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“Drinks. Again?” Huh. That…was not what Draco had expected. “I honestly see no reason for that,” he said slowly.
“Um, because it’s fun?” Potter said. He almost sounded like Blaise. “And so we can get to know each other better.”
“Potter, we’ve known each other for years, there’s no—”
“Do we really, though?” Potter interrupted.
Draco wanted to roll his eyes, tell Potter to bugger off, but…he knew what Potter meant and if he was being honest, the offer was rather intriguing. But could he really risk it? There was a reason he had mostly avoided Potter all those years.
“You want to have another heart to heart?” he said, teasingly. Potter shrugged, as if he wanted to say ‘Why not?’ “I’m not a big fan of crowds,” Draco said, tapping a finger against his cup. “And your Gryffindor friends aren’t exactly—”
“Oh, no. I was actually thinking it’d be just you and me.”
Draco stopped moving, his mouth going dry.
Just you and me.
Was—Was this—Was Potter asking—No, that wasn’t possible. The more plausible explanation was that he simply needed a drinking buddy.
“You free tonight?” Potter asked.
Draco willed his heartbeat to slow down as he found Potter’s gaze and held it. “I guess I could spare an hour,” he drawled. He tried hard not to react to Potter’s grin, but failed. He could feel the corners of his mouth lifting upwards without his permission.
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile at me before,” Potter said quietly. Before the smile died on Draco’s lips, Potter leaned forward. “I like it.”
It was as though an erumpent had suddenly been let loose in Draco’s head, stomping on every brain cell that had survived Potter’s ridiculous revelation.
“Alright, I think I’d better get going now,” Potter said, already rising from his seat. “Can I use your floo?”
Draco nodded, numbly. He led the way to the parlour and wordlessly gestured to the fireplace.
“Right.” Potter paused. “I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”
Draco nodded again. It was ridiculous, really, that Potter had the ability to render him speechless like that. He watched Potter as he took a pinch of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.
“See you then,” he said. And right before he vanished, he smiled.
How Potter had managed to turn ‘Drinks, just you and me’ into ‘Dinner, just you and me’, without Draco noticing, was a real mystery. He had said something along the lines of, “Would you mind if we get something to eat first? I’m really hungry.”
Clearly, Potter had planned this all along, since he seemed to have made reservations at the Muggle restaurant he had hauled Draco to. The only question was: Why? He didn’t seem particularly hungry now, pushing his steak from left to right on his plate, instead of eating it.
“Is it not good?” Draco asked. He watched carefully as Potter bit his lip. He almost looked like a child, who had been asked to eat all their vegetables. His mouth was in a tight line while he slowly cut into the steak. The bite he took was so tiny, Draco wondered why he bothered chewing. Drinking in his strained expression, Draco decided not to comment on it and turned his attention to his own meal instead. Still, Potter’s behaviour was…odd. He had barely said a word since they had entered the restaurant.
They continued eating in silence and when the waiter came to clear the table, Draco noticed that Potter had barely eaten half of his meal.
“So, where are we going for drinks?” Draco asked as they stepped out of the restaurant.
“Actually…” Potter hesitated, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “I’m—I’m not feeling so good.”
“Oh.”
“Would you mind if we go another time?”
Draco kept his features impassive, even though disappointment bubbled up inside him. “Of course.”
“Thanks,” Potter muttered and turned on his heels. “I’ll owl you!”
Draco looked after him, flabbergasted. What the fuck had just happened? It had been Potter’s idea to go out! So why did Draco feel like he had just been dumped? Had Potter changed his mind about being friends? Had Draco done something? And since when was he questioning himself like a thirteen-year-old? Ugh, Potter could go fuck himself. This was just another reason why Draco should have stayed away from him.
Friday, 10 January 2003
Draco, I’m sorry about the other night.
Drinks tonight?
HP
Fuming, Draco scowled at the letter. Five days he hadn’t heard a word from Potter, and now this? The prat couldn’t be serious! Huffing, Draco grabbed his quill and scribbled down his answer.
Can’t tonight.
He tied the parchment to the owl’s foot and watched as it spread its wings and took off. Merely half an hour later, the same owl was sitting on his desk again, hooting cheerfully.
Tomorrow then?
Draco gritted his teeth. That cocky bastard.
I already have plans tomorrow.
After he made sure the owl was on its way, he trudged into the kitchen to make some tea. Even without being physically present, Potter was getting on his nerves. But, honestly, he should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Of course the owl came back again .
The whole day?
This was getting ridiculous.
Yes, the whole day.
Grabbing a book, Draco settled down on one of the sofas in the parlour, trying not to think about Potter. More than once, however, he caught himself peeking out the window, for any sign of the owl returning. After an hour, he gave up. He slammed the book shut and started pacing the room. Who did Potter think he was? Did he really think Draco would just answer to his beck and call?
His heart skipped a beat when the owl he had been waiting for glided through the window. He practically wrenched the parchment off the owl’s foot and unfolded it.
Are you playing hard to get?
Draco’s mouth fell open. How dare he! How dare he make the right assumption!
Draco stomped into his study, grabbed his quill and started writing.
That would imply
