A/N: A drabble written for IWSC Writing School. This is a continuation of the previous chapter, but it can be read as a standalone fic for the purposes of the WS challenge.


School: Beauxbatons

Year: 4

Topics: Get a Move on: Sentence Fragments and Blunders

WC: 899


Ready or Not

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter, it's about time. Honestly, I think you'd probably be late to your own funeral." Draco peered at his watch, trying not to notice the sparkle in Potter's vibrant green eyes or the charming way his messy hair flopped as he ran across the pavement.

"Sorry," he said when he finally reached Draco, dropping his hand to his knees and bending slightly, gasping to catch his breath. "Got called…to the…Head Auror's office…and couldn't leave."

Draco rolled his eyes, taking advantage of Potter's distraction to admire his fine form. "Yes, well, you're the one who requested the presence of someone from legal for this interview, so let's be about it, shall we?"

Potter stood up straight and wiped a maroon-covered arm—his Auror robes obviously transfigured—across his brow, clearing the sweat. "Right, about that." Potter's eyes avoided Draco's, and he shifted his feet. He was up to something.

Something nefarious, obviously.

Draco refused to give the man any help. He'd let him hang himself with his own noose. So to speak, of course. It's not like he'd let the Saviour actually hang if it ever came to that. Not with that pretty neck.

Anyway.

"The thing is," Potter said, running a hand through his hair and blushing a pretty shade of pink, "thereisnointerview."

Surely, Draco didn't hear that correctly. "Pardon? Would you like to repeat that, please? In English? Or French would be fine as well. Even Italian. But this time, use actual words," Draco said, choosing his own words precisely and cleanly. So they couldn't be misunderstood.

Potter let out a long breath and turned to stare at the passing pedestrians, simple Muggles going about their lunch hours on a Monday in July. "Can we go somewhere more private?" When he looked back at Draco, his eyes were wide, begging. "Please?"

Crap. Draco was lost. He'd been lost in those eyes for nearly two years now. Every time they'd work together, have lunch with colleagues, or see each other at functions, Draco would find himself lost in those earnest green eyes. It was his problem to deal with, his unrequited crush on a straight colleague that was so far above his own political station that it was almost laughable.

If it didn't make him want to cry.

"Fine," he said, heaving a sigh that he hoped properly conveyed the amount of pain the inconvenience caused him to suffer.

Potter led him across the street to a little cafe with outdoor seating under a canopy, settling at a little table with two cups of tea.

"So, are you going to tell me why you pulled me from my workday under false pretences? Or am I going to have to guess?"

"Right." Potter cleared his throat. "I like you, Draco. You're clever and funny when you're not being an arsehole, and I admire how you're working to turn your life around. You haven't let the shit you went through, the way you were raised, define you. I still think you have abominable manners with people you think beneath you, and I will never like your father no matter what happens, but…I like you."

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. Trying to clear the cobwebs. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. "Well, that's very friendly of you, Potter. Thanks? I guess?"

Potter groaned, throwing back his head. "Shit."

"Now what?" Draco was completely confused.

"I don't mean it to be friendly. I'm trying to say I want to date you, and I'm bollocksing it all up."

Draco shook his head again, stunned. Terrified. "The Weaslette. Potter, what the hell are you doing? You're—You're straight. And practically engaged. I can't get involved like that. People already hate me." Merlin, he had to get out of here before someone saw them together. What the hell was Potter thinking?

"What? No! Ginny and I broke up. She's the one encouraging me to talk to you."

That did it. Draco was officially broken. His mind had cracked, and he was going to St Mungo's to live like a vegetable. Like Longbottom's parents and their crackpot teacher from second year. He'd lost the plot entirely. "Potter," he finally got out.

Potter pushed a glass of ice water in front of Draco. "Drink. Godric, you look like you're going to pass out."

Draco drank, the cold water bringing him back to reality, the sounds of neighbouring diners reentering his awareness.

Potter's mouth was tight, his eyes downturned and worried. "I ruined this, didn't I? You don't like me like that. Ginny thought you did, and I didn't want to wait anymore. I've waited so long to be myself, you know, and I just thought now that I'd figured things out, that I liked blokes and everything, I'd just go for it. Stupid, bloody Gryffindor, right?" He dropped his head in his hands.

Then it all came together. Everything Potter—Harry—had just said. Harry was single. He had the Weaslette's blessing. And he fancied Draco.

Draco forced himself to pull it together. He straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and held his head up high. "Well, Harry, if this is our first date, then I think you should buy lunch."

The most radiant smile crossed Harry's face, and Draco soaked it in like sunshine in a field of flowers. Harry Potter wanted to date Draco, and damn, if Draco wasn't ready.

Finis


A/N: For IWSC Judging:

2 sentence fragments:
Something nefarious, obviously.
If it didn't make him want to cry.

Sentence fragment used badly:
Not with that pretty neck.