18. Daft pretty boys [Saturday, December 25th 2004]
An Erumpent was tap-dancing inside Draco's head and his back was killing him. This was probably because his bed seemed to have sagged to the floor dramatically. His blanket was gone, but he was still wearing his clothes, minus the shoes.
Also, his legs were intertwined with someone else's. This was new.
"They're so cute," someone said and then there was giggling.
"Shush," someone else giggled back.
The tap-dancing felt more like stomping now. Draco groaned and opened his eyes.
The room was brightly lit by the sun, and his face was just a foot away from Potter's. Draco drew his head back instantly. Potter was still sleeping and also fully clothed, thank Merlin. Not that Draco really thought that there was even a chance Potter would not be clothed while lying next to him.
"Merlin's beard," he groaned, untangling his legs from Potter's.
This was met with roaring laughter, which woke Potter in an instant. He shot up, causing the mattress to wobble dramatically and catapult Draco away from him. Draco rolled sideways twice and then hit the floor, which seemed to be almost at the same level as the mattress. He felt about ready to vomit now. The laughter intensified tenfold and there was the sound of someone banging on the table.
"Oh goodness, my sides," someone wheezed.
Draco pressed both palms against his head to keep it from spinning and looked around. He was in the living-kitchen area of what appeared to be a small apartment. Olivia and Lauren were sitting at a tiny round table, doubling up with laughter. Lauren was holding her sides and Olivia had tears in her eyes.
He looked at Potter, who seemed somewhat less confused, but still a little disoriented. He was sitting on what was apparently a plastic mattress, albeit a very wobbly one. Draco poked it and it gave way easily.
"What's that?" he asked in bewilderment.
This seemed to be a dumb question, because the laughter intensified again. Lauren's long, dark hair, which she was wearing in a bun, was starting to come undone from all the shaking.
"Our lilo is pretty old," Lauren pressed out.
"Your what?"
Another hilariously stupid question, it seemed. Olivia held onto Lauren's arm to keep herself from falling off the chair. Lauren laughed so hard it didn't make a sound anymore. Potter closed his eyes, as if he couldn't believe Draco would ask something like that.
"Their air mattress," he said in a tone someone used when talking to a retarded person. "It's inflatable. How much did you drink?"
"No idea," Draco admitted, massaging his temple now. "But I feel about ready to die."
"Oh, you were both absolutely pissed," Lauren laughed. "Harry, you forgot you live alone. You just repeated that you couldn't 'appear home' that drunk. As if there was somebody home who would tell you off, or something."
"Oh, but he couldn't even pronounce it right anymore," Olivia added. "He kept saying 'apparate'."
"And you," Lauren directed at Draco, "agreed that he wouldn't make it home in one piece. Then you tried to flag down a night bus by waving your arm around."
"There wasn't even one to be seen and Harry kept saying that you were using the wrong arm. It was hilarious. "
"We've got pictures," Lauren concluded. "I think we'll make them our Christmas card next year."
Potter tried to get up but kept losing his balance because the mattress was constantly caving under his weight. Lauren and Olivia came over to pull him to his feet (though Lauren seemed to be doing most of the lifting), and then deposited him on a chair.
"That thing is definitely not hangover-proof," he said, clutching his stomach.
"Well, our bed is barely big enough for the two of us. We maybe could've managed to fit one of you, but never both."
"And we definitely didn't want to have to explain why we chose Draco," added Lauren while she undid her bun. Without having been asked, Olivia leaned over and started braiding her hair.
Potter narrowed his eyes at Lauren. "And here I thought we were besties."
But she just smiled in response. Draco couldn't blame her – she looked like she could end him without breaking a sweat. A little glaring certainly wouldn't intimidate her.
"You lost your bed privileges when you pushed us out of it."
Olivia elbowed Lauren lightly and then said softly. "Give him some space. You know he had a bad dream."
"I just want to know how he managed to kick both of us out at the same time."
Draco got up and leaned against the wall to stop the world from spinning so much. He could barely follow their conversation. It felt like his brain was lagging miles behind. There was something about a bed that was nagging at him.
"I said I'm sorry!" pleaded Potter.
"Your ..." Draco frowned and massaged his temple more thoroughly. Did they only have one bed? And then, suddenly, it dawned on him. "You are a couple?"
Three heads turned to stare at him.
"Oh wow, he's even worse than Harry," Olivia whispered in awe.
"That's so sad," Lauren agreed. "But it also explains so much."
Now that Draco was aware, he noticed the picture frames that occupied every flat surface and also the walls. Looking back, their constant touching at the bar should have clued him in. But then again, he had been pretty preoccupied with Potter accidently touching him now and then. Or looking at him. Or saying his name. Breathing. Existing.
He should probably go home and take a very strong hangover potion.
"I've got to go," he said, looking around for his trainers.
"Oh! But we've got the perfect hangover cure. You should really stay for breakfast," Lauren said.
Olivia nodded along. "Yeah, it's a secret recipe. Egg whites, vinegar and cinnamon, whisked until foaming. We serve sausages and baked beans with it."
Draco's stomach turned violently. Potter closed his eyes and breathed very hard, probably fighting off his nausea. When the moment had passed, he got up as well.
"I'll come with you. I can show you where the next tube station is."
Draco had no idea what kind of 'tube' he was talking about, but he assumed that it was a Muggle thing.
They put on their shoes (leaning against the wall for support), found their jackets and then took the lift downstairs.
"Alright," Draco said as they reached the front door. "Until next year, I guess."
Potter put a hand on his arm. "You can't Apparate from here. They'll be watching from the window."
So they went out onto the sunlit street.
"Ugh," said Draco, shielding his eyes with a hand. This was almost as bad as being catapulted out of bed. "This is the worst. I really need some potion."
"Seconded," said Potter, looking up at the building and waving half-heartedly. "I just don't think I'm fit to Apparate. I'd probably be sick."
"Knight Bus?" Draco suggested.
"You've never actually been on that thing, have you?" Potter said. "You'll be sick before you even manage to sit down. Besides, people would definitely recognise us."
"I don't suppose you've got a broom on you?"
"I can't risk an FUI! Do you want me to get suspended from Quidditch for life?"
Draco closed his eyes for a few paces. "Fine. What do you propose we do, then?"
"Take a cab to St. Mungo's? It's not that far."
"I work there, I can't go in there hungover! I've got a reputation to lose!"
"You mean your reputation as an unsociable hermit?"
Draco barged into him with his shoulder, making them both stumble. Potter just managed to catch himself on a street lamp, holding Draco upright by an arm.
"Alright, not St. Mungo's," Potter said (without even complaining?) and let go of him again. "Then let's take the tube; there is a station in your area."
"What is this tube you keep blethering about?"
"We're taking the underground train," Potter said, leading him towards some stairs in the foot walk.
"I'm not doing anything illegal!" Draco jerked to a halt. "I can't afford to get caught."
"It's not underground because it's illegal," Potter argued. "It is literally under the ground. It's faster that way."
"You'd better not trick me," Draco said suspiciously, but he still followed Potter down the stairs.
Draco didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this.
The underground was jam-packed with Muggles, carrying small children and bags full of presents and food containers. Potter grabbed his wrist (a chill travelled up his arm, which Draco expertly ignored) and pulled him through the crowd until they were standing in front of ... was it a billboard?
All Draco could see were colourful lines that were connecting dots and sometimes crossing each other. The lines were labelled and Draco assumed all those names were other tube stations. Potter was studying the map intently, apparently able to read it. How he did that was beyond Draco. Not that Draco was trying very hard, as Potter was still holding his wrist. Merlin, were his hands always that cold?
Potter seemed to have found what he was looking for. He led him through the crowd again, then through a peculiar metal construction and into a tunnel. By then, Draco was quite glad that Potter was holding onto him. The prospect of losing him and braving this Muggle thing on his own was even more terrifying than being dragged along by Harry fucking Potter.
It turned out that the tube really was some type of train, only without the steam and much more stream-lined. Also, it was full to bursting. He and Potter stood pressed against a metal wall and each other.
The only thing that made this a little less awkward was Draco being significantly taller than Potter, which meant that they didn't have to stare into each other's eyes the whole time. Thank Merlin for small mercies. He didn't think he could have stood staring into those damn green eyes for longer than a few seconds.
"This is just totally backward," Draco complained. "Why do they do this?"
"It's not usually this bad," came Potter's voice from somewhere near Draco's shoulder, which his face was pressed up against. "It's Christmas."
Suddenly, there was faint chiming noise, which seemed to come from … Potter? He was moving already, one arm brushing against Draco's as he tried to manoeuvre his hand into his coat pocket. After a few seconds, the noise stopped and Potter looked down at something he was holding. His forehead was pressed against Draco's chest.
Was it getting hotter all of a sudden? It was definitely too full in here. Maybe Draco should've taken off his coat before getting on this thing.
Harry straightened again, and Draco could see something small and square in his hands when he looked down.
"It's Ella. She wants to remind us that we agreed to movie night at their place next year."
"She told you with that thing?"
"Yeah," said Harry, holding the device up for him to inspect. It was black and foldable. "It's a mobile telephone."
Living in a Muggle neighbourhood, Draco had heard of those before. But he'd never quite been able to picture them. "And you can just send each other messages whenever you like?"
"Yeah," said Potter with a crooked grin. "Well, technically. It's useless at home or at work or …" he glanced at the Muggle next to him, hesitating, "similar places. I only get the messages when I'm outside."
"Still, that's really practical for people like them." Draco sounded really excited now. "How long does it take?"
"Just a few seconds," said Harry, grin spreading.
Something twisted inside Draco's stomach and he straightened again so he didn't have to look at those stupidly captivating eyes. It was much too early and they were way too close for that.
"We should really find a way to use those at our places too," said Draco thoughtfully. These messages sounded way more convenient than owl post (slow) or Patronus messages (total lack of privacy).
Potter just chuckled and wrestled the mobile phone back into his pocket, pressing closer against Draco in the process. It really was hot in here.
The ride took a good twenty-five minutes (more like twenty-five years) and Draco spent the whole time contemplating how Muggles could stand wasting so much time on traveling. Also, why was it named 'Underground' when most of the rails were, in fact, above ground?
When they finally arrived in Richmond, the station clock showed one in the afternoon, which meant that he still had time to eat, shower and take a walk with Aurelius before his shift started at three.
The following bus ride was much more bearable – they had no trouble getting seats and the bus was much quieter. Potter leaned his head against the window and dosed off while Draco studied the landscape outside. He had never seen so much of Richmond before.
The bus stopped again a few minutes later and a small child got on, followed by three blond teenage girls.
"Hermione!" one of the girls called after the child, which had dashed away to look for empty seats. Draco glanced at Potter, who had tensed up all of a sudden, but kept his eyes closed.
Hermione stopped right next to them. When the girls (of which Draco assumed at least one to be her sister) caught up to her, she pointed right at them and the girls did a double take. Draco looked up at them coldly and lifted one eyebrow, which caused the blondest of them to snatch up the girl and sit down somewhere in the back.
The other two took the seats right behind them and began whispering excitedly, which caused their voices to rise and fall more than they were probably aware. Draco caught scraps of their conversation here and there.
"... best Christmas ever." – "... will be so jealous!" – "on a Muggle bus, of all things!" "... looks so soft too."
"... opportunity. I'll do it!" one of them whispered resolutely and Draco didn't like the sound of that.
He felt the muscles in Potter's arm flex nervously and when he looked down, Potter's fists were clenched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the girls reach out for Potter's hair.
Draco knew there was such a thing as bad press, because he had gotten plenty of it over the years. He also knew that electrocuting teenagers on a Muggle bus would certainly not fly, even if it was the Saviour himself who did the frying.
He didn't really think about it and just caught her wrist in a death grip.
"I wouldn't do that if you want to keep that hand," he said sharply.
He looked from the girls, who were both staring at him, petrified, to Potter, who was also staring at him. If Draco hadn't known any better, he would have described the look in his eyes as pleading. He pushed her hand away roughly and got up, pulling Potter up by the arm with him.
"Come on, this is us," he said briskly and Potter pressed the button that could make the bus stop.
"He's that Healer," one of the girls whispered furiously.
"Mum says he was one of them ... a Death Eater!"
Potter turned to glare at them and they blushed deeply and shut up instantly. In the back row, Hermione was practically vibrating in her seat while the girl next to her stared out the window intently. The bus stopped not a minute later.
They stood on the pavement until the bus was out of view. As soon as it turned a corner, Potter looked around to make sure nobody was watching them. He then took out his Invisibility Cloak and vanished.
"We're still a fair way off," Potter said. "Do you know the way?"
"Me? You are our navigator," Draco said. "I've never been in these parts before."
"Point me," Potter whispered. "We have to turn left soon."
They walked quietly, Potter leading the way by taking Draco's arm and pushing or pulling him whenever it was time to make a turn. This was fine. Potter just wasn't in the mood for talking. Draco's arm wasn't tingling or anything.
They reached Draco's neighbourhood after fifteen minutes. Potter squeezed his arm lightly and then let go, whispering a soft "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Draco said, trying to keep the lip movement to a minimum. Mrs. Capitelli was known for staring out of her window, after all.
They made it into the house and Potter took off the Cloak, stuffing it into his inside pocket. Aurelius came thundering down the stairs instantly, alternating between barking and whining. Potter dropped to his knees to ruffle his fur enthusiastically, which caused Aurelius to howl even louder. They both cringed. Something was hammering inside Draco's head like it was trying to break out. Probably the Erumpent.
"Silencio," Draco said, pointing his wand at the dog.
"Thank God," Potter groaned, getting back to his feet ponderously.
Draco summoned two vials of potion and gave one to Potter, who emptied it in a heartbeat. Draco vanished the empty vials and then led the way into the kitchen, where all his cupboards stood open and several cereal boxes were spread out on the table.
"That was to be expected," Draco said more to himself, whipping out his wand to tidy up while Potter sat down on a chair.
"That is hilarious." Even without looking at him, Draco knew that Potter was grinning. "Does he always do this?"
"Oh no, this is still tame," Draco said, sitting down next to him and wondering why Potter hadn't found it quite that hilarious when Aurelius had done it with his mugs last month. "Sometimes he turns on the shower or clears out my wardrobe. Maybe it's his way of telling me that I need new clothes."
"Or that you smell," Potter added.
"That too," Draco agreed, but he was drowned out by his own rumbling stomach. "Merlin, I can't decide if I want to eat or shower first."
"I could cook if you want to shower," Potter offered instantly. Then he closed his eyes, like he was regretting it already.
Too bad. Draco wasn't going to turn down an offer like that.
"Deal. Just rummage through the kitchen and take what you need." Draco jumped to his feet at once, not bothering to ask if Potter could even cook. It couldn't be worse than what Draco could heat up.
When he came back down, feeling like a whole new wizard, Potter was in the middle of a complicated choreography that involved much wand waving. Draco sat down just as a plate landed in front of him. Spaghetti rose out of the pot like a snake and arranged itself on Draco's plate, forming a perfect mound. Potter floated the sauce pot onto the table and then sat down as well.
"How did you get so good at cooking spells?" Draco said, marvelling at his perfectly arranged plate. He was a little hesitant to just plunge his fork in there.
"I cook when I am wrought-up," Potter admitted, drowning his Spaghetti in tomato sauce and then making a wedge of cheese grate itself above his plate.
"So, you're always cooking?" Draco grinned.
"Feels like it," Potter answered, offering him the sauce.
"I would have thought you the type to cook like a Muggle. That's what you grew up with, right? People usually take comfort in things that remind them of their childhood."
"Assuming their childhood was comfortable, you mean?" Potter' voice sounded strangely harsh. He wasn't meeting his eyes either, just stabbing the pasta with his fork.
And wow, where did that come from, all of a sudden?
"Want to talk about it?" Draco asked carefully, dribbling sauce onto his spaghetti and trying not to show his curiosity.
"Not even under threat of torture," Potter said shortly, forking spaghetti into his mouth at the same time.
"Alright ... Hey, do you remember how we got 'home' yesterday?" Draco said, illustrating the quotation marks with the hand that wasn't holding his fork.
The last thing he remembered was talking about Potter's Muggle ex-girlfriend – the one the Prophet had written about last year, earning their editor-in-chief a shrunken head courtesy of Potter – and then some stuff about old Italian women in yoga pants. Maybe he had gone a bit overboard with the alcohol after that.
Potter frowned. "My memory stops right after the point where Olivia persuaded you to do some yoga poses with her."
"I did not!" Draco exclaimed, scandalised. He thought about the poses Mrs. Capitelli did and felt his face grow hot. Most of those involved raising her bum into the air.
"No, you didn't," Potter grinned. "But only because you couldn't even keep standing straight for more than five seconds."
Draco grumbled and pointed his wand at the cheese. It soared over gently, closely followed by the grater, which had much more speed and whacked Draco in the forehead with its plain side before he could so much as duck. He touched his forehead gingerly and felt the already developing bump. Potter laughed loudly.
"Here," he said, commanding the cheese to grate itself for Draco. "You have to be really precise. I always imagine what I want it to look like."
"Thanks," Draco said sheepishly, picking up his fork again. "What's with you; are you in a hurry or something?"
Potter frowned, his fork frozen in the air. "Why?"
Draco, who had barely even started eating, looked at Potter's clean plate pointedly. "You eat like a wizard on the run."
Potter placed his fork on the plate like he thought that would cover up the emptiness of it. "I don't want it to go cold."
"You could place a warming charm on it," Draco suggested.
Potter was crossing his arms now and leaning back in his chair. "Well, I don't want to. Keeping it warm screws up the texture."
"If you say so," Draco said, focusing on his own plate again.
"When does your shift start?" Potter changed the subject expertly.
Draco checked his watch. "I still have an hour. But I will have to kick you out soon, I have to walk the dog before I leave."
Potter leaned forward again, both hands gripping the table. He sounded alarmed when he said, "Hasn't he been out since yesterday?"
"That's your fault, not mine! You abducted me," Draco said, rolling his eyes. Then he pointed at the back door, which led into the fenced-in garden. "Don't worry. He can go out whenever he wants to. He knows how to open the door."
Somehow, this seemed to worry Potter even more. He was frowning and ruffling his hair with one hand.
"So, anyone can get into your house through the garden?"
Draco shrugged. "Certainly, if they manage to get into the garden in the first place. I locked the gate and the fence is charmed to be unclimbable."
"Don't your neighbours get suspicious if your dog is in the garden all the time?"
"No, they can't look inside. The garden will always look empty to Muggles, as well as the house. They could stand right outside the window and they would still not see us."
Potter nodded thoughtfully. Then he charmed their plates to scrub themselves in the sink, and stood up. "I'll tag along."
So Draco leashed Aurelius, Potter threw on his Cloak and they went back out into the bright December sun.
"Alright," Draco said after a few minutes of silence. "What's football?"
Potter chuckled, which had Draco thinking that he may have anticipated the question. "It's a Muggle sport. Two teams with eleven players each, but just one ball and one goal per side."
Draco actually turned to look at Potter to see if he was serious, remembering too late that it was pointless. Well, he had sounded rather serious.
"Over a whole Quidditch team worth of players more and just half the amount of the balls?"
Draco nearly jumped when Potter bumped his shoulder, stifling his laughter. "Not half. A quarter of the balls. There's one in total, not per side."
"How the bloody hell does that work?"
"Okay, so there's one keeper per side and the rest of the players kick the ball across the field and try to hit the opponent's goal."
Draco waited for the rest of it, but Potter didn't seem to want to say anything else. He couldn't help it – he looked in his direction a second time.
"That's it?"
Another shoulder bump. This was starting to border on assault. "Pretty much, yeah."
Draco huffed. "So, you chose some obscure, boring sport so they wouldn't get suspicious?"
Potter laughed silently. "I don't know how to tell you this, Malfoy, but football is the Muggles' most popular sport."
"Merlin," Draco muttered to himself. "Poor bastards. And how does Blaise fit into this? I doubt the Muggles think he produces brooms for your weird, boring sport."
"We told them that he produces sportswear. He knows a thing or two about that. After the … you know," there was some rustling from Potter's cloak before he continued, "… after the footrest thing, he had this idea for impenetrable Quidditch gear."
Oh great. Another thing they could work on together. Blaise would probably get Potter to showcase that too. Draco's enthusiasm truly knew no bounds.
"And how's that going?" Draco's voice didn't sound flat, right?
There was a sigh. "It's not. There's rules against charmed gear."
Draco told himself that that was nothing to be excited about. Truth was, impenetrable gear would be rather nice. Maybe it would even reduce the number of serious Quidditch injuries. Figured that the Ministry was against it. Not that Draco was going to point out how brilliant Blaise's idea was.
"So," said Draco instead, "how do you feel about Blaise just ditching you yesterday?"
"He ditched you too!" Potter laughed. "All of them just left us with those two."
"But you went there together, didn't you?" Draco objected. "That's different."
"We all went there together?" Potter replied, maybe in an attempt to be really, really thick. Not that he had to try very hard.
"Come on, you know what I mean!"
"I really don't," said Potter.
It suddenly felt unfair that he could see Draco but Draco couldn't see him.
"It's different if he just leaves you there! I don't think Weasley would just leave without Granger, would he?"
Potter grabbed his arm suddenly and pulled him into a narrow laneway. His head appeared in mid-air and Draco rather suspected that the whole point of this stunt was to allow Potter to glare at him.
"If you are referring to what happened in July –" he began irritably, bright eyes flashing at him in the dark alley.
"Not just that!" Draco objected.
Potter grabbed his shoulders and pushed his back against a wall, glaring up at him while Aurelius was sniffing a spot on the ground uselessly.
"There was nothing else!" he hissed, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "And we agreed to never talk about that again. Last thing I need is for Ginny to hear about that."
"Ginny?" Draco said, quite confused. "Why would she care? Didn't you call it quits years ago?"
"Not because of me in particular, you flipping idiot. I just don't believe she would be very happy to hear that her boyfriend is still seeing his hook-ups regularly."
All the blood inside his head suddenly dropped to his stomach. "Her what now?"
Potter let go of him, leaving his shoulders slightly colder than they had been. "Malfoy, you do know they are dating, right?"
"Since when?" he demanded. Why was he just now hearing about this?!
"Officially? Bill's birthday party, I guess," Potter said, putting his hood back on. "From what I heard, that butterbeer pong game got really intense."
"That was over a month ago!"
Did that mean that Draco's obsession – no, that was a bit much, let's call it a curiosity – about Potter and Blaise's thing had been entirely unfounded?
"You gotta settle that with Blaise," Potter said, his voice moving away from him. "I'm keeping out of it."
They circled back silently and had just reached his front garden again, when Potter whispered "Incoming!" and then squeezed past him to avoid colliding with Mrs. Capitelli, who was just catching up with them.
"Oh Draco, dear," she huffed. "What a coincidence to meet you outside! I was just coming over to borrow some sugar."
Draco looked down at the rolling pin she was still holding in her hands and rather doubted that it was that much of a coincidence. Potter, who was stuck between Draco's left side and his rose bushes, held onto his arm, probably trying to keep away from the thorns as much as possible. Why did it always have to be his left arm?
"I saw you coming home an hour ago, didn't you spend the night at home?" Mrs. Capitelli asked casually.
"No," Draco answered carefully. "I slept in the city at some friends' home. They've got an air mattress."
"Oh, that's nice," she answered, sounding delighted (probably at having found out something new – nobody should be delighted about air mattresses). "Was your boyfriend there too?"
Draco gaped at her. The hand around his upper arm twitched slightly. "My ...?"
"That handsome young man you had over the other day?"
"Er – do you mean Blaise?" Draco asked confusedly. There weren't exactly a lot of options. He practically never had guests.
"Oh, don't be silly," she giggled. "I know Blaise. He always comes over to talk if I'm outside. Such a nice young man."
"Yes ...," Draco agreed, gesturing at his front door lamely. "Well, I've got to ..."
"I mean that Italian boy," she talked over him. "I think he spent the night a few weeks ago? I never saw him leave."
"Italian boy?" Draco asked, even more confused now. She couldn't mean Potter, could she? He wasn't even Italian.
"He's rather small, I think? With really lovely hair," she described. And this didn't fit Potter at all, but who else was there?
"Mrs. Capitelli, are you trying to make a pitch for one of your nephews?" he asked casually, trying to ignore the hand that was vibrating on his arm. Potter seemed to grow rather restless, hemmed in as he was.
"Oh no, my dear. I would never if you are already with someone," she breathed, clutching the rolling pin to her chest. "And my nephews are too old for you and all of them already married."
"Oh well, then I don't really think I can follow," Draco said. "Are you sure it was my house?"
"Oh yes, quite sure," she said. "Sanjay saw him too. He's got this ..." and then she gestured at her forehead while looking at the ground bashfully. "Shame, really. He's got such a handsome face, apart from that. And a really nice bum," she added candidly.
Potter and Draco yelped in unison. Potter because he had probably pricked himself on some thorns, and Draco because Potter gave him a mighty pinch in the process. Mrs. Capitelli took a startled step back.
"Roses," Draco explained, rubbing his arm.
"You don't have to be embarrassed," Mrs. Capitelli assured him. "He looks like a rather good catch."
"Yes ...," Draco said slowly. "He's really ... unusual."
Mrs. Capitelli beamed at him. Potter jabbed him in the side hard. Her beam lessened slightly, probably because she saw Draco grimacing.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling," she said, grabbing her rolling pin with both hands again. As if.
"Oh no, that's alright," Draco assuaged her. "It's just a rather new development. If we could maybe keep this between us for now?"
"Certainly," she assured him, stepping much closer now, as if to conspire with him.
Draco wasn't fooled by this. By the end of his shift tonight, every single one of his neighbours would be fully informed, just as Sanjay had informed her. She had probably caught a glimpse of Potter when he had accepted their food, and hounded the delivery boy for information afterwards.
"Thank you," he said, motioning to leave, but she put a hand on his forearm and leaned in. This caused Draco to lean away from her and consequently into Potter, who had to hold onto him even tighter to keep from tumbling into the shrubs.
"So, what's his name?" she mock-whispered.
"Er – Harry?" he answered uneasily.
"What are you doing?" Potter whispered into his ear urgently. His warm breath on Draco's neck definitely didn't help. Draco bumped him with his elbow slightly.
"Oh, but that's not an Italian name!" Mrs. Capitelli sounded gravely disappointed. She looked down at Aurelius, like he could do anything about it.
"I guess not?" Draco agreed. "He's quarter Greek, you see …"
"Maybe his name is Enrico? So many of them try to fit in nowadays, it's a shame, really."
"Yes … er … no. I mean ... I think Harry is his given name? And he definitely isn't Italian, sorry."
"Draco, dear," she said, shaking her head gravely. "I know it when I see one of us. He did cook for you, didn't he?"
"Er – I guess so, but that was just ...," he tried to explain, but she cut him off, patting his hand affectionately.
"And what did you eat?"
"Spaghetti, but –" he began, but she had already let go of his hands to throw her own into the air, rolling pin included.
"There you have it. So, where did you two meet?" she continued instantly and now it definitely felt like an interrogation. Potter's hand was twitching nervously.
"Boarding school – listen, I've really got to ..."
"Oh, I love a good teenage romance!" she exclaimed, clutching the rolling pin to her chest in a by now familiar manner. "And you found each other again after all these years?"
"No, nothing like that," Draco said, but she wasn't really listening. She looked like Christmas had come early, which was a pointless thing to think on actual Christmas Day.
"Listen, Mrs. Capitelli. I've got to go to work now."
"Work. Yes, of course!" she exclaimed and for one second, Draco thought he had actually managed to get through to her. "What does he do for a living?"
"He's a professional … er … footballer," Draco said shortly, remembering Potter's cover story. "I really need to ..."
"An athlete, you can really tell!" she said loudly, rendering their closeness completely unnecessary now.
"Yes, certainly. Look, Mrs. Capitelli –"
Mrs. Capitelli opened her mouth again, the next question already on her lips, when Potter let go of him. Something whooshed by Draco's face and Mrs. Capitelli's eyes slid out of and then back into focus.
"Excuse me, Draco, dear," she said distractedly. "I've got to finish my preparations for our Christmas dinner."
And then she hurried back to her house, the pretence of wanting to borrow some sugar completely forgotten. Potter pushed him away slightly and let go of him. Draco made haste to unlock his door and get inside, where Potter took off his Cloak.
"What the hell was that?"
"Well, she is unbelievably nosey," Draco explained.
"No kidding," Potter agreed. "So, why did you tell her those things?"
"Because she already believed it to be true anyways. Not much to be done about that."
"You could've told her we're just friends."
"No way she would have believed that! That is the lamest excuse ever."
"But it's not an excuse!"
"Yes, I know that, thank you," Draco said coldly. "I'm sorry if I offended you somehow, but there was no way to avoid that. Unless you wanted to listen to her waxing on about what an athletic arse you are?"
Potter crossed his arms and then immediately let go again to ruffle his hair, which was apparently really lovely. First those girls on the bus, now Mrs. Capitelli – was the whole world going blind? Maybe he had Italian hair. Draco really was no expert on the matter.
"I'm not," Potter said shortly, staring into his eyes defiantly.
"You are being a colossal arse right now," Draco objected. Potter rolled his eyes.
"I mean I'm not offended, you stupid git."
"Oh, okay. Fine ... good," Draco said lamely, caught off-guard. "Maybe now she will stop trying to set me up."
"With her old, married nephews, you mean?" Potter grinned.
"Or with her lesbian granddaughter's bisexual friend, who is apparently really funny."
"So, he's hideous?"
"I'm assuming."
"Why are you living in a Muggle neighbourhood again?"
Draco bent down to unleash Aurelius and then watched him bound upstairs. "Well, at least they are happy to see me. Maybe a little too much, but still better than people switching to the other side of the street when they see me."
"They don't!" Potter said, scandalised.
"Of course they do," Draco said. "And who can blame them, really?"
"You were acquitted! And your parents paid their reparations." Potter sounded almost angry now. What did he have to be upset about?
"You just said it: acquitted, not absolved of all sins," Draco said bitterly, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks.
"But –" Potter started, but Draco held up a hand.
"Don't. I've got a respectable job and a steady income, that's more than I could have asked for."
Potter looked like he still might argue, but then Draco's alarm clock went off upstairs. They were left staring at each other silently. The alarm stopped and Aurelius barked three times.
"My shift starts now," Draco said, opening the door for Potter again, who vanished and bumped into him on his way out.
