Hello guys! I don't a thing man. I promise. The Academy Is... is not my band, I do not own the song About a Girl and I most certainly do not own Hogwarts. You know the drill.
Draco's eyes followed Harry's movements carefully. He had mastered the art of staring at people without actually looking at them. I'm not in love he thought savagely. I'm not going to waste my time about a boy. But there he was, staring at the Golden Boy like he was a god.
"Still looking at Potter I see," Blaise joined him on the table, obscuring Draco's view. "Dude, you're in love."
"I'm not in love," he protested when Blaise raised his hand. "I'm not! He's attractive, yes, but he has a rotten attitude!" he bit his lip and snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table. "And a terrible hero complex."
"Right," Blaise snorted. "So when you go to your muggle club and sing your heart out, it isn't going to be about him." No reply.
"Draco goes to a muggle club?" Pansy grinned beside him. "Darling, you never told me about this." Draco's mumbling only peaked her interest. "Oh, come now. We know all of your secrets."
"No you don't," he snapped back, glaring at the spot right above her perfectly trimmed left eyebrow. Her short-cropped hair spun wildly, only hardly touching her shoulders, as she spun tales about Draco's "affair" with that one Hufflepuff guy ("Smith, I think his name was," Theo had added). "You know one secret," he rolled his eyes. "And, to be honest, it's not like me being gay was a big mystery."
"That's what you think," Theo chipped in. "But you're hard to read. As blank and emotionless as a rock."
"Rocks can have ornate designs."
"So, anyway, the club? Full story please?" Pansy's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Well," Blaise winked at his friend. "Since Draco darling won't say anything," he ignored the death glares and protests from the other Slytherin. "We always knew that Dray had a good voice, correct," a collective nod came from all of the remaining Slytherins. "So he decided that with his father's fortune gone from the family and no more parents to annoy, he might as well work. At a bar. Singing." There was silence and then Goyle gasped.
"Malfoy? Work?"
Draco groaned, "I'm right here, guys. Right here."
"Well, being a singer at a bar does make him be in the spotlight," Pansy reasoned. "Even if it is a muggle place."
"The muggles aren't half bad," Draco said silently. Goyle released another gasp.
"So what? You're friends with the Mudbloo—"
"Don't call her that!"
"Okay, you're friends with Granger, you're finally admitting your huge as fuck crush on Potter, you're hanging in muggle clubs…"
"I don't have a huge as fuck crush on Potter!"
"Fine, fine," he held his hands up defensively. "I'm just saying. Next thing we know, you'll be wearing muggle clothes underneath your robes!" an awkward cough came from across the table. "Draco," Goyle sounded absolutely scandalized. "How could you?"
"Yeah, Malfoy," and there was Potter, the cheeky bastard, standing at the edge of the table, grinning his crooked grin. "Being normal? How could you?"
"Sod off," he ignored the oh so familiar tingle in his stomach.
"Oh, Malfoy," Potter pressed his hand to his chest and leaned back in mock distress. "Why must you hurt me so?" he fit into the empty space beside Draco. Their shoulders, knees, thighs, legs and ohmygosh Draco couldn't breathe jesusfuckingchrist someone save him. Thankfully being a Slytherin meant being cunning (and loyal) and sly (and loyal), so he masked his discomfort with a sneer. The ceiling of the great hall suddenly flickered from a beautiful starry sky into a dark thunderstorm.
"I think the ceiling changes with your attitude," Potter joked. The nerve of that boy. Making fun of him and looking gorgeous should be a crime suitable only by death.
"Well I think that…" he had lost all of his quick comebacks and taunts after the war. "That…" Potter looked upset. The corners of his lips tugged downward.
"That," he prodded.
"Sod off."
And he did.
"Tom!" Hilda smiled widely at Draco as he slipped past the guards (who were probably drunk). "What are you going to sing for us today?" Hilda was a pleasant woman who never took "no" for an answer. Draco's tolerance for her was aided by her age: sixty-one. Her hair was dyed to a lovely brown and was teased up into a poof that covered her forehead. The rest of her hair hung limply by her shoulders.
"About a Girl," he answered automatically.
She adjusted her reading glasses, "Didn't know you swung that way." Her thick Texas accent was heavier than usual when she said it.
"I don't," he nodded. "But whatever."
"Alright," she patted his shoulder. "Oh, hon," he glanced back at her as she made her way down the stairs. "Just thought you should know, since you're underage, no drinking." She always said that to him. Even though he had papers to prove he was twenty-one. She must have seen through that. Draco was only eighteen. She would do well in Slytherin.
"Sure thing love," he winked at her and toddled his way up to the stage, courage bubbling up within him as the roar of the crowd erupted. "Hello, guys!"
"Hey Tom!" the crowd chanted back.
"Who's ready to hear a song?"
"Us!" he scanned the crowd. The usuals were there, Greyson, Callie, Parkinson. Wait, Parkinson? He looked over at the bar area and his eyes fell prey to a gleeful Pansy Parkinson talking to none other than Potter.
"Hell yeah!"
And he sang.
Three encores later, Draco's voice was wavering. "Alright guys," he chuckled. "Collage kids need money too, so make sure to help this lovely man," he winked and teetered off the stage.
"Lovely, Hon," Hilda patted his back. "There's a guy looking for ya," she nudged his side with her elbow. "He's pretty cute."
"I don't want to see him," Draco growled back, pulling away from her.
"He's not like the other perverts—this guy looks your age, and pretty nerdy, if I do say so myself," she rambled on. "Big glasses. Eighteen right?"
Draco was aghast, "I'm not—"
"Hon, you look no older than eighteen."
"Ugh, Potter would be better company at this point."
"Potter? Is that his name? Hopefully not his first."
"Bye Hilda," Draco glared at her.
"Be safe!" she called after him, cackling.
And he was.
"Potter," Draco scowled.
"Tom," he grinned back. "You have an amazing voice. You should sing more often." Draco only gave a light grunt of acknowledgment. He was a little out of breath. Those jeans Harry was wearing should have been illegal. And it's not like he was sickly skinny anymore. A war does that to you. Even Draco was starting to get some muscle (though it was slowly fading away). "Why don't you?"
"Oh, I don't know, Potter," he wasn't wearing his glasses. Repeat Potter was not wearing his glasses. Oh Merlin he was cute. "Maybe it's the fact that everyone that's not in my house hates me and my family."
"I don't hate you," Potter added softly.
"Well that makes one out of a million," he snapped back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to…go somewhere."
"No, I won't excuse you," Potter gripped his arm and prevented him from leaving. "I had to escape Hogwarts grounds to go see you in a muggle café in lord knows where. I intend to see you."
"We're in America," Draco tried to shake himself free. "Nothing too odd." And then the next singer came up on the stage and it was impossible to hear anything because of the chants and music. And one can forget about seeing things. The bar was so darkly lit. Draco shuddered. "Harry," he whispered into the other's ear. "Let's go outside."
And they did.
"It's cold," Potter whined.
"I know that you inconsiderate prick," Draco huffed. "But you're the one who wanted to come here."
"No," he shot back. "I wanted to stay inside but you were the one who was all," his voice dropped an octave lower and Draco did his best to suppress a shiver. "'Let's go outside.'" It was winter, though there was no snow. Draco thanked Merlin for his two coats. "And you have a coat."
"Two coats to be precise," he grinned at Potter's discomfort. "And you can vanquish the thought of me being human and lending one." Potter just blew out a long puff of air for a response. He hugged himself and did his best to warm up his hands through his long-sleeved shirt. "Oh for Christ's sakes," Draco snapped. "Stop looking so pathetic," he unraveled his Slytherin scarf and unzipped his outer-layered jacket and threw it at the boy.
"What was that about being human?"
"Sod off."
But he didn't.
After two weeks of not getting his coat and scarf back, Draco was suspicious and went to investigate.
"Potter," he stood in the Great Hall, right by the door, a guilty looking savior across from him. "Where are my stolen items?" Beside him, Weasel bristled and Granger smiled knowingly. What she could have known was beyond him. And then Draco ran cold. Did she know about his singing?
"Harry would never steal something from you, Malfoy," Weasel cut in right before Potter got a chance to defend himself. "You have nothing valuable anymomph," thank the heavens for Granger who had clamped at hand over his obscenely large mouth.
"I didn't see you at all the past weeks," Potter smiled easily. "And I couldn't just go to your dorm. I hear you have a reputation to uphold. Wouldn't want that tainted with rumors about our secret 'affair.'"
"You kept on avoiding me! We're in the same potions, defense, and transfigurations class for god's sakes!"
"God's sakes?" Weasel had broken free of the clasp. "What's that mean?"
"It's a muggle expression," Granger quipped. "Nothing bad or anything. It's like, 'Holy Merlin!' or 'For Merlin's sake!'" she made weird gestures with her hands as she spoke. "However, what is curious is that you're speaking like muggle now." Panic alarms went off in his head WeeeeOooooooWeeeeeOooooooo
"Um, he's got muggle studies, Herm," Potter cut in. "He needs up pick up their language." Draco calmed himself down. "Go ahead," he smiled at his friends. "I'll catch up."
Once they were out of earshot, Draco turned to Potter and, for a brief instant, smiled. "Thanks."
"You know, you aren't that good at hiding your emotions," Potter hooked his arm through Draco's and pulled him into the hallways. "It's all in your shoulders."
"Is it?"
"Yes," Potter continued to tug him down the corridors and up the stairs. "Now, come with me to Gryfindor with me so I can return your coat."
"And scarf," Draco added pointedly.
"You never gave me a scarf," Potter grinned. "I promise," he tugged harder on the boy, stopping in front of the fat lady.
"Oh, Harry dear," she drawled. "Didn't you just leave?" she shifted in her position, eyeing Draco carefully.
"Kinda," he smiled. "But I borrowed something of my friends and he's insisting on me returning it." Friend? They were friends? Draco's stomach lurched with happiness. One small step for man, one giant step for wizards. Now where was that quote from?
He was plowed into the dorm, lost in his own thoughts while Potter sifted through his belongings in search for the jacket.
"You know," Potter said suddenly. "Not to be creepy and weird or anything, but you smell amazing." He had said it so casually that Draco was afraid that he had misheard. "Is that weird?" he bit his lip. That drove him crazy. Draco was seeing two of everything.
"No," he launched forward and kissed Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. That was the only thing on his mind. Harry. But then he snapped back into reality and he reeled back. "I, uh, that wasn't," but Harry was glassy eyed and red and…happy. So he did it again. And again. And again.
"Can I keep your jacket?" Harry asked after a while.
"And my scarf," Draco panted back.
"Sing to me?"
And he did.
Constructive criticism. I welcome it.