Of Blondes and Broomsticks
Summary: An unlikely meeting sparks an unlikely reaction. Written for the HPFC Harry and Who Challenge by Lucy Kent.
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, places, etc. don't belong to me. They belong to JKR.
Harry awoke from another journey into the mind of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His fingertips pressed into his pulsating scar. He bolted out of the bed, stripped off his long-sleeved pajama top and threw it on the bed. He was thankful that Ron had awoken to the smell of his mother's cooking and had left the room. He was not ready for the onslaught of questions that would spew from the redhead's mouth. He strode over to the slanted window. A small wooden cabinet blocked it. He pressed his palms into the top of the cabinet and leaned forward. He sighed as his forehead touched the frosty glass. The lines of condensation that coated the window evaporated revealing the intricate patterns of snowflakes that covered it. He stared at the icicles hanging from the window attempting to focus on his latest dream instead of the pain coursing through his body. Eventually, he gave up, his mind drawing a blank. He rubbed his bare arms and walked back toward his bed.
"Oi! Harry! Breakfast!" Ron's booming voice called breaking him out his reverie. Heavy footsteps soon followed getting closer and closer to the door. Harry donned a pair of dark blue jeans and a dark grey jumper. He ran a hand through his messy locks attempting to get them to lay flat. He put on his glasses, pulled on a pair of wool socks and shoved his feet into his leather boots.
"Thanks, mate," Harry responded as his smiling friend's face appeared behind a slight opening in the door.
"I can't believe you slept through that!" Ron exclaimed shaking his head in disbelief.
"Guess so. My stomach doesn't wake me up like yours does!" Harry replied trying to keep his tone light and friendly. He really did not want Ron to take the conversation any further.
They traveled down the winding staircase leading to the kitchen in silence. Harry stifled a groan as he saw a table full of people staring at him. He grabbed a plate and glanced down at it hoping to avoid their stares. He took a seat next to Ron and spent the meal pushing his food around his plate.
His mind could not let go of the conversation between Snape and Draco that he overheard the night of Slughorn's Christmas party. His assumptions that Draco had become a Death Eater were only solidified by the conversation. He vowed that he would go at all lengths to discover Draco's plans. He almost jumped out of his seat when he recalled the place he could visit to search for any clues. He accidentally visited it during his second year. It was exactly the type of place Draco would frequent.
The stars aligned when the Weasley matriarch decided that the family would make a trip to Diagon Alley later that afternoon to buy any last-minute Christmas gifts. She was not one to let the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stop them from celebrating the holidays. However, she insisted that they stick together. She fully believed in the safety in numbers during the dangerous times.
Diagon Alley:
The afternoon had been a bit of a bore for Harry. He was becoming frustrated with Ron's incessant prattling about Hermione. The two had a row and he was upset with her for one reason or another. Ron also was having a hard time finding a suitable gift for her and insisted that Harry help him. Harry believed Ron should stick with the usual, which was a book, quills or parchment. Ron insisted on switching it up hoping his gift would make up for how much of a prat he had been to her during the school year. Luckily, Mrs. Weasley suggested that they take a break from their shopping to eat dinner. Harry was thankful for the suggestion. Food always managed to silence Ron.
Harry also created an excuse about needing to visit another shop to buy a gift he supposedly had put on hold for him. The Weasleys, who all seemed caught up in their dinner and drinks, bought the lie. They let him leave without questioning him. Harry congratulated himself on his efforts and sprinted toward Borgin and Burkes.
He stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the latest broomstick, a Firebolt 2000, on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. His jaw dropped as he eyed the broomstick in all its beauty. Ron would love that, he thought as he inched toward the door to the shop. He debated on it for a moment. The money was not the issue. Eventually, he gave in figuring that he could buy the broomstick and still have enough time to snoop around Borgin and Burkes before the Weasleys started to worry about him.
He entered the shop and located an employee. The employee regretfully informed him that they were out of the broomstick and could not sell the display. Harry haphazardly pushed up his messy black hair from his forehead to show his trademark scar. The man gasped and immediately offered to speak to his manager. Harry watched as the two whispered away. Harry could feel the manager's eyes on him. The man, who Harry presumed was the manager, was vigorously nodding his head. Harry resisted the urge to smirk.
"Mr. Potter, I have spoken to my manager. We can and will sell you the display. Just come up to the counter when you are ready and we will take care of it for you," the employee said flashing Harry a big smile. "Would you like it wrapped?" Harry nodded. He smiled at the man and thanked him for his efforts. He then went off to find other items to add to his gift.
A few minutes later, he made his way to the checkout counter, his arms full of various Chudley Cannons items that he had noticed Ron eyeing when they visited the shop a few weeks ago. He was so caught up in his thoughts about his next destination that he did not notice the person standing in front of him.
"Oh no!" he exclaimed as the items in his arms scattered all over the floor. He stepped forward trying to catch them. In his haste, he stepped on the hem of the person's black velvet cloak. He cringed as he watched the slush from his boot seep through the expensive fabric.
A tall, slim woman spun around and a pair of the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen bore right into him. He shivered as a chill ran down his spine. It felt as if the heat vanished from the room. Her ruby-red lips pursed tightly forming a straight line that graced the aristocratic features of her pale face. Her rabbit fur-lined hood slid off gracefully and a waterfall of straight silky blonde hair tumbled down over her slim shoulders. Her lips moved, mouthing something at him. Unfortunately, Harry's mind had turned to mush. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman that he had ever laid eyes on. Sure, he'd seen pretty girls at Hogwarts, but this woman was something else.
"Excuse me, did you not hear a word I said to you?" she inquired. The nostrils of her adorable button nose flared slightly and her brow furrowed in disgust. She shifted slightly placing her hands on her slender hips.
"No, I'm sorry, what did you say?" Harry responded shaking his head. A faint blush colored his cheeks.
"Please remove your foot from my cloak and pick up your things," she snarled. Harry quickly removed his foot not wanting to upset her anymore. He reached for his wand to cast a cleaning charm on her cloak, but she beat him to it and cast it without her wand. He bent down to retrieve his items and accidentally brushed his fingertips on the tops of her high-heeled dragon skin boots. He hoped that she did not notice. He caved into his curiosity and allowed his eyes to wander. The cloak hugged her body in all the right places. He could make out the ample swell of her breasts. The light in the shop bounced off a gold fleur-de-lys pendant, which hung above her cleavage. Harry's mouth went dry as he stared at the milky flesh. He discretely licked his dry lips and brought his eyes back to her face. Her blue eyes were staring back at him.
"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" he inquired. He had a feeling that he'd seen her once before, but he could not remember when or where.
"You helped send my husband to Azkaban," she hissed dropping her voice to a low whisper as not to draw any more attention to them. Harry resisted the urge to retch as he just realized that he had spent the past five minutes ogling over Narcissa Malfoy, the mother of his archenemy.
"Well, it is not my fault that he let children beat him. Quite frankly, he deserved it," Harry replied. Two can play this game, he thought as he puffed out his chest and raised his chin defiantly at her.
"You had better watch your mouth. You will get what is coming to you," she stated. She turned her back on him not bothering to wait for his response.
Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides and he scowled at her back. He took a few deep breaths as he attempted to calm down. Of all the people I could have bumped into, he mused. He took his place in the queue, which unfortunately was right behind her.
"I do not understand how you cannot have anymore of that broomstick. It is in your window display, for Merlin's sake. Can't I just buy that one?" Narcissa asked the shop employee, her voice laced with frustration and disdain.
"No, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm afraid that we cannot sell you that broomstick. We have already promised it to someone else," the employee responded trying to get her to calm down.
"Who else is more important than my family?" she demanded throwing her hands up in the air. "My husband can have this silly little shop closed with the snap of his fingers!"
"Not from Azkaban," the employee replied. Harry resisted the urge to chuckle and pat the man on the back. Must have been a Gryffindor, Harry thought. "Now if you have nothing else to buy, I recommend that you leave the queue since there are other customers that are waiting to check out."
Harry had listened to their conversation and was somewhat appalled by Mrs. Malfoy's odd behavior. First, her presence at the shop attempting to buy her own Christmas gift shocked him. He always assumed that a house elf or two would have taken care of those tasks. Second, she did not strike him as the type of woman who would make a good mother. To him, a good mother was someone like Mrs. Weasley. She doted upon her family, was an excellent cook and just radiated love and warmth. He highly doubted that Mrs. Malfoy knew how to cook. Her house elves would have performed those tasks. He also could not imagine how a voice that cold would ever be able to read the tales of Babbity Rabbity to a child.
Narcissa tried to reply, but stopped when the Boy-Who-Lived's hand touched her forearm. His strength surprised her as he led her away from the queue.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" she exclaimed attempting to move away from him. His grasp on her forearm tightened.
"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm the one they are holding the broomstick for," he said.
"Oh, isn't that just great! Why did you need to pull me away to tell me that? Do you think I care?" she hissed.
Harry looked deep into her blue eyes and sighed softly. Merlin, she looks even more beautiful when she's angry, he thought admiring her rosy red cheeks. A wave of inappropriate thoughts flew through his mind. He shook his head attempting to focus on the task at hand.
"You can have it," he offered gently.
"Well, I do not want it," she huffed crossing her arms over her chest. What a petulant princess, Harry thought resisting the urge to chuckle.
"Please, just take it. I know things are hard for you now. This will make it easier."
"You have no idea what you are talking about, you insolent little boy," she responded. He could tell she was still angry, but her tone had softened. She seemed more tired than anything else.
"Please," he begged. "I would like you to have it," he said softly.
Narcissa looked into his sparkling green eyes for a few seconds as she considered his trivial request. He seemed genuine enough and he was being quite persuasive. Perhaps he will even buy it for me, she thought resisting the urge to smile. She caved and allowed him to guide her back to the checkout counter so Harry could give her the broomstick.
They paid for their items and made their way to exit the shop. Harry held the door open for her allowing her to exit before him. He watched as the slim woman walked past him. His breath hitched as her soft velvet clock brushed up against his chest. He wanted to run after her as he watched her hips sway seductively. He did not even feel bad knowing that he would cherish their awkward meeting.
"Mr. Potter?" a soft, silky voice called out to him, breaking him out of his reverie. He snapped his head and saw her sauntering back to him. She stopped and stood under a street lamp. The soft light formed a halo over her blonde hair. He reminded himself that she certainly was no angel. After all, no angel would ever be married to a Death Eater.
"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked holding his breath. She inched closer, the snow crunching underneath her boots. She pressed a dainty, well-manicured hand on his chest directly above his beating heart. She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned forward. Her warm breath tickled his ear and his head swirled as he inhaled the heady scent of her perfume, a delicious mix of vanilla and almond. His knees trembled slightly and he wished he had something to hold for support. He certainly did not trust himself to hold her.
"Thank you very much for the broomstick. Have a Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter," she whispered into the shell of his ear. She pulled away and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. With that, she turned away and made her way back up the street not bothering to give him a second glance.
Harry's mouth fell open and his cheek felt as if it was on fire. He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, caressing the imprint of where her lips had touched him. He wondered if her ruby-red lipstick left a mark. He'd wipe it off later. But for now, he embraced the warmth that filled his body. Little did he know it, but this would not be the last time he would question her mothering skills. It would also not be the last time her dainty, well-manicured hand would be on his chest feeling the beating of his heart.