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“Yes, I know Pansy. It’s not like anyone would let me forget my own Mother’s birthday, not that I would because she’s my fucking Mother,” Draco hissed into his cell, not caring about the stares and awkward glances from passers-by.
The shops lining the little London side-street were all locally owned businesses, most of which the Malfoys had dealings with. The newest little spot at the corner had only recently been filled—standing vacant for the last few months at least—by a florist.
Buckets of brightly coloured flowers were on display surrounding the shop, drawing the eye of anyone and everyone who passed. Draco was impressed, not having been aware of the potential revenue stream flowers could bring. With the slew of coffee shops, and a few very carefully selected clothing boutiques, the Malfoy name had become synonymous with class and nouveau industry. It meant that when a business was selected by him or his family, that business would do very well for itself.
“Draco, you know that’s not what I’m saying. I just know that you’ll avoid having to face your father for as long as you can, and you’ll do it at her expense,” Pansy replied with a sigh.
“That’s not true. I’m just trying to find the perfect thorn to stick in his side while I’m there. Because it’s her birthday, he’ll be forced to be on his best behaviour, but no one said I had to be as well.” The smirk settled on his face as naturally as breathing.
Any chance to irritate his father, during his sporadic visits to the manor, were always welcome. That Pansy didn’t see the opportunity for what it was, was another sore reminder of why they were incompatible as a couple. Well that and the fact Draco much preferred a pretty boy in his bed over a pretty girl—another sore spot for his father.
So close now that he could hear the tinkling of the shop’s bell, Draco schooled his features into something more refined and pleasant—masking the darker man that lay beneath.
“I’m just about to walk into the new shop, I’ll have to call you back later. Kisses.” Without allowing her an opportunity to say another word, Draco pressed the end call button.
The tinkling bell signalled his arrival to the shop owner, who shouted a quick ‘Be out shortly!’ from the back. Draco arched a perfectly plucked brow and perused the fridges full of inventory while he waited.
On each shelf were vases that one might consider artistic mastery as far as flower arrangement went. Some had brightly coloured flowers with petals that seemed far too dainty to last, while others seemed to play on singular colours within a range of flower choices. There were some bundles that looked like they might be for a wedding, while others might have been for a funeral. It was amazing to see so many different occasions being carefully designed right from this little shop.
“So sorry about that, how can I help you?” A breathless voice came from behind Draco.
Turning around, he spotted a young man around similar age to himself, wiping his hands on a fairly dirty apron. Keeping the sneer of disgust off his face was a lot harder than Draco had expected, but he offered his own hand in greeting.
“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” He offered in greeting, fully expecting the man before him to know the landlord’s name when he saw it.
But those stunning green eyes remained professional and cheerful, without a hint of recognition flashing within them. A sudden wave of irritation struck Draco then, wondering when he’d gotten so used to flaunting his name like it meant anything. The truth was it did mean something, just not to everyone. Maybe this man wasn’t one to be intimidated by names and wealth, but if he wanted to keep his shop in this prime location…
“Harry. Just…Harry. So, what can I do for you today, Mr Malfoy? Special occasion perhaps? Planning ahead?” The smile on Harry’s face was practised, as was the tone—as if he’d carefully curated a shop persona.
Not that Draco could say he didn’t do the exact same thing, was doing the same thing right at this very moment. But he hadn’t expected Harry to simply brush him off like he was just any other customer. Perhaps he just simply didn’t know what Draco looked like? After all, they’d done all their dealings over the phone and through email.
“Uhm…I suppose I’m looking for an arrangement. Something for my mother. It’s her birthday.”
“No problem! We’ve got a few pre-made bouquets if you like, or we can make a custom arrangement for you if you’d prefer?” Harry’s charming smile had Draco melting slightly inside, despite his earlier irritation.
“Custom, I think, would be best in this scenario. Something artfully made just for her. She’d know if I picked something out of a bundle, or actually took the time to get something made just for her.”
“Critical eye then eh?” Harry laughed. “That’s fair, I’m certain we can come up with something for her. Let me just grab a pad of paper and we can talk a bit about what she might like.”
It took ten to twenty minutes of discussion, showcasing different flowers, and finding good combinations, before Draco was satisfied with what would be the end result. During that time, Harry effortlessly kept up with the other customers that came in for pick-ups or just browsing, but at no point did Draco feel he was being ignored or pushed aside in favour of the other clients. Harry’s effortlessly gentle command of his space was something Draco hadn’t expected, and it threw him off his game completely. Whatever sort of intimidation he’d come in with, was gone within minutes.
He wondered briefly, if perhaps there had been a bit of flirtatious banter between them at one point; but, Draco brushed it off as one of those ‘It’s been too long since my last date’ moments, and ignored whatever signals he thought he might be getting.
It wasn’t until Draco was paying for his arrangement, and shaking Harry’s hand that something occurred to him.
“You’re a lot more charming in person than over email, Mr Longbottom,” Draco noted.
“I’m sorry? I—wait. Longbottom? Oh my god, you think I’m Neville?! Wait, how do you know Neville?” Harry, in a series of flustered noises and hand waving, nearly knocked over a vase, which Draco caught at the last minute.
Their fingers grazed, sending electric tendrils up Draco’s arm.
“I-...Wait, I’m sorry, you’re not the shop’s owner?”
“Uh no. I’m just giving him a hand while he gets everything set up.” Harry waved his hands in front of himself, and chuckled.
“I see. Mr Longbottom is my… tenant. For lack of a better word. I was expecting to see him today.” Draco raised a brow.
“Oh, shi-I mean, Neville did mention someone might be coming by this week. Who owns and manages the block but I never expected someone so fit—young!” A rather bashful tinge of pink appeared on Harry’s cheeks that Draco had the sudden urge to press his lips to. Would they feel as warm to the touch as they looked?
“So where is Mr Longbottom then?”
“He’s got a few meetings this week with some nurseries, about sourcing some rather stunning flowers for the shop. If I understand correctly, they might be a gamechanger for weddings this season.” Harry grinned cheekily.
“Do you casually help your friends often, Harry?” Draco tilted his head to the side, trying to analyse the encounter with this stranger through new eyes.
“Whenever I can, I suppose. I have a decent amount of free time, and I like to help out if I can.”
“You don’t need to work for income?” Draco prodded curiously. It was rather forward and rude considering they’d just met, but Harry was like a treasure trove of enigmas and puzzles that Draco wanted to solve.
Awkwardly scratching the back of his head with his right hand, Harry shrugged. “Not really. My parents passed away long before I can remember. They left me a decent inheritance, as did my two Godfathers. I work to help my friends because that makes me happy.”
“I see.” Draco nodded, scratching at his chin lightly. “I wonder if you would do the same for someone you just met?”
The idea had pinged in his head five minutes into their initial conversation, but he’d dismissed it as quickly as he had their flirting. Now that he knew for sure Harry wasn’t actually his tenant, and was instead both well spoken and strangely charismatic, the idea was settling in his bones like a warm balm.
It was Harry’s turn to perk a curious brow, which gave him a rather mischievous appearance.
“That depends, I suppose.”
“On?”
“What said someone might be looking for me to do?”
“Someone might require the assistance of rather fetching young gentleman at a soiree for his mother, in hopes of shocking the absolute trousers off his homophobic father. Could be a spot of fun.”
Harry seemed to mull it over for a minute, and then those stunning emerald green eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled.
“I think I might be able to clear my schedule.”