A/n: Written for Season 8 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'll be posting a Drarry every 2 weeks, hope everyone's ready! 8D
Disclaimer: This is a Muggle University AU. Please remember that Harry and Draco have no real history in this AU so their animosity (or lack thereof) is based purely on their interactions and opinions as explained in the story.
* Main Prompt: Beater 2: The Creator- Goal: realize vision
* Optional Prompts: 1. (quote) "The excitement of dreams coming true is beyond the description of words."- Lailah Gifty Akita; 4. (dialogue) "You don't understand."/"No. But I want to."; 3. (word) glitter
* Also written for Quidditch Supplies: Character - Draco Malfoy
Word count without a/n and title: 2997
A Sight for Sore Eyes
Draco waits patiently, a half-smile on his face as he watches the customer before him move out of line. He steps up to the counter, barely managing to contain his excitement.
"Mornin', gorgeous. Can I get a croissant and two large lattes, please?"
The barista's cheeks colour and her eyes widen, but Draco is much too preoccupied to realise the effects of his disarming smile on the poor teen.
"Yes, of course," the barista says, her voice shrill. She clears her throat and asks in a softer voice, "Will that be plain or chocolate-filled for the croissant?"
"Plain, please."
After much fumbling and floundering, the amount flashes on the card reader, the payment is completed, and Draco steps aside to await his order. He drums his fingers on the counter, impatient to get to a seat with a view of what is about to unfold, and watches the barista's every movement with hawk eyes.
The poor girl drops a cup, overfills the other, burns herself while removing the croissant from the microwave, spills some coffee on herself, and looks like she's just fought a war by the time she hands Draco his tray.
"Thank you for your patronage," she squeaks.
"No, thank you," he says, winking at her before walking away. Draco spots a brunette in an oversized leather jacket and very small, glittery dress and makes his way towards her.
"Coffee for milady," he says as he places a paper cup before her.
Pansy studies it for a moment before saying, "This isn't a decaf soy latte with an extra shot and cream."
"And this isn't Mean Girls," Draco replies. "You're welcome, by the way."
Pansy rolls her eyes and mutters a garbled word of gratitude before taking a sip of her drink and pulling a face.
"Seriously, why here? They make the worst coffee. Also, can you stop spewing pheromones all over the place? That poor barista's going to get fired thanks to you."
Draco isn't listening to Pansy's ramblings. He's too busy trying to discern what the blond jock at the counter is ordering.
"Couldn't you have picked a table closer to the counter?" he complains.
"Oh, forgive me, your majesty; I should've ordered the peasants to vacate their seats instead of waiting and grabbing the first available spot."
Draco shoots Pansy a look, unimpressed by her snarky response. He refocuses his attention on the blond jock—who is now walking towards a redhead at a nearby table with a trayful of coffee and croissants.
He watches the girl take a sip of her drink and waits impatiently as she bites into the croissant and chews for a few moments. She stops abruptly, her eyes going wide and her face going red. A moment later, she's spat out the remnants of the croissant and is flapping her hands wildly, her tongue, which is steadily swelling, hanging out.
"Is zas sockolace?" she screeches at the jock, who has stood up in panicked confusion.
"What?"
"I'm allerzick soo sockolace!" she cries.
"Hey, your face's exploding with pimples. You OK?"
"No, you izius!"
With an exclamation of frustration and embarrassment, the redhead grabs her things and runs out of the coffee shop, leaving the jock behind, looking confused.
Draco sniggers to himself, greatly satisfied, and bites into his own croissant. Pansy, who has been watching the ongoings with an expression of growing understanding, turns to eye him with disgust and plucks the croissant from his hands.
"Did you seriously just buy the last plain croissant and poison Melissa Foreman with chocolate that she is very allergic to?"
"Yes and yes, but also it's a fairly mild allergy—should subside in a day or two."
"Of course you would know, considering you dated her," Pansy exclaims, looking furious for reasons Draco doesn't really understand.
"Until she dumped me for Mister Tall, Blond, and Stupid over there." He jerks his chin towards the jock, who has decided to sit back down and finish his coffee instead of checking on his girlfriend.
Pansy takes her head into her hands with a groan. "Seriously, how did you even know he was going to order—" she looks up, eyes wide. "You didn't!"
Draco sits back, smug, mighty proud of his accomplishment. "I did indeed."
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," she hisses, leaning forward in her seat. "You did not just use your ability to see into the future to publicly humiliate your ex-girlfriend!"
"Please, it's less seeing into the future and more making an accurate prediction of plausible events through—" Draco sees the expression on Pansy's face and cuts himself short. "Alright, fine. But you gotta admit, it was hilarious."
"I will admit no such thing," she says, crossing her arms and legs in a huff, but Draco spies the corners of her mouth lifting upwards. "Only you would use your gift for such petty purposes."
"Say that again when the mid-term results are up."
Pansy rolls her eyes. "Can't believe I'm in love with a cheater."
"I'd like to call it resourcefulness, thank you very much," Draco replies, glossing over her profession of love. He finishes his croissant and picks up his coffee. "Anyway, I must be off. Duty calls."
"Why the Director's son and future heir of Malfoy Corp. chooses to work in the uni library, I will never understand."
"If you spent a little less time blowing your father's money and a little more time using your God-given intellect, you would."
"Pfft. Education is for the poor," Pansy says as she examines her nails.
Draco scoffs in amusement. "And with that, I shall take my leave."
"Good morning, Madam Pince," Draco says as he enters the library and makes his way behind the counter.
"The cybercrime section is being made digital so we're donating all the books," the librarian replies in greeting. "Miss Granger's already tidying."
Draco sighs. Of course Miss Granger's already tidying. If she could, Hermione would live in the library. Heaven knows she already does.
"Oh, before I forget. Can I collect the book that I reserved, please?"
The librarian looks up at him over her half-moon spectacles. "Someone's already borrowed it."
Draco freezes. "I'm sorry? That's impossible! I reserved it last week for my book report—"
"It's first come, first serve, Mister Malfoy."
"Yes, but not for the unavailable ones—"
"It was borrowed after it became available."
Draco stares at the librarian in shock. How could this have happened? He had foreseen which book was most likely to earn him the highest grade and ensured he would have it well before anyone else even thought of it—so how had someone else beat him to it?
"Why don't you talk to Miss Granger? She was the one that checked it out."
Draco trudges off to find Hermione, still baffled by the fact that someone had already borrowed the book when the library had opened hardly ten minutes prior. He spots a bushy mane crouched in the far corner of the world history section and raises an eyebrow.
"This isn't cybercrimes," he says, startling the girl so much that she yelps and falls over.
They hold their breath and look in the direction of the front desk, anticipating the warning shush, but none come, and they breathe in relief.
"My, my. The one and only Hermione Granger, faffing about instead of working?" Draco teases, looking down at her with a smirk. "What will Madam Pince say?"
Hermione scrambles to her feet, red in the face, and wags her finger threateningly. "Don't you dare, Malfoy. Or I'll—I'll report you for cheating on the exam!"
Draco scoffs. "And I'm sure you have enough proof to back up your claim?"
Hermione splutters and storms off, and Draco follows. He's just rounding a corner when he runs into someone. A lot of falling books, swearing, and awkward bending leads to Draco coming face to face with—the book that he had desperately wanted!
"Excuse me, where did you get this from?" he asks the person holding it. Glittering green eyes meet his, and Draco can see his own frustration and surprise reflected in the other man's round glasses. His dishevelled hair and clothes give him an air of incompetence, but the knowing glimmer in his eyes and the satisfaction in his grin say otherwise.
"This is a limited edition copy," Draco continues, "and I reserved the only one our library has."
The other's grin grows wider. "Alright, I'll give it to you."
Draco frowns, wary. "You'll just… give it to me?"
"Yeah. Here." He holds out the book, but Draco only stares at it with distrust.
"Why?" he asks.
"Well, you clearly seem to want it more than I do."
Draco crosses his arms. "You'll just willingly give up the book that has consistently produced reports that get the highest grade just because I want it more?"
The other man shrugs, nonchalant. "Sure. Here."
Draco reaches out, but just as he's about to take the book, the bespectacled man pulls it away. "What'll you do for me in return, though?"
There it is, Draco thinks. He's about to refuse, but the other simply laughs and places the book in his hands.
"I'm kidding. It's all yours." He starts to walk away, then pauses and looks back at Draco. His eyes glitter with unabashed amusement. "I'm Harry, by the way. You may want to remember that."
Draco scoffs. The arrogance! As if some shabby, bespectacled nobody deserves to be remembered by him.
He looks down at the book and smiles. Ah, the satisfaction of seeing his predictions come to fruition is unlike anything else.
Harry Potter—as Draco comes to learn very soon—is the new kid in school and the talk of the town. Rumour has it that his parents were murdered when he was a baby, and Harry now sought justice for their death.
Draco hardly cared for his tragic backstory. What piqued his interest, however, is the fact that Harry secured a place on the rugby team on his second day there—the one thing that Draco had failed to do in two years, but not from lack of trying. Oh, how many passive-aggressive comments from his father regarding his mediocrity and ineptitude he had to endure for the remainder of his life.
That, and the fact that Harry Potter's secret agenda seems to be ruining all of Draco's carefully thought out plans.
Slamming his satchel on the desk, he slides into the seat next to Pansy. "I loathe Harry Potter," he announces.
"And I loathe world history, but here we are," Pansy replies.
Draco shoots her a glare and then looks around the room. As he had foreseen, the lecture theatre is packed. The only empty seats are the one next to him and the two in the very first row. He moves his satchel to the right and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair, making it seem like someone has already occupied that spot.
Melissa enters through the backdoor, looks at the seat, looks at him, rolls her eyes, and moves to the front. Her boyfriend, however, tries to slide in.
"Sorry, this seat is taken," Draco whispers to him.
Before the dumb bloke can say something in reply, Melissa storms up to him, grabs him by the arm, and drags him down to the front with her.
Draco sits back with a smirk. Mission accomplished. The lights dim, and the professor walks in. Draco pulls his satchel back, ready to enjoy the rest of the lecture and watch the blithering fool fidget in the front row.
Someone slips into the seat beside him just then, and Draco looks up in annoyance—only to come face to face with the last person he wanted to see.
Harry shoots him a grin and nudges his shoulder. Draco bristles. The professor starts speaking, and Draco's sole consolation is the fact that, as he had predicted, the stupid jock nods off, gets a slap on the head from the professor for snoring, and is the laughing stock of the entire class. Melissa has disappeared into her seat from mortification.
Harry leans close to Draco to say, "You know, if you'd given him your seat, he could've napped right until the final bell and nobody would've been the wiser."
Draco turns to snap at him in indignation, but Harry's eyes glitter with a knowing look, as though he understands exactly what happened, and leaves Draco feeling disgruntled.
Draco stares at the mock test results in horror. No, it isn't the fact that Hermione is top of the class that's shocked him, it's the fact that Harry Potter is second, and he, the one and only student who had known what would appear on the test, is third.
"I don't understand," he whispers to himself. "How is this possible?"
"Morning, Draco," the now-familiar voice of his nemesis calls. "Have you got the results?" He peers over Draco's shoulder. "Oh, would you look at that. Second place." He chortles, and Draco has to use all his willpower to not punch Harry in the gut. "It's almost as though I knew what was on the test."
Draco stares at Harry, aghast. Harry winks at him and saunters off with a little wave, leaving Draco wondering something that had never occurred to him before.
Am I not the only one with this gift? Worse yet, does he have it too?
Draco bites his thumb and bounces his knee as he awaits Harry's arrival. After much deliberation and going in circles, he had decided that he would simply ask the man for the truth.
After all, the worst that could happen was that he would be laughed at and feel utterly mortified. Nothing nearly as humiliating as having his father find out that not only had Draco not come first, he had come third, in a mock test. Heaven knows why he hadn't already been shipped off to some obscure Middle-Eastern country to complete his schooling.
Harry slips into the seat opposite, that foolishly happy grin in place, and Draco grits his teeth.
"Alright, I'm only going to ask once. Can you make predictions of mundane future events?"
Harry laughs, and Draco wants to get up and leave. Instead of poking fun at him, though, Harry says, "Not in the way that you can."
Draco stares. "Wh—you knew?"
Harry shrugs. "Takes one to know one, I guess."
"But—I don't—what do you mean, not in the same way?"
"Well, I can't choose whose future I want to predict as you can. I can only see one person's future." For a second, Draco thinks he's going to say yours, but he says, "Mine."
"That doesn't explain how you knew what I planned on doing and, somehow, beat me to it."
Harry scratches his ear. "It's really not that hard to figure out when you watch someone for long enough."
Draco scoffs in disbelief. "So getting on the rugby team, getting that book before I did, getting a higher rank than me… you did all of that on purpose?" Just to spite me?
"Yeah," Harry says, the embodiment of innocence. "I grew curious of you, so my visions started to show me how I could get closer to you. I ran into you in the library because I knew you wanted the book, I got on the team so I could recommend you to them, and I ranked higher on the test so you'd take me seriously."
Draco stares. "Wow, and here I thought I was the arrogant one." He rises to his feet, his anger building into an uncontrollable rage. "I never asked you to do any of these things for me and would very much appreciate it if you stayed away from me."
"I'm sorry if I've offended you," Harry says quickly, also rising. "I had no intention other than getting to know you better—I didn't mean to belittle you."
"Look, just because you're fighting to bring your murdered parents to justice doesn't make you everybody's hero," Draco snaps.
He sees the way Harry's expression changes and knows he's said the wrong thing, but his pride is far too injured and his anger is far too unreasonable for him to admit to it. He turns away, humiliated and wanting to escape the uncomfortable situation, but Harry grabs him by the elbow and stops him.
"I was only trying to understand," he says gently.
"You don't understand!" Draco yells, pulling his arm free.
"No. But I want to."
Harry looks so sincere that Draco falters. No one has ever looked at him with eyes so genuine, with no ulterior motive, that he doesn't know how to respond. He exhales shakily and sits back down. Harry follows suit.
"The revenge on your ex thing I understood," Harry says, seemingly oblivious to Draco's feelings. "But I didn't understand why you would go so far with academics. You're a brilliant student even without all the shortcuts."
Draco flushes, taken aback by the sudden praise. "So… you did all that just to get to know me better?"
Harry nods, his green eyes clear and devoid of any manipulation. "Yeah."
Draco laughs, out of confusion, exasperation, and the sheer inability to deal with the man seated before him. "You're crazy."
Harry's smile is so pure that it disarms Draco. "You know, I've always had this gift but it never brought me as much joy as it has in the past few months."
"Is this really the time to be hitting on me?"
Harry crinkles his nose. "Was I that obvious?"
Draco scoffs. "Christ above, you really are something else."
"I have nothing to lose and no one to question me. So I just do whatever I want." He leans forward, looking apologetic. "You've shown me the error of my ways and I will strive to be better."
Draco looks into his glittering eyes for a moment and nods. "I'll consider your apology if you buy me a coffee."
Harry grins mischievously. "And a chocolate-filled croissant?"
Draco laughs. "Yes please!"