House: Slytherin

Category: Short

Prompt: "If I could turn back time and undo what I've done…" [Speech]

Word Count (excluding A/N): 1125

Summary: Ron's ignoring Hermione again, so Harry decides his friend could use some competition — in the form of Draco Malfoy.

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"Oh, if I could turn back time and undo what I've done…" Rom moaned, burying his head between his hands. "Hermione would never have married that Slytherin wanker."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron's theatrics and patted his friend on the back. "Don't be so melodramatic, Ron. It's only one date."

"Yeah, but I saw how his pants bulged as he left the house! I'm telling you, Harry— what if it was a ring? I can't match one of his fancy Malfoy rings! You've seen the one in my sock drawer!"

"Ron, that's ridiculous," Harry said, smirking as he signalled Ron a refill from the bartender. "It's their first date; even purebloods don't move that fast. Plus, I have it on good authority Draco's not attracted to Hermione."

"That tosser's Draco now, is he?" Ron turned to face Harry, his eyes remarkably bright for someone who'd downed nearly seven shots in quick succession. "I wonder what changed that."

Harry flushed. "N-nothing," he stammered. "B-but he's dating Hermione now, so I thought I should at least call him by his first name."

Diverted, Ron reddened, his hands flexing murderously around his shot glass. "Ferret-face had better watch his step around Hermione. If he so much as touches her—"

"Ron," Harry interrupted, "he's sure to kiss her goodnight."

"You're right Harry, but if one of his hands 'slip' I'll—" Then his eyes widened in horror. "What if that bulge was something else? He'll ruin her! And since she doesn't have any Wizarding relatives, we'll have to avenge her honor!"

Harry only kept from laughing with extreme force of will; once he was certain he could speak without laughing, he said as solemnly as he could manage, "I'm sure it won't come to that."

"B-b-but if he's given her a ring—" Ron slurred, the copious amount he'd drunk finally catching up to him.

"Then you can give her one from the Black or Potter vaults," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Though Hermione doesn't care about the ring as much as the man."

"That's what I'm saying, Harry— girls care about the 'mmm-man' more than his ring—" Ron gave Harry an exaggerated wink.

Wrinkling his nose, Harry glanced around the Leaky Cauldron to ensure no one had heard, then frowned at Ron. "I think you've had enough to drink," he said decisively. "Come back to my flat. I've got some Sober-Up."

"Thanks, Harry. You're—" Ron tried to get to his feet, but lurched alarmingly to one side instead. "You're a good mate. Mmmm— my-my best mate."

"Glad to hear it." Harry supported Ron as they hobbled to the door. "Now, you've got to Side-Along, so hold on tight."

"Honestly, what's taking Harry so long?" Hermione said, frowning as she checked her wristwatch.

"I don't want to be here any more than you do, Granger," Draco replied, frowning as he poured himself a glass of the restaurant's supposedly 'fine' wine. "The press is going to have a field day— Muggleborn and Malfoy Married?" At the idea, he snorted.

Hermione chuckled as well. "Why are you doing this, anyways?"

Draco took a sip of wine, raised an eyebrow, then answered, "That's for me to know and you to find out, Granger."

"Well, Malfoy," she huffed, "aren't you just a man of mystery. Why Harry insisted I go on a date with you? You don't even like me."

Draco made a noncommittal noise which Hermione apparently took as encouragement, for she added, "So why am I here? Tell me!"

But instead of answering her question, he lifted his glass. "Let's drink to your ignorance, Granger. Cheers!" He began to take a swig, but as he did so, he noticed a shock of ginger hair at the edge of his vision. "It seems my ordeal is coming to a close, and my reward is fast approaching…"

"What do you mean by that?" Granger seemed exasperated, but then she spun about and saw Ron approaching. Her face lit up up. "Ron! Wonder what he doing here?"

"You mean you can't guess?" Malfoy clucked his tongue. "And you were top of our class. Well, I suppose you were a Gryffindork…"

To his surprise, she laughed at that, high and loud and utterly false. And when he shot a look at her, she smirked and whispered, "I'm not completely clueless, Malfoy. Now chuckle."

Bemused, Draco did as she requested, even reaching over and entwining her fingers with his. She made to pull away, but before she could, Ron Weasley appeared at their table.

"What a cozy scene," he snarled. "You two little lovebirds."

Hermione twitched, but continued to hold Draco's hand. "I've actually enjoyed my time with Ma— Draco. I've had a nice time with Draco. He, at least, listens to what I have to say."

"Yeah right," Ron growled. "He just wants you 'cause you're a war heroine. I can't believe you went out with him! What happened?"

"Harry told me to have dinner with Draco here, and I'm glad I did."

Ron snarled, "Right, 'cause dinner with Malfoy—" Then the full meaning of Hermione's words hit him. "Harry? Harry told you that?"

"Yes, Harry told her that." Malfoy regarded the pair with exasperation. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it seems that my part in this charade is finished, and I bid you goodnight. Waiter!"

The maitre d'eur hurried over and Malfoy quickly paid, eager to escape Weasley's presence; however, he wasn't fast enough, for the redhead caught his sleeve and asked, "What about your food?"

"Oh, that?" Draco wriggled out of his grip. "You may have it. I haven't touched it. Now, I have a friend to visit." With that, he hurried out of the restaurant and apparated away.

Draco threw himself onto the couch with a groan. "Honestly, Harry, I don't know why I agreed to help you play match-maker between your friends."

"Because you love me?" Harry suggested, drying his hands on his robes as he entered the living room. "Now, I hope you brought wine."

"Of course," Draco replied, rolling his eyes as got to his feet and he pulled the vintage from his pants pocket. "Your selection is pitiful."

"Well, your cooking is terrible, and man can't live on wine alone." Then, Harry burst into laughter. "The wine was in your pants?"

"Yeah," Draco said defensively. "What about it?"

"Nothing— just that Ron kept going on and on about what that bulge signified." Harry snorted. "As if you'd ever be interested in Hermione."

Draco drew closer and ran a possessive hand along Harry's cheek. "She's definitely not my type, but I do know someone who is—"

"So do I, but not until after dinner," Harry interrupted with a smirk. "We'll need our energy for later…"

Draco scowled. "Fine. It's a good thing I love your cooking, Harry."

"And I your wine, Draco. Now come on— I made sauteéd broccoli and charbroiled filets of salmon…"

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