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[personal profile] pinqury

Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy
Rating: most ages
Length: under 500 words
Notes: First posted on July 2nd, 2006. Submitted to the [livejournal.com profile] serpentinelion birthday fest for Harry.

Summary: Harry was late.

Harry was late. Today, everything had seemed strangely against him, from the tea he burnt his tongue and finger in and on to the shower head that had chosen this important day to snap off and try to brain him.

He sighed, shoulders drooping as he wove through the crowded cafe. At least he was in the right place—

Harry paused and took a look around. There seemed to be no magical people in sight— no wands sticking out of pockets, no strange-looking coats or cloaks. No discomfort on the faces of the people in here—everyone, he could see, was a regular, comfortable in their place and firmly satisfied with their lot. If Harry hadn't been late, it wouldn't have mattered. But now, now it was sickening. Jealousy spread through him thickly, weighing heavily on his tongue as he thought—

"Excuse me?" Harry spun around rapidly out of habit, a distrustful look edging onto his face as he looked for who—"I was just wondering—"

"What do you want?" Harry said, feeling bad at how rude he sounded, but really, he could only just see the pale, soft jawline underneath that monstrous getup masquerading as a hood, and couldn't help but feel suspicious—

"Look, don't take that tone with me," the woman said sharply, a queer accent chopping and changing her words. "I only wanted to tell you your wand was sticking out."

"Oh," Harry said, colouring. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling guilty as he adjusted his wand, which was, indeed, sticking halfway out of his coat-pocket. "Sorry—I'm a bit jumpy this morning."

"Really," was all the woman said, her voice—oddly low, for a woman—cool.

"A shower head fell on me," Harry said wryly, wondering who it was, under that thing. He didn't think he knew anyone with that odd tone. "Here for the portkey?"

"Hmm." The low, scratchy tone was starting to get at Harry somehow. To divert his attention from it, he looked downwards, at his hands, and somehow found himself eyeing the hands of the woman. They were large.

Familiar.

"Draco?" Harry said, without thinking. The woman—Draco stiffened. "What's with the hood, anyway?"

Draco said nothing for a while, letting the noise of the cafe seep into the little empty pocket between them. "You wouldn't have spoken to me."

Harry held his breath.

Draco shifted, very slightly, and suddenly the hood was down. He looked tired. "Don't suppose you're coming back." Harry wanted to say something, but no words would come. "Any chance that you'd...?"

"No," Harry said, lowly. "Nowhere to stay. Remember?"

Draco paled. "That's not true—"

"Really?" Harry hoped his voice was steady, but—

"Really." Draco's was unsteady, so it was alright.

Harry gulped, his hand sliding shakily into his pocket and withdrawing a small, crumpled quill. He edged around Draco, setting it carefully in thin air in a place guarded from the eyes of the uncomprehending Muggles around them.

They watched it glow and disappear, together.

Original note from original entry: Hope you liked that—it started out as something entirely different, funnily enough. I only just thought of the fic fest halfway through, and hey presto! Yeah.

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