WARNING: this is violently OOC and AU. In fact, it probably doesn't even belong in this verse, but I originally thought of it with these characters, so bear with me despite the rampant mutations. Also, slash. If you hate stuff like that, keep reading. Maybe I'll manage to scar you into agreeing with my viewpoint.
If your name is Luna (NOT Lovegood) and you have uber-curly hair, please go away.
Disclaimer: (insert clever comment) I don't own this franchise.
Draco Malfoy sighed. He was standing alone in the lobby of a concert hall, and he was honestly trying to remember how he had gotten here. The local symphony orchestra was about to give a concert, and his friend Blaise Zabini (who conveniently happened to be the director of music and head of the choir) had gotten him tickets and convinced him to come. Stupid Blaise. And he said there would be a surprise afterward, too. Joy. It'll be like the annoyingly blinding gold at the end of the irritating shiny rainbow.
There was supposed to be some young virtuoso clarinetist doing a solo piece with the symphony tonight. He apparently wasn't well known, but Blaise had constantly raved about his smooth sound and expressive style for the last week (not to mention his supposedly thick, shiny hair). What was his name again? Pfeiffer, Planter? Something like that. Draco shook his head. Whatever – it wasn't that important, Blaise tended to exaggerate things. He looked at all the people chatting amongst themselves around him and scowled, mentally cursing Blaise for talking him into coming. He did like chamber music, but he wasn't a very social person (read - sociophobe) and didn't make a habit of going to public events. He decided to go inside the hall and find his seat. If he was going to be surrounded by happy people he didn't know, he might as well do it while sitting down comfortably.
A few minutes later, the audience was seated, and the lights began to go down. Blaise came on to the stage to welcome the music lovers (and social climbers/money givers) and to gratefully announce the names of the generous donors. A relatively unknown non-profit orchestra like this needed all the financial help it could get. Blaise was sure to emphasize this point, but finally, with one of his stunning smiles, he strode off and the music began.
The slightly bipolar sound of the first movement of the Symphony Fantastique enveloped Draco. He relaxed back into his chair a little and smirked, wondering if anyone else in the audience knew that Berlioz was on opium when he wrote this.
The piece finished and the audience clapped politely, Draco joining in. There was a short intermission to walk around in as the brass, the harps and some of the woodwinds left the stage in preparation for the concerto. Draco remained in his seat along with a few other people, lazily watching a fat, balding trombone player tell an unheard joke to one of the oboe players who was packing up. They both laughed raucously as they walked off stage.
Soon enough, the rest of the audience came back in, and the lights dimmed once again. Blaise came on one stage, announcing the next piece, as well as the name of the young clarinet soloist. Harry Potter. So that was it, Draco thought absently, still watching the stage. A few seconds after Blaise went off, a young man, who looked to be around Draco's age, came onto stage holding a dark wooden clarinet. Oddly enough, he was wearing black dress pants and an untucked tuxedo shirt. How unprofessional. He looked a bit nervous and stood there with his feet together and his clarinet clasped stiffly across his chest. The conductor began the few introductory bars with the symphony, then cued the soloist to begin on his part.
As soon as the clarinetist raised his instrument to his lips, he seemed to relax completely, and the sound that came from the bell of his clarinet was like liquid mercury - silver, smooth, and flowing. He is… surprisingly good.
The piece wasn't long, but Draco was caught up in the music of the clarinet and the seconds seemed to last an eternity, and then pass much faster then they were supposed to. He swore he could see the piercing green eyes of the performer, and feel the heat of their gaze even this far out in the audience.
Draco found himself entranced as well with the elegant wrist-bones and long fingers that so comfortably found their places on the wooden instrument. Harry Potter's forearms, Draco thought, were the exact size to put his hand around comfortably.
Usually, with virtuoso players or soloists, Draco hated the expressive way they moved on stage. He knew that it helped some produce better tone or dynamics, but to him, it always seemed extremely over-dramatized, cheesy even. This Harry Potter, though, his movements always seemed to follow each swoop and trickle of the music, as though he were simply being lead along with the phrases. Draco watched in amazement at the grace he saw in this performer.
The concerto was soon over, and the lights came up after the audience clapped. Not very enthusiastic, are they? I thought he was good. Draco had sort of been hoping for an encore (something he would usually dread – he hated any extra time surrounded by the other people), but it seemed as though there wouldn't be one. He sighed and headed towards the exit.
Just before he got to the door, he turned right, into the green room. Most of the musicians and the director exited the backstage area here or simply gathered to talk. Blaise had said that he wanted to meet him here, and Draco didn't really know what he wanted, but was determined to get out as soon as possible. He wanted to go home and see if he could find some videos of Harry Potter performing on his computer. Besides, Blaise had said that they would meet up with Pansy (evil woman that she was) and that they had a surprise for him. Draco shuddered. Whenever those two had a "surprise" for him, it was almost never good. He tried to suppress the memories of stripper clowns, and almost failed. The thought gave him an incredible urge to find a bathroom and throw up, or run away screaming. Why did they think I liked clowns anyway? Or strippers? And why would anyone ever think of combining those things? Draco did not seem to realize that normal males his age were usually extremely appreciative of people gratuitously taking their clothes off within eyesight, even if the clothes in case were obscenely garish.
Upon entering the green room, he saw a few musicians talking to each other or to friends, and Blaise and Pansy waving from the back corner. They were near the coffee pot. Draco twitched. Coffee. Coffee is bad for Pansy's imagination.
"Why hello, Drakey!" said Pansy in that annoying sickly sweet way she had. You could never tell how serious she was when she took that tone. "As you may know, we have arranged something very special for you tonight-"
"What is it?" Draco said grumpily, "just tell me."
Pansy rolled her eyes, but Blaise spoke. "They're having a special reception tonight, and I thought you might want to come." He had that we're doing something nice for you, loser look in his eyes that told Draco that it wasn't actually Blaise's idea. His friend had given up on trying to get Draco out of his flat years ago. Pansy, however, had an extremely devious look in her eyes, and Draco began to feel a bit scared.
"No way," said Draco, "I don't do parties, you guys know that, besides I have work, I have to work on that new book, you know, my deadline-"
"Psh," said Pansy, "Whatever, oh young lord novelist(1), I happen to know that you have absolutely no urgent project right now, and that all you have to do is sit on your ass and wait for your editor to propose a project."
"That's not-" Draco tried to protest, but it was true. Damn, Pansy knows everything, doesn't she?
"Come on," Blaise added in, "It'll be good for you to socialize, for once. And everyone knows musicians are hot – take me for example." He wiggled his eyebrows at Draco.
"Fine," Draco sighed in resignation. "But we're leaving early."
"Whatever," said Pansy, looking impatient, "Let's go darlings!" She linked her arms through both of theirs, and started skipping off, towing them along.
Squeezing into Blaise's car among the copious amounts of random sheet music, books, and some other, odder, things, they headed off to the reception. It was apparently in the mansion of some high-rolling associate to the symphony.
Once inside, Draco felt immediately uneasy. He was surrounded by women in ball gowns and men in tuxedos. This really was a high-end event… Blaise, immediately at ease, went off to talk to, apparently, everyone in the room. Social freak.
Draco drifted over to the sideboard, feeling uncomfortable. Even Pansy had found her niche, and was flirting with three awkward young brass players at once. What do you do at parties like this? He made a decision based on most of the things he had read and/or written, and drifted over towards the food. Besides making him look like he had some sort of purpose, they had little quiches in those dainty crimped paper holders. I wonder who catered this… mmm, quiche.
Draco became lost in the sumptuous food. Delicious. Maybe coming here wasn't such a bad idea, after all…
Suddenly, he heard someone yelp, and thudded to the shadowed floor behind a pillar with a large, warm body on top of his. What sex-crazed idiot just rugby tackled me onto the ground!? Draco looked around, making sure that no one had seen his inelegant fall. Then he looked up at his attacker, and caught his breath. The green eyes were even more intense up close.
"Um… hello?" It was hard for Draco to find his voice. Why isn't he getting off of me? I mean, not that he's bad looking or anything. I appreciate handsome young musicians throwing themselves on me as much as anyone else, but…
Harry Potter (because it was him, of course) blinked. Seeming to come out of his comatose state, he rolled over and tried to get back to his feet. He promptly fell down again. "What's…?"
"Your shoelaces. My mother always said it was a health hazard."
Harry looked down. "Oh, right. Oh." Because not only were his shoelaces untied (seemingly the reason he had tripped and fallen onto Draco), they were now also knotted around a leg of the solid wooden table that held those delicious quiches. Harry tried to reach down, but ended up overbalancing and falling forward again. Not exactly a yoga master, now is he?
"Here, let me." Draco was glad for the shadow of the pillar and the large potted plant that stood next to it. It was unbelievably awkward task to kneel down and untie the implausibly complicated knot that had formed after Harry tripped. It probably looks like I'm giving him a blowjo- Wait! No! Don't go there! The great novelist Draco Malfoy does not have relationships, and he especially does not suck off random passing musicians.
Draco kept his racing mind in check. "There, I'm done."
"Thanks."
"Sure thing."
They stared at each other in awkward silence for a minute or two until Draco began, "So, you're a clarinetist? That sounds pretty, um, interesting…"
He trailed off, but then was interrupted by the sound of Pansy's heels clacking across the floor. Loudly - she was close by. He turned his head, apprehensive. That sound is scarier than the soundtrack out of a horror movie.
"Well, well, looks like widdle Drakey did find someone to play with after all!" exclaimed Pansy. Blaise just smiled his Cheshire Cat smile from behind her.
"Hello, Harry."
"Good evening, Mr. Zabini."
"Okay, Draco, we're leaving now." Draco looked at Pansy with relief. Wow, a lot sooner than I thought we would…
"I meant me and Blaise – we're going to another party. You can catch a train home."
Cold… so cold. Draco was caught in a flurry of ice crystals as Pansy walked out the door, arm in arm with Blaise.
"Um, do you… need a ride?" He felt someone tentatively tap him on the shoulder."
It was Harry Potter. Yes, score! I'm so bad at taking trains… The reality was that Draco was simply incompetent when it came to anything outside of his apartment, but either way he appreciated the offer. "Yes, please."
"I'm Harry Potter, by the way. I mean, you probably already know that, but. Well, anyway, please call me Harry."
"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Shit… I've been watching too many movies…
Harry gave him an amused look. "Okay… Draco."
They were driving in the car when it happened. They had been conversing quite nicely, and Draco had happily discovered that Harry enjoyed cooking, and loved cats. There was a lull in the conversation and, suddenly, "grrrrrl."
Draco put his hand to his stomach, and laughed nervously. Harry looked at him, concerned. "You wanna go… get something to eat?"
Draco opened his mouth, but his stomach growled again. Loudly. Harry laughed. "Alright then."
Pulling into the parking lot of a tiny restaurant sequestered at the end of a dingy strip mall, Harry craned his neck to look for a parking space. "Not here, not here…"
"How about back there," Draco saw an alley behind the building, and indicated towards it with his hand, resting the other on the scratched plastic of the door.
"Okay." Harry maneuvered the car into the small opening. Suddenly, looking at the slats of the fence bordering the alley, the graffitied and re-painted stucco of the back wall, the grimy, moist gravel upon which the car's tires crunched, Draco didn't feel like this was such a good idea. Eh, whatever. He looked at Harry, then back at the long, shadowy alleyway and felt like nothing could possibly affect him at this moment in time.
Walking in through the front door of the restaurant, Draco noticed several odd things. First, it was so dark that he couldn't see the floor, not to mention the food. Second, there were almost no women inside. Just one woman bartender, and another, middle-aged looking woman waving her hands over a large stack of papers and arguing quietly with a couple of very attractive men(1). Harry walked over to the bar, gesturing for Draco to follow. He took a seat and waved to the bartender. Draco nervously sat down beside him as the bartender walked up. "Hi, Harry." She said. "The usual?"
"Actually we'd like something to eat." Harry gestured to himself and Draco, and the woman seemed to notice him for the first time.
"Oh, we?"
"Yes, we. How about some of that stuff you had for your special the other night…"
"The omelet espangola?"
"Yeah. And some of the, um, the…"
The woman said something very fast in Spanish, or Portuguese – something that sounded very sexy. She even looked good saying it, managing to flip her long, brown hair exactly on the last syllable. Then she laughed.
"Don't worry, I know you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself," a pointed glance towards Draco, "with your terrible accent."
She walked away, leaving Draco with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. So she and Harry know each other. I guess they're friends…
"Hey." Harry tapped his shoulder lightly. "What's up? You don't look so good." He studied Draco concernedly. "I promise the food here is good – it looks pretty seedy but really it's very good – honest, and the work is really nice."
"Nice? Like that, um, lady?" Draco looked away. He didn't really mean to sound so bitter. She was probably a wonderful woman. In bed… He told his inner voice to shut up and turned back to Harry.
Harry had a bemused look on his face. "What, so are you jealous?"
"Um, no- well, um, ye-no."
Harry laughed a little. His mouth quirks up when he laughs… "Draco, I'm sorry if you haven't realized this, but…"
Draco raised his head, eyebrow quirked. Harry seemed to be indicating most of the rest of the room with his hand, so he looked around as was appropriate. Hmm, okay. Some guys, some more guys, ooh, a really good-looking guy, two really girly guys, jailbait boys… Oh.
"Ah. I…see."
Harry looked a little worried. "You know, if it bothers you – I mean, I just really like this place, and I thought, well, um, I thought that you – that it would be okay," he finished lamely.
"Oh, no, it's okay," Draco said absently, and then smiled at Harry which seemed to reassure him. However, inside Draco's head was a completely different scene. Oh. My. God. Harry… brought me to a bar. A gay bar. A really, really seedy gay bar.
Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here...?
Draco was brought back to the present by the clink of dishes on the counter. Harry ceased the motor-mouth act that he had apparently kept up while Draco was zoning out in favor of pulling off a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. Draco looked at Harry, at the waitress who was grinning at them (she seemed a lot less threatening now), and down at the prawns swimming in a mysterious yellow-ish sauce.
"Go on, have some. It's the house specialty – really excellent." Harry smiled at him. Draco bravely stuck his fork into the dish, and speared a single prawn. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed, then swallowed.
"It's… pretty good."
"Good. I'm glad you like it." Harry leaned close. "Especially since I realized how sexy you look when you swallow."
Draco froze, a blush spreading across his cheeks. That was quite… forward. He held his silence for a moment, but then a question came to mind. "So, does that mean we're, erm…"
"On a date? Yeah, if you want to be."
"Yeah. Yeah, it's a date."
"Okay." Harry smiled, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot this evening. God, I love that thing the corners of his mouth do when he smiles… Suddenly however, the smile dropped off his face.
"What's wrong?"
"Dang, I forgot…"
"Forgot what?"
"Well, you know, in the beginning I was planning to ask you if you wanted a drink. However, that was before I tripped…"
"Well, then I'm the lucky one." Draco waved the positively smirking bartender over with much more confidence, looked the little table flyer over, and ordered the three fruitiest (2) drinks he could find. I can't decide anyway, and we can always just share…
Stumbling out to the car, supported only by Harry's arm (so firm and slender…) Draco wondered what would happen next. He smiled at Harry, who smiled back, but as he was not concentrating on his footing he tripped over a knot of grass in the gravel alleyway and stumbled, knocking himself (and therefore Harry) into a car – theirs, luckily.
"Eager, are we?"
"Yeah… I mean no. Not really…ish."
"Heh." Harry snorted. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?" He smiled down at Draco in a way that implied that he was the cutest thing known to mankind.
Draco's face flushed. He focused up on Harry's lips, traveling closer and closer. He couldn't stand the suspense, and then suddenly –
The car emitted a popping sound and shifted subtly behind Draco. Both his and Harry's eyes flew open, and they immediately straightened from where they had been leaning towards each other against the car. Awkwardly, they looked away from each other and Harry bent down, to examine the car.
"Oh shit…"
"Huh?" Draco twisted around to see Harry crouched down and studying the tires of the car with a pathetic, disappointed expression on his face.
Harry pointed mournfully at the said circular pieces of rubber, and Draco now saw that they were almost entirely deflated, with dark slashes crisscrossing all the surfaces (3).
"Ouch," Draco scrunched up his face in sympathy, "And that was a rental, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Harry stood up, still looking at the ground. Suddenly his face seemed to brighten. "Hey, let's take a train!"
Draco groaned. I really hate trains. And I really hate Pansy and Blaise. But I just might really, really like one Harry Potter…
Sitting in a subway at quarter to one in the morning, Draco felt happier than probably anyone ever had. So what if he never found the way back to his apartment? So what if Harry never got to wherever... where did musicians live anyway? (He'd never seen any beds in the backs of concert halls...) Any road, Draco would gladly sit on this subway with Harry, drinking Red Bull until the end of the world.
Half an hour later found Draco crashing, pillowing his head on Harry's shoulder and trying not to drool on his shirt. Harry shook him lightly. "Come on, Drake, I think I've found the right line this time."
Three different subways, florescent lights burning into the back of Draco's eyes. Harry's frustration – kicking a drinks machine only made his foot hurt. The cement grittiness of the floor, the black, rubbery scum on the windows and seats all seemed to soak into their clothes – by the end of their ride even the hobos avoided them.
Finally, one last train. Harry hauled Draco up, pulling some water out of his bag to pour over the other man's head. Draco, feeling slightly more alert, shook his head and stumbled with Harry out the sliding doors. They watched the train pull away, whistling in the tunnel with a sound of finality.
Slowly the pair turned around, and with much relief, Draco recognized the name on the sign leading to the cement staircase. Wearily they climbed the stairs, and took the seemingly unending walk towards Draco's apartment building.
Fumbling out his keys, Draco looked fondly back at Harry, slumped against the wall of the hallway. Unlocking the door, he felt Harry behind him, helping to push the door open. Draco managed to shut the door behind them before they both collapsed onto the couch, too tired to think about anything.
Draco groaned, and slowly, ever so slowly, opened his eyes. He immediately shut them again, as the light being emitted from his open window was simply too much for his poor optical nerves to handle. Probably he would just lay here and sleep some more, snuggle up to this nice-smelling, warm person next to him…
Wait.
1. Where did the random warm person come from?
Ah, yes. Looking down, Draco again saw the (rather adorable) face of one Harry Potter, currently drooling on his shoulder.
2. How on earth does he still smell nice after the night they had?
This one is a mystery. Draco lay back down, because despite waking up with a somewhat unfamiliar (though admittedly attractive) man lying on top of him, he felt very comfortable and somehow at peace with the world.
Harry stirred suddenly, shifting a bit and flinging one of his arms around Draco. Smiling contentedly, Draco prepared to settle down as well, until he felt something guaranteed to make his morning just a bit more awkward - Harry's erection poking him in the leg.
Pansy is laughing at me somewhere, I just know it…
Searching for a plan of action, Draco tried to slowly shift out from under Harry without disturbing his sleep. If he could only worm his way out of here, get to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee, everything would be all right. Just stay focused on the coffee…
Unfortunately, unsociable recluse that he was, Draco had no experience with slipping out from under sleeping men with unwanted hard-ons. Just as he thought he was about to be free, Draco managed to send both himself and Harry tumbling off the couch. Slightly stunned, he looked down at Harry, who was awake. Yes, duh he's awake, you just practically concussed him.
"H-hi…" Draco stammered. "So, um, sleep well? Any, um, any problems, or something…" He couldn't help looking down awkwardly at Harry's crotch, where a certain problem was manifesting itself quite nicely.
"Um." Harry stared at him for a minute, looked down briefly, and then continued with the awkward staring thing.
The two young men suddenly became aware that various magical powers (4) were available to them, including, apparently, super-speed. Harry rushed off to the bathroom in a blur, while Draco bustled into the kitchen, chattering inanely to himself.
He was just considering how best to resolve this situation with a minimum of awkwardness when a dripping Harry re-emerged from the hallway and came into the kitchen.
"Hey."
"Hey." Draco looked down at his hands, holding a half-full mug of coffee. Sensing the tension in the air, he attempted to busy himself by reaching for a bottle of aspirin that habitually resided on the top shelf. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite reach, and was straining on tiptoes to brush the bottle of aspirin when he felt a warm pair of arms surround his hips and lift him ever so slightly into the air.
Draco squeaked. Dayum, that Harry Potter is strong…
He managed to knock the bottle of aspirin down from the top shelf without destroying anything, and felt Harry chuckle as he set the smaller man down. Turning around, Draco looked into Harry's amused face and smiled. Maybe nothing about this situation needed resolution after all.
After a lengthy breakfast (consisting of something delicious that Harry had cooked, as well as 250 mg of aspirin each), Draco agreed to walk Harry to the door, and gave him money for a subway pass (something Draco refused to even consider being paid back for – Harry had paid for all his fares yesterday, hadn't he?)
Standing in a shady alcove next to the entrance to the hotel, Harry gently kissed Draco. "Hey, our first date's over, yeah? I think a kiss would be appropriate." He pressed a scrap of paper into Draco's hand – and there, on the back of a grocery receipt, were perhaps the most interesting seven digits the young novelist had ever seen.
Surrounded by a million people rushing past, two young men stand still on the warm morning sidewalk. The glitter of broken glass surrounds then, the young saplings grow in their iron boxes around them. Everyone else is at the heart of their own psyche, their own troubles and joys whirling around them in flashes of emotion – no one sparing these two a second glance. The young men are the same, but for one thing. The universes they inhabit have suddenly, unexpectedly, merged.
I like the way he said "our first date," thought Draco as a truck labeled "Morningwood's sub shop" blared on by.
1 – kudos to anyone who caught the references…
2 – yes, fruitiest meant in both senses of the word
3 – haha, that happened to us in a hospital parking lot… it sucked.
4 - OH. YEAH. i managed to make it slightly canon... almost. dang. magical powers, right?
Wow. It's finally done. I can't believe that took so long. Well, hopefully you enjoyed it, and if you had the patience to read all the way down here, I think I can feel pretty good on that front. I actually have no idea how I feel about this story, so please review and tell me what you think!