Draco is more than unhappy to be woken by his alarm clock a mere two hours after he has fallen asleep. He scrabbles around on his side table for his wand and tries to banish the damn thing across the room. But a well rested Draco of several years ago had anticipated this scenario and applied a permanent sticking charm to the clock. Grumbling, Draco drops his wand again and hits the clock with his fist until it stops clanging.
He slowly opens his eyes, convinced that he is hungover. He grimaces as he looks around the room, searching for the glass of water he usually leaves on his nightstand after drinking. His bedside light is still on and he realizes he never turned it off before falling asleep. And then he notices the book, and memories of the night before wash over him.
"Oh shit," he says. He scoops up the now empty cover of the book and stares at the two flaps, while his mind tries (and fails) to understand what happened to the pages. He is suddenly very much awake, even if he is exhausted.
He scrambles out from under his duvet and begins looking around the room as though the missing pages might be hiding somewhere. They are not. He stops and stands perfectly still in the middle of the room. He looks around slowly as if the pages are just playing a game with him and he will be able to spot them if he catches them unawares. This is also not the case. He almost yells for Greg, but stops himself when he realizes that if he does that, he is going to have to tell Greg that he read the book even when Greg said to leave it alone. And he can't even remember what the book was about.
He remembers finishing the book, sure. He remembers reading the book, and that insatiable need to inhale the words off of the page. But for the life of him, he does not remember any of the content. He glares at the empty cover of the book, which lays open on the bed. He feels like the book is mocking him and he does not like it. He picks up the cover and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thud and then falls to the floor. Draco hurries over to it and examines it fearfully, in case he has damaged it. The book cover is fine. It is still inexplicably empty, but it is not damaged.
Draco sits down heavily on the end of his bed. He thinks he should never have opened the book. Damn it, but Greg was right. And now he does not know what to do with himself. He supposes he should get up and go to work and pretend that everything is fine until he can get home and examine the book again. Or, he supposes, what's left of the book.
He resolves not to tell Greg about what happened as he begins his morning routine. Instead, he turns on the wizarding wireless and sings loudly to the Boiling Cauldrons song that is playing, moving his hips in time to the beat while he waits for the shower water to reach a civilized temperature. He whistles along to the latest Deirdre Wurzbacher ballad as he washes his hair and as he does, he firmly tells himself that he is not thinking about the book. He continues dancing, this time to a classic by the Weird Sisters, as he dresses himself for work.
Once he's ready, he picks up the cover of the book and puts it back into the box it had arrived in. Then he puts that box into the built in cupboard that is nestled beneath the eaves at the far end of his landing. He tells himself to forget the book. What book? He doesn't know anything about any book. And he is most definitely not tired from staying up all night reading one.
He almost steps on Oliver's watch as he makes his way towards the stairs. He stops, the watch in front of his feet, and he wonders what to do with it. After a moment's pause, he takes his own watch off, picks up Oliver's and slips it on his wrist. He is not sure why he does it, but if feels right that he does.
"Thank bloody Circe for coffee," he says as he enters the kitchen.
"You look like shit," Greg says, looking up from the copy of the Daily Prophet that is reading as he eats his cereal. "Merlin, Draco, we didn't have that much to drink, did we?"
"Couldn't sleep," Draco mumbles. He does not want to go into the details and thankfully Greg does not ask. He stumbles over to the pot of coffee that is sitting on the counter and pours himself a mug. He tries to take a big sip, but he burns his tongue and must make do with a smaller one. He opens the refrigerator, pulls out the milk and adds a large splash of it to the coffee. He takes another sip. The coffee is not as hot and so he is able to slurp more of it down, though his mouth still protests the heat.
"Hopefully it's a slow day today," Greg says. Draco says nothing, only nods. Perhaps if it is a slow day, he can take a nap in the break room. He lifts his coffee back to his mouth and drinks several large mouthfuls. It is helping, but coffee can only help so much when you are running on two hours of sleep. If only he could remember what the book had been about, then perhaps the tiredness would feel like it had been worth it. But as much as he strains, he cannot remember a single sentence.
He pours himself some more coffee, refilling the mug to the top, and then gets himself a bowl of cereal before sitting down across the table from Greg. Greg turns the page and one of the pictures on the page he has just finished reading catches Draco's eye. The picture is of an older gentleman with a large, bushy, gray mustache. The man is waving at the camera as he enters a revolving door. Even without thinking about it, Draco knows that this man is Heilgar Mottić, a high ranking Croatian diplomat with ties to some shady figures.
Before he can say anything, Greg has finished turning the page and is smoothing the paper down so that he can continue reading. Draco stares into his cereal, unsure of what has just happened. If you had asked him yesterday, he is decently sure he would say that he had never heard of this Heilgar Mottić fellow, but now Draco can tell you the man's shoe size (45), height (1.7m) and the name of his two ex-wives (Rita and Natàlia). He supposes he must have read it somewhere, perhaps in passing. He frowns at his cereal and takes another bite. Greg does not notice anything out of the ordinary.
Draco is still in a strange mood as they make their way over to Flourish and Blotts thirty minutes later. He has a slight case of the too much coffee jitters, but he still feels incredibly tired. It is a terrible combination. And he is still feeling unsettled about knowing the man in the newspaper. He had refused to look at the Prophet again during breakfast in case it had happened again.
And of course, Big Dick is far too chipper when they enter the store. He has been buoyed by the success of yesterday and begins nattering on in Draco's ear the moment that he sees him about promotional ideas and events he wants to throw. Draco tries to listen, he really does, but most of what Big Dick says goes in one ear and out the other. He is just too tired.
Thankfully, the morning is quite slow, as most Saturday mornings are, so Draco manages to find time to sneak in an hour long nap, from which he emerges feeling better if not necessarily refreshed. Business picks up somewhat in the afternoon as some Hogwarts stragglers come for their textbooks. Draco has a particularly difficult time with one family who have four Hogwarts aged children, all of whom have some irritating foible or another. By the time they finally leave, Draco is on his last nerve, so when none other than the irritating git who goes by the name of Harry Potter strides into the store, nearly running into the family as they leave, Draco is in no mood to be polite.
He glares over at Potter as the prick slowly looks around the store. Draco is surprised that no one else has noticed him yet. The last time he had seen Saint Potter, the man had been surrounded by various hangers on. Granted, Potter is wearing a hat which obscures his scar, but Draco had picked him out of the crowded store immediately.
Circe, it has probably been seven or eight years since Draco last saw Potter. It would stand to reason that things had changed in that time. Draco thinks that the last he heard about Potter was that he was working as some sort of Auror for the Ministry. But when Potter looks over at him, and Draco takes his face in properly for the first time, Draco knows, with that same odd certainty that he had this morning, that Potter is more than just an Auror: he is an Unspeakable.
Draco frowns. He is concerned both that he knows this, and also that no one has told Potter that being a spy is a terrible career choice for someone who's face is known all over the wizarding world. But he supposes Potter probably threw some sort of strop and made them make him an Unspeakable anyway. That seems like a very Potter thing to do.
Potter spots him and starts to walk towards him. Draco's eyes go wide with what he quickly realizes is fright and he scampers off in the direction of the break room, pushing Greg in Potter's path as he goes.
He has almost made it there when he hears Potter call his name.
"Oi, Malfoy." Well shit. His distraction tactic hadn't worked. Not that he thought it would.
He turns slowly to face the brown haired git. Potter sidesteps Greg who gives him a curious look as he passes, and makes his way to towards Draco at the back of the store. Potter has let someone, probably that Granger woman, fix his eyesight and even at this distance his green eyes look bright without any lenses in front of them. Draco nibbles his lip and pushes away any thoughts of Potter being attractive, even if it is objectively true. He's not that desperate for a boyfriend. Not that Potter would want him. He never had, why would he start now?
Draco grinds his teeth, irritated that these teenage rejections still haunt him. Particularly as he also has to remind himself that they weren't rejections. Potter had hated him. He had never even considered Draco as anything but an enemy. Of course he would never look at Draco in a sexual manner. Even if he did swing that way. Which Draco is sure he doesn't.
Draco takes a deep, steadying breath and then plasters a smile on his face. The customer is always right, Big Dick's voice rings in his head. He will be damned if he is going to let the git ruin any chances of him being assistant manager. Even if he hasn't yet applied to the position.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," he says. "Welcome to Flourish and Blotts." He is aware that his smile does not reach his eyes, but he is too irritated and far too bloody tired to care. "How can I help you?" Draco takes a step towards Potter, fully taking in his appearance as he does.
Potter looks good. Really good. The last time Draco had seen him, Potter had been scrawny and pale, barely out of his teenage years and had looked too skinny for his broad frame. Now he has filled it out with muscle. Potter is wearing a black polo shirt, the cut of which shows off his biceps, tucked into grey pleated trousers. The only splash of color on him is his belt, which is crimson with small golden yellow stripes. Because of course Potter would have a bloody Gryffindor belt. Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes. He quickly looks away from Potter's crotch as he doesn't want anybody getting the wrong (or is it right?) idea were they to catch him staring.
"I am looking for a book," Potter says. Draco gives him a curt nod.
"Then you have come to the right place." He opens his arms wide and gestures around the store at the shelves upon shelves of books. "We sell books."
"Was that Goyle I saw back there?" Potter asks, stepping even closer to Draco.
"Yes."
"It's nice to see he seems to be adjusting well outside of Azkaban."
"It took him a while, but, yes, he's doing fine now." He does not add that it's no thanks to Potter, although for all he knows, Potter helped Greg get a reduced sentence. It's not something that he and Greg talk about much. What is past is past and all that. Draco looks around, anywhere but at Potter's face.
"Good, good."
"You said you wanted a book?" Draco says after a long moment of silence, during which Draco looked at bookshelves and Potter looked at Draco, trying to make eye contact, a small smile playing across his face.
"I did, didn't I?" Draco turns back to Potter in irritation.
"Potter, we're not at Hogwarts anymore. Stop dicking around. Do you want a book or not?"
"I'm not dicking around," Potter exclaims. A look of mock outrage crosses his face. "I most definitely came in here with the intention of buying a book."
"Oh yeah?" Draco sneers. "Which one?" He crosses his arms across his chest and glares at Potter. Potter smirks back at him. Draco ignores the way that this makes his pulse pick up.
"This one," Potter says, reaching out a hand and pulling a book off of the nearest shelf. He does not take his eyes off of Draco. Draco drops his gaze to look at the book Potter has chosen. He snorts with laughter. Potter glares at him and clutches Prefects Who Gained Power to his chest.
"You weren't even a prefect," Draco manages to say in between chuckles. He snatches the book from Potter and reads the back aloud. "'A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers. Recently updated to include a special section on legacy families.' Oh shit, this means I might be in there." He opens the book and begins flicking through the pages.
"Would you say this counts as having power?" Potter asks, gesturing around the store. His tone is light and he clearly means it as banter, but Draco is offended either way. He stops reading and instead uses the book to whack Potter on the side of the arm.
"Clearly ten years has done nothing for your manners," he says. He sticks his nose in the air and begins to walk away. Potter grabs him by the arm and pulls him back.
"Wait, Malfoy," he says. Draco stops and turns to face the brunet git again.
"What?" he snaps. He wants this interaction with Potter to be over as soon as humanly possible, but Potter seems determined to make it drag on.
"You're still holding my book." Draco scowls and shoves the book back at Potter. "Thank you." Draco turns and attempts to leave again, but again Potter grabs his arm.
"What is it with you?" Draco growls as he spins around for the second time. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" He is attempting to keep his temper in control - he is at work after all - but Potter is making it very difficult.
"Ok, you got me," Potter says. He holds his hands up in surrender. "I admit it. I'm not here to buy a book."
"I knew it," Draco hisses. "You did just come in here to mess around and piss me off. God, Potter, you're so transparent. And childish. What are you? Twelve?"
"No, Malfoy. I am twenty eight. I am also not here to piss you off. Quite the opposite in fact. I had come in here to ask you on a date, but it seems that you are the one who who hasn't grown up any since Hogwarts." He turns and begins to walk out of the store. Draco stands, gobsmacked, for a moment and then hurries after him. He catches up with Potter as he emerges onto Diagon Ally.
"Wait," he calls. Potter spins around. "I," he starts to say and then his voice catches in his throat. He clears it and tries again. "I'm sorry." Saying these words to Potter is difficult, but not as difficult as he had previously thought it might be. "I was out of line. I'm a bit tired today."
Potter arches an eyebrow at him and it's all Draco can do not to swoon. That was his facial expression of choice at Hogwarts (that and the smirk) and Potter can now pull it off so well. Or, perhaps he could in school, but Draco never saw it past his glasses. Or Draco didn't see it because he and Potter were arch-enemies and the only facial expressions Potter had ever made at him were those of disgust or anger. When all he had secretly ever wanted was for Harry to be his friend. Or, if he is feeling honest with himself (which is not often) more than his friend. And now he has the opportunity to make that happen. He wants to pinch himself to make sure that he isn't dreaming. He had hardly slept the night before, so he supposes this could be a dream. Is he still asleep on the couch in the break room?
"So, are you saying you would like go to on that date?" Potter asks after a long pause. Draco nods.
"Yes, Potter," he says. "I would." Potter's face breaks into a smile. Draco gets butterflies in his stomach. In all of the fantasies in which he had envisioned this might happen, it had never gone so smoothly, or fast. Perhaps it is this that convinces him most of all that he is awake.
"Great," Potter says. "That's great." He shifts from foot to foot.
"Uh, Potter," Draco says. "Are there any details aside from, 'at some point in the future we will go on a date' that I should be aware of?" Potter looks miles away for a moment before he comes back to the present.
"Right, that," Potter says. He gives a small, nervous laugh. Draco is not sure he has ever seen Potter nervous. He finds it endearing. "Are you free tonight?" Draco nods and waits for Potter to say more.
"Tell you what," Draco says after it becomes clear that Potter had not thought much farther than asking him out. "Why don't you stop by my house for a drink. I will make sure my roommate is out. And then we can go to dinner somewhere. How does that sound?" Draco hopes that this is low key enough that he won't get too nervous at the prospect of it. He can already feel the nerves starting to hit in the pit of his stomach and Potter is still standing in front of him. Potter gives him a grateful smile.
"That sounds wonderful. I'll make dinner reservations. Meet at six?" Draco takes a look at his - Oliver's - watch and nods.
"See you then, Potter says. "Nice watch by the way." And then Potter walks off. As he disappears into the crowd, Draco realizes he never gave Potter his address.
…
Harry is surprised at how much seeing Oliver's watch on Malfoy's wrist hurts him. He had known it was Oliver's watch at a glance. Of course he had. He wonders if it can still accept messages. Not that he is going to try that. A smile ghosts his lips as he imagines Malfoy's alarm at a message popping up on his wrist.
Although he feels like he should, Harry is not going to stop and evaluate his feelings when it comes to this whole situation. Because of something his late boyfriend had done, he is going on a date with said late boyfriend's ex-boyfriend, on whom Harry may have had a deeply denied crush, despite them being arch rivals in school? Yeah, he is not about to unpack his feelings about that right now.
But a mission is a mission and Croaker wants him to find out what happened to The Reliquary after it came into Malfoy's possession. Those had been Croaker's only instructions. He had been flailing towards the end of their conversation as their old rivalry had flared, when his subconscious had clearly taken over and asked Malfoy what he had perhaps secretly always wanted to ask him in school. And it seemed that maybe Malfoy had also secretly wanted that. Or, even if he had not wanted that then, he seemingly did want that now.
So, now all Harry needs to do is get dinner reservations. Preferably somewhere in the Muggle world, away from Malfoy's comfort zone. And, a small part of Harry thinks, away from anywhere anyone who might recognize them. Particularly anyone from the DMLEHS.
Harry knows the DMLEHS have their own investigation into The Reliquary, but he knows Croaker would much prefer to wrap this up internally before there is some sort of interdepartmental incident. He is not sure whose jurisdiction The Reliquary technically falls under, as it was supposed to be a joint project between all of the departments. But Croaker had pointed out to Harry that Oliver had been an Unspeakable, and so fixing his mistake should be done by them. And as Harry is not interested in playing office politics, he will follow Croaker's orders and let the man deal with any unwanted consequences himself.
Harry figures he will take Draco to dinner near his house, as it is one of the few parts of London which he knows anything about. He casts through his mind and decides that the Chinese restaurant around the corner might be nice. It is certainly one of Harry's favorites and if Malfoy doesn't like it, well, it's not as though this is a real date anyway. He can go home and complain to Goyle.
He looks around and then ducks onto Malfoy's street. There is no one around, but Harry whips out his invisibility cloak anyway. It is midday and he is about to break into Malfoy's house, now that he is sure both he and Goyle are still at work.
After all, if Harry can recover The Reliquary now, there will be no need to even go on the date. A part of Harry - a part that Harry is studiously ignoring - still wants to go on said date, even though most of Harry feels as though he is not going be ready for any sort of romantic entanglement any time in the near future. But Harry doesn't have time for emotions right now. He has a job to do.
He pulls out his wand and quickly runs some diagnostic spells over Malfoy's house. There are no obvious wards or security features, which Harry finds odd. He would have thought that someone of Malfoy's stature would have had at least a few shields or an alarm ward. But perhaps as the senior Malfoys have faded from public scrutiny, so has Draco? Or, thinks Harry, he has a more sophisticated system that my basic tests don't show. He thinks this option is more likely, so he makes his way over to the stoop of the house and sits down to run the more complicated analyses.
Thirty minutes later, Harry discovers his hunch is right. The security spell is woven so carefully into the structural spells of the building that Harry would have missed them had he not been looking for them specifically. Harry curses under his breath. The spell is not one that he can easily break, nor is it one he can bypass without specific input from either Malfoy or Goyle. He is going to have to wait until tonight when he is invited inside for drinks. Harry sighs. He wonders if this is how vampires feel when they can't enter buildings. No wonder more of them aren't spies.
…
"He what?" Greg asks as Draco relays his interaction with Potter to him later that afternoon. They are loitering around the love magic section, which is generally quite sparsely populated, even on the busiest of days, which this Saturday is decidedly not.
"He asked me out," Draco repeats. "On a date. Tonight."
"Well, shit."
"Seriously."
"And you said yes?" Greg asks.
"Yes," Draco says. Greg frowns at him.
"Why?" he asks. Draco is not sure what to say. Now does not seem like the best time to explain his complicated mix of feelings that he has had and that he still has about Potter. Draco is not entirely sure he understands all of these feelings himself. On a normal day, he actively pushes them away.
"I figured why not," he says after a moment. "I haven't really seen anyone after Oliver left and perhaps it's time that I do."
"Even after Wood sent you that book? Couldn't that perhaps be a sign he wants to get back in contact with you?" Greg asks. "What happened to it by the way? I thought you were going to show it to Mr. Blotts?"
"Oh, I forgot to bring it in this morning," Draco says quickly. "Perhaps I will ask him next week." Greg frowns at him for a moment and Draco fights to keep his face impassive using some of his Occlumency skills he has rarely exercised since the War. Then Greg shrugs.
Draco has thought about the fact that the book may have been Oliver trying to reach out to him, but he has spent so much time pining over the man that the thought of seeing him again is just too painful. And then, of course, Potter had asked him out and Draco had entirely forgotten about Oliver and the book. He blames his short attention span on the fact that he is tired.
"So, a date with Potter?" Draco wishes he would let this drop, but Greg has every right to be curious. If someone had asked Draco yesterday if he would agree to go on a date with Saint Potter, he knows he probably would have questioned their sanity.
"Yes, which reminds me. I need you to not be home at 6pm." Greg raises his eyebrows and Draco swats him on the shoulder. "It's nothing like that, just drinks."
"At our house?"
"I don't know what I was thinking," Draco admits. It had just been the first private place he could think of. He regrets it now because he can see the parallels with Oliver. But he doesn't want the world to know he's dating Potter. Or, rather, going on a date with Potter. And while Potter was able to hide under his hat earlier, Draco is not sure that ruse will fool the Prophet for long.
His mind wanders back to the unexpected information his brain had supplied to him about Potter being an Unspeakable. He is not sure how he knew that and the sudden knowledge disturbs him. He is starting to think that this and the incident with the picture in the Prophet this morning may have something to do with that stupid book.
He is regretting having read it for multiple reasons now, not least of all that he is still tired from having stayed up for most of the night. And he has a date tonight. Great timing. He's going to be fighting off yawns all through dinner and Potter is going to think it's because Draco finds him boring. Although, if he spends any time talking about how amazing he is or how great he was in the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco thinks he will be resisting the urge to gag rather than yawn.
"I'm still confused as to why you agreed to go out with him in the first place," Greg says. He is clearly put out about the fact that he can't go straight home tonight. Draco knows he will get over it as soon as he gets to the Cauldron and sees Hannah, but there are hours to go until then and Draco has to put up with him in the meantime.
"You and Hannah are always pushing me to find someone," Draco says. "And now you're questioning the first date I've been on since Ian."
"Who was Ian?"
"The muggle?"
"Oh, right. He doesn't count. You only went on two dates." Draco had thought Ian counted. Sure, it had only been two dates, but at least he had gotten laid. "And I'm questioning it because of who you're going on said date with. I mean, it's Potter, Draco. I thought you hated him."
"I did. Or I do. Or. I don't know, Greg. I'm not sure what came over me. He's attractive now." A small part of Draco protests and says he was always quite attractive, in a speccy, annoying kind of way.
"Ah," Greg says sagely. "So you were thinking with your little Draco then." Draco claps a hand to his forehead.
"Of course I was, Greg. It's a date."
"So you want to fuck him then?"
"I am not having this conversation with you." Draco turns and leaves Greg alone in the section. Greg stands and watches him go with a shrug.
"He wants to fuck him," he says to no one in particular.
Draco isn't sure how upset he should be by the question. It is probably quite fair of Greg to ask him that. But while, yes, he realizes he was going to go on a date with Potter, he wasn't necessarily planning to take him immediately to bed. But perhaps he should be planning to do that? What will Potter be expecting? And, probably more pertinent, where will any kind of sex be taking place? Because now Draco feels far too awkward to bring Potter home with him, but he has no idea where Potter even lives. What if they end up apparating to America? Draco quickly dismisses this idea as it is technically impossible, but the trans-Atlantic Floo is a real option and how could he not have considered that? And. And. And.
And nothing. They were going to have a perfectly normal date: drinks and dinner. And who knows what next. Maybe some clothes would be removed, maybe not. Either way, it was none of Greg's business.
Sorry this was a day late. As ever, feedback is appreciated. :)
