Title: Mr. X

Chapter: 8

Author: Arawna

Disclaimer: Anything pertaining to Harry Potter and Co. does not belong to me, rather to JKR and anyone else who has stuck their hand into this cauldron.

A/N: Aw, look Harry's getting better with his texting; I know you're all rapturous and morose at the same time. Well, deal with it.

Harry clung tight to his phone, again at odds about whether or not to make contact first again. He wanted to talk to X, but he thought maybe he'd be too selfish to open with a question as to his true identity. So now, he was faced with another problem: what conversation did he want to start?

Lucky for him, however, his phone vibrated in the middle of his contemplations.

So, how was your shower?

Harry felt himself redden slightly as he typed his reply.

what's it to you? it may have been an excellent shower, but im not telling you

Harry waited the moments it took X to reply. Over the days, he'd come to expect verbose answers that took a little longer to get to him, so he wasn't surprised that it took longer than it would've taken himself to reply.

Ah, my dear Harry, you have no gift for subtly. If you had a great shower and deny it, then I know it was great. I know you, Harry, maybe better than yourself. I guess that's what I get for watching/stalking you for so many years. And before you ask, no, I am not some psychotic fan boy; I just have a talent for observation…I'm glad you had a good shower.

Harry chuckled to himself; X really did have a talent for observation.

i've no clue what your talking about

First step is admitting you have a problem.

This time, he scoffed at the screen. What problem? Just because he refused to admit he had a 'great shower' didn't mean he has a problem, right?

yeah, sure.

As Harry waited for the response, he realized that he really did like talking to the other man and wanted to finally talk with him tête-à-tête. Before X could respond, he quickly typed another message and sent it.

so, who are you? you promised that you'd tell me this weekend, and it's friday, so that constitutes the weekend.

The reply to the flow of their conversation arrived first.

Ha! You're finally using grammar and correct punctuation. Next step: spelling.

His second message arrived moments later.

Are you adverse to a 'date' of sorts?

Harry bit his lip and weighed the pros and cons. On one hand, he'd finally realized he was attracted to Malfoy – well, Draco to be more specific. However, Draco would probably hex him unrecognizable if he'd ever brought up the subject. On the other hand, he had a seemingly interested man on the other end of the messages that he wasn't repulsed by. X made him laugh, made him think; hell, he insulted him and kept him on his toes – so to speak. He felt that he'd be betraying Draco (Gryffindor Loyalty comes out of nowhere, pushing toward the finish line) but realized that Draco would never give a fuck what he did (and Slytherin I-Don't-Give-A-Flying-Fuck takes the lead and – it's going, it's going – and it takes gold!).

sure. when and where?

--

Harry stood outside a small Italian restaurant the next evening, waiting for six o'clock to hurry up and arrive so that he could finally meet X face to face.

He'd told Hermione that he was coming out tonight, and he told her why. She seemed okay with it, but she had that 'I'm not so sure' look in her eyes. Ron kinda looked at him as if he were crazy but went along with it anyway.

Harry glanced at the clock on his phone one more time. 5:43. X said the reservations were for six, but he still felt as if he were either too early or too late, he wasn't quite sure which. Anxiously, he tugged at the collar of his button up dress shirt, wishing the other man hadn't chosen a restaurant that had a dress code. Hermione had insisted that he wear a tie, but Ron agreed with him, saying that it would seem too formal. Watching the older men exit and enter with their younger lady friends on their arms, he began wishing he had taken 'Mione's advice, since all the other men wore one patterned tie or another.

He checked the clock again. 5:47.

Damn, time passes slowly when you're waiting, he thought to himself.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall just outside the door. What a sight he would've made: the Man Who Lived wearing dress clothes and leaning against a stone wall. Not quite something one would see everyday. Impatient, he glanced down one direction of the street, then up the other.

When is he going to get here? He wanted to know. He glanced again at his phone; ten more minutes. Needing to be moving, he pushed himself off the wall and began to pace in front of the restaurant. Come on, X. Where are you?

Almost as if answering his unspoken question, his phone vibrated. Hoping it wasn't the other man texting to cancel, Harry flipped it open. He had expected it to say 'one received message', as it always had, but instead, he found the image of a phone ringing and the name 'Mr. X' below it. Hesitantly, he pushed a button to answer the call and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, cautiously.

"Hello, Potter," a voice he hadn't heard in almost a year drawled both in his ear and from behind him. "Now, tell me why you couldn't at least try to calm that nest you call hair."

TBC…

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A/N: I'm a bitch, aren't I? And, yes, I do take a perverse pleasure in this. Muhahahaha!!