesterday, but truly most of the bad days are vastly outnumbered by the good ones. "
Another silence.
"Is this a bad one or a good one?" Harry held his gaze with an annoying amount of sincerity. Bloody Gryffindors.
"Good, I think." Draco frowned and picked up the lion cushion from the floor. He played with its tasselled mane, agreeing with himself that the lion really was quite ugly. Then he threw it at Harry, saying, "Hey, how does that clock work?"
Harry caught the cushion and hugged it close to his chest, craning his neck to look at the clock.
Draco felt his eyes inevitably wander to the other man's tattooed torso again. There was just so much to look at! The hippogriff, half concealed by the cushion, smirked knowingly at Draco as if to say, 'I see you.' He fought the childish urge to stick his tongue out at it.
"That clock was my 21st birthday present from the Weasleys," Harry turned back. He threw the cushion back at Draco. "It has a hand for every person who is very important to me and where they are. Roughly, of course - otherwise it would be too creepy."
Draco had to stretch to catch the cushion. He felt the red shirt ride up and did not bother tugging it down, instead catapulting the cushion at Harry from where he caught it. It smacked him right in the face and the two men exploded into laughter. Harry straightened his glasses and casually lopped the pillow back at him, ever the graceful Quidditch player.
"Show off," Draco smirked and caught the pillow. Harry grinned and the blonde man attempted a more sophisticated throw. He flung the pillow by extending his arm and swinging it horizontally, parallel to the floor. This time Harry had to stretch out so far to catch the pillow, that he fell off the sofa.
Draco creased, laughing. Harry jumped up with a fire in his eyes and his hair standing on end. "Oh, it's on!" He crowed and hurled the pillow at Draco from a high angle. The blonde man jumped off the couch and snatched the lion-head out of mid-air. He retreated behind the sofa table, swinging the cushion to and fro, menacingly. Harry mirrored his movements and the two men chased each other around the furniture of Harry's apartment, dodging and tossing the cushion to and at each other.
Draco found himself enjoying this silly game so much that he forgot about his troubles for a moment. All that mattered was Harry's unfiltered joy, the wild look in his eyes, the thrill of chasing and running away from someone simultaneously. It really was a shame that grown men didn't get to exercise this kind of childish behaviour more often. Harry finally caught up with him, tackling him with brute force, so they were both catapulted onto the sofa and they wrestled each other, laughing and trying to pin the other one down.
In the end, Harry won, triumphantly pinning a struggling Draco to the couch.
"Scared, Malfoy?" He said, raising the cushion high in the air. Draco knew what he was referencing. He smirked, completely out of breath and probably a mess.
"You wish!" He hissed, bracing himself.
Harry pummelled him. "Do you surrender?" He called and Draco wriggled and struggled, laughing hard.
"Alright, alright!" He chortled, trying to twist of Harry's grip and failing miserably. "Lemme go, you menace! I surrender!"
Harry slowed down and let the lion cushion drop to the floor. He was out of breath and his tattooed chest was rising and falling as he loomed over Draco, straddling him. Draco scrambled up, resting on his elbows and looked up at Harry, the grin slowly fading from his face.
He knew if someone walked in on them right now, they would get a certain idea of what the two were up to. They would be wrong, of course. Right?
Draco didn't say anything, just willed his pulse to stop racing. Harry's mouth was slightly open and he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the blonde man beneath him. He wondered if the taller man would kiss him. He wanted the taller man to kiss him.
Draco swallowed and then suddenly a piercing sound ripped through the tension.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
"Jesus, Draco, what are you doing to me..." Harry wrenched his gaze away from him, and clambered off his body to run to the source of the noise: the fire-alarm.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Draco sat up in a daze. His mind was reeling. What just happened?
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Harry was cursing loudly and standing on a chair, to reach the screaming object. The pan on the stove was belching black smoke, like a chimney. They had obviously not noticed that the stove was still on.
BEEP B-
"Got it!" The tattooed man jumped down and then ran to put the smoking pan into the sink. He opened the tap and a loud hissing noise, accompanied by a plume of grey smoke filled the room. Draco stood up and ran to the windows, throwing them wide open. He was met by a gust of cold October air and inhaled it gratefully.
What had Harry meant? What did I do to him? Salazar...
"Merlin, I can't believe I left the bleedin' stove on!" Harry was shaking his head. "This never happens."
Draco turned around, bracing himself for the image of Harry. He leaned against the window sill, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well. Accidents happen." He smiled weakly.
The two men stood on opposite ends of the room, regarding one another. Neither seemed to know what to say. Draco cleared his throat, then continued the conversation from earlier, as if nothing had happened.
He gestured at the clock. "So, how do you tell the time then?"
Harry chuckled and picked up a purple dishtowel, drying his hands. "Like every other magical person. Accio wand!" Harry's wand came flying from the corridor and he caught it. Then he casually angled it at an empty spot on the wall and said, "Tempus."
A digital image of the time appeared in red: 01:48 pm.
Draco started. "What?!" He yelled and pulled a hand through his hair. "Oh Merlin! I have a deadline for an article! For fuck's sake, I need to go home!"
He hectically ran into the somewhat disarranged living room area - the sofa was a mess and some objects during their game had been scattered across the room - and began searching for his clothes. "Potter, where are my clothes?! I still need to shower and feed Merlin, oh fuck, Merlin!"
"Hey, hey, hey," Harry walked over and grasped Draco by the upper arms, steadying him. "Breathe!" He inhaled slowly and exhaled, keeping Draco's gaze. Draco grimaced, but copied him. He felt himself calm down.
Bloody Potter.
"Better?" Harry raised an eye-brow and released him. Draco just crossed his arms and threw him a dirty glance, earning an amused chuckle. Harry was not fazed, "You can shower at mine, if you want," He offered. "I'll find your clothes and then you can go home."
Draco shook his head and picked up his discarded wand from the sofa table. "Sorry, I really have to go. Accio clothes.
A pile of clothes, including his shoes, his coat, and any accessories he'd been wearing, swooped from some far corner of the room into his arms.
Harry scratched his arm. He looked a little self-conscious all of a sudden. Draco didn't know what to do. "Sorry, again. I can help clean up quickly and thanks for everything, but..." He shrugged. "Work, you know?"
"Yeah, no-" Harry waved him off. "O' course! No worries, I'll clean up. You've got a deadline!" He smiled.
Draco felt terrible. "I can't just take off, I'll help clean-"
"No, no!" Harry was shaking his head and he looked genuine. "Really, don't worry about it!"
There was a moment of silence.
Then, drawing up a bit of courage, Draco said quietly, "Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it. All of it."
Harry nodded, smiling a small smile. "Any time."
And Draco spun on the spot, and with a resounding CRACK - was gone.
***
The Malfoys had always placed a lot of value on security, ensuring that their manor was impenetrable for both the magical and non-magical folks.other witches and wizards. Narcissa often described this as being careful and safe; Draco often described this as being paranoid.
Either way, he had grown up in a household with protective charms and enchantments, sealed passages, and constant surveillance. This paranoia was one thing he hadn't quite grown out of. Granted, mostly he had freed himself from it, however, it manifested in the obsessive double-checking of locks and closed windows before leaving the house, as well as an anti-apparating charm. He didn't have a fireplace, so unwanted floo visits weren't a threat. The problem was that this meant even Draco couldn't apparate straight into his apartment. He either had to risk bumping into muggle neighbours in the stairwell or apparate in the nearest alley.
Today, he chose the stairwell.
There is no way I will be seen in sweatpants in public.
Draco materialised right in front of his door on the third floor, clutching his coat and wrinkled clothes to his chest. He was just steadying himself, waiting for the nausea to subside, when the door opposite his opened and two women stepped out.
"- what I was saying, babe!"
"No, you weren't! You're delusional..."
Draco closed his eyes briefly.
The one time. The one time I look the way I look, and I meet someone.
"Draco!" Jolie's smokey voice exclaimed. He turned around on the spot, already turning slightly red.
Before him were Jolie and Latika, his lesbian muggle neighbours. The couple had moved in across, a year after Draco had and they had instantly become good friends. Now they had known each other for about 5 years, although he never told them about the magical world. It was nice to have a separate life.
"Heeyyy, guys," He said and immediately saw the two women scan him and then exchange a glance. Latika's short hair was hidden beneath a white hat with two bobbles and Jolie's long dread-locks were tied up. Their dog Pedro, named after Pedro Pascal, because the two women loved the actor so much, ran over to Draco, wagging his tail eagerly. Draco stooped to awkwardly pet the excited Yorkipoo. (Yes, that was the name of the type of dog. Draco had discovered that the one thing muggles got creative over was naming their animals.) Pedro barked and he drew back a hand. He didn't mind dogs, he just didn't really know how to handle them.
"Hey, Draco," Latika was smirking. "Where are you coming from?"
"Oh...you know," Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "A friend's..."
The couple exchanged another meaningful glance.
"A friend-friend, or a friend-friend?" Jolie asked, matching her wife's grin.
"No, I did not have a one-night stand, thank you very much!" Draco rolled his eyes.
"I don't what you're thanking us for, that's a bad thing, hun..." Latika chuckled, evilly. "Although...whose clothes are those? I know you don't own sweatpants and a dark red shirt."
He hurriedly covered the faded Gryffindor symbol with his coat and waved his key at them. "Gosh darn! Look at the time! I better get going, back into my apartment. Have a lovely day, you two!" He turned around and quickly unlocked his door, pushing it open.
"You better invite us to your wedding, Malfoy!" Jolie called after him and Latika wolf-whistled. Draco grimaced at the two women and then shut the door in their faces, hearing them explode into laughter in the stairwell.
Idiots!
He shook his head, lovingly.
Draco's apartment was very minimalist. He had white walls, with the occasional painting or mirror, shiny wooden floors and dark elegant furniture. He did own plants, mostly succulents, but unlike Harry's - his were alive and thriving. He prided himself on his miniature gardening.
Draco hung up his coat and placed his shoes neatly in their shelf, then walked into his apartment. Despite growing up in a large manor house, Draco preferred a smaller space. He had been in so many large living spaces with bad memories for so long that he was more than happy with his apartment. It had one bedroom, a small bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room. He went straight to his bathroom and stripped down, then hopped into the shower.
He soaped up his entire body, getting rid of the night before, and washed his hair, all in about 3 minutes, then jumped out and dried off. A bit of mousse in his hair and a comb pulled through, then straight to the bedroom. He was at a bit of a loss at what to do with Harry's clothes - he should probably wash them and then he'd obviously have to return them at some point. For now, he just folded them and placed them on the foot of his bed. Merlin was curled up on one of the pillows, snoozing peacefully.
Draco hurriedly pulled on a cashmere black v-neck sweater, which hugged him elegantly, and a pair of wide-leg suit pants. His necklace and a couple of rings and he was feeling a lot better already. He snatched up his muggle phone and dialled Luna's number. It rang once, twice, then-
"Hiya, Draco."
"Hey, Luna! I'm really sorry about the article, I didn't get a chance to finish writing it, but if it's very urgent I'll do it now and send it over!"
"Oh, I was wondering about that. No worries, though. We have some advertisements for The Quibbler which still need to be laid out, so this edition is going to be a day or two late anyway. Our readers are used to it!"
Draco exhaled slowly. "So...does that mean I have 'til Tuesday?"
"Yep. Sorry, I hope you didn't have to interrupt anything important."
"Oh, no, it's ok. I was at H-," He faltered. "A friend's."
"Ooh fun. A muggle?"
He didn't have anything to conceal, really. It wasn't a big deal - nothing had happened. "I had a bad dinner with my mother, don't ask - it's nothing, and Harry happened to bump into me. He let me crash at his, which was very nice of him."
"...Harry Potter?"
"Yes, who else?"
"Draco! Did anything happen? This is so exciting! I thought you two were hitting it off and-"
"Oh, Merlin, noooo," Draco buried his face in his hands, though she couldn't see him. "Nothing happened. We're just...friends. I think."
"You think? Fess up, Malfoy - what happened?"
He groaned and fell back on the bed. "Well, I think we were flirting and then he made me breakfast and I was wearing his clothes and he was shirtless. Shirtless, Luna - the man is built like a god! Anyway, there was a moment where we might have almost kissed, but then the stupid fire-alarm went off. And now I'm home."
A squeal from the other line. "Draco Malfoy! Did you exchange numbers? You obviously like each other."
"Uhmm, no...?"
"What? Why ever not?"
"Urgh, I may or may not have forgotten. And then I had to leave and, I dunno, it just didn't come up.."
Luna sighed and then said in her measured, dreamy voice, "You two are morons."
Draco played with his necklace. "I still have his clothes as well, the ones I was wearing."
"Perfect! That gives you a reason to get in touch!"
"How though? I don't have his number."
"I'll give it to you and then you can just say that I gave it to you and you want to meet up and give him back his clothes. And then go on dates and fall in love and have lots of gay sexy times!"
"Luna Lovegood, you are a menace!" He chuckled and she laughed her snorting laugh on the other line.
"Here, I'll send it to you and you can do whatever you like with it."
"I hate you, why are you good at this stuff?"
"Wrackspurts. They are most unhelpful for others, but seem to take a great liking to me."
Draco laughed again, fondly. "Thank you, Luna."
"It's my duty, as your mutual friend."
They ended the phone-call, agreeing to see each other at some point the next week and once Luna had hung up, she sent a message with a number to him, immediately.
Draco stared at the number for a good 10 minutes, wondering whether he should call. Then he decided against it and sat down in the living room, to finish writing the article.
That day, he consciously avoided his phone and went to bed early to watch the muggle show The Vampire Diaries. It was highly amusing.
On Monday, Draco sent the final version of the article to Luna, went for a run and spent a lazy day with Merlin. He did not look at the number every hour or so, and he definitely did not wage an inner war over whether or not to call it.
On Tuesday, Draco took care of Pedro, as Latika and Jolie were going for a small trip until the next day. He walked the little dog and threw sticks. He definitely did not think about messy hair and bronze skin covered in tattoos. Or sparkling eyes, or large hands, or broad shoulders. He did not think about the number, sitting uncomfortably in his jacket pocket and calling out to him. He needed to focus on other stuff, and besides - maybe Harry didn't feel any type of way about him. Maybe he was being delusional and latching on to the first queer attractive man that showed him attention and made him laugh. Harry had witnessed his ugly little breakdown...did that not cross lines for romantic relationships early on? Wasn't that friend-level?
On Wednesday, Draco almost deleted the number. He had talked himself into the dis-interest of Harry. It was all just his own imagination. The thing that prevented him from doing just this, was a conversation with Jolie, when he gave Pedro back.
"You like this guy?" She had said, hand on her hip.
"I think so.."
"You're attracted to him?"
"Yes.."
"He seems interested in your personal life, flirts with you, makes you breakfast and you get along?"
"Ugh.....I know.."
"Call him."
So, he did not delete the number, but he still didn't call. He just couldn't think of what to say. He felt creepy, just having Harry's number like this. So, he'd just have to wait to see him again. After all, Draco seemed to bump into the other man all the time, anyway.
And then - Thursday rolled around.
The dice was loaded from the start
And I bet,
Then you exploded into my heart