This is going to be a much longer date than I originally intended.

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Previously: [Harry grins. "Ever been bowling, Draco?" Draco shakes his head. The grin grows. "Then this'll be fun."]

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He drags Draco to the counter, looks down, and then tells the man a number. The man nods and flops two pairs of shoes on the counter.

"This him?" the man asks Harry, grinning like he knows something. Harry flushes a brilliant shade of red but then nods, beaming.

Draco frowns, feeling his eyebrows furrow, but Harry just ducks his head and grabs the shoes and the man just smiles and says, "Lane 4."

Harry nods and trots off to the left. Draco spends another moment watching the man behind the counter, trying to figure out what he knows that Draco doesn't.

"Coming?" Harry calls, and Draco turns to follow him.

Harry drops the shoes on the floor near a table and turns around, walking toward a bank of little cages against the wall. He grabs a key off a hook and sticks it in one of the locks, then he pulls out a black bag and locks it again.

He sets the bag on the floor near the shoes. Draco feels ridiculously uncomfortable just trailing after him like some sort of lost puppy. He doesn't like that Harry is entirely in his element here and that he himself is entirely out of his. He doesn't like feeling confused.

Harry, though, seems to subscribe to the philosophy that if he doesn't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist. It isn't that he doesn't notice, no, because Draco sees him glance back and catalogue Draco's face, his body movements, and while most people wouldn't notice it, Draco knows that by this point Harry knows him well enough to see that slight bit of stiffness in his motions. But he doesn't say anything, just turns around again and moves to the shelves of round things.

Harry looks at him appraisingly, gaze lingering first on his right arm, then on his hand. He turns back to the spheres, examining them.

"Try that," he says eventually, holding out one of them.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Try what, exactly?"

Harry giggles — actually giggles — and gestures to the three cylinders drilled out of the sphere. "Your fingers go there. Thumb in the bottom one, middle two fingers in the top two. The thumb hold should be a little looser, but your fingers should fit pretty securely. Fingers in first, then thumb."

Hesitantly, Draco inserts his middle and ring fingers into the hole at the top, and then stretches his thumb so that it fits into the other hole.

Harry frowns before Draco even says anything and takes the sphere back. "Your hand shouldn't be all scrunched like that. Your handspan is too big for this ball."

He puts it back and examines a few others before offering a green one with streaks of silver threaded through it. Draco heartily approves of the coloring. His hand isn't all squished this time, and his fingers seem to fit properly.

Abruptly, Harry lets go of the ball and Draco finds himself a victim of gravity. The sudden jerk of weight on his right arm all the way up to his shoulder pulls him entirely out of balance and he topples to the floor.

He looks up with a glower, but it softens into a false one almost immediately at the look of complete joy and mirth on Harry's features. He looks exceedingly happy, and something foreign and warm blooms in Draco's chest and he tucks that feeling into his memory for later examination.

Still. He can't be seen to be going soft. "You did that on purpose," he accuses, his voice scathing. Appalled.

Harry just grins. "And what if I did?"

And Draco can't just let that sort of cheekiness go. He swings his leg out, and Harry tumbles to the floor as well, falling half on top of him. For a moment, Harry is stunned. For a moment, Draco thinks he's misjudged the situation. But then Harry's shock fades straight into a chuckle that Draco can feel as much as hear and Draco cannot help but grin.

After a moment, Harry notices their position and Draco watches with interest as all of the blood in his face runs closer to the surface. His cheeks flush red and he springs up, muttering what are probably excuses. Draco feels his grin morph into a smirk as he gracefully slides into a standing position and brushes himself off. Harry rolls his eyes, rescues the bowling ball from where it has rolled under a bench, and offers it again. This time, Draco grips it, and this time Harry lets it down gently.

He has no clue how it's supposed to feel on his hand. It feels entirely wrong, like it ought not be there, but Draco strongly suspects that has more to do with the unusualness and less to do with the fit, or lack thereof.

"Twist your wrist so that your hand is behind it. No, behind it, not on top of it. Yeah, there. Now swing it back and forth a bit. Does the weight feel right? It should feel like you can handle more — I've only given you 14 pounds — but trust me. After a few games, that ball gets a lot heavier." At Draco's look, he adds, "Not literally! Psychologically, though."

Draco sighs in exasperation and then merely nods. "It feels fine." Not that he has any clue what exactly he is feeling for, so it could be entirely wrong for all he knows.

Intuitively, he flips the ball up so it rests against his shoulder, and he follows Harry back to "Lane 4."

"You can go ahead and set your ball up there," Harry says, gesturing to the strangest looking contraption Draco thinks he's ever seen.

"What is that?"

Harry glances up from where he's kneeling, unzipping the black bag. "That's the ball return. See, you're going to chuck your ball down the lane. What that thing does, is it brings the ball back so you don't have to go and get it.

"Oh. Like a summoning charm?"

Harry looks momentarily thoughtful. "Sure."

"Hmmm." Draco travels down the three steps to the ball return. He eyes it suspiciously, still not entirely convinced it isn't going to attempt to eat him.

He sets the green and silver ball delicately on the "ball return" and immediately jumps backward to ensure that it can't reach him.

Harry snickers as he comes up behind Draco, holding a fiery red ball shot through with streaks of gold, propped against his shoulder the same way Draco had his. Harry drops his almost carelessly on the ball return and turns to face Draco.

"You're adorable sometimes, you know that?" He is close enough that Draco can almost feel the brush of warm air as he speaks.

Draco twists his face into a scowl and thanks Merlin and everyone else who may have been involved that he doesn't blush. Ever. "I am not," he says firmly.

"Yes you are." The words are barely a whisper and Draco unconsciously leans into them, but then Harry is gone and Draco is left cursing the man for being an utter tease.

He's gone back up the pointless mini-staircase and is sitting in one of the chairs, putting on a pair of shoes. He nudges the other pair toward Draco with his currently unoccupied foot.

"How do they know which ones are yours?" Draco asks as he removes his other shoes. Harry laughs. Draco scowls again. "What?"

"They're rental shoes, Draco. There isn't a pair that's yours."

Draco drops the shoe that he'd just picked up in absolute horror.

"You mean… other people have worn these? Many other people? And now you're just going to put them on? Is that even legal? It can't be sanitary. You're joking, right? This is a joke."

Harry finally manages to quiet his laughing into small chuckles. "Yes, other people have worn them. Yes, many. Yes, it's legal. And no, I am not joking."

Draco stares at the shoes in abject horror. He knows his disbelief is showing on his face, but he can't bring himself to care.

"That's… barbaric."

"No, I'm pretty sure cavemen didn't wear shoes, Draco."

Draco is actually momentarily thrown by the apparent non sequitur, but then he actually chuckles. This must be what people mean when they dub things "stupid humour."

Harry, who has stood, turns at the sound of the laughter, and his smile is brilliant and bright and Draco has the abrupt thought that he'd like to see that smile again. He'd like to see that smile forever.

He shakes himself. He is growing increasingly maudlin around this man and it's a little bit terrifying.

"Put the shoes on, Draco," Harry says, grinning.

Draco crosses his arms across his chest. "I am not putting those on."

"Yes, you are! You have to! I mean, otherwise…" A sneaky smile grows on Harry's face, and Draco is almost afraid of what he's going to say next. "Well, the rules are if you don't have bowling shoes on you have to bowl in socks. Now that I think about it, I can see shoes just aren't the right course for you. That's all right. Everyone is different."

"What aren't you telling me?"

And the sneaky smirk just grows.