Chapter Three: A Guy Like Him
The trip from the train station to their apartment complex was fairly quick, after Harry's several failed attempts at getting a taxi. Harry gripped his sketchbook tightly, which he had completely forgotten about with his encounter with Malfoy, Hermione being the one to pick it up for him. She teased him relentlessly about being head-over-heels for the man, Harry blushing profusely and denying everything. He's only just met the man that day, he couldn't have had feelings for him so quick, could he? And besides, he's a dude, and Harry only likes girls. He has to.
"It looks very nice in here," Hermione said, walking into the apartment Harry was renting out. The pair would've gotten one to share, had it not been for the possibility that they might get into relationships, and their partners might get the wrong idea that the two friends were dating. Plus, according to Hermione, she would get tired of Harry's untidiness after only a week of living with each other. Harry hadn't mind about the situation at all. In fact, he was relieved he had more privacy, because even if he wasn't attracted to Hermione romantically, he would have felt awkward if he accidentally saw her in less than a shirt and shorts.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "very clean."
"I give it a week before it's a mess," Hermione grinned, going over to the open kitchen area.
"Ouch," He feigned hurt. "You have absolutely no faith in me, 'Mione!"
"It's true. But it would be worse if Ron lived with you."
That much was true. If it weren't for Mrs. Weasley going and cleaning, Ron's room would closely resemble a pigsty. It made no sense how a room could get that dirty in a span of two days. Only two!
"If you want, I'll be over in the morning to disinfect everything. No, I'll come over whether you want me to or not," Hermione thought out loud, opening cabinets. "You never know how filthy the previous occupants were."
"Hermione, it's fine," Harry assured with a chuckle, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
"Of course you'd think that! No, we have at least a week before term starts, which gives us plenty of time to set up our apartments and make them look presentable. Now, if you don't mind, a few pictures would look great on this wall, opposite of the window. Don't you think? One of the portraits you painted by the ocean. Or maybe a flower one. We'll see. And the bedroom, maybe we could make it dark, you know? So—"
"You sound like a wife, Hermione," Harry full-on laughed, amused at his friend's antics. They haven't been in the flat a good ten minutes before she started picturing how it was going to be set up. He actually didn't mind her decorating—as long as it wasn't too girly—as he had planned on leaving the walls bare and only furnish the place with essentials like a TV, a couch, a table, etc.
"It's only our first night," Harry continued. "Shouldn't you be tired from the train ride or something?"
Hermione shook her head, bushy hair hitting her face slightly. "The train ride here gave me enough energy to fix up at least half of my place when I go over."
How? Harry was going to ask, but decided against it, knowing he'll be given a full, verbal essay. When you're friends with Hermione Granger, you learn what questions to ask and what not to ask.
"Lucky you," He said instead, running a hand through his naturally messy hair. "I'm beat, so I'll go on to bed."
"From the train ride or the encounter with Malfoy?" Hermione smirked.
He swears, if she brings up that guy's name one more time...
"Fatigue has nothing to do with Malfoy," Harry groaned.
"Harry, you and I both know that guy has affected you somehow. Do you like him?" She questioned.
Harry sighed and walked over to the big window that took up most of the wall. Outside, darkness was rapidly approaching, majority of the sky a deep blue chasing away the vibrant yellows, pinks, and purples. It wasn't dark enough in the room to require a light to be turned on, yet Hermione went to flip the switch anyways.
"I can't like someone I've just met," Harry finally answered, eyes not leaving the sky. "That stuff takes time, you and I both know that. Besides, there's no way a guy like him could like a guy like me. If he's even gay," he added.
Hermione dropped the topic with a huff, but Harry knew that it wasn't the last he was going to hear about it. He was glad for the drop, though, because Hermione bade him a goodnight before leaving to go to her apartment across the hall from his. He decided to look around once again, despite the place looking the same as when he toured it two months ago, with the exception of his belongings sitting in various rooms.
The front door was in the living room, and there was a little expanse of wall to the left before it turned into the kitchen, complete with a breakfast bar and island. Across from the door, sat the wall with the giant window—where Harry had drawn the blinds to prevent any helicopters flying by looking in—and going past the living room, there was a small hallway that featured the bathroom and a closet. Taking the right around the corner there was a small room, almost like a foyer, that led to Harry's bedroom. His bedroom only had one window, which meant less curtains for Hermione to pick out, and was fairly big. Probably since it was the only bedroom in the apartment, not that Harry cared. But he had more space for his things than he did at his mom's house, as they had their two bedrooms and another for guests.
Harry opened a box, which contained his soccer (or football) trophies. He had been very sporty as a child, engaging in the neighborhood teams and going against the Weasley brothers. He had also taken up tennis, track, and volleyball during the summers when Hermione, Ginny, and Luna needed a fourth person to play matches. He did those when he wasn't doing anything artsy, or when he lacked inspiration.
He only managed to set five trophies and plaques on the shelf before he found himself yawning without shame. Wow, he didn't think he was actually that tired. Nonetheless, he stripped down to his boxers before climbing into his bed after retrieving the sheets and blanket from a nearby box.
—
True to her word, Hermione had helped Harry settle in with the unpacking and the decorating, as she didn't see Harry fit to adequately dress his apartment up. Harry would have argued, but it was right, so he had to shut his mouth and work on the grocery list he was writing for when they went out again.
His apartment could use a little more of something, but as in basics-wise, it was pretty perfect. After the boxes were folded flat, Harry was drug out the flat to a nearby clothing store, saying "he'd never know if he met somebody", and was forced to look at clothes that weren't his typical jeans and t-shirt. He wasn't against clothes shopping, but, according to Hermione, he would be useless without her, which wasn't a total lie.
He was walking around in the section of the store with the suits, wrinkling his nose in distaste at how fancy and high-priced they were. His family weren't dirt poor, but they weren't filthy rich either. His mother said that his father did spectacular in designing buildings, which earned him a lot of money, as they leaned more towards aristocratic designs.
As he was looking at a tacky orange and green suit—seriously, when did orange go with anything besides sunsets and fruits?—he saw one that caught his eye. It was black, with a black tie and a burgundy button-down shirt. It was simple yet very expensive, judging by the triple digits that were so close to being four. And, for some reason, he could have sworn he's seen it somewhere before.
"That's such a nice suit, Harry!"
Hermione walked up behind him, a couple of dress shirts already folded over her arm for Harry to try on. With her free hand, she reached out and felt the blazer, an approving smile on her face.
"It's so soft. What brand is it?"
Harry grabbed the tag and looked at it, his face twisting in confusion. On the black background of the tag, in white letters said 'Magic! by Malfoy
style="font-size: 16pt;"'. Malfoy. It couldn't be the same Malfoy he met a few days ago, could it? There could be plenty of other Malfoys in the UK, right?
"Malfoy?" His friend questioned. "You don't think it could be Draco, could it?"
Well, Draco did have a nice sense of style, and he had been wearing the same exact suit when they met. But it didn't mean anything. He was hardly an adult, after all! How could he already have a fashion line out when he's fresh out of the dreadful teenage years?
"Harry..." Hermione breathed, looking at something under the displayed suit. She bent down and picked it up, gaping at the front page of what appeared to be a fashion magazine.
Harry's face went blank, as he knew Hermione was going to start running through the pages, picking out her favorite things, and he was about to go before she stood right in front of him.
"Your future boyfriend is a model."
"What?"
Hermione showed him the cover of the magazine and he was shocked to see that Malfoy was up there, posing for the camera. His face occupied a charismatic grin as he showed off his white suit with a black button-down and tie. In the shot, Harry could see that his hair was pretty long for a guy, ending right below his shoulders, tied into a neat, slick ponytail. His grey eyes almost dared Harry to retort that Draco wasn't his "future boyfriend".
He doesn't. Instead, he just stares at the magazine a few seconds longer before forcing himself to look away. Still, the image was burned into his mind, determined to make a permanent mark there. He couldn't unsee the ice-colored eyes, nor the pale, but not sickly, skin, nor the small grin he sported. And he couldn't ignore the way his hand was halfway tucked in his pocket, the other around his tie, looking soft and almost feminine. Overall, he did look feminine, but there was a sense of masculinity about him. There was something otherworldly about him, as if he was a gift made just for humanity.
"I want to draw him," he said under his breath.
Apparently he wasn't quiet enough, because Hermione responded to him after a moment.
"Then ask him."
Harry looked at her and shook his head. "I can't ask him, Hermione! If he really is famous and all, he wouldn't want to deal with a commoner like me!"
It was true. Harry was a nobody, while Malfoy—Draco, whatever—was well-known. And rich. He probably had other things to do instead of sit down with a small-town boy while he was being drawn. Even though Harry was given his number, it was strictly so he could see the House his father had built. Not for anything silly and unprofessional as being drawn.
"Harry, he gave you his phone number."
"But it's not for small things like this! I can't just...he won't..."
He doesn't know why, but his face was heating up, along with his neck. Why was he embarrassed thinking about drawing the beautiful specimen? About calling him?
"I don't think he would brush you off," Hermione hesitantly said. "He seems really interested in you."
How? They've only interacted once, and it mainly consisted of Harry staring like he's never seen another human being before, and talk about his father and his currently building structure.
"I don't—"
"Fine! But when you see him later on, draw him, and fall in love, don't say I didn't tell you so!"
That wasn't the last time Harry's seen the blonde's face. It was as if he was popping up at every inconvenient opportunity for Harry, appearing as a model on magazines, on billboards, as cutouts in stores. It didn't help that
style="font-style: italic; font-size: 16pt;"Magic!was popular, and Harry could spot out a suit from the line a mile away. It was weird because it looked like any normal suit, but there was something about it that looked different from any other brand. Maybe it was the sheer expensiveness and elegance, making anybody who wore it look as if they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.
Harry never bought one. He didn't think he could ever top Malfoy and how he looked in his own suits.
Classes started, and Harry's mind was less on the platinum blonde and more on his schoolwork. And girls. Well, it tried to be. Hermione got off his back, more focused on her studies, giving him more breathing room, so he didn't have to hear about how he's going to "fall in love with Malfoy", and how he "should call him for casual talk".
Luckily—maybe?—Harry ran into a girl by the name of Cho Chang while he was walking towards class. She had been running around the corner when she literally ran into him, knocking his books out of his hand. She apologized profusely while helping him pick up his things. She promised him lunch a few days later to make up for the incident, which he accepted. Maybe she was the one who will spark some type of feelings from him. She was very pretty and nice, and she looked interested in him somewhat.
They ate lunch at a local café, sitting at one of the tables outside while enjoying a sandwich and water. The weather wasn't freezing cold, so they could sit out without worrying about frostbite.
And it was then that Harry realized he wasn't attracted to Cho either. He couldn't see himself dating her in the future without cringing either. He mentally sighed and wished the lunch date was over so he could rant to Hermione about the lack of emotions he felt.
While she was talking about going back to China for a holiday one year to visit her family, Harry's eyes wandered off absentmindedly. They went to the road where cars rode by and people walked, some smiling and giving him a polite nod that he returns. Then to the many flowers weaved through the iron bars that surrounded the outside area of the café. Harry recognized some, due to painting them often when he was a bit younger. He always had a habit of smelling any flower he comes into contact with, possibly more than the usual person, as he wanted his paintings to be so real that the person could practically smell them off the canvas.
A woman's laughter distracted him, and he looked around for the source when he realized Cho hadn't been the one to laugh. That's when he saw him, sitting at the table behind Cho, sitting in the seat facing him. A woman with a pixie cut sat with her back to Harry, index finger tracing the rim of a teacup, and the blonde was talking to her, an arrogant look on his beautifully sculpted face. Harry thought his heart stopped beating when grey eyes met his green ones, and a smirk was sent his way.
"—Harry, are you even listening?" Cho questioned before she turned around.
Harry felt his face start to heat up, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the blonde man. Would Cho think he was gay as well?
Suddenly, the Asian gasped, and she whirled back around to to Harry, a huge grin on her face. "Harry, it's him! It's Draco Malfoy!"
Well, of course Harry knew that. How could he forget the beautiful man's name? But he didn't see how special he was, other than his godly looks.
"Yeah, and?" Harry mentally applauded himself for maintaining a leveled voice.
Cho's eyes widened in disbelief, as if she could not believe that Harry said that. "Don't tell me you don't know the Malfoys!"
He knew one Malfoy. "Er—"
"Harry, they're possibly one of the richest families in all of Europe! And their son, Draco? He has to be the hottest boy on earth! Look at him!"
Oh, right. He was famous. How could Harry forget that?
"It's a shame he's gay," Cho sighed sadly.
Harry choked on his water, trying to discreetly calm his coughing fit. When he was able to breathe normally, he shot a glance at Malfoy—who began twirling the end of his ponytail around a finger, smirk still on his face—then focused on Cho, who was finishing her food. "Gay?"
Cho nodded solemnly. "One of the country's biggest models is gay. You don't know how disappointed the girls were. Yet, some are delusional and think they'll turn him straight or something."
The new piece of information made Harry wonder if Malfoy has always been gay or if experience with girls made him that way. And if it was the latter, could he know how Harry felt as well? But that's impossible, because Harry was not gay. He just hasn't found the right girl yet.
After a few minutes, Cho said she had to meet up with her friend Marietta and left after saying she had fun. Harry most definitely hadn't had any fun. And it wasn't getting any better as he watched Malfoy get up from his seat and strolled over to where the green-eyed boy sat, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth.
Harry's heart. It was going out of control the closer the taller man got. Harry's ears. He felt the tips get hot, spreading to the rest of the body part, and to his face. Harry's palms. They were becoming more moist than normal, making it harder to grip his cup of water, and he wiped them on his trousers quickly. Harry's mouth. It was as if his saliva evaporated on the spot, leaving him dry-mouthed.
Nope, he wasn't gay alright.
"Potter," he spoke in his smooth, aristocratic voice. "What a pleasure it is seeing you here!"
Malfoy's voice gave the impression that he was being sarcastic, but his expression was genuine. He gracefully pulled the chair out and sat in it, leaning on the table.
"On a date?" Malfoy asked.
"Uh, you could say...no, not really." Harry could hardly call it a date, as he wasn't romantically interested in Cho, and there was no use in lying.
"Didn't pique your interest?" Malfoy grinned.
"No. I guess I'm looking for something different."
"Different how?"
There was a glint in the blonde's eye, which Harry wasn't sure if it was a good thing.
Harry shrugged, eyes diverting to the pretty hands in front of him, folded over the other. They would be really great to draw. "Um...not exactly like her?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Different as in...the completely opposite gender?"
If Harry's throat hadn't been dry, he surely would have choked. Malfoy was so straightforward and to the point. Then again, wealthy people were probably used to getting what they wanted so they never had to beat around the bush. Still, Harry wasn't used to it.
He took a sip of water, stalling, looking away from the grey eyes burning into him. Then, he hesitantly said, "I...I'm not sure what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean, Potter."
Harry wasn't going to get out of the situation easily, he could tell. He gulped, running his palms down his legs. "I'm not...I'm not gay, Mal—I mean, Dra—I..."
Malfoy smirked again before he leaned in close to the shorter, making the latter shrink in his seat, aware of the heat going south—why there? Malfoy reached out and gripped his chin lightly, as if afraid that Harry would break at the slightest pressure. He leaned in close enough for Harry to get a whiff of his cologne. It was musky, with a hint of sandalwood and a hint of lemongrass. The closeness, the contact, and the cologne was getting to Harry, causing him to get slightly dizzy. It was all too much for him.
"Ever since I met you at the train station," Malfoy started, voice low, "I wanted to see you again. You were just so...irresistibly cute."
It can't be true. Draco Malfoy was calling Harry cute. Cute.
"I wanted to call you," he continued, his breath hitting Harry's lips. "But I knew the term had began, and I didn't want to interrupt and distract you."
A surprisingly strong urge to lean forward made its way inside Harry. Just a few inches, and their lips would be touching. They were so close, and Malfoy's whispering wasn't making it any better.
Malfoy hovered in Harry's personal space for a few seconds longer before backing away, removing his hand and taking his scent with him, leaving Harry to almost whimper at the lost. He wanted Malfoy to be close, wanted to hear him dish out his thoughts, smell his expensive cologne. But he remained still, seemingly in a trance.
"Do you have anymore classes?"
Harry mentally shook himself before shaking his head. "No."
"Excellent. I'm walking you home."
Harry was about to protest when Malfoy stood up, fished a couple of bills out his pocket, and tossed them on the table before looking at Harry expectantly.
"I could've paid—" Harry started, teaching for his own wallet, when Malfoy cut him off.
"No, I got it. Now, come on and let's go."
Harry abandoned his half-eaten sandwich and stood. He never thought he would be talking to Malfoy again so soon. He only expected an awkward phone call in the future before going over to see the house designed by his father.
They had began walking when Harry looked back, searching for the girl Malfoy had sat with before he went to harass Harry. But she had disappeared without a word, leaving the two males to walk to Harry's apartment. Light conversation was made, mainly from Draco as Harry was too busy convincing him that the thoughts wildly running through his mind was normal for a platonic relationship. He shouldn't be mentally wondering how Draco does his hair in the morning, or what the name of his cologne was, or if Draco worked out. Malfoy. Not Draco. Draco was too non-professional, too personal.
"That was a smooth trip," Dra—Malfoy grinned, hands behind his back.
"Er—sure."
Harry moved around so he could unlock his apartment, which took a minute because the tall man was standing close to him, making sure the smaller could feel the heat radiate off him. The smaller eventually threw the door open, flinging himself inside clumsily. He looked back at Malfoy, who invited himself in, taking in every inch of his apartment. It probably looked bad to him, as he was so used to having the nicest of everything.
"Uh, it's not the best," Harry lamely said, closing his door behind him. "I'm not as rich as you or anything—"
"I didn't say anything," Malfoy softly interrupted, going up to a picture of a butterfly Harry painted. Harry, who was usually relaxed whenever someone saw his art, slightly tensed. This was Draco Malfoy, who probably had Picasso paintings in his home. Compared to the dead artist, Harry's art were Kindergarten drawings.
The rich boy then strode over to the giant window and took in the view, expression blank. Harry was rooted to the same spot by the door, millions of thoughts going through his mind. He still couldn't believe Draco fucking Malfoy was in his flat.
"Nice view," Malfoy nodded, going to the kitchen.
"It's probably not as nice as yours," Harry hurried to say, turning his body to watch the other's every movement.
"I only see hills. One can only take so much grass."
Malfoy gave a small smirk before he began going through the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, the cabinets, and examining the contents. He even opened the oven and took a look inside. There was an almost approving nod when Malfoy was done with the oven.
"Cook?"
"Y-yeah. I like cooking."
Malfoy went to the sink. "What's your specialty?"
"Baking."
"Hm...cute."
Again, Malfoy called Harry cute. Harry couldn't be that cute, standing there, speaking almost robotically, otherwise awkwardly. He looked useless, not cute.
"I want to cook here," Malfoy concluded.
What? "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Potter. You have a nice kitchen. I wish to cook here, for you."
Why, when his kitchen was probably ten times bigger? Harry wasn't understanding any of Malfoy's actions nor comments. He seemed to like all the less-expensiveness of Harry's home better than his own. Or maybe he was trying to make Harry feel better about not being rich or something. Whatever it was, Harry wanted it to stop. Or did he?
"Why?" His voice came out in a whisper, and Harry cursed himself for it.
A roll of grey eyes fluttered Harry's heart—no, it didn't. "Do I really have to explain everything to you, Potter? Heavens, you're so dense!"
Malfoy walked to him, getting close once again. Seriously, Harry was going to have to trap himself in a giant bubble to get the personal space issue through Malfoy's beautiful head. Malfoy looked down at Harry, grey eyes peering through him softly. It almost melted Harry's heart.
"You'll see."
Malfoy cupped Harry's face for a second, rubbing a thumb directly under his bottom lip before pulling away and walking to the door. He let himself out, sparing Harry one last glance before shutting the door, leaving Harry to control his blush and rapid heartbeat. Because he doesn't like Malfoy other than as a future friend.
The door opened again, and Harry thought it would be Malfoy coming back to torment him again, but it was only Hermione, who looked giddy as she gripped Harry's shoulders. She had obviously seen Malfoy leave his apartment, because she said, "Tell. Me. Everything!"
Okay, so that chapter was A LOT longer than I expected! It was twice the amount I usually write, but I hoped you enjoyed!
