A/n: This is a Muggle AU. Disclaimer: Characters may seem OOC because they didn't go through a lot of canonical events that shaped their personalities in the series. I've also taken some liberties with characters' ages or deaths.
Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Prompts are at the bottom.
Fleeting (yet lingering)
He was several metres away from the crosswalk when the traffic light changed colours. Swearing under his breath, he pushed through the crowd and jogged across just as the light turned red again. Dodging an angry cyclist, he made his way down the busy street, pressing against the wall as he ducked into a small alleyway between two houses.
It was only when he walked into the decrepit house at the end of the alleyway that he finally relaxed and inhaled a steadying breath. Coughing at the familiar, telltale mustiness in the air, he made his way down the narrow corridor and walked up to the front desk. Before he could even greet the person behind it, the green-haired youngster grabbed her backpack, shot him a big grin, and with a hearty, "See ya!" disappeared with a whirl of her patchwork coat.
He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the front door and eyed the graffiti-d, shoulder-high partition in front of him.
"Did you let Miranda off early again?"
There was a groan from behind the partition, followed by a creak, and a head popped out from the side. "Did I?" the floating head asked, nonchalant.
"Sirius!"
"Aw, give it a rest, Harry. The kid's gonna waste her youth rotting away in here."
"We're the same age!"
Sirius laughed, uncaring, before disappearing behind the partition again. Harry sighed as he dropped his bag on the floor and gingerly sat down on the chair behind the front desk, wary as he attempted to gain some semblance of comfort without toppling the damn thing—and himself—over again.
"Need to buy a new chair," he muttered to himself, adding it to the long list of necessities he intended to invest his godfather's money in. It was his continued attempt at making the place look like less of a hovel—which was near impossible, since Sirius' whole aesthetic had to do with the grungy, hipster vibe the century-old, previously abandoned house gave off. Even the name was something straight out of a horror film: Grimmauld Place.
Just as Harry was checking the number of artists at work currently on the CCTV screen, the front door creaked open, and a small group entered.
"I cannot believe that you're seriously going to go through with this," the most good-looking one of the trio said as they walked up to where Harry was.
"The terms and conditions of the bet were clear," the blond in the middle, who was clearly the leader of the pack, said, his pointy nose in the air.
The third bloke, who looked to be the largest and the least intelligent of the lot, only grunted in response, clearly much too stupid to add to the conversation.
"Hi." The good-looking one flashed Harry a dimpled smile, making him swoon. "My friend here wants to get a nice, big tattoo today."
"How's this hole the best-rated tattoo place in London?" said friend groused, his thin lips pressed together in a weird pucker that Harry assumed was meant to be a pout but looked like someone had forced him to eat something sour.
"Do you have an appointment?" Harry asked the blond's friend instead, smitten with the single dimple that formed when he smiled.
"Does it look like we do?" the blond snapped, rolling his eyes in so exaggerated a manner that it seemed like his head was rolling with them.
"Are you here for a consultation or—"
"I'm here to get a tattoo from Sirius Black and be done with this. Is he here or not?"
Harry's generally impenetrable 'professional smile' began to crack in the face of the obnoxious platinum-blond-haired man before him. As though sensing Harry's desire to spit in the blond's face, Sirius popped out of his cubicle and hollered to the trio.
"I'm here, I'm here!"
The blond squinted at Sirius, taking in his disheveled, caveman-like appearance, looking to be in disbelief that the person before him was one of the most renowned tattoo artists in London.
"You're Sirius Black?"
Sirius took a bow. "At your service, monsieur."
The blond glared at Harry, as though Sirius choosing to dress like a homeless person and refusing to spruce up the shop was somehow Harry's fault.
"It's not too late to back out, you know," the good-looking friend said softly, but something about the way he said it was provocative, and the blond took the bait.
"After coming all this way?" he huffed. "What would've been the point of sacrificing my dignity to enter this hellhole, then?"
Harry snorted, pretending to be engrossed in the computer screen when the blond glared at him.
"Alright." The blond sighed. "Let's get this over with."
"Love your enthusiasm," Sirius drawled, shooting Harry a very conspicuous look of annoyance before vanishing behind the partition.
Harry pushed a sheet of paper and a pen towards the blond. "Please fill in this form while Sirius sets up his studio."
"Studio, he says," the blond muttered with a scoff, but filled in the form and signed his name anyway.
As he walked towards Sirius' cubicle, his two friends made to follow after him. Harry stopped them.
"Sirius doesn't like people watching while he works," Harry said politely. When Sirius coughed pointedly, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and relayed the line his godfather forced him to tell people in a monotone. "Please avoid scrutiny while the master is at work."
The blond's attractive friend seemed amused but graciously agreed. Harry ducked his head, embarrassed, and scanned the form the blond had filled.
Draco Malfoy, he thought with a mental eye roll. A name just as obnoxious as the person himself. What a surprise.
"Hey."
Harry looked up, smile at the ready, faltering only slightly when he spotted the dimple he had all but become obsessed with by that point.
"Sorry about Draco. He can be a bit much sometimes."
Harry shook his head. "You really don't have to apologise." He glanced towards the partition on his right. "You saw what Sirius is like."
"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought they were related."
The duo laughed at that, and the other man held out a hand. "I'm Blaise, by the way. Blaise Zabini."
Harry shook his hand, so engrossed in praying that his palm wasn't sweaty that he didn't realise he hadn't introduced himself.
"It's nice to meet you too, Harry," Blaise said, sounding amused, causing Harry's eyes to go wide.
"How'd you know my name?"
Blaised nodded at Harry's name tag, and Harry flushed, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "Right. Of course."
"So, Harry," Blaise said, nice enough to ignore Harry's mortification. "You work here?"
"I help around when I can," Harry said, adding quickly, "but I'm at uni most days, so I don't come around too often."
He had embarrassed himself enough as it were. The last thing he needed was for the man he'd developed a crush on to think that he worked as a receptionist at a tattoo parlour for a living.
"Oh, what do you study?" Blaise asked.
"I actually graduated last year, but my godfather pushed me to pursue my interests, so now I'm working on completing a certification course in marine biology."
Blaise's eyebrows shot up, and he made an appreciative sound. "Wow. OK, I'm gonna admit, that wasn't what I was expecting you to say."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
"Yo, Zabini, I'm heading out. Crabbe's awake," the third member of their party—whom Harry had all but forgotten about—said before exiting the shop. Blaise turned back to Harry and shrugged.
"I, personally, don't understand why Draco insists on that bloke and his goon of a friend following him around when there's more intelligent company available."
"I can hear you, you know," the blond called from behind the partition, and Blaise scrunched his nose.
He then ran a finger along the desktop, looking around, before saying, "Do you ever get a break?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Sirius beat him to it and said, "He has one right now. Don't you, Harry?"
His godfather's head poked up from behind the partition and he winked, making Harry want to die of embarrassment.
"I'm really sorry about him," Harry mumbled, unable to meet Blaise's eyes, but the latter only laughed.
"Well, your boss says you're good to go, so," he jerked his thumb towards the exit, "wanna get outta here?"
"I can't tell you how much I'd love that," Harry said, somewhat breathless, before grabbing his bag and almost jumping over the top of the desk to join Blaise.
The other man flashed Harry a dimpled smile, and they exited the shop, Draco Malfoy's curses and Sirius' wolf whistles hardly bothering Harry.
"How's someone like you friends with someone like Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked after listening to Blaise describe his history-focused Europe tour.
Blaise laughed, and it was like music to Harry's ears. During the two hours they had spent in the little coffee shop near the tattoo parlour, Harry had gone from being smitten with Blaise because he thought he was cute to being completely enchanted by him because of what an interesting, engaging person he was.
"You don't know Draco like I do," Blaise said, his loyalty somewhat moving. "We've been friends ever since I can remember, and for all that Draco is haughty and arrogant and a downright terror in public, he can be a quiet, thoughtful, down-to-earth intellectual in private."
There was something in Blaise's tone of voice that made Harry falter. The almost-dreamy look on his face and how his dark eyes had turned glassy while talking about what an intellectual Draco was—Harry couldn't help but scoff at that—made Harry think that Blaise considered Draco to be more than just a friend.
That would explain why he's still sticking with him, Harry thought bitterly.
He checked his watch, needing a distraction, and said, "They should be done by now. Wanna head back?"
Blaise finished his hot chocolate—Harry's mind had instantly gone, "Hot chocolate indeed," as he had watched Blaise drink it—and said, "Sure. Let's go."
They made their way back up the main street, down the alleyway, and into the rickety old house. But before they walked out into the main hall, Blaise stopped short in the narrow corridor and grabbed Harry's arm.
"Hey," he said, his voice deep and low, sending shivers down Harry's spine. He looked straight into Harry's eyes as he said, "I really enjoyed hanging out with you. Would you, maybe, want to do it again?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his jaw dropped to his feet as he scrambled for words. "I, uh, me too! I mean, er, yes, of course."
Blaise shot Harry one of his deadly dimpled smiles before walking towards the front desk, leaving Harry to watch him go with a dreamy sigh.
Pulled out of his senses by Sirius and Draco climbing down the stairs from Sirius' actual tattoo studio, which used to be his bedroom when he was younger, he jogged up and slid behind the desk as Draco rummaged in his expensive-looking wallet.
"I want a bill," he declared as he shoved a bunch of crumpled notes towards Harry.
"OK," Harry said, working the cash register. "Let me just give you your change, and—"
"No need," Draco said with an ostentatious flick of his wrist. "Keep the change."
Harry gritted his teeth, trying very hard to keep the smile on his face as he held the rest of the money out. "Your change."
"I said—"
"You must be mistaken," Harry interrupted, his voice cold, "because the people that run the charity live a few blocks down."
Draco stared at him, probably not having expected Harry to talk back to him. He took the money without argument, slipped it into his wallet, spun on his heel, and stormed out.
Harry watched him go, fuming.
Blaise came up, looking chastised. "I'm really sorry."
"You really shouldn't have to apologise for that git," Harry spat. "He has a mouth and at least half a brain. He should be fully capable of doing it himself."
Blaise sighed. He slipped Harry a small piece of paper with what looked like a phone number on it.
"Text me, if you can look past Draco's behaviour," Blaise said. "Let me make it up to you."
"You really don't have to," Harry began, but when he saw the expectant look on the other man's face, he nodded. "Alright. I will."
Blaise shot him a smile. "Thanks."
"Zabini, you coming or what?" Draco's muffled voice called from the front door, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Don't keep his majesty waiting," he said.
Blaise pulled a face. "I'd better go. I'll see you soon?"
Harry only smiled in response and watched the other man jog away, feeling a sense of dissatisfaction settle in the pit of his stomach.
"And I thought I was bad," Sirius said, walking up to Harry. "What an arsehole."
"How was it?" Harry asked, holding out the coffee he'd bought his godfather earlier.
Sirius shrugged. "Surprisingly quiet. I expected him to bawl like a damn baby, or at least jabber on about his rich-kid life, but I didn't get a peep outta him."
"What'd he finally get?"
"A coverup." Sirius had a thoughtful look on his face. "He had a gruesome-looking skull-and-snake design tattooed on his forearm that he wanted me to turn into a dragon. It was much easier than the usual coverups because it matched well with the previous tattoo."
"Huh," Harry said. "Never thought he'd be the kind to have a tattoo like that."
The thoughtful expression on Sirius' face turned into an unnerved one. "It could just be me reading into things, but he seemed almost scared of his previous tattoo."
Before Harry could respond, the phone rang, and as he answered it, Sirius disappeared up the stairs with a little wave, cutting off any further opportunity for Harry to ask him what he had meant.
"Hello, you've reached Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black's tattoo studio; how can I help?" Miranda chirped into the phone as she cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder and continued to play on her PSP. "Uhuh. Uhuh. Would you like to come in for a consultation first? Mhm. Yup, sounds good!"
She replaced the received, never looking up from her game, and Harry had to rap his knuckles on the desktop to get her to glance up at him.
"Who was that?" he asked, gesturing to the phone.
"Customer."
"I know, but who was it?"
Miranda shrugged. "Dunno. A Jack or a Mason or something."
"Those are the names of our tattoo artists!"
"Oh, right." Miranda giggled. "Silly me."
Harry sighed in frustration and strode up to his godfather's cubicle. "If you're gonna pay her to not do her job, then you may as well just give me that money for college."
Sirius looked up from the intricate design he was drawing, his eyes glittering. "You've finally changed your mind about letting me pay for your education?"
"No!" Harry threw his hands in the air. "I don't need your money! I was just trying to make a point!"
Sirius' face fell. "Oh."
Harry sighed. "Besides, my parents left me a massive inheritance. Why would I even need your money?"
"If you're as rich as you claim, why'd you decide to do a certification course instead of a full-fledged post-graduate program?"
Harry faltered, not having expected Sirius to hit him where it hurt, and tried to mutter some semblance of an excuse, but his godfather wasn't having it. Sirius put down his pencil and sat back with his arms crossed, giving Harry his undivided attention, and Harry quickly regretted bringing up college or tuition.
"I just—I wasn't sure if I was willing to commit to a full-fledged master's program," Harry stuttered, hoping the other man would buy his excuse.
"Bollocks. You've loved anything to do with the ocean since before you could even say your name. I don't believe for one second that you were uncertain about pursuing your studies in a related field."
Harry sighed. "Sirius, you know the reason. I don't understand why you keep asking me."
"Because I've never heard it from your mouth."
Harry's gaze fell on the collection of picture frames on Sirius' desk. One of them was of Sirius with Harry's parents on their wedding day. The picture right next to it was of Harry's parents with him as a baby. He sighed again.
"Dad and Mum died because of the thing they loved most in the world," he muttered, a lump forming in his throat.
"The thing they loved most in the world was you, Harry," Sirius said, his voice gentle.
"You know that's not what I meant."
"It was a freak accident. Nobody could've predicted it."
"Yet, somehow, of all the divers that dove down that day, only they didn't make it."
"Harry…"
"Well, you heard it from my mouth," Harry said, feeling a sense of exhaustion settle over him. "I hope you're happy."
"Harry," Sirius called after him as he stormed out of the shop and down the street. He only stopped when he realised he'd forgotten to grab his bag on his way out. Swearing under his breath, he rummaged in his pockets, searching for money for something cold to drink, when his fingers wrapped around a piece of paper.
He pulled it out, taking a few seconds to register the digits scrawled on it. In a moment of spontaneity, he pulled out his phone, dialled the number, and pressed it to his ear. His heart began to race as it rang, and before he had a chance to chicken out, the call connected and a familiar voice filled his ear.
"Hello?"
"Blaise?" Harry croaked, beginning to regret his decision.
There was a moment of silence before Blaise replied. "Harry?"
Harry laughed breathlessly. "How'd you know it was me this time?"
"I was just really hoping it was?"
Harry licked his lips. "How come?"
There was a commotion on the other end, and after a moment, Blaise said, "Hey, do you wanna come over? I'm at a party right now with a couple friends, so if you're not doing anything…"
"Sure," Harry said, despite his reservations. "What's the address?"
Nearly an hour later, Harry stared up at the massive manor he was standing outside of before looking down at his ratty jeans and jumper. He wished he could transform his clothes into something less… poor, but the door was already being thrown open and Blaise was stepping outside in all his dimpled glory.
"Harry, you made it!"
"Hey," Harry said as Blaise stumbled into him. "You OK?"
"Never better," Blaise said, and Harry smelt the alcohol on his breath.
Of course, his mind said in disgust. Why would he invite a complete stranger like you over if he were sober? Stupid, Harry. Stupid.
He followed Blaise into the manor, surprised by the number of people there. "This is more than a couple friends," Harry remarked as Blaise took his hand and led him towards the back of the house.
"Draco, look who I brought!" Blaise declared as they stepped out into the massive back garden.
Draco looked over from where he was lounging by the pool. It took him a few seconds to recognise Harry, but he was up on his feet and storming over soon enough.
"You invited this...this… plebian to my birthday party? What's wrong with you?"
"This is your house?" Harry asked, things finally falling into place. "OK, yeah, this was definitely a mistake. I'm leaving." He offered Draco a smart salute. "Happy birthday, mate."
"I am not your mate," Draco hissed, but Harry was already walking away, his face hot, the humiliation churning in his belly.
What had you expected, Harry? His brain supplied unhelpfully as he made his way through the manor, only to discover, ten minutes later, that he was completely and utterly lost.
"Why does anybody need to live in a house this big?" he yelled out loud, further irritated when his voice echoed along the empty hallway he was in.
Tired and frustrated, he stared up at a family portrait hanging over his head, taking in the platinum-blond-haired family, his eyes lingering on a young Draco as he wondered if he had always been such a terror.
"What are you doing?"
Harry spun around, feeling like he had been caught red-handed doing something unscrupulous, relaxing when he saw that it was only the older, meaner-looking version of the boy in the portrait.
"Oh, it's you," Harry said matter-of-factly, making Draco scoff.
"Of course it's me. This is my house! Who did you think it was?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Blaise?"
Draco eyed him for a moment, his thin lips spreading into a smug smirk that made Harry want to slap it off the blond's face.
"You fancy him, don't you?"
"Who?"
"Blaise," Draco said, coming closer. "Why else would you have accepted an invitation to a stranger's party?"
"So what if I do," Harry said with a frown. "It's none of your business."
Draco shrugged. "That's true. But it does concern me who the members of my inner circle choose to associate with, especially if they're…" Draco trailed off, giving Harry a once-over. "...you."
"What does that mean?" Harry demanded, bristling. Who the hell did this fellow think he was?
A clatter sounded down the hall, and Blaise's voice echoed through it as he called for Draco. Harry began to panic for reasons he didn't understand just then, and, as though feeling the same way, Draco grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the closest room, shutting the door just as Blaise rounded the corner.
"What are you doing?" Harry whisper-shouted.
"I don't know!" Draco whisper-shouted back. "I panicked!"
"You are just the worst," Harry spat, completely over the entire endeavour by that point. He began to open the door, when Draco placed a hand on his and stopped him. "Seriously, let go so I can get out of here. Isn't that what you want?"
"Although it is what I want, I can't let you go out there right now," Draco hissed.
Harry didn't understand what the hell he was on about until Blaise's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door. When Harry shot Draco a questioning look, the blond said, "If you go out right now, Blaise'll get the wrong idea."
Harry scoffed. "How considerate of you."
"Trust me when I say you're the last person I'm doing this for."
Harry stared at the blond for a long moment, the gears in his head clicking in place, and finally, he said, "You know, don't you?"
Draco refused to meet his eyes or reply. Harry turned to face the blond and grabbed him by the arm. "You know how Blaise feels about you, don't you?"
Draco seemed to struggle for a moment before making a frustrated sound and shrugging Harry's hand off. "Of course I know," he said, and Harry thought he sounded almost remorseful. "We've been friends for years. I've seen the way he's looked at the girls or guys he's been in love with before. And then, one day, when he started looking at me in the same way…" he shrugged. "Of course I know."
"And, what?" Harry demanded, now beyond angry. "You just decided to lead him on? Take advantage of his feelings so you could keep him hanging on your every word forever?"
Draco's eyes flashed with anger and his lip curled. "What do you know about Blaise?" he snarled. "You spent, what, two hours with him one time and now suddenly you know everything about him? Don't act all righteous when all you want is to get in his pants yourself!"
That was the last straw. He had never hit someone, but in that moment, all Harry wanted to do was plant his fist in Draco's pretty face. He grabbed the blond by the collar of his robe and pulled him close, ready to spit in his face, when the door opened and a confused-looking Blaise stepped inside.
"Draco?" He met Harry's eyes, a multitude of emotions running across them. "Harry? What are you—"
"It's not what it—" Harry began, but he was cut off by Draco grabbing his face and kissing him full on the mouth.
Several seconds passed as Harry just stared into the blond's eyes, shocked, and a moment later, the door clicked shut. Draco shoved Harry away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve like he had just tasted something disgusting, leaving Harry staring at him with a complete lack of understanding of what had just happened.
"Wha—why would you—"
"Blaise deserves better," Draco declared with finalty. He stepped towards Harry, and for the first time since Harry had met him, Draco showed him a humane expression. One of sadness so deep that it startled Harry. "He deserves better than both of us."
So saying, he spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving Harry staring at nothing for a long time, unable to process anything that had just happened.
It was nearly a month since the party, and Harry still refused to reply to any of Blaise's apologetic texts asking to meet him to talk things over. He had decided, when he had finally managed to locate the front door and leave the party, that he wouldn't get involved with either Blaise or Draco again. He had no intention of getting mixed up in whatever the hell kind of twisted rubbish the two had going on between them.
But, as per usual, life never worked the way one wanted it to, because, standing before Harry in all his rich-boy glory, was the person he wanted to see the least in the world.
"I'm here for my second session," Draco said, and Harry was much too disgusted at the sight of him to note that he was there by himself.
"Sirius is running late," Harry replied in a monotone, turning back to the book he was reading. "Please take a seat. I'll let you know once he's back and is ready for you."
Harry had thought Draco had gone away, but after a moment, the blond asked, "Is that the book by Peter Godfrey-Smith?"
Harry looked up, surprised that Draco had recognised the book despite its cover being so worn that you could hardly read the title. The blond had a small smile on his face. "I recognised it by the picture on the front. Other Minds: The Octopus, The Sea, and the Deep Origins of Consciousness. Great book."
"Yeah. It's one of my favourites."
Harry didn't make an attempt to further the conversation, simply staring at Draco until the blond looked uncomfortable enough to excuse himself to go sit in the waiting area. He tried to return his focus to the book, but Harry was too distracted by the fact that the person he detested knew about a less-known book and was suddenly seeming less despicable by the minute.
The phone rang, pulling him out of his conflicted thoughts. He answered it, only to hear Sirius offer a hurried apology on something coming up and having to cancel on the blond. With a sigh, Harry begrudgingly put his book down and went over to where Draco was seated.
"There's been an emergency, and Sirius had to cancel," Harry explained in a disinterested tone of voice.
Draco regarded Harry for a moment. "How long will he be? I can wait."
Harry shrugged. "A couple hours, at the earliest."
Draco nodded absently as he got to his feet. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "Would you want to grab a coffee with me?"
Harry had had enough.
"Look," he said, scratching his ear, "I don't know what it is you're trying right now, but I'm really not interested in pretending to be friends with you, so why don't you go back to Blaise, or whoever else is part of your inner circle, and leave me alone?"
"Blaise won't talk to me," Draco blurted out, then looked like he regretted admitting that. "But you're right. That's my problem, not yours. And, considering my behaviour towards you so far, I understand why you wouldn't want to associate with me."
Harry stared at him. "Are you trying to earn my pity by playing the victim?"
A wry smile spread across the blond's face. "Did it work?"
Harry sighed. "Maybe. Look, I really don't want to get involved in whatever's going on between you both, and I really don't appreciate the fact that you used me the way you did to send Blaise a message."
"I know. Which is why I'm here, trying to apologise."
Harry frowned, unconvinced. "Why the sudden flip in personality? Which part of it's an act? Your usual, arrogant, rich-brat bit, or this whole bit you've got going on now?"
Draco scrunched up his nose. "Wow, you really don't bite your tongue, do you?"
Harry shrugged. "I would normally, but you lost that privilege the moment you gave me your charity money."
"Fair enough. Well, don't let me keep you from your book."
Harry watched Draco walk out, wondering what had inspired the complete 180 in his personality, and he was reminded of what Blaise had said in the cafe all that time ago about how Draco was a different person in private, when he wasn't putting on his facade.
"Reckon rich brats have their own problems," Harry muttered to himself as he walked back to the front desk. He touched the cover of his book and groaned, knowing the righteous side of him wouldn't be able to forgive himself for not accepting the blond's apology, especially since that would give him some peace of mind.
He hollered to the nearest artist that he would be back in a bit and rushed out of the shop, realising he was too late when he looked around at the bustling street and didn't spot the blond. His eyes fell on the cafe on the other side, and he wondered…
Deciding to take a chance, he crossed over and walked in, eyes scanning the small cafe until his gaze fell on the blond sitting in the far back, drinking his coffee and looking sadder and lonelier than Harry had ever seen him to be. With a sigh, he strode over and slid into the bench opposite Draco, putting on a smile when the blond looked at him in surprise.
"How'd you find me?" Draco asked.
"I took a leap of faith," Harry said in an attempt to sound cool.
Draco scoffed and shook his head. "Lame."
"Alright, I'll be going, then—"
"No, don't!" Draco grabbed his sleeve, looking desperate. "I apologise. I really can't help myself sometimes."
"You don't say." Harry sat back down and placed an arm along the backrest. "So, what did you want to say?"
Draco sighed. "I suppose I owe you a proper explanation since you followed me here." Harry rolled his eyes at that but didn't interrupt as the blond continued. "Blaise and I've fought a lot since the party. And I mean a lot. He knew why I kissed you, and he was angry that I had been a coward and had involved you instead of straight up rejecting him after finding out how he felt. He also hates himself for inviting you to that party in a moment of weakness and being unable to apologise properly for it."
Harry shrugged. "If he really wanted to apologise that bad, he could've come to the shop like you did. I'm usually there."
"He probably tried but didn't have the nerve to go through with it." Draco shook his head. "Anyway, it's been an unnecessarily drawn out episode and an emotionally trying few weeks, so I thought I should put an end to it and give us all some peace of mind. So, I'm sorry."
Harry looked around the shop, taking in the customers at the counter, the waitresses bustling about, and the usual London crowd outside on the street. Finally, he looked at Draco and said, "So, you and Blaise aren't on talking terms anymore?"
Draco shrugged. "I think he just needs some time and space away from me. Hopefully not for too long, though…"
It was then that Harry realised how much Blaise actually meant to Draco, and he found it so utterly foolish that the blond was so busy putting on an act for the rest of the world that he couldn't be honest with the one person that actually mattered to him.
"You're kinda pathetic, you know," Harry said before he could stop himself.
Draco snorted. "Yes, I'm aware."
Harry checked his watch and stood. "I have to get back to the shop. Sirius finally fired that useless receptionist of his so I'm helping out until he finds a replacement."
Draco nodded without looking at him. "OK."
Harry stalled for a moment before saying, "I accept your apology." When Draco looked up at him with a relieved expression on his face, Harry nodded over his shoulder and said, "Wanna maybe come back to the shop and wait for Sirius? You can tell me more about how you know so much about the book I was reading."
Draco accepted the offer a little too eagerly, making Harry wonder if he was simply starved for good company. He thought back to the serious little boy in the portrait and found himself pitying the blond.
"Peter's a close friend of my father's," Draco was bragging as they made their way back to Grimmauld Place. "I could get you an autographed copy of the book, if you want. With a personalised message, even."
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you serious?"
"That would be your boss," Draco replied, and Harry rolled his eyes at the lame serious-Sirius joke he'd heard umpteen times but couldn't help but smile at anyway.
"You know, I see what Blaise meant when he was trying to convince me that you weren't always an absolute terror."
Draco scoffed. "I'm only being nice to you because I dragged you into my problems and I don't like to owe people anything."
"Right. Well, give me that signed book and we can be on our separate ways."
Draco laughed at that, and Harry found himself grinning too. Maybe, just maybe, if Draco continued to behave like a normal person and not an arrogant prince with a stick up his arse, they could become friends.
Home Economics and Domestic Magic, Task #2: Aguamenti - Write about an argument being resolved.
Seasonal Challenge Prompts:
February 11th - Make a Friend Day: Write about meeting someone new.
Winter Prompts: (word) cough
Colour Prompts: Platinum
Slytherin Challenge: New year's Eve and Day: Write about someone receiving money.
Writing Club Prompts:
Assorted Appreciation: 12. Write about someone telling someone else how they feel (doesn't have to be a love confession, it can be telling a friend that they matter, telling parents that they love them and so on)
Disney Challenge: 4. Phoebus - Alternatively, write about someone argumentative.
Showtime: 2. Candy Store: (theme) peer pressure [Draco getting the tattoo because he lost a bet]
Amber's Attic: 19. Zatanna: Write about hiding someone or something. (5 bonus points)
Love in Motion: Harry/Draco/Blaise
Angel's Arcade: Batcave: Grimmauld Place
Liza's Loves: 1. Write about a Slytherin
Film Festival: 12. (action) Hiding from someone