A/n: Written for the Finals of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. We've come a loooooong way. Go Cannons!
Main prompt: Beater 2: Your character must assume everyone else acts a certain way. The assumption I've chosen is "people never change".
Opt prompts: (setting) Flourish and Blotts, (dialogue) "Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?", (song) "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac
Thanks to my gorgeous teammates for beta-ing!
Word count: 2981
nothing changes (but maybe I can)
Harry jerked awake to a loud clattering sound. He had his wand drawn, already on his feet.
A shadowy figure froze mid-stride, halfway between him and the door. What looked like a duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, the other arm outstretched from having just grabbed a coat. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Harry spotted a second coat sprawled over an overturned umbrella stand—the source of the sound that had woken him.
Harry's arm fell to his side as realisation seeped through in razor-sharp clarity.
"Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asked, voice cracking from disuse, thick with sleep and emotion.
A soft sigh escaped the retreating figure, and she turned around slowly. Ribbons of early-morning light fell across her face in jagged streamers, illuminating bits and pieces of her features—a dart of auburn hair here, a glint of brown eyes there. He caught sight of the irritated grimace just before she moved and was enveloped by the darkness again.
"I didn't want to wake you," she said, her soft voice betraying her frustration at having to have this conversation with him—again.
Harry threw up his arms. "Well, you have now."
She sighed again. "Harry, please. Let's not do this now." She strode forward and ushered him towards the bed. "It's still early; go back to sleep."
Had Harry not been through this dozens of times before, he may have acquiesced. Even now, he thought about it for a moment, exhausted. Then her duffel bag bumped him in the back and jerked him back to reality.
He halted abruptly. "No, Ginny."
Ginny sighed a third time, an agitated, impatient sound. "Harry—"
"No."
A tense silence followed his refusal to let her off the hook so easily, then she clicked her tongue and walked toward the door.
"Ginny!" he snapped, anger flooding through him.
"I can't do this, Harry!" she yelled back, throwing her bag on the floor and turning to face him. "I've had enough!"
Harry scoffed. "You've had enough?" He gestured wildly. "You're the one sneaking out in the middle of the night with no explanation!"
"Why do I need to explain myself?" she retorted. "This isn't the first time I've had to leave at odd hours! You know exactly where I'm going!"
Harry squared his shoulders, barely able to discern her angry features in the dim light. "Do I?"
Her silence was unbearable.
Ginny slowly picked up her bag and slung it over a shoulder. "I'm leaving. I don't have time for this right now." She turned and opened the door. "We can discuss this when I'm back in a few days."
"Don't bother," Harry said on impulse, following her out into the hallway.
"Fine, let's not talk about it, then," she snapped. "Let's forget about it and pretend everything's just fine, like we always do!"
She threw the front door open, and Harry caught it before it slammed against the wall. They glared at each other for a long moment, and he saw her hurt, frustration, helplessness, and guilt. However, the one emotion he wanted to see was nowhere to be found.
"No," he said again, his mind made up. "I meant don't bother coming back."
It took a moment for the words to sink in, then her eyes widened in shock. Harry moved away.
"I'll leave your stuff at Ron and Hermione's—you can pick it up from there."
"Harry—"
"Have a good practice, Ginny."
He walked away. It was only a few seconds later that he heard the door click shut. She usually waited until he was back in his bedroom before leaving, but he hadn't even made it halfway across the hallway this time.
He closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat. That was all the proof he needed to know he'd made the right decision. Unlike the previous times they'd ended things, this time he knew it was for real.
If there was one thing he'd come to accept from years of breaking and making up, it was that their relationship would never work. How could it, when nothing ever changed? Why would it, when she refused to change?
"But I don't want to!" Harry whined as Hermione dragged him off Diagon Alley and onto a quieter side street. "I did what you wanted and came with you—why're you kicking me when I'm down?"
"Oh, shush," Hermione admonished. "It's just a quick stop to pick up some books. Then we'll go straight home."
"You're the biggest liar if I ever met one," Harry grumbled. "We both know there's no chance a visit to the bookstore is going to be a quick stop for you."
Hermione ignored him as she stopped to peer in through a glass shopfront. Harry noted the cracked and peeling emerald-green painted wood, then looked up at the faded lettering, now a dull beige rather than the bright gold he remembered.
Flourish and Blotts was no longer the popular bookshop it had once been, out-businessed by the new, modern bookshops that had come up along Diagon Alley since the war. Pushed back into a corner that no one glanced twice at, the forgotten shop seemed to have assimilated into a state of abandon and disrepair.
"Wow, this place sure has seen better days," he muttered to himself as they slipped inside. Although the gentle tinkling of the bell sounded on their arrival, no one came to greet them at the front desk, making Harry wonder if there was anyone there at all.
Hermione walked straight to the back, as though she owned the place. Harry dawdled behind, taking in the worn interior, trying not to cough at the heavy smells of dust and mold.
He spotted a sign that read romantic comedies that was cracked straight through the middle. Scoffing, he was reading the titles lined along the bookshelves when Hermione appeared behind him.
"Come on; I got what I came for." She paused when she saw him studying the books. "What're you looking at?"
Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and said sardonically, "Just wondering if there were any stories about workaholic women who always choose their careers over their boyfriends."
Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but someone else beat her to it.
"Actually, we have an entire row dedicated to that."
Harry froze at the familiar voice, placing it instantly. Hermione's eyes widened, but there was amusement in them rather than dislike, and Harry turned around despite himself.
The blond approached them, looking ghostly in the pale lamplight, a telltale smirk tugging at his thin lips as his gunmetal eyes twinkled with familiarity.
"Might I interest you in a similar but lighter title, perhaps?"
He pulled out a dusty novella without waiting for an answer and held it out for Harry to read the front. Except the latter was much too shocked to do anything but gawk at the wizard standing before him.
It was Hermione who came to his rescue when she held up the basket in her arms and said, "Actually, I'm here to pick up the books I'd ordered. You said you would give me a good deal on them when I came down."
"For my most valued patron? Always," the blond said, disappearing through a gap between the shelves that Harry hadn't noticed before and reappearing around the other side. He made his way to the front of the shop, and Hermione began to follow.
Harry grabbed her by the elbow and leaned in to whisper, "Is that—"
"Draco Malfoy, yes," she said impatiently as she brushed him off and hurried to the front desk, where the blond was waiting with a patient smile.
Harry approached slowly, still shaken by the unexpected meeting, and listened to them go back and forth over pricing, deals, and continued patronage. Finally, Malfoy laughed, a sound that was so light and airy, it startled Harry all over again.
"I accept defeat," he said, wrapping the books and replacing them in the basket.
"Then why do I feel like I'm the one who lost?" Hermione said, although it was more of a playful quip than a complaint.
"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Granger," Malfoy replied, his eyes twinkling.
Hermione huffed. "I'll let you off this time and pay full price, but only because you're the only one who's able to meet my demands satisfactorily."
Malfoy bowed. "A gracious compliment."
Hermione tutted, but she was smiling. "I'll see you in two weeks time for my next order?"
"Can't wait."
Hermione gestured for Harry to follow, who did so in a daze, but just as he was walking past the front desk he chanced a peek at the blond, who—to Harry's complete and utter mortification—caught him looking and winked.
Winked! At him! Draco Malfoy did!
"You look absolutely gobsmacked," Hermione commented with a laugh once they'd exited the shop, and Harry rounded on her furiously.
"What was he doing there?" he demanded.
"Who, Draco?"
"Draco?" Harry repeated, shocked at the familiarity in her voice.
"Yes," she said, having the gall to feign confusion. "You know that was him back there, don't you?"
Harry exclaimed in frustration and stormed off, a laughing Hermione jogging to catch up to him. She hooked an arm around his and slowed their pace.
"I was only joking," she said, nudging Harry. He refused to look at her. "Oh, come now. If I'd told you Draco Malfoy was the new owner of Flourish and Blotts, I would've robbed myself of this reaction. And what a tragedy that would've been!"
Harry flung her arm away and stalked off, fuming as Hermione called after him, her laughter echoing through the quiet alleyway.
Well, he thought as he walked away, she did what she promised. Ginny is the last thing on my mind right now.
"You want me to do what?" Harry asked, gawking at Hermione, who was bustling about her study in a frenzy.
"It'll only take five minutes, Harry!" she snapped. "Ten at most. Just tell him you're there to pick up my books and that I'll pop over later this week to pay him."
Harry stared at the empty basket in his hands. "And he'd… do that for you?"
Hermione wagged a finger at him. "I don't know what kind of person you imagine him to be, but he's a perfect gentleman, I can assure you."
"You can assure me?" Harry repeated, now angry. "Blimey, Hermione, how well do you actually know him?"
What else had she hidden from him?
"Better than you think you do!" came the muffled reply from within a cabinet.
Harry pursed his lips and watched as Hermione grumbled to herself, rummaging about like a niffler hellbent on finding treasure. Finally, realising he wasn't going to get any more acknowledgement from her until he'd done her bidding, he sighed and spun on the spot.
Some things really never changed.
He arrived at one of the many Apparition points in Diagon Alley and took a few seconds to orient himself. Realising he'd landed much closer to Flourish and Blotts than he'd expected, he turned right and hurried off in the direction of the bookshop.
When he entered, he was surprised to find it bustling with activity. He ducked behind the closest bookshelf and stopped abruptly when he came face-to-face with a lovely vase of flowers. He sniffed the air, surprised that it no longer smelled dusty and abandoned.
Frowning in confusion, wondering if he'd walked into the wrong store, he was just about to leave when he spotted the blond across the room. He was bending down to the level of two young girls and seemed to be deep in conversation about two books he was holding.
After several moments, the girls nodded, grabbed one of the books, and ran off with excited shouts, leaving the blond to look after them with a smile. There was fondness in his expression that Harry would've never imagined the likes of Draco Malfoy to be capable of, and he remembered what Hermione had said.
Perhaps he didn't know the man after all.
It had been a decade since the war—it made sense Malfoy was no longer the person he used to be. After all, Harry would like to think that he'd changed considerably as well. But… had he? I mean, his brain supplied, Hermione's very much the same. And so is Ginny. So how much can people really change?
Malfoy spotted Harry just then, breaking him out of his conundrum, and Harry raised a hand in greeting awkwardly. The blond began walking towards him, and Harry did the same. He was just about to greet the other man when someone shoved past him, thrusting him forward.
The blond caught Harry deftly, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist, and steadied him. "Whoa," he said and chuckled. "You alright?"
"Never better," Harry muttered, straightening his coat and stepping away, ears red, cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat. "I'm here for uh…" He jostled the basket.
Malfoy nodded. He gestured over his shoulder. "They're in the back. Didn't want someone accidentally taking them." He nodded at the crowded shop. "If you wait a minute, I can bring them out for you."
"I'll come with you," Harry blurted without thinking. "I mean… if that's alright."
Malfoy looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Of course."
They wound behind shelves and customers, to the very back of the surprisingly spacious shop. Harry waited as Malfoy bent down to gather up a rather large stack of books and deposited them in the basket.
The blond handed the basket to Harry, who grabbed hold of the handle.
"Got it?" Malfoy asked, not letting go, and Harry flushed, embarrassed.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Er… Hermione said to tell you that she'd drop by in a few days to pay for these, if that's alright?"
Malfoy sighed, and for a second Harry thought he would say no. Then he smiled wryly and nodded.
"She always seems to get her way, doesn't she?" he said good-naturedly.
Harry laughed. "That's Hermione for you."
"If that were the case, I could've just owled them to her. I'm not sure why she bothered you to come all the way here."
Harry blinked. Suddenly, a drunken conversation from earlier that week popped into Harry's head, when Hermione had made him wait hours again because of work.
He'd been complaining about how he was sick and tired of being surrounded by career-driven women whom he respected immensely but could never deal with because he'd never come first. Hermione, fed up with his whining, had told him that if he was so sick of women then he should just go date men.
Harry swallowed thickly, wondering if this was her way of getting him to stop complaining.
"Well, I'm a quicker delivery boy than an owl, I reckon," he joked.
Malfoy's eyes lit up as he laughed, and a dimple formed at the corner of his mouth. Harry's mouth went dry.
Had he always been that good looking?
Harry thought back to the Malfoy he remembered from Hogwarts, and all he could picture was a sneering teenager. Maybe if he'd smiled more back then, Harry thought, realising again how much of the man before him was different than the one he remembered.
"Anyway, I best be off," Harry said, hugging the basket to his chest, feeling awkward.
"Wait," Malfoy said, drawing his wand. Harry stiffened, involuntarily reaching for his own wand, and the blond froze.
"Just a feather-light charm and a binding charm to help you with your endeavor," he explained, and Harry felt instant guilt.
He held out the basket and watched Malfoy perform a quick series of wand movements. The basket felt instantly lighter, then sturdy ropes snaked around the books and secured them to the base.
"Thank you," Harry said softly, unable to look up at the other man.
"My pleasure."
They stood in silence for a moment, and Harry finally looked up, wanting to apologise but not knowing how.
"I'd best return to my patrons," Malfoy said, his voice clipped, and Harry moved so the blond could walk past.
"I—I can pay for these right now," Harry said, feeling guilty, wanting to apologise in some way.
Malfoy looked back, a measured smile on his face. "There's no need for that. I trust Miss Granger to be a woman of her word."
"Then—" Harry glanced sideways and plucked a random book from the nearby shelf. "I'll buy this."
Malfoy's smile was slow but genial, the twinkle returning to his eyes, making them glitter like diamonds.
"I'll be taking a break in ten minutes," he said suddenly, as though guessing at Harry's intentions. "I haven't eaten anything all day, so I'm famished."
Harry stepped forward, basket still clutched close. "Let me buy you lunch." Then he scolded himself for assuming. "If—if that's alright."
Malfoy's tinkling laughter was a sound for sore ears, and Harry found himself relaxing.
"It's a deal," Malfoy said.
He nodded and returned to the throng of customers milling about the store, speaking to some as he passed by, smiling at others. Harry looked down at the basket in his arms and wondered anew if he was right in thinking people never changed.
When he looked up, it was to see Malfoy laughing at something an elderly witch was saying. Harry decided that taking the blond out for a meal didn't have to just be to appease his conscience—it could be a way to get to know each other. Malfoy deserved to be given a chance—they both did.
Maybe, Harry realised, it was less about wondering if others could change and more about being the change he wanted to see.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be the one to do things differently this time.