Week 3 (B-Day Plus 16, Morning)
"…Hey, where's your Quik Quills, Malfoy?"
"On my dresser at home, Potter. Why?"
"I thought you always carried that horrid thing with you, that's all. I needed to check up on something."
Malfoy stared at Harry for a long moment, blank as a grey stone wall.
"...You don't like it, Potter," he said, expressionless. Harry opened his mouth to reply but Malfoy forestalled him. "I'm hardly an idiot; even I could see that. Now I scan it in the morning and make my notes before bed."
"Oh—I," Harry swallowed.
"What did you need to know, anyway?" An eyebrow inched up enquiringly.
"Um," Harry stopped to think this unusual development over. A Malfoy without a Quik Quills was a strange Malfoy indeed. Um…
Malfoy waited upon him patiently, sipping his morning brew.
He was...pleased, yes. And taken a bit back by it. Malfoy was addicted to his Quik Quills; to give it up for Harry's sake was...was very kind. Though 'kind' wasn't the word Harry was reaching for, either.
"Um, nothing special, really, just a date for an appointment. For Madame D'Argent. I think I'm set up for Frid—"
"Tomorrow, Potter," Malfoy informed him blandly. "Tomorrow, at six, on the dot. We're going along over to her office together, remember? I was to meet you after Auror wrap-up meeting in Dawlish's office. At half five."
Those details—half blurred in Harry's short-term memory—came clear again. He nodded gratefully. Thank Merlin Malfoy was such a anal sod sometimes; Harry wasn't sure how he'd function without the constant reminders.
He'd grown accustomed to them.
"Oh...yes. That's it, thanks...and er. Thanks."
Though they were annoying, naturally. He was an adult, after all.
"For what, Potter?" Malfoy seemed surprised. "Remembering our schedule? That's hardly difficult."
"No! Not that, git! Um, for...you know." Harry shrugged, pulling a face. "The notebook. Your Quik Quills. Er...that." He flushed lightly, glancing away, not quite certain how to phrase it. "You didn't need to, but—er, I liked it. Like it, rather—so…thanks."
Malfoy looked at him for another very long moment; no, he truly examined Harry, his grey eyes softer, Harry thought, than he'd seen them yet, ever, even in the midst of a long, leisurely mutual wank off session atop Poppy's Infirmary cot. They'd been molten then and he'd compared them to liquid silver in his mind; now they were cloudy and...so very deep for such a pale watery hue. Invitingly deep, the sort of eyes one fell into, if one didn't care about falling.
"No matter, Potter," Malfoy treated him to a quick grin. "Think nothing of it."
"Er, um."
Harry scuffed his boot tips, not daring to meet Malfoy's gaze again because eyes like that on a Malfoy were just...odd. They did funny, swoopy, bubbly things to his bloodstream and, well. Well...
He sighed.
"Yeah."