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One Harry Potter, Please (If Possible, Seduced and Ready)

CHAPTER NINE

The last time Harry felt like this he had been in a cold, damp hut and a giant man with a beard had told him he was a wizard. Elation was the word that described his feelings accurately. Then, even though he had been eleven, he knew his life was about to change for the better. Nothing had ever managed to replace that particular memory; he had never felt quite that happy, that excited, not until this moment.

For several glorious seconds, Harry was in heaven. Despite the evidence to the contrary, despite common sense and logic telling him otherwise, for those few seconds he actually believed that Draco Malfoy wanted him, admired him, loved him.

It should have happened in slow-motion, like in the cheesy movies. Malfoy should have approached him slowly, prolonging Harry's happiness, letting him get a good look at what he was about to get, but in no time Malfoy was sitting at Harry's table, smiling a wide but obviously fake smile.

"Potter." Malfoy nodded, extending his hand to offer Harry the rose. "You'll catch flies like that," he sneered.

Harry stared at the rose, his reason returning to him gradually. Malfoy's voice had broken the illusion, the sound of it reminding Harry that this was real and not one of his fantasies. And in the real world, Malfoy hated him. Harry's conclusion that Malfoy wasn't his secret admirer had been based on solid evidence.

Malfoy's smile faltered and he dropped the rose on the table, then hid his hands, placing them in his lap.

It took Harry more than a few minutes to find his voice. The waitress had come and gone, and then returned to bring Malfoy whiskey before Harry managed to speak.

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked, his teeth pressed so tightly together Harry was sure he would never be able to unclench them.

Malfoy blinked and cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"To my real secret admirer?"

Malfoy blinked again and then looked around as though to say, "I don't see anyone else here."

"What did you do to him?" Harry growled so loudly that a man and a woman sitting several feet away turned around to glare at him.

"Dropped him into the sewer." Malfoy took a sip of whiskey, staring at his glass for a second. He took another sip, then downed the entire content.

"Is this your idea of a joke? You think this is funny?"

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, eyeing Harry through his lowered eyelashes. His expression was tight, but otherwise he presented a picture of perfect nonchalance. "I understand you're disappointed, but —"

"Disappointed? Try furious."

"Well, I hoped there was a chance you'd react differently. I'm sorry to see I was wrong." Malfoy had the nerve to look truly insulted.

"What exactly did you expect? That I'd congratulate you for purposely ruining my date? That I'll thank you for meddling in my life? Were you actually worried that I'll die and ruin your career? Or are you getting some sort of kick out of this?"

A muscle in Malfoy's jaw twitched and his lips pressed into a tight line. He leaned in and placed one hand on the table, nearly touching Harry's fingers. Momentarily distracted, Harry held his breath as Malfoy's hand moved closer. Harry's hand was already trembling in anticipation of the touch, but Malfoy reached for the rose.

"Did you miss the moment when I walked in holding this?" Malfoy waved the rose around, glaring at Harry. That had probably been a bad moment to notice Malfoy's eyes looked especially dark in the candlelight, the blond lashes emphasising the black of his pupils, the soft light making his features seem softer and his hair especially vibrant. It almost made him look vulnerable, almost a little desperate. Which proved nothing except that Malfoy was a good actor. Which must have been the real reason he sounded so honest when he said, "This is supposed to prove I'm the person who secretly cares for you, and that I'm the one who wants to be here with you. And that is true."

"This only proves you're a scheming bastard you've always been."

Malfoy had no answer to this; he merely clenched his fist, destroying the stem of the rose.

Harry tore his gaze away from Malfoy's hand and looked at his face, trying in vain to read his mind, trying to figure out why Malfoy looked so angry in one moment and so desperate in the next. Was this act too difficult for him?

"You really expect me to believe you're in love with me?" Harry dug his nails into his palm, trying to concentrate on that pain rather than the pain that shot through him when he said the word love in front of Malfoy.

Malfoy looked utterly shocked, but then he looked away and cleared his throat. "I don't expect anything. I just . . . Look, can we forget about the gifts and the letters? Can we just have dinner and talk? We're partners, for Merlin's sake! We work together every day. Shouldn't we at least try to get along?"

"The letter didn't ask for just dinners and conversations. They were love letters, but I understand you can't possibly be aware of that."

Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to deny Harry's accusation with more lies, but Harry didn't let him speak.

"Since when are you gay?" he asked, sneering.

Malfoy looked scandalised. "I'm not gay!"

Harry raised his eyebrow and waited for Malfoy's brain to catch up with his mouth. It didn't take long for Malfoy to back-pedal.

"I mean, I'm not exactly gay. I'm simply open to trying out new experiences. I am a changed person." Malfoy nodded vigorously. "I no longer compartmentalise people. Wizards, Witches, Muggles, Muggleborns, men, women — it's all the same to me. My opinions these days are very, er, politically correct," Malfoy concluded, looking very pleased with himself.

"You make it sound like being attracted to your own gender is something a person can wilfully choose."

Malfoy looked honestly confused. "Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Well, I disagree. I think it's perfectly normal for people to have fantasies, some of them, or even most of them, including their own gender, and some of them very explicit, but if they simply decide not to act upon them they're —"

"Probably lying to themselves."

Malfoy's mouth closed with a snap and he frowned at Harry, giving him that, by now familiar "Do you have an extra head?" look.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "But clearly, this doesn't apply to you, Malfoy. You did act upon it."

It took Malfoy several moments to nod and assure him, "Obviously."

"I mean, you certainly know what you want. Those letters were very precise and detailed."

"I am a meticulous person."

"And poetic?"

"Inwardly."

"And you have a serious oral fixation? As indicated by the descriptions of —"

Harry quickly stopped speaking. That was the wrong thing to ask and Harry realised it a little too late. Malfoy's cheeks coloured in a way Harry had never witnessed before. Seeing that blush on Malfoy's face did odd things to Harry's chest, and his limbs, and his stomach, and it did a not so odd thing to his cock.

"Must we discuss the letters?" Malfoy asked quietly, sounding mortified.

"Yes, we must. I'd like you to explain why the letter you took from me yesterday disgusted and angered you. That doesn't make much sense since you're the supposed author, does it?"

"I think . . . I think the reason is obvious."

"Oh?"

Malfoy nodded, but said nothing.

Harry waited for a minute, but Malfoy remained silent. "Whenever you're ready, Malfoy. But do take your sweet time and think of something convincing."

"Oh. I didn't realise you wanted an explanation. I did say it was obvious, so I expected you to figure it out on your own. But if you insist, of course I will explain. Though, as I said, it really is ob —"

"Quit stalling."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and lifted his chin. "Very well." He crossed his arms on his chest and straightened, then said, "I was positive you would never go on a date with a stranger, so I tried to goad you into going. I told you it was dangerous and that it would upset me if you went. I knew you'd fall for that and rush here, and I was right." Malfoy smiled, smug.

Harry wasn't sure whether his heart had been beating this fast this whole time or if it had merely just begun. Incredibly, Malfoy's reasoning actually made sense, in a convoluted sort of way. Or maybe Harry was just that desperate to believe him. But it was true that Harry wouldn't be here if Malfoy hadn't been so angry yesterday. That tactic, if it was a tactic rather than a lie, had worked, and Malfoy did know Harry well enough to know that.

"No," Harry said, trying to convince himself that Malfoy was lying. This couldn't be true. "The handwriting — it wasn't yours."

"This reasoning from an Auror?" Malfoy scoffed. "As if I wouldn't forge it. This wouldn't be much of a secret if I had used my own handwriting, would it?"

That made sense, too. Harry was having trouble breathing. "Then, if you saw me receive and read the letter and you were so sure I'd show up, why send me another one and sign it with a D?"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment and then said, "The letter was destroyed and I wanted to make sure you had the correct time and place. And I thought you'd assume you're meeting Derek, something you'd undoubtedly prefer. But the last time I checked, my name was Draco. See? It starts with a D."

Harry was shaking his head in denial. All of this made sense. How was that possible? "No, this can't be true. Why didn't you ever say anything? You're always so rude; you've never even tried to ask me out."

Malfoy leaned in closer, angry now. "Really? As I recall, I did ask you out, but you stood me up."

Harry stared, shocked. "You mean . . . that night when you appeared on my doorstep, drunk, you had been waiting for me?"

"Yes, Potter." Malfoy looked truly angry, acting as though this had bothered him for a long time and he was pleased he was finally able to reproach Harry for that day. "Honestly! How could you have bought my story unless you were desperate to do so? Do you know of any wizards living near you? Wizards that could be my friends? I was waiting for you forever, and you didn't even —" Malfoy's voice broke in the end, and he fell silent, looking at the table.

Harry was starting to feel faint. This was too much. The thought that Malfoy had been waiting for him that day, waiting for Harry, expecting they would have a date not just dinner, and Harry didn't even show up . . .

"Where are you going?" Malfoy almost yelled and Harry realised only then that he was standing next to the table, looking down at Malfoy; he didn't even remember getting up.

Malfoy was staring up at him, worry clearly visible in his face, his hand clutching Harry's wrist in a vicelike grip.

"I . . ." Harry breathed. He needed to clear his head, to think. This was too confusing. "Bathroom. I'm going to the bathroom."

"Oh." Malfoy was still holding him tightly. "Then we'll have dinner, right?"

Harry nodded automatically.

"Great." Malfoy smiled. This time the smile looked real. "I'll order some oysters and champagne. And pie. With strawberry jam?"

"All right," Harry said, not listening and trying not to look at Malfoy. The moment Malfoy released his wrist, he ran away.

Once he reached the bathroom, he took off his glasses and splashed some water over his face. He did it again, then lifted his head to stare at his blurry reflection.

Was this possible? Was it possible that Malfoy truly had feelings for him? Could Harry have misinterpreted Malfoy's every move? Malfoy seemed genuinely confused about his sexual orientation, so that would automatically shed new light on Malfoy's nasty jabs. If Malfoy was lashing out because he was afraid of how he felt, then that was something Harry could understand. Malfoy's confusion about this could explain his odd behaviour. The disgust Harry had seen would be nothing but plain fear, something Harry had experienced himself. And not only that, this would mean that Malfoy's hatred for Derek was caused by jealousy.

Was Malfoy really fantasising about Harry this whole time? Buying him gifts and writing those letters?

No matter how much Harry wanted it, he couldn't really believe that, but if there was the slightest chance that this wasn't some cruel joke, that Malfoy really did want him, then was this chance worth the risk of humiliation?

Yes, it was, was Harry's immediate response. He wanted this too much, had dreamed about it for too long. He had to take this chance no matter what the result.

With some of his initial elation returning, Harry wiped his face and picked up his glasses. Walking out, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, much clearer now that he could see. His eyes were bloodshot — irritated by the water, Harry concluded — and his face was deathly pale; his hair was a complete mess, sticking out at odd angles as horridly as it normally did. The chance that Malfoy could really want him seemed even slimmer suddenly.

Determinedly pushing those thoughts away, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

As he walked past the reception area, intending to join Malfoy at their table, out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught something odd. The hostess and the waitress were huddled closely together, whispering furiously. That in itself wasn't that strange, but they were constantly throwing suspicious glances in Malfoy's direction. Harry looked at Malfoy, seeing only the back of his blond head, but he saw nothing suspicious. Harry almost dismissed it and walked away, thinking they were just gossiping about two men having a romantic dinner, but when he looked at the waitress more closely, he noticed she looked truly worried.

The hostess spotted him and smiled widely, coming closer.

"Is there a problem, sir? Your dinner should arrive shortly."

Harry eyed the waitress who looked liked she wanted to tell him something. "I don't know. Is there a problem?" Harry asked, shifting his gaze between the two women.

The waitress quickly shook her head, but then looked at Malfoy again, frowning.

"Maybe I could help?" Harry offered, reaching into his back pocket. "I'm a detective," he assured them, showing them his Muggle detective badge. Every Auror had one of these, though, unfortunately, most found it easier to ignore, Confound or Obliviate Muggles, than trying to persuade them that they were one of them.

The hostess looked at the badge and smiled at Harry widely. "Oh. So you are."

Harry tried not to fidget; the woman sounded too intrigued.

The waitress bit her lip and asked, "And your friend? Also a detective?"

Harry nodded and the waitress looked instantly relieved. "Oh, never mind then," she said, smiling.

Not willing to let it go, Harry still stared at her expectantly.

The hostess smiled, apologetic. "Marie here thought we would be robbed or something. Honestly."

The waitress, Marie, gave the hostess a nasty glare. "It could have been true."

"Because . . .?" Harry prompted. He had a bad feeling about this. A corner of his mind almost made the connection, but Harry didn't want to make it, so he pushed the thought away, concentrating on the waitress's words.

"Well, see, earlier I saw your friend outside talking to another man. And well, for a minute there it looked like he was pointing something at him and I thought I saw a flash, but of course it couldn't have been a gunshot as I heard nothing. It just made me uneasy. But the man looked unharmed, if a little unsteady on his feet. And he just left. Now that I think about it, he was probably drunk. Why, your friend probably saved us from —"

"What did he look like?" Harry breathed, feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet as well.

The waitress frowned. "Well, pretty much the same. Tall and blond and handsome —"

"The other man," Harry groused, trying to sound patient.

"Oh." The waitress blushed. "Well, he was tall and dark-haired. Small nose. Big smile. A cheery sort of person. Though, I suppose, he was drunk . . ."

Harry was barely listening. It was Derek. It had to be. Not that it mattered. This meant Harry's first conclusion had been the right one — Malfoy wasn't his secret admirer. Malfoy just came here to ruin his date. He had hexed or Confounded Derek, or whomever, outside the restaurant and then had the nerve to take the rose and walk inside.

"— he could have robbed us. I told you this could have been dangerous."

Lost in his distressed thoughts, Harry almost jumped when he felt a hand caressing his bicep. "Oh, but you would have protected us, wouldn't you, sir?" The hostess was smiling at him, blinking slowly.

Harry gave her a tight smile, but it probably looked like a grimace because the hostess snatched her hand away. "I suppose you're here on a date?" she asked haughtily.

Harry nodded, regretting he had moved his head at all. It made him dizzy.

"Figures," the hostess grumbled and returned to her post.

The waitress, however, threw Harry a smile, mouthed, "Have fun," and gave him thumbs up.

Harry turned around and unthinkingly took several steps towards Malfoy. And then he stopped, his body shutting down, forcing him to remain where he was.

Why was he so shocked? He should have known. He had almost fallen into this trap. He almost believed Malfoy's ridiculous tale. How could he have been so stupid?

He should go and try to find Derek to make sure Malfoy hadn’t done something horrid to him. Though the waitress did say that Derek walked away, so he was probably fine, perhaps a little Confounded. It disturbed Harry how little he cared about Derek in that moment, but the only thing he could truly focus on was Malfoy's lie. Why had Malfoy done this? Why not hex Derek and leave? Why this pretence?

Did Malfoy hate him so much he was willing to go through this charade just to see Harry hurt? How could anyone be so sadistic?

Harry was possessed with a sudden urge to cry. He couldn't believe he had almost convinced himself that Malfoy was having some sort of orientation crisis.

"Are you all right, sir?" someone asked and Harry didn't even turn to find out whether it was the hostess or the waitress.

"Yeah," he replied, his own voice unrecognisable to him.

He should turn around and leave and never look at Malfoy again. It hurt so much he was almost positive that he'd be able to suppress and forget every positive feeling he’d ever had for Malfoy.

But then Malfoy would stay here and laugh himself silly. Congratulating himself on terrifying Harry so badly he ran. Why give Malfoy this satisfaction?

Staring at the blond head, Harry made his decision. He wouldn't run. He never ran and he wasn't about to start. Harry's eyes narrowed, his mind clearing, re-focusing on revenge. He didn't know what Malfoy was trying to achieve, but Harry did wonder: How far was Malfoy willing to go? How far did Harry have to push to make Malfoy run away? Because Harry was ready to push as far as he had to.

Forcing his legs to move and letting a wide smile stretch his lips, Harry walked towards Malfoy with a firm plan on his mind. If Malfoy wanted to play a game, Harry would play.

And he'd play it better.

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TBC

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