Halfway there! I wrote soo many words of absolutely nothing lmao
Awww - thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying. I can't reply to guests so I hope you don't mind me replying here. There are 14 total chapters to this story
December 14th , 2007
To his great disappointment, the next day does not come with a change in weather. "Merlin's great ugly hairy ballsack," he grumbles, glaring balefully at the dark window. He's woken before the sun. Again.
There's no use laying in bed though, so he gets up and takes his two-minute shower, pouting at the weather conspiring to ruin his day ice-skating for the second time in a row. He tugs on his clothes and then frowns down at his thin, raggedy coat. Maybe he can transfigure it into something warmer.
But no, it takes skill to have a transfigured object retain its new properties for any significant length of time, and transfiguration is more difficult to do wandless besides.
Hoping fervently that the sun brings with it some warmth, Draco leaves the bathroom and approaches his little kitchen corner. He looks at the stove critically – he is going skating later, which will use up energy, but he also ate yesterday. He waffles for a moment, drumming his fingers on his little folding table, but decides against it. He's probably going to have to beg off early due to the cold anyhow. Food can wait for tomorrow.
There's nothing to hang around the flat for, and he'll have to cast a heating charm if he does besides, so he steps out into the hallway and jams his door shut again. It's very early still – the sun has not yet risen – and Knockturn is empty but for those few straggling to or from work and the usual selection of shady characters who quite go away.
These twilight hours are beautiful, and if it wasn't for the horrid cold Draco would slow down to appreciate the early morning stillness. As it is, he hurries along the familiar path, out of Knockturn and into the properly deserted Diagon. The street twinkles serenely, decorative lights throwing glittering sparkles onto the snow. It makes Draco's breath catch, and he finds himself irrationally wondering if Potter has ever seen Diagon like this.
Where has that come from? He shakes away the thought with a frown. It must be because they've been spending so much time together, he reasons. It's only natural that he think of Potter's company when he wants to share something. He absolutely refuses to believe that he's getting attached to the charming git.
The library is only just opening when he arrives and the librarian seems surprised to see him, but smiles and greets him warmly anyway. "My, my, you're here bright and early," she says. "Come on in, it's terribly cold out there."
Draco blinks, surprised by the change in their daily routine of one-to-two word greetings, but returns her smile. "Thank you," he says gratefully, stepping into the warm building.
"Don't worry about it dear," she replies, patting him on the arm. She totters off, disappearing behind her counter. Draco watches after her, and wonders if she was the same librarian who had worked here when he'd come as a child. He'd never paid attention to those whom he'd considered 'the help' back then. Merlin, but he'd been a brat.
Draco makes his way over to the wandless magic section, where he takes his time perusing the volumes. The one he's been using has dissolved mostly into practice and examples, which are useful but for which he has no time. As long as he knows the theory, he's confident that he'll be able to figure out other spells given enough time.
He picks out a slightly older but more advanced tome and returns to his armchair. This book is more concerned with theory than the last, and it goes into the differences that must be accounted for with different branches of magic. It's incredibly tediously worded, but the concepts are fascinating, and Draco is more than happy to sink into it for a few hours.
He doesn't allow himself to fall asleep this time – he has no desire to embarrass himself in front of Potter again – so whenever he feels himself drifting off, he takes a walk out into the little side street and entertains himself by trying out some of the new notions that he's learning. These excursions never last too long, because it's still bloody freezing out there, but he's cold-woken and newly eager to delve further into his study when he returns.
It's after one such excursion, once he's back to pouring over his book, that a shadow suddenly falls across the cramped text on the page. He glances up, expecting it to be Potter arrived early, but to his surprise it's the librarian standing there, her wrinkled old face smiling at him over a steaming teacup.
"Hi dear," she says, "just coming by to see if you'd like a cup of tea?"
Draco eyes the cup warily. She's trying to sell him tea? He cannot deny that it's an appealing thought – he's still shivering from the chill of being outside, and the caffeine would be welcome – but he doesn't have that kind of money to spare.
"Erm…no thank you," he says regretfully. The old lady shrugs good-naturedly.
"If you change your mind just let me know," she says, and totters off. Draco looks after her retreating back and wonders when libraries have started selling tea. He's certainly never received such an offer from a librarian before, though he's spent a lot of time in libraries.
Potter shows up at one o-clock today, striding determinedly into the little alcove and then faltering when he sees Draco. He laughs. "Beat me to it huh?" He says. "Are you that eager to see me?" He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, and Draco snorts.
"Yes Potter, I live my life ardently awaiting the next time I get to see you," he drawls, before closing his book primly. "I come here to study, as you know."
Potter laughs. "Right, our wandless savant. How could I forget?"
Draco feels a blush rising up his cheeks and frowns. "I'm hardly a savant," he argues. There's no way for Potter to know that he's been working on this for around seven years now, he supposes, but he doesn't feel comfortable with the description.
"Right, no, of course," says Potter, scratching at the back of his head. He shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot, before he asks, "Shall we get going then?"
"Yes, let's," says Draco. He rises gracefully from his seat, then turns to smirk at Potter as a thought occurs to him. "By the way Potter, it did not escape my notice that you've come here an hour early. I wonder if it isn't you who's eager to see me?"
Potter sputters, his face rapidly reddening, and Draco can't help but chuckle at his incredulous expression as he goes to shelf his book. Still, he wonders just how fond Potter is becoming of him. It makes him feel guilty – after all, Potter would want nothing to do with him if he knew who he was.
He shakes away the self-reproach after a moment. It's not as though he's seeking Potter out or forcing his company on him. Isn't it worse at this point to start blowing Potter off now, to his face? Surely it's kinder for Emory to just disappear one day.
It still doesn't feel right, though, and the easy smile on Potter's handsome face when he returns to the other man makes his stomach twist with shame. He frowns and resolves to kindly rebuff any future invites from Potter.
"What's the matter?" asks Potter, his brow crinkling with worry as he catches sight of Draco. Draco forces a smile and shakes his head.
"No need to worry, I'm perfectly fine." He says. "Shall we go?"
Potter raises his eyebrows, but lets it go with a "Sure," before following Draco to the door. A pleasant warmth falls over Draco as they leave, and a glance at Potter shows the other man putting away his wand.
"Thanks," he mutters, his smile turning more real at the show of consideration. Potter grins back at him.
"No problem," he says, leaning closer and bumping Draco with his shoulder.
Draco blushes at the press of his sturdy shoulder and shoves back at Potter, playful, but also putting a bit more distance between them. It backfires, however, because then Potter laughs and throws an arm over his shoulders.
"Get off you great oaf, you're heavy," he complains dramatically, shrugging Potter's arm off. Potter gasps in mock offence.
"Are you calling me fat?" He asks.
Draco scoffs. "I'm not blind," he says. He pokes at Potter's chest, and yeah, it's just as solid as it looks. Draco is reminded sharply of just how long it's been since he's been with someone, and his face flames. He rapidly backpedals and turns away to march ahead down the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches an infuriatingly smug grin on Potter's face.
"Don't go getting cocky Potter," he warns over his shoulder.
He can hear the laughter in Potter's voice when he replies, "Wouldn't dream of it."
They walk down the same streets as they had yesterday, and Potter directs him to a charming little park that looks like something out of a picture book, all strung up with lights that twinkle against the snow and alive with people. The ice rink is a main feature, at least in winter, occupying a place of honour right at the centre. It's surrounded by benches and a couple of tiny warming huts, and there's a stand selling beverages and warm treats off to one side.
Potter comes to a stop and turns to him. "I – um – I got you something," he says, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. He pulls a little box out of his coat and flicks his wand, unshrinking it. It's long and silver, sparkling prettily and wrapped with a bow. Potter is furiously red as he offers it to Draco. "Think of it as an early Christmas present."
Draco looks at it, slightly panicked. Are they exchanging gifts? Is that what they're doing?
"I didn't get you anything," he says uncertainly, making no move to take the box.
Potter snorts a short laugh and shoves it further toward him. "I know Emory. I didn't expect you to. Just open it?"
He frowns but takes the box and looks at it dubiously. Potter is practically bouncing on his heels now, so he takes it to a nearby bench and sits down, setting it on his lap so that he can undo the bow. With one final look at an eagerly grinning Potter, he lifts the lid and the thin paper layer that lays directly on top, and his breath catches.
It's a new coat, black and thick looking. When he lifts it out of the box, it falls long and heavy and surely down to his knees at the very least. In the box underneath it is a new hat, scarf, socks, and fur-lined gloves. Draco looks at Potter, slack-jawed and completely speechless.
Potter begins to look sheepish. "We can't use warming charms on the ice," he says, scratching the back of his head nervously, "I figured if we're going to go skating, you'll need a warmer kit."
Draco frowns. It's absolutely sweet of Potter to do this...but his pride stings. "I don't need your pity Potter," he mumbles, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Potter's eyes widen, and he brings his hands up in front of him placatingly. "It's not pity, I swear!" He says. "It's kind of self-serving, actually. I wanted to spend more time out on the ice that's all. Like I said, think of it as an early Christmas present."
His eyes are guileless under Draco's searching gaze and, after a moment, Draco sighs. "Very well. In that case…thank you," he says stiffly.
Potter beams, bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet. "No problem," he says. "Are you going to put it on?"
Still pink-cheeked, Draco rolls his eyes fondly. "I may as well, seeing as you've gone to all this trouble," he says. He stands from the bench and holds up the new coat. It's certainly not large enough to go over his current coat so, with some regret, he slips off his own raggedy little garment and folds it neatly. He has no love for the coat, nor is he cold thanks to Potter's warming charm, but he feels somehow more vulnerable in front of Potter with his overlarge shirt that he knows makes him look smaller by comparison.
Potter is watching him, of course, with those intense eyes of his, and Draco's sure that the pink is stained onto his cheeks permanently by this point. He quickly slides his arms into the new coat and pulls it closed around him. The first thing he notices is that the coat has a built-in warming charm, and he looks up at Potter with shock. Potter just smiles unabashedly back at him, as though this is normal.
Draco's head is spinning. For a charm to be built into a garment and not fade as the magic wears away, it has to be woven into the fabric itself. To properly make such a coat, the charm has to be applied continuously throughout the creation process. It's finicky, time-consuming, and very, very expensive. "Potter, this is far too much," he protests.
Potter, the complete arse, lies through his teeth. "It's not," he insists. "It was barely anything, honestly."
Draco stares. "You are a horrid liar!" He accuses. There's no way that this coat cost less than 500 Galleons. "I can't possibly accept this." Potter frowns.
"Well it isn't going to fit me," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Draco sternly.
Draco is completely boggled. "You're serious" he says disbelievingly.
Potter comes up to him, frowning, and takes his hand. "Look Emory. It's really no more than I do for any of my other friends. Please, it's not a big deal."
Draco looks down at where Potter's hand curls around his, hesitant. He remembers the days when he could throw money like this around, like it was nothing. He knows that, for Potter, this is little more than a drop in the bucket. But still, to him it's not nothing. It's significant. It's bloody lifechanging. He'd be a fool to turn it down.
Draco sighs, and swallows his pride. "Thank you," he says quietly, looking back up at Potter.
Potter smiles. "It's my pleasure," he says. His eyes are very green, and very, very intense, warm as they meet Draco's own. Draco flushes again and looks down, breaking his gaze. His fingers fumble, unusually graceless as he does up the buttons and slips of his threadbare gloves, making sure to tug down his sleeves to prevent the Mark from showing. The new gloves are not charmed, but they are fur-lined and unbelievably soft.
Potter moves closer still, taking the hat and scarf from the box.
"Let me," he says, draping the scarf about Draco's neck and sliding the toque over his hair. Draco looks up at him, eyes wide, and Potter meets his gaze steadily. His cheeks are flushed red against his bronzed skin, his hair thick and tousled, and those lovely green eyes are bright, reflecting the warm yellow lights that decorate the park. Draco feels his heart skip and he quickly looks away, cheeks reddening.
"Let's go then," he mutters, turning back to the rink.
Potter joins him after a moment, enthusiasm visibly growing on his face as they approach the ice. "I haven't skated in forever," he says, charming their shoes to skates with the wave of a want. "Fair warning, though – I'm pants at it."
Potter is not lying. He is, in fact, pants at it. Draco is wobbly when he first steps out onto the ice, his skating skills rusty from disuse, but Potter is almost tragically off-balance. Draco catches his arm to steady him before he falls on his arse, laughing slightly at the way Potter clutches at him. He's beginning to wonder if Potter has ever been on the ice at all.
"Potter, why in Merlin's name did you want to come ice-skating?" He asks.
Potter flushes red. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he says, allowing Draco to steady him with hands on Potter's waist. "Besides," he adds, his voice dropping to something more intimate, "It's not so bad when you're here to help me."
Draco blushes, but meets his eyes steadily. Potter's gaze is dark and intense, and Draco feels an answering heat burning in his gut. This is too dangerous. Abort, he has to abort.
He pulls back, letting go of Potter's waist and catching his strong hands instead. At Potter's raised eyebrows, Draco smirks. "I can't in good conscience allow the Saviour of the Wizarding World to continually be bested by some ice, can I?" He asks. Potter groans.
"Don't call me that," he protests half-heartedly, but he allows Draco to take his hands, clinging on for dear life.
"Alright, alright," Draco concedes. He frowns thoughtfully. He is a decent skater, but no kind of teacher. He thinks back to his first time on ice, when his father had tried to teach his impatient arse. "Let's take this slow Potter. Don't try to glide or anything. Just…move like a penguin."
He lets go of Potter to demonstrate. Potter watches closely, then reaches for him and clutches his arm nervously as he imitates his steps. Draco gives him gentle corrections ("Open your toes Potter", "No don't walk, shift your weight, like this", "Don't put your heel down like that, you're going to fall!"), and Potter furrows his brows and follows along with more concentration that this necessarily warrants.
It's somewhat slow going, but the way that Potter's eyes light up as he manages to travel a few paces without the threat of wiping out makes it entirely worth it to Draco. "That's right, just like that," he encourages. "You make a half-decent penguin, Potter." He pauses and grins, and Potter throws him a dirty look.
"Don't," he warns, but Draco only laughs.
"Penguin Potter," he repeats. "Has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you say?"
"I'll kill you," Potter groans, dropping his head forward. Then he almost stumbles, and clings to Draco with fresh vigour.
Draco hums, steadying him gently. "I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment," he says. "I'm very busy you see."
Potter raises his eyebrows and grins. "Are you?" He asks. "You don't seem all that busy right now."
"I am, as a matter of fact," Draco says primly. "I'm helping a penguin with two left feet. It's very noble of me."
Potter smacks him on the shoulder. "Arse!" He laughs. "Teach me something else then, I'm done being a penguin."
Draco sighs dramatically, but obligingly moves in front of Potter and takes his hands. "If I must," he says. He directs Potter into doing short glides, skating along backwards in front of him. Potter picks this up faster, getting the hang of being on ice now, but then nearly bowls Draco over when Draco stops.
"I thought we agreed that we were not going to kill me," he objects, smacking Potter's shoulder. Potter looks sheepish.
"Sorry, I didn't know how to stop," he says.
Draco flushes. "Oh…right," he mutters. "Okay, to stop you turn your toes inward and sort of push out…like this." He skates a bit away from Potter and demonstrates.
Potter tries gliding toward him and stopping, and nearly falls over again. Draco catches him, laughing. "Allow me," he says, taking Potter's hands again. "we'll continue like this until you get the hang of it, alright?"
"Yeah," says Potter eagerly. He skates toward Draco and almost falls on him again.
Potter takes a lot longer to get this right. He keeps stopping too harshly and nearly falling on Draco. It's only once Draco starts complaining about Potter's considerable weight – though he's not actually that upset, he's gotten his hands all over those muscles during the past little while– and threating to drop Potter on his arse that they start making progress.
It's more fun that Draco expects, teaching Potter. He's never been a great teacher, always impatient and tetchy, but having Potter's incredible body draped all over him every time Potter doesn't succeed is great motivation for him to put up with it.
They get Potter stopping consistently, and also performing a passable swizzle before he begs off, declaring that he needs a rest. Draco helps him along to a bench, but he returns to the ice. He hasn't been skating in forever, and he isn't going to waste a moment of it sitting on his arse.
He can't play around the way he had when he was a kid – the pond they'd used as a rink had been on their property and was thus empty, whereas this public ice was somewhat busy – but he can still enjoy himself. He skates fast, just relishing in the movement and sense of freedom it brings for a few laps before he starts showing off for Potter as he skates by, doing lunges and turns, emboldened as he gets the hang of skating again. It ends with him landing on his arse after trying an ill-advised jump, and the sight of Potter cracking up over on the bench has him laughing too.
"I'd like to see you do better!" he calls, making his way over to the git. Potter grins at him in response.
"Give me a couple of years and I'll take you up on that," he says cheekily.
Draco blinks. "Bold of you to assume I'll be waiting around for two years on your skating abilities," he says, but his cheeks are flushed. Potter, after a moment, goes red as well, and there's a beat of awkward silence between them.
"Come back out," Draco says, just to break it, and Potter grasps his outstretched hand and pulls himself to his feet.
"Only if you teach me how to do all that?" he bids easily.
"What, fall on your arse?" Draco asks, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you don't need my help for that Potter. You're a deft hand."
"And you're an arse," returns Potter around a grin. "Come on, show me how to do the turns like that!"
"Do you always ask for favours with an insult?" Draco wonders. "No wonder you're being banned from stores."
"I do," says Potter seriously. "You should have seen Robards' face when I went up to him and asked, I'd like to take my vacation now you ugly bastard."
Draco lets out a snort of laughter before he can stop himself, and Potter gives a victorious smile. They're back on the ice by now, so Draco takes pity on Potter and starts by showing him some more basics.
They never get anywhere near twirls, because as soon as Potter masters push-and-gliding with any decent speed, he immediately challenges Draco to a race. Draco laughs in his face at his overconfidence.
"You're on Potter," he says, and darts off. Potter, to his credit, doesn't try and outdo his own abilities and by the time Draco's coming up behind him he's made it a quarter way around the rink and hasn't fallen down yet.
He glides past Potter, spinning to skate backwards in front of him and smirking. "It seems I've bested you Potter," he says. Potter doesn't seem too put out – he's sporting a huge grin as he skates along.
"I'll catch you yet," he says playfully. Draco smirks and curls his finger at his chin as if in thought.
"Is this also in two years?" He asks. "Shall I make an appointment?"
Potter growls and lunges for him, but Draco twists out of the way with a laugh. "You'll have to try harder than that," he teases.
Potter huffs and drops his arms. "Alright, I know when I'm beat," he grumbles.
Draco preens. "Ah, to have bested a penguin," he says dramatically. "Truly, there is no greater hon- ack!" He wiggles away just in time as Potter grabs at him again. Potter is grinning deviously. "Ah, he's being sneaky!" Draco says with a smirk. "I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be the upright, honest sort,"
Potter laughs. "Maybe that's what we want you to think," he says. He's tucked his hands back into his pockets now, and Draco watches him carefully, worried that he might misbalance and fall without them. Potter has proven rather uncoordinated on the ice.
"Potter, if your grand plan is to fall over and make me catch you so that you may grab me, rest assured that I will let you fall," he warns. Potter blinks, and then breaks out into laughter.
"That's terribly cold of you!" He says cheerfully. Draco scowls distrustingly, but Potter is just skating along with a smile now. Then, something hits the back of his legs and he falls, yelping. Potter is immediately there to catch him, and he's got a self-satisfied smirk on. Draco stares at him, wide-eyed, before the familiarity of the earlier feeling hits him.
"Did you just use a Tripping Jinx on me?" He accuses.
Potter smirks, unrepentant. "I caught you," he points out.
Draco stares, incredulous. "By cheating!" he protests. Potter smirks some more and then, quite abruptly, dips him.
"I got my prize, though, didn't I?" He asks quietly in Draco's ear. Draco doesn't answer, too busy clinging to Potter for dear life to even feel flustered at Potter being so close.
"Don't you dare drop me!" He shrieks, and Potter laughs.
"I won't drop you," he assures, but then he tries to straighten them and loses his balance, and they both fall both into the snowbank that edges this portion of the ice.
"Oops," says Potter sheepishly, sitting up and shaking snow out of his hair. There's still plenty caught in the thick thatch, though, and he just looks ridiculous.
"You are unbelievable," Draco says, shaking his head in wonder. Potter looks too smug at that, so Draco throws a handful of snow at him. While he indignantly sputters, Draco scrambles up and back onto the ice, zipping away from where Potter is also struggling to his feet with a bellow of challenge.
They play a little game of cat and mouse for a while, if the mouse were taunting the cat by darting around him just out of reach, until Potter gets worn out and returns to his bench. Draco skates up to him, cocking his head to the side.
"Are you ready to go then?" he asks. Potter leans back on the bench and shakes his head, waving a hand in the general direction of the ice.
"You can keep skating," he says. "I'm just taking a little breather. You do more of your fancy tricks, they were fun."
Draco laughs. "I'm all out I'm afraid. I'm no pro unfortunately." But he goes back to the ice. He skates a few more laps, and then tries again to impress Potter with tricks and fancy footwork. He won't say he that he's entirely successful, but Potter is laughing and smiling brightly, and Draco's having immense fun, so he's not complaining.
Eventually Potter joins him again, and they skate along peacefully, side-by-side. Potter is still giddy about skating under his own power and keeps interrupting his own Auror stories to coax Draco to show him how to do something Draco had done while showing off to him.
Draco's interrupted sleep and lack of food is getting to him by this point – he's been fooling around rather too energetically, and it's not as though he's in peak physical condition. He pushes through, though, not quite willing to stop what is, all considered, a pleasant evening. It's only once he thinks he's ready to collapse from exhaustion that he admits defeat.
"You should have said so sooner!" Exclaims a very dismayed Potter once he catches sight of Draco's trembling legs. The stumble off the ice together and Potter charms their shoes back to normal before, without warning, picks Draco up in a princess lift.
"P-Potter, what are you doing?" Draco yelps, clinging to the other man's shoulders tightly. Potter grins.
"Taking you to get hot chocolate," he says cheerily, striding assuredly along. The ease with which he carries Draco is staggering, and it makes his mouth a little dry to think about. He can feel every shift in Potter's muscles as he's carried, past the benches and warming huts and food stands and–
"Potter, we've passed the hot chocolate stand," he says.
"I know a better place," Potter says. "It's outside the park, so it's a bit further away, but it's worth it, trust me."
Draco blinks up at him, then nods. He does trust Potter. He squirms, vying to get down, but Potter just tightens his grip and holds fast. Draco wrinkles his brow at him.
"Surely you don't mean to carry me the entire way there," he says.
Potter laughs. "Of course," he replies, as though it's inconceivable that he won't want to carry a grown man all the way to wherever they are going. Potter carries him as though he weighs nothing, though, and so Draco tips his head forward to rest it against Potter's collarbone to hide the heat on his face.
"You're bloody barking," he mutters, and Potter's chest rumbles with laughter. He can't deny, though, that it's nice. It occurs to him that Potter is recreating the childhood routine Draco had told him about as best he can, and it's so impossibly sweet that Draco actually groans.
"You okay?" Potter asks, voice full of concern.
Draco nestles in further, refusing to look at him. "'M fine," he mumbles. "Thanks Potter."
Potter swallows. "I – uh – no thanks necessary," he stutters. Draco does blink up at him then, and Potter's face is bright red.
"Are you getting tired? I can walk," he offers, but somehow he knows that that's not the case. He doesn't want to examine it too closely, however. He'll just be reminded of what a truly terrible idea this all is. He should not be here with Potter.
Potter smiles at him so tenderly, and says, "Don't worry Emory. I've got you.", and Draco's insides warm impossibly.
"You really do," he mutters to himself. This is a terrible idea, but he can't bring himself to pull away.
Potter takes him to a tidy little alley behind the park, which turns out to house another entrance to Muggle London. The alley on the Muggle side is tiny and holds rubbish bins, but opens out onto a massive, bustling street, surrounded by large, mostly square buildings. It hums with the Muggle lights that line the street and shine from windows and storefronts. Even the Muggle version of Christmas lights emit the sound.
Although it's late, the Muggle street is still terribly busy with their automobiles, the kind that haven't been charmed to dodge between obstacles nor to have obstacles dodge around them. They make Draco anxious – he'd nearly been hit by them, once, when he'd wandered beyond his lonely little street with its park and corner store. The vehicle had swerved around him at the last moment, and then the driver had leaned out the window and very angrily threatened to shrink him.
Draco clings closer to Potter and eyes the racing vehicles nervously, glad that Potter doesn't seem inclined to put him down. Potter glances down at him, and his green eyes dance in amusement even as he says, "Sorry, I should have warned you it was in Muggle London. It can be a bit overwhelming the first time."
"I've been to Muggle London before," Draco replies, indignant. He doesn't mention that the vast majority of his trips have been to one mostly empty street.
"Ah, sorry," Potter says contritely. He sets Draco to his feet and gestures at a nearby door. "Here we are," he says.
Draco follows him in, looking around curiously. The shop is small and cramped, with high tables scattered throughout. It's busy, buzzing with chatter and yet more Muggle lights. There is more holiday décor here, bows and shiny garlands and a tall, skinny, tree wedged in a corner and laden with decorations. A wireless in the ceiling is playing Muggle music. "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," opines the Muggle singer in a deep, rich voice. Draco smiles. It sure is.
"Save us a table," says Potter as he joins the large queue waiting at the counter. Draco winds his way through the little shop, finding an empty two-top near a window at the back. He quickly snags a seat and turns to watch the brightly-lit Muggle street curiously.
Muggle vehicles race along the street, their lights leaving bright streaks when Draco blinks. Bundled up Muggles walk by, mostly alone or in pairs. They usually stay out of the road but deftly avoid the vehicles when they do cross. Many of them have small boxes that emit a small square of light, and they hold these up to their ears or poke at their lower half intently.
Draco watches with interest a moment longer, then glances around the café. Many of the Muggles here have the little glow-boxes as well, although some have much larger ones that open like a book – albeit not all the way – that they've set on their tables. Draco catches sight of the glowy part of one of these that is faced toward him, and it is projecting what appears to be a moving photograph, although it does not loop. Maybe a portrait? If so, it's very realistically rendered.
He watches curiously as a handsome dark-haired man yells at a pretty dark-haired woman. They don't seem to get along. Draco feels terrible for them being trapped in that portrait together. He wonders if the subject of Muggle portraits can move between pictures as well. Maybe one of them should escape to another device.
Draco looks around at the many boxes they could jump to, and his eyes meet with a young woman who's holding her small box up with the non-glowing side facing him, right as he hears the familiar sound of a camera shutter. Ah, so the small boxes are cameras. Strangely shaped, though.
He blinks, while the girl, who'd apparently been trying to discreetly take his picture, turns red and slides her box shut in a rush. She then studiously avoids looking at him at all.
Draco self-consciously tugs his hat lower. What is she getting his picture for? Could she be an undercover Auror who has somehow recognized him? But no…she's not familiar to him. He doesn't see how she would be able to recognize him on sight without him at least doing the same. Maybe he's just dressed funny for a Muggle and she wants to laugh at it later. He doesn't think so, based on what he sees them wearing, but who knows what the unifying Muggle theme is?
Potter, thankfully, takes that moment to return. He's laden with two enormous mugs of the most ridiculous hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and crushed candy canes and chocolate chips and syrup, as well as a plate of biscuits. "Sorry I took so long," he says, setting one of the drinks down in front of Draco.
"Potter…what monstrosity is this?" he asks, looking at the concoction in front of him. Potter shrugs, sheepish.
"I didn't know what you liked so I got…everything?" he says. Draco gives him an incredulous look, but gamely takes a sip. It's ridiculous, absolutely, and he shouldn't like it… but it's warm and sweet and, underneath the pile of toppings, actually has a lovely flavour. Besides, Draco has always had a horrid sweet-tooth.
"Thanks Potter," he says, allowing a small smile onto his face. Potter grins hugely back at him and slurps at his own drink.
They settle into a cozy sort of quiet, just enjoying one another's company. Potter hums along with the wireless, and Draco alternates between peeking glances at him and gazing around the café. At length, he catches sight of another Muggle putting his little camera box to his ear, and frowns.
"Potter," he mutters. Potter looks up from where he's crunching on a biscuit and tilts his head in question. Draco gestures at the Muggle. "They all take pictures of their ears. Is it a Muggle thing?"
"Sorry?" asks Potter, sounding utterly bewildered. Maybe Draco's overestimated his knowledge of the Muggle world. But he has seemed very at ease so far.
He points a little less discreetly at the Muggle, who thankfully doesn't notice. He's talking to the air about what presents to get for someone named 'Gracie'. "That camera, he's got it at his ear. And not just him. I saw many Muggles doing that." He leans forward. "Are ears important to Muggles?"
Potter goggles at him. "Are…what? Ears – Yeah, of course they are…I mean- no more so than ours are to us! But…Emory, those are not cameras. They're cell-phones." He's looking at Draco as though he's grown a second head. Draco frowns.
"Well, what is a 'sell-fone' then?" He asks, taking a biscuit.
"It's…Merlin-" Potter flounders, "it's like an owl?"
"An owl?" Draco repeats with a frown. "No, I'm certain it's a camera. I heard it, when that Muggle girl took a picture of me." He bites into the biscuit. It's absolutely delicious – rich and buttery and sweet. He hums appreciatively. "Merlin, Potter, these are incredible."
Potter is frowning. "Someone took a picture of you?" He repeats, ignoring the biscuits. Draco nods, turning slightly in his seat to find the girl and point her out to Potter. To his surprise, she's watching him again. As Draco looks at her, she goes red and ducks her head down.
"Her," he says with a confused frown. Potter starts laughing.
"Aww, I think she has a crush on you," he says gleefully. His voice is free of the cruel mocking that Draco's friends would have carried in school. Plenty of people had crushes on him then, and he supposes the behaviour matches, but…
"What on Earth for?" He asks, frowning. He knows what he looks like – he's seen himself just this morning in the mirror. There is nothing attractive left about him.
Potter blinks at him. "Are you serious?" He says.
Draco flushes. Ah, Potter doesn't like self-deprecation. He ought to have known, really. Potter is too much of a goody-goody to accept people talking down on themselves like that.
He decides to change the subject before Potter decides to try and convince Draco of some 'unique beauty' he possesses. "Well, in the event that she does, she's plum out of luck I'm afraid," he mutters. "She's not quite my type."
"Oh?" Potter raises his eyebrows. "What is your type then."
You, Draco thinks. He flushes. "Decidedly more…masculine," he says, feeling the flash of nervousness that always accompanies telling someone of his preferences. It's a remnant from his childhood, when his father had taken him aside and told him kindly but firmly that what he does in the bedroom is his business, but he must be discreet if they are to arrange a good marriage for him.
Potter sits up straight. "Oh," he says, his face lighting up. "That's…brilliant. Me too, actually. Well, both really, but you know…" Ah. Draco has suspected, but never confirmed. Another piece of the puzzle Draco's been firmly ignoring clicks into place.
"Oh…" he echoes quietly, his cheeks pinking again. Potter seems to have released some previously imperceptible tension, and he has a quiet confidence about him as he leans back in his seat and smiles at Draco. Draco returns the smile, then ducks his head to hide his blush and busies himself with his hot chocolate.
"All I want for Christmas is you!" Sings the Muggle on the wireless, and it rings in Draco's chest. He peers up at Potter through his lashes – the other man is humming along, happily stirring his drink with a candy cane and then sticking it into his mouth, and the realization trickles down his spine, slow and warm like treacle, that he's maybe falling a little bit in love.
He's absolutely bloody screwed.
I have problem with tone sometimes aaaa