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The book slams down on the counter. "Oh, sorry. I didn't see you down there. I thought the librarian had gone—"
Draco stands slowly, his ears still ringing from the bastard's poor book-handling skills. Just his bloody luck. "I am, indeed, right here."
"Malfoy," Potter breathes. He scratches his neck. "I er… I thought you'd be in the back. Again. I mean…"
Draco can't help but raise an eyebrow. "You thought I'd be in the back."
"Well… As opposed to on the floor, certainly."
"How did you know I worked here?"
"What were you doing on the floor?"
There's a silence as each waits for an answer. Draco frowns. This is not how he'd foreseen his Thursday going.
Potter clears his throat. "Well. Are you going to check me out then?"
Draco blanches. "Erm, what?"
Potter slides the book across the counter.
"Oh. Well, yes. Certainly." Draco flicks his wand into his hand and flips open the cover with a thwack. He runs his wand along the title page, and a silvery sparkle lights up the words for a moment as it records the details. "Wine for the Whiskey Wizard is due back in three weeks." Draco closes the book and slides it back. It's a huge book, he notices. Draco is perfectly aware of how many great vintages there are in the world – and how many crap ones, too – but he would not have expected this sort of thoroughness from a book with this particular title. Draco looks at Potter from over his reading glasses and wonders if the idiot is trying to make the switch to something more refined than butterbeer. If he is, he'll clearly need more help than this one book can provide him, weighty though it may be.
Draco stares at him a moment. What is he doing still standing there? "I've checked you out," Draco insists. When Potter just grins stupidly with half his mouth, Draco feels the dolt must need a ruder approach. "You may go now, Potter. Unless you need further assistance?" Salazar forbid.
Potter picks up the book. "No. No, I…" He looks around the library. "I can't think of anything. So, I guess that's all."
"Yes, I suppose it is." Draco crosses his arms over his chest. This is getting tiresome.
"Right then. I'll see you, Malfoy." He turns, and Draco is breathing a sigh of relief and good riddance when he turns back. Draco does his best not to hex him and instead pastes on a polite but cold smile. "Oh, Malfoy?"
"Yes. Potter."
"Just, uh… thanks." Potter raps on the book's binding with his blue collar knuckles, and Draco tries not to flinch.
"Yes, well. It is my job."
Potter laughs like he's made some sort of joke. Draco frowns at him.
"Right, well, I'll be going."
"Yes, it is just that time, isn't it?"
"Bye, Malfoy."
"Potter."
Potter walks away, clutching his book in what Draco assumes to be sweaty hands. Draco watches him go. He watches the confidence with which Potter walks. He watches the way his jeans shift. Draco sniffs, grateful he will never be so poor and without taste as to sink to wearing denim. Not that it doesn't seem to suit Potter in a way. Draco clears his throat.
Now, what was it he'd dropped beneath the counter in the first place?
And why is his heart beating so very fast?
*
Potter returns, much to Draco's dismay, and it's not even the full three weeks he was told he could have Wine for the Whiskey Wizard. No, he's back in ten days. Draco knows because it's Pastry Monday. All the witches and wizards who work in the library here in Diagon Alley bring a form of pastry on Mondays when it is their day. Today is Winifred's day, and Winifred always brings cherry turnovers. Cherry turnovers happen to be Draco's favourite.
This is why he's now frowning at Potter, standing at his counter, returning Wine for the Whiskey Wizard and, indeed, checking out three more books as well. He's interfering with Draco's break, in which he'd planned to partake of at least two cherry turnovers. With his luck, Malcolm is probably already eating Draco's share.
Draco compresses his lips and sighs. "Hello again, Potter."
"Hi," Potter says brightly. His smile is so shiny it's positively grating. Draco's taken a bit aback and has to belatedly school the surprised revulsion from his own face.
"So, returning this one then?"
"Yes."
"Too much for you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Too many pages? Too many words, Potter?"
"No, Malfoy." Potter's voice has taken on a dry edge, and Draco glances up at him over his reading glasses.
Potter's jaw is rather sharp when he grinds his teeth like that. And he's forgotten to shave, the oaf. His eyes are the colour of everything Slytherin. Draco clears his throat and drops his gaze.
Potter continues. "I read most of it. I just found the sections on dessert wines a little superfluous. I don't care for Rieslings or Shiraz or what have you."
"Don't you?" Draco opens the book to rescan it in with his wand, and a slip of paper floats out. Draco picks it up and eyes it. It's a receipt of some sort. Yes, for Wingardium Wines.
"I don't mind something bright, mind you," Potter goes on. "But the velvety ones are my favourites. They're sexier, I think."
"S-sexier," Draco repeats vaguely before he can stop himself. "I see. Yes. Erm…" Potter's looking at him so strangely, in a sort of concentrated way Draco finds difficult to withstand. It's merely his blood sugar. He should have gone on break half an hour ago, but he got stuck here with a hoard of Ravenclaw children and now this. His gaze goes to the receipt in his hand rather than continuing to suffer Potter's asymmetrical smile.
Draco can't help but read it, of course. It's a short but dignified list of high-priced and, indeed, superbly crafted wines. Potter bought a Merlot, a Pinto Noir, and two Pinot Grigios, one of which happens to be Draco's personal fav—
Potter clears his throat. "I see I must have misplaced my receipt. Malfoy, do you mind?"
"Are you having a party?" Once it's out of his mouth, Draco could kick himself.
"No. No party."
"Well, you don't intend to drink all of these by yourself, do you?"
"And what if I do, Malfoy?" Potter leans his forearms on Draco's counter, and Draco forces himself not to take an intimidated step back. Correction: make that a strategic step back. Whatever, he doesn't take it. "Are you some kind of Wine Auror in your spare time? Stop a lot of solo Merlot-ing, do you?"
Draco scoffs. An actual 'pfff' noise comes undignified from his lips. He collects himself. "Of course not. I'm a librarian, Potter."
"Okay then," Potter says, straightening, that ridiculous grin back on his face. "Though I rather thought I might share them." Potter reaches for the receipt, and his fingers close around Draco's for just a moment before he takes the thin slip of paper.
"Yes," Draco breathes, but he doesn't know if he's answering a question Potter posed or what that might have been or if there was ever a question at all.
"And please do check me out again, Malfoy. I'm in a bit of a hurry."
"Oh. Yes, of course."
Potter's smile grows wider, and Draco can't help but frown at it before he turns to Potter's new selection of books, all of which, he sees, have something to do with cooking.
Draco would like to comment on these as well. Snide comments of course, along the lines of inquiring if Potter is too destitute to afford house-elves or if he's worried about smoke damage to his kitchen ceilings if he attempts anything beyond toast. Then again, Draco does remember stories of Potter having to cook for those Muggle terrors who raised him. There is that. Perhaps teasing Potter about this could backfire on Draco in numerous ways.
Perhaps he's just too famished and tired to put forth the energy to heckle him.
It's certainly not that he's intrigued in any way by Potter's choices, all of which seem to be about how to make the most romantic dinner ever to be tasted by humankind.
Draco proceeds to scan the three books at top speed. "There you are."
"Thanks, Malfoy."
Potter turns to go but then, just as before, turns back, and Draco has to firm his jaw not to shout that he's got cherry turnovers to get to, thank you very much.
"Say, Malfoy." Potter opens one of the books. "What do you think of this one?"
Draco figures he can expedite Potter's exit if he simply complies quickly, so he speed-reads the recipe for "Romantic Bacon-Hugged Halibut with Raspberry Drizzle". He very nearly drools. "Fine," he says, looking back up at Potter's eyes which seem to sparkle with interest. As though he actually cares what Draco thinks of his silly dinner plans.
"Fine? That's it?"
"What do you want me to say, Potter?"
"Well… I don't know, but… Bacon-hugged halibut, Malfoy."
Before he can stop himself, Draco licks his lips. Potter twinkles. Draco rolls his eyes. "It sounds delicious. Are you happy?"
"Yes." Potter closes the book resoundingly. His smile is too stupid for words. Draco feels overly warm. And very, very hungry.
"Will that be all?"
"Yeah. I guess so." Potter winks. "For now." He scoops up his books and walks away, leaving Draco to stare after him and wonder if he had a speck of dust in his eye.
And whether Potter might not engage in daily Quidditch practices to get his buttocks that round and firm.
Draco bites his lip… and thinks of cherry turnovers.
*
Three days later, there he is.
"Potter." Draco sneers his name. Or rather, he tries to. The smirk tugging at his lips is not what he'd planned, however. He wipes it from his face and waits for Potter's return books.
"Hey, Malfoy." Potter slides over two of his cookbooks.
Draco notices that the missing book is the one with the 'romantic bacon' thing. He raises his eyebrow at Potter before he sets to running his wand over the others.
"And I see you have a new one you wish to check out?"
"Quite," Potter says, with an inscrutably defiant lift to his chin.
Draco frowns at him and then looks at the book's cover.
His jaw drops.
He recovers. Barely.
"The Joy of… Gay S-sex."
Draco braces his palms against the cool surface of his counter top and attempts to keep breathing normally.
Potter leans his forearms on the counter again. "What do you think? Have I made a good choice, Malfoy?" He's too close. He's close enough that Draco can smell whatever spicy-scented soap he uses. He can see where he nicked himself shaving. Just there… on the side of his neck. Because the fool didn't use magic apparently. He used a blade. Draco feels faint. He can feel Potter's body heat.
"Well… that depends, doesn't it?" Draco's voice sounds weird. Something's wrong with it. And he really can't breathe. Like Potter's cast an altitude charm on him or something. The room's all dizzy. It's sweaty, too.
"Does it?" Potter asks easily.
"Well, of course, Potter, if you're into that sort of thing." Draco clears his throat. "Are you?"
"So, if I was, this book would be a good choice?"
Draco can't seem to stop blinking. He might be having a heart attack. And at his prime, no less. Struck down with so many books yet to read. "I would say that… yes. Er, yes, I believe it, uh… Magnificent choice really. For that…" He gulps. "…sort of th-thing."
"Great," Potter says, and maybe he's catching a cold, because his voice is a little funny, too. That or the altitude is affecting Draco's ears. "So. Check me out, Malfoy."
"Wha?"
Potter straightens and gently pushes the book across the counter.
"Oh," Draco says. "Right." His wand shakes as he scans the title. Draco needs to sit down. He's definitely catching Potter's cold. The diseased bastard. "Fine. You're finished. I'm going on break now, excuse me."
Without another glance at Potter or his erotic reading material, Draco turns and walks away so fast it's almost running.
He does not have any stray thoughts that perhaps Potter is still standing there… and watching his retreating bum.
*
Draco gets a whole week off from Potter. It's lovely really. He doesn't even think of him most of the time. Except that everyone who walks up to his counter is potentially Harry Potter before Draco looks up and sees that they're not.
It's Draco's Pastry Monday that week, and he brings in blueberry scones, which are a fabulous hit with his coworkers.
He handles the check-outs of a delightfully amoral – judging purely by the spell books – group of Slytherin fifth years on Tuesday.
Things are good.
He's hardly thought of The Joy of Gay Sex. If anything, Draco's much more interested in the cookbooks Potter returned, and so what if he's been reading them both? So what if he wonders if the chocolate syrup smears on page one hundred twelve are from Potter's fingers? So what if he daydreams about bacon-hugged everything and finds himself staring at a recipe for blackened sea bass like it's page fifty-two of The Joy of Gay Sex? Not that he knows what's on page fifty-two.
Page one hundred one, on the other hand…
But that's neither here nor there.
Neither is two hundred eight.
Because bacon-hugged frottage and rear entry buggering have nothing to do with Harry Potter.
Except that they do. Apparently.
But they have nothing to do with Draco certainly.
Except that he's been half hard at work for seven days now.
But really, that's fine. That's just… He's virile. He's a perfectly healthy librarian. Books do it for him. It's a wonder he hasn't had erections at work more often, frankly. It's really more the parchment, to be sure.
"Excuse me."
"Wha? Yes? Potter!"
"Hi."
"Um, hi."
"Is this a bad time?"
Draco looks at the one book in Potter's arms. For a moment, he's unsure where he even is. It's as though they're back at school and Draco's late for an exam. He has this overwhelming desire to jinx Potter, even though he's clearly not done anything more bothersome than standing there being himself. Which used to be excuse enough, of course. But it isn't anymore.
Draco inwardly shakes himself.
They're not at Hogwarts. They're in his library. Draco's a librarian. And Potter's got himself another book to check out. Terrific. Just bloody fantastic.
"Let's have it then," Draco bites out.
Potter hesitates. Then he lays the book on the counter and slides it over in Draco's direction.
Draco dons his reading glasses and proceeds to peer down at the title.
How to Date Draco Malfoy.
Draco blinks.
He takes off his glasses and cleans them against his waistcoat. He perches them on his nose again and frowns down at the book.
How to Date Draco Malfoy. It's still there. The same.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Er, what?"
"This," Draco spits, shoving the book back toward Potter. "Having a laugh, I see. Messing with Malfoy's mind, eh, Potter?" His skin goes all hot and prickly. "I ought to hex you straight onto the pavement, you arse."
"Seriously?"
"Absolutely."
"Did you… read it?"
"The title? Yes. I'm aware of what it says, and I ought to—"
"Seriously, Malfoy? Seriously?"
"What?"
"What do you mean 'what'?"
"What do you mean what do I—"
"Merlin's bollocks, I'm trying to ask you out, you twat!" Potter shouts. "WILL. YOU. GO. OUT. WITH. ME?"
"Shhhhh!" a witch at the nearest study table hisses.
Draco flicks his wand in her direction. "Muffliato." He turns back to Potter, his mouth dry and his heart thundering. "Er, what now?"
Potter sighs. "Draco Malfoy. Would you like to go out on a date with me?"
The wine book, the cookbooks, The Joy of Gay Sex, those jeans, and inside them that arse and, glancing down, by the look of it, well…
Draco gulps. "208."
"What?"
"Yes. Didn't I say yes?"
"You said 208."
"Oh, well, I meant to say yes. So…" Draco's cheeks heat from his blush. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes. Yes, Harry Potter, I will go out with you." He meets Potter's gaze. "I'd… I'd like to go out with you."
"You would?" Potter's smile breaks bright and glorious over his face.
"Yes, I believe I would."
"Brilliant. Well, that's…" Potter scratches his neck. "Brilliant! Tonight then?"
"I get off at six. I could meet you somewhere."
"Or I could come pick you up."
"That would be… fine." His heart is about to leap from his chest, gallop down the street like a mad gazelle, and leave him a bloody pulp on the floor.
"Good," Potter says. "I'll, uh, see you at six then."
"Yes, that would be fine. Oh, did you want…?" Draco looks down at the book to see that whatever charm Potter used on it has worn off. It's a copy of Hogwarts, a History.
"Oh. No. That's okay. I never did fancy that one." He shoots Draco a conspiratorial smile. Draco nearly combusts where he stands.
"Well… Good day then."
Potter looks amused at Draco's expense. "Good day, Malfoy."
Merlin, the altitude's all cocked up again. And it's hot. And Potter's so bloody fit. And that smile Draco used to think was stupid… Well, it's not. Draco's knees are weak and—
"Oh, Malfoy?"
"Y-yes?"
"What's 208?"
Draco blushes clear down to his toes. He can't see them, of course, but he knows. He drops his gaze. But then something wild takes him over. Something he doesn't think he wants to control. He looks back up at Potter with a grin. "It's the third date."
Potter frowns for but a moment. Then it dawns on him, and he smiles. "Oh. Okay." He smiles at Draco in a way that's going to strain Draco's ability to wait that long. "See you later, Malfoy."
"See you later, Potter."
Potter turns and strides out.
Draco's gaze drops. And he bites his lip.