"I hope he's single, because I don't do breakups." Draco settled in the leather chesterfield sofa framing the fireplace at Nott Manor. Theo was at the drinks cart, pouring them a measure, or two, of firewhiskey in antique crystal tumblers.
"Thank you for coming over." Theo handed him his glass, "Yes, no, I mean he just got out of a relationship. Is that a problem? Because if it is, that's fine."
"Theo, relax, it's only me. You know me. Sit down and why don't you tell me about him." Draco reached for the dram, swirling the amber liquid in it.
"We reconnected recently. I had to drop off some dark artefacts I found in my father's study. Oh, I guess I didn't mention that I had finally managed to break through the wards? Anyway, there I was one morning with a satchel full of heirlooms reeking of dark magic, facing the receptionist at the Ministry. I was trying, quite unsuccessfully I might add, to explain that I was surrendering dark artefacts while conveying as much as I could an air of honesty mixed with innocence. Quite the feat while nursing the worst hangover in recent memory. You see, I had celebrated the breaking of said wards with copious amounts of the finest…."
"So you were at the Ministry?" Draco gently interrupted his friend. Used to Theo's meandering story telling, he settled in comfortably, fully expecting this evening to last into the wee hours.
"Yes. So there I was, seconds from being carted away to Azkaban, when Harry Potter steps behind me, looking straight at the receptionist, asking 'Do we have a problem here?' in his deep baritone." Theo closed his eyes to focus on the aroma coming from the firewhiskey, savouring both the peat together with the memory. "Merlin, he looked so fine in his Auror long coat. His hair was dishevelled. He was buttoned all the way up to his neck. I could see the guard from his wand holder peeking through. He was clutching his hands behind his back, highlighting his shoulders and broad back. He was looking at me with the fiercest green eyes, looking through me, straight into my very soul."
Draco was having trouble following his friend's retelling. For a start, one had a difficult time piecing a timeline based on Theo's rambling. The man was completely smitten, barely making any sense. Then again, the vivid description of Potter's handsome leather coat and anchored stance in his dragonhide boots left him less than gushing, the same couldn't be said of Theo.
"So you bumped into Potter at the Ministry?" Draco helped the narrative along. Theo then continued telling Draco the story for at least an hour, remembering how Harry had helped him with the artefacts, chatting away while recording the handover in duplicate paperwork, closing the file while chatting some more, watching each other through hooded lids and stolen glances, not all of them Theo's. He had taken the plunge inviting Harry for drinks in tête-à-tête the day after. Theo had come home in a panic, as he considered the magnitude of his morning. Of the Chosen One conversing with him, in a friendly, nay, almost flirtatious way as if the wizarding world had never known a war. As if Theo wasn't the last descendant of the most bigoted line of magical families after the Malfoys. As if Theo was just a boy - meeting another boy for the first time.
"So Draco, I need your help! How am I going to do this? What am I going to say to the wizard? How should I play it?" They had reached the crux of Theo's anxiety. Against all odds as well as his own expectations, he had secured a date with Harry Potter. Theo was now almost paralised with terror. While he wasn't sure how he had managed to capture Harry's interest in the first place, he was still desperate to replicate the alchemy of their first meeting. But since he didn't know the ingredients that had played in his favour then, how could he ensure he retained the Golden Boy's interest henceforth?
"Theo, mate. You didn't use what you didn't have. So look inward, show your true self like Gryffindors do. He may not want the whole truth, but he does want the real you. He may not want to see it all at once, but he does want to see it." Draco paused, waiting for Theo to take it all in.
"So tomorrow night, when you're wondering what to say, how you look, or if he likes you...just remember, he is already out with you. That means he said yes when he could have said no. That means he made a plan when he could have just blown you off. So that means it is no longer your job to try to make him like you. It is your job not to mess it up."
Theo looked a bit stunned, not yet fully on board with the idea that all would go well. "Now let's discuss the terms of our agreement." Draco didn't miss a beat. "Have I told you of a spell I created to seal my contracts?"
Draco is lost in thoughts sitting in a small café in Covent Garden remembering Theo's courtship of Harry Potter. Truth be told, he had been quite shocked at first to learn that Harry Potter would be so keen that he would agree to a date. Not that he thought Theo wasn't a catch. But if one must speak plainly, after dating Ginny Weasley quite publicly, it hadn't been a foregone conclusion that Potter would be receptive to a fellow wizard's advances.
From there it's an easy mental jump to the most dazzling third of the Golden Trio. Draco still feels a bit dazed, recalling meeting Granger again at the Leaky Cauldron. It had been so hard walking away from her the other night, it went against all of his instincts at the time. He had wanted to stay in that bar stool, stare at her expressive eyes, claim her presence next to him while glaring at anyone foolish enough to interrupt them. He had to remember his own teachings to focus on, what was the expression that fellow taught him in St Andrews? Oh yes, focus on the long game.
And the long game was definitely on his mind. He had felt so alive talking to her, albeit briefly. He spent his waking hours helping others secure a happily ever after but had never felt the yearning to find one for himself before. Even now, days later, just remembering the wit, the spice of their exchange brought a tingling feeling in his fingers, wanting to reach out, to hold onto her, ever after.
He is in the midst of planning an ambush to secure a date with the witch, an opportunity to woo her properly. It is easier said than done as it turns out that details on her private life from published sources are almost non-existent. She had admitted to working at the Ministry, but since he hadn't been able to find her name on public records, he deduced she worked as an Unspeakable, only providing him with very limited access to her in the lobby of the Ministry. He hadn't wanted to reach out to Blaise or Theo for information, feeling guarded about his new secret, wanting to keep it to himself a little bit longer. So he had turned to Tracey Davis, former classmate and the only half-blood witch in Slytherin in their year. He had remembered that Granger and Davis had been study partners for a while, which is how he learnt that they had both grown up in Kensington a couple of streets from each other.
He checks the time again, giving Marcus Flint five more minutes to make their agreed meeting before walking out. Draco is willing to excuse tardiness when asking wizards to meet up in muggle London, but only to a point. He is also going to lose the advantage of his pre-emptive observation as he likes to do, but it cannot be helped at this point. He figures that he already knows enough of Marcus from their teenage years to be not exactly suspicious of his motives, but certainly on alert.
Finally Flint makes his way through the door of the quaint café, tucked away on Floral Street. He spots Draco easily enough, there being only three tables, and sits down greeting him.
"Sorry I'm late." Marcus has the grace to begin with. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you Marcus. How are you? So, tell me about her." Draco cuts to the point.
Marcus settles in, starting right off. "Have you ever met someone and you knew right away she was going to be important to you? Not just because of her looks, but something almost mystical."
Draco smiles benevolently, he's heard different versions of this story many times by now. "How did you meet her?"
"Actually, I was in a muggle shop buying a robe for my mother…" Marcus fidgets slightly.
Knowingly, Draco continues in the same tone. "By that, of course, you mean you were buying lingerie for another woman."
"Yes. But in my defence, you can't help where you meet somebody. Besides the lingerie is for a woman I'm no longer seeing. But anyway, the witch I met, the one I was talking about, she's so sweet, funny, wild." Marcus gets agitated recalling the events. "She tells me to floo call her but since then everytime I try to reach her, I find the floo disconnected."
Frustration is clearly etched on his face. "I don't know what it is about her. I just can't get her out of my mind." His frown turns almost angry. "You know, food has lost its taste. Colours, they seem dull. Things that used to matter...I don't know, they just no longer fucking do."
Draco is seeing the Marcus of old emerge in front of him. He had been momentarily lulled by his opening statement, thinking his former housemate no longer was the hot head he had been, the Quidditch captain who had been easy to anger and lash out, the boy who had nothing good nor kind to say about witches in the changing room. That Marcus Flint is right in front of him right now as if no time had passed.
Oblivious to Draco edging away from him, Marcus continues on. "I think things are not going to snap back unless I fuck her. Clear my head. Get in, get off, get out."
Repulsed Draco straightens up, about to stand. "I think you may have misunderstood what I do exactly."
Flint grabs Draco's sleeve none too gently, growling. "No I haven't. I remember you from Hogwarts. I was told you help wizards get in there, that you manipulate others."
Draco shakes him off while finally standing up. "Right. But, see, here's the thing. My clients actually respect witches. Shag and run is not my thing."
Flint stands up as well, getting right in Draco's face, attempting to push him back down, spittle flying from his ugly mouth. "Listen to me, Malfoy. People can wince, cry, beg, but eventually they do what I want. I'm not against pulling on the broom handle so hard that it breaks."
Draco finds his old sneer coming back to his face. "So that's, like, a metaphor? You're lucky we're surrounded by muggles. Well, I'm more of a literal kind of guy these days." He grabs Flint's arm, spinning him around, twisting it hard behind his back while chokeholding him with the other. "So when I do this...this is more like me saying that I will literally break your shit off if you ever touch me again. Okay, pumpkin?"
Flint mumbles "Got it" straining in obvious pain.
Draco releases him with a shove, drops ten pounds on the table and walks away without looking back.