Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13 (eventual R)
Word Count: 1545
Summary: Harry's having girl problems, Ron and Hermione think they're doing the right thing, and Draco's the Matchmaker of Hogwarts. In a situation such as this, trouble is guaranteed.
Warnings: This is YAOI, slash, m/m; a story that features a homosexual relationship. If you dislike things such as these, just hit the backbutton now. I will not tolerate any bashing of my OTP.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! This chapter may make you think top!Draco, but I like top!Harry more, so never fear! (there'll be a bit of both, I assure you)
Draco spun around once in his fancy revolving chair, indulging in his occasional childish impulses. He was begrudgingly fond of this chair, as it had been the first piece of furniture he had purchased specifically for his private room, which was dedicated to Malfoy Matchmaking. It had taken his father a plethora of convincing words and generous donations, but Dumbledore had finally relented and granted Draco an office of sorts. He spent most of his time here, reviewing Matches and fine-tuning his compatibility spells. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
The Slytherin wasn't quite sure how he had delved into the realm of romantic entrepreneurship. He had been chatting with Pansy one day, tuning out most of the nonsensical gossip she tended to rattle off importantly, as if Draco truly cared about who so-and-so was dating. She then dove into a heated and tearful rant about how hard it was to find one's soulmate, and other blasphemy Draco was content to ignore, but, being the true Malfoy heir that he was, he saw the potential in creating a business that focused solely on matching people with their 'true loves'.
Needless to say, Malfoy Matchmaking had been an instant hit.
163 Matches later, and he was being employed by Harry bloody Potter! As if things got any better than that. Draco was going to sincerely enjoy his time with the Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, there was the whole privacy guarantee thing that would prevent him from spreading any rumors, but he could always clandestinely torment Potter, and that was good enough for him. For now.
Mid-spin, a knock on the door caused Draco to nearly topple out of his chair. He immediately straightened up, patting down his clothes and tightening his tie, a scowl gracing his aristocratic features. Malfoys did not look unkempt, no matter who they were meeting, or when. It just so happened that on this day he was meeting the Golden Boy, so, of course, he had dressed to impress. If looks could kill, he was sure Potter would be hyperventilating the moment he set eyes on Draco, and not just because his expression was frigid as ice.
"Malfoy," Potter deadpanned, after Draco had poked his head into the corridor to see who his visitor was. Behind foggy glasses, it was hard to see the flashing green eyes that were currently narrowing in Draco's direction.
"Potter," Draco said graciously, opening the door further in order to allow the boy to pass. He plastered a deceptively innocent smile upon his face as he beckoned Potter inside, though he did not move from his position half-blocking the entrance.
"Are you going to let me pass, or what?" Potter snapped, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but there, outside of Draco's office in the dungeons.
"Oh, don't mind me," the blonde replied casually, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms in one fluid motion. He raised his eyebrows a fraction, silently challenging Potter to do something, anything.
Predictably enough, the Chosen One tried to shove past Draco, causing the Slytherin to stumble slightly, before admirably regaining his balance. Appearing as though that was the most normal thing in the world, Draco sauntered over to his chair and sat down gracefully. Potter, grumbling all the while, unceremoniously plopped into his wooden seat. He glared with all of his might at Draco, who had propped his feet up on his maple desk.
Piles of papers were stacked and organized in alphabetical order on the desk's glossy surface, and Draco lazily sifted through them in order to find Potter's file. It wasn't very hard, as there were hardly any students at the school with last names under 'P'. With a smirk, Draco flipped open the manilla folder he had extracted from the rest, pretending to scan over contents he had already memorized a long while ago. Birth date, height, weight, the standard information available to anyone who bothered to go to the library, it was all there. But it wasn't enough.
"So, Potter. Let's get down to business," Draco finally said, shattering the silence that was thickening the air around them. Potter appeared to be quite uncomfortable, shifting in his chair and casting longing glances towards the door. This only widened Draco's smirk, as he was thoroughly enjoying Potter's unease.
"Right, Malfoy. About this. I didn't ask Hermione and Ron to talk to you, and frankly, I would rather go to a flobberworm for advice on girls-"
A derisive snort from across the desk interrupted Potter mid-sentence, but Draco, who appeared to be mildly amused with the proceedings, waved a hand, indicating Potter should continue on with whatever he had been saying.
"Rather than asking you," Potter finished. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't want to be here, you don't want me to be here, so why don't you just give Hermione a refund, and we can all be happy?" A hopeful gleam could be seen in Potter's eyes, which made Draco all the more eager to crush such optimism.
"Sorry, it strictly states in my policy that my matches are nonrefundable," Draco replied promptly, making a mental note to write up a policy. How he had carried on for the past 163 customers without one was beyond him, but no one seemed to want to defy the big, bad 'Death-Eater-in-training'. He was just fine with that, despite having no desire to follow in his dear daddy's footsteps.
Potter let out a cry of outrage. "I haven't even been matched yet!"
"If you would shut your useless mouth, we would be nearly finished by now." Draco placed his chin in his hand, staring at Potter with feigned disinterest. In reality, he was discreetly analyzing Potter. Draco had to admit Potter wasn't that horrendously disfigured, or else he would not have been so popular with females (before they broke up with him, of course).
Yes, his hair was the equivalent of a jet-black bird's nest, but with the proper styling and hair products, it could achieve an undeniably attractive 'just-shagged' look. Draco was also well-aware that behind the repulsively old-fashioned glasses Potter insisted on wearing were a pair of piercing green eyes that would make any girl swoon (Draco would know, he'd been close enough to see them plenty of times). As for the clothes... If the Slytherin had a say in anything, Potter's entire wardrobe would be 'incendio-ed'.
"How in the world can a mouth be useless?" Potter asked, bemused. He had totally missed the point of Draco's response, but had he expected Potter to comply with anything that he wanted? Not really, no. Didn't mean he wasn't going to mess with the Golden Gryffindor a bit, though.
With a lascivious grin, the Slytherin said, "To be honest, I can think of about ten better uses I could put to your mouth right now." His tone was positively overflowing with suggestiveness, and he licked his lips very slowly, delighting in the fact that Potter's eyes had followed every movement of his tongue.
Draco's gaze was fixed on Potter, so he noticed the subtle shake of Potter's head as the boy apparently attempted to startle himself out of the trance he had fallen into. Noticing Draco's scrutiny, Potter turned a delightful shade of red that nearly had Draco cackling mirthfully.
"Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull here-"
Potter was once again prevented from finishing by Draco, who snapped, "Your friends are concerned about you, the least you can do is bloody well humor them." Unblemished skin smoothed as Draco's expression returned to its typical impassiveness. "If you wish to betray their good intent, be my guest, leave. I'm sure Weasel could spare a knut or two for his girlfriend, after all her hard-earned money is put to waste."
Potter's jaw clenched and then unclenched, as the Boy-Who-Lived made an obvious attempt to breathe deeply and refrain from punching a hole through the wall. Draco figured this whole ordeal would be a lot less painful if he kept the snark to a minimum, but that might as well be like telling him not to breathe. Finally, Potter said, quietly, "Okay, I'll hear you out."
Draco smirked triumphantly. "First things first, then. Can you confirm the following information? Date of birth 31 July, 1980, blood status, half, son of James Potter and Lily Potter, wand, Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather, boggart, dementors, patronus, stag, and future vanquisher of the Dark Lord? Correct?"
Potter gaped at Draco in something akin to abject horror, no doubt feeling vulnerable and exposed as his personal information was revealed. It didn't compare to what Draco planned on discovering today, though. Finally, after what seemed like the lifespan of a blast-ended skrew had passed, Potter gulped and finally nodded.
"Great," Draco said breezily, "Now we make the Unbreakable Vow, put you under Veritaserum, and get this show on the road."
"Unbreakable Vow? You didn't say anything about making Vows, Malfoy," Potter scowled, growing more and more suspicious by the second. Draco smiled innocently- a bit too innocently.
"The policy, Potter, the policy."
As Potter glowered at the blonde, Draco pressed a red buzzer that lay on his desk. In less than a minute flat, Pansy Parkinson stormed into the room, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her that left little to the imagination. Damp brown hair framed a face that was scowling in a much more frightening manner than Potter could ever hope to achieve.
Draco appeared completely unfazed by the half-naked Slytherin girl in his office, while Potter was blushing furiously and looked as though he were about to bolt for the door. "Pansy, love, glad you could make it," Draco drawled, his tone implying that he was extremely bored, despite the contradictory glint in silver eyes.
"Draco, if you ring for me while I'm in the shower one more time-"
"I know, I know, you'll shove an erumpent horn up my-"
"Do not finish that sentence!" Potter exclaimed, now covering his eyes, as Pansy's towel seemed to be slipping downward without notice.
"Don't think for a second I will not, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Father bought a whole new stock just last weekend," Pansy threatened dangerously. She was infuriated further when Draco began to chuckle, though he attempted to stifle it behind his palm.
"No, sorry, love. I'm scared, truly terrified. Now, can we continue on with the Vow? Please?" Draco asked, schooling his features into a puppy-dog-like expression he knew Pansy could not resist.
As expected, Pansy sighed. "Fine, fine," she conceded, her anger crumbling and effectively fading away. "Let's get on with it, then." Rolling her eyes, Pansy produced her wand from the folds of the towel (which she had readjusted if only to shut Potter up). She stood just beside the desk, and waited impatiently for Draco and Potter to clasp right hands, which they did after a brief staring content.
When their hands were linked, Pansy placed the tip of her wand on their entwined fingers. Using his left hand, Draco plucked a parchment off nearby stack of papers and shoved it towards Potter, who glanced at it warily. His eyes widened slightly as he read through the script, but he turned to face the two Slytherins after a pointed cough from Pansy.
"I don't have all day, Potter. Some of us actually have to work to get what we want," sneered Pansy. Draco 'tsk'-ed patronizingly, but also motioned with his left hand, telling the Boy-Who-Lived to hurry it up already.
For a split-second, it seemed as though Potter was about to disagree, but he remained where he was and began to speak. "Will you, Draco Malfoy, swear to keep all information discussed in this room strictly private?"
"I will."
A snake of bright red light slithered forth from Pansy's wand, intertwining itself around the joint of Draco and Potter's hands.
"And will you, to the best of your abilities, provide for me your services with unswerving loyalty and no bias?"
"I will."
A second tongue of fire erupted from Pansy's wand, encircling their hands once again and interlinking with the first.
"And will you... continue to match me, until I have found my soul mate?"
Potter's hesitation caused Draco's lips to curl into a smirk, as he murmured, "I will."
A third flame escaped Pansy's wand, uniting with the previous blazing strands. The glowing chains flared brightly for a moment, before the light faded and sight was returned to the room's occupants. The somber mood dissipated at once, broken by the annoyed tapping of Pansy's food.
"Thanks, Pans," Draco said, beaming winningly. With an indignant huff, Pansy stalked out of the room, leaving a trail of water behind her.
Draco's gaze shifted back to Potter, who seemed every bit as distressed as he had before. It was oddly endearing, the way he worried his lip between his teeth, brow furrowed as if he was concentrating extremely hard on something... Draco mentally smacked himself upside the head. Potter and endearing did not belong in the same sentence. He must have been shaken up from the Vow, that was all. It was always a tad discomfiting for him, knowing that he would die if he failed to match someone correctly. It was all about the customer satisfaction in the end.
"You said something about... veritaserum?" Potter finally asked, glancing between his fidgeting hands and Draco's relaxed form.
"Ah, yes, the truth serum." Draco rummaged about in one of the desk's many drawers, extracting a vial of clear liquid. He handed it to Potter, staring at him expectantly.
Potter gulped. "Is this honestly necessary? How can I be sure this isn't some elaborate joke on me?"
"Scared, Potter?" Draco smirked and arched an eyebrow provokingly.
Gritting his teeth, Potter jerked his head no, his dark bangs parting to reveal his scar for a heartbeat, before the Golden Boy smoothed it down flat. "Like I'd ever be scared of you, Malfoy. Let's just get this over with." With that, the contents of the vial were downed, and the two boys were left staring at each other in silence for a few moments.
"What do you like in a girl?"
Forced to answer truthfully, he replied, "Headstrong, independent. Not too emotional, none who are too weepy. Energetic, lively. Funny."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Great, you've just described the Weaslette for me. That relationship is dead and gone, Potter, dead and gone. How far have you gone with anyone before?"
At this, Potter flushed so thoroughly that he could have been mistaken for a Weasley. Draco snickered, but patiently awaited the inevitable answer.
"I... how far? Er," the Gryffindor stammered, doing a fantastic impression of a tomato. Draco sighed, long-suffering.
"Have you ever had sex before, Potter?" he asked, brushing a lock of platinum blonde hair out of his face. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, gazing at his client expectantly.
"Er, uh, no," Potter stuttered finally, his face aflame with the extent of his embarrassment. Draco's eyes widened impossibly, and then he began to laugh. Potter grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Shut up, wanker,", but Draco was too amused at this point to care.
"Let me get this straight," Draco said, grinning, "Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived extraordinaire, who can pretty much get laid whenever he wants by just saying his name, has never had sex?"
"Do I need to spell it out for you?"
Ignoring him, Draco continued chuckling. "Oh, this is great, this is fantastic. So, absolutely no experience, wants a girl exactly like the Weaslette. I think we're just about done for the day."
Draco snapped the folder he was holding shut, and tossed it onto his desk, carelessly. Potter looked flabbergasted, and Draco rolled his eyes, motioning towards the door. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out," he sneered, before swiveling his chair away and attempting to look nonchalant, when really, he felt as if he had just came across a pot of Galleons.
He was extremely surprised, then, when he felt his chair being twisted around. All of a sudden, a tanned face loomed in his vision. Recovering from his shock, Draco simply waited, motionlessly, for Potter to do something.
"If you tell anyone what I just said, Malfoy, anyone at all-"
"I'll die. Unbreakable Vow, Potter, remember?" Draco asked, in a bored tone of voice. Potter had the good-sense to look briefly ashamed, but he didn't remove his head from Draco's personal space. Draco rose from his seat, then, a predatory smile upon his face as Potter stumbled backwards subsequently.
Draco walked forward slowly, slender fingers trailing on the edge of his desk as he approached Potter. The green-eyed Savior looked like a deer caught in headlights as he stood in the middle of Draco's office, seemingly paralyzed. "Can I," he drawled, voice lowering an octave, "help you, Mr. Potter?"
Potter didn't respond, other than to stare back at Draco somewhat challenging. Draco was clueless as to what the other boy's motives were, but he continued to walk forward, causing Potter to step backwards. They continued this dance of sorts, until they had reached the door, and Potter had nowhere left to run, trapped between the wall, and Draco. Rather than stop, however, Draco took another step closer, so that he was nearly nose-to-nose with the Boy-Who-Lived.
He could smell the almost woodsy sent of Potter now, as his breath came in short pants and surrounded Draco, wrapping him up in it. From up close, Potter was even more deliciously toned. The lean muscles of his shoulders and chest were evident through his robes, and at the moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to tear the blasted uniform right off the boy and see just how delicious Potter really was...
No. Draco would not do such a thing, because Malfoys did not like Potters, and that was that. However, a bit of teasing wouldn't hurt, not at all.
Draco placed his hand on the door just above Potter's shoulder and leaned in, ever-so-slowly. Stormy grey eyes met blazing green as his lips ghosted across the skin of Potter's cheeks, and upwards, until they were just at the Gryffindor's ears. "See you next week, Potter," Draco murmured. He brought his hand down towards the handle of the door, twisted, and threw it backwards, causing Potter to fall into the hall and onto his arse.
With a final smirk, Draco waved his hand and the door slammed close once again, leaving a fuming Gryffindor just outside. Feeling quite satisfied, Draco turned around and returned to his chair, tugging on the waistband of his trousers and wondering why they were just a bit tight all of a sudden.