Who: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter Where: Andrew's house palace When: Thursday, February 28, evening What: Draco invites Harry to stay the night the first time... Warnings/Ratings: Maybe a bit more than PG-13 at the end...who knows with these two?
Harry was on his way to the address that Draco had presented him with, the address to Andrew's house. But, only, when Harry arrived there, he could have sworn what he was looking at was a bloody palace, not some house! His eyes widened in shocked surprise. No wonder Draco liked it here. It was a bloody palace! Taking in a deep breath, Harry made his way towards Andrew's "house", his mind replaying their latest conversation. He was about two steps from the door when it hit him suddenly about what he'd said. He'd very nearly said he'd loved Draco. Or well, he basically had said that. His face flushed bright red. This was going to be an awkward night, wasn't it? He hoped not. He hoped it would be interesting if nothing else, because that's what it felt like to Harry.
Coming up to the door, Harry took in a deep breath. He'd brought along a few things, knowing that they were without their convenient magic to just create something if they needed it. Some pajamas, toiletries that he'd purchased since being here, and a change of clothing for tomorrow, because Harry could be practical like that when he needed to be. He had no clue how the night was going to go, but they were going to see a Muggle magician. It was almost laughable. Two of the world's most renowned wizards were on a date together to see a Muggle magician. Draco Malfoy, pureblood heir that he was, off to see a Muggle magician. Harry barely hid his grin. And Draco Malfoy trying to figure out a credit card.
Granted, Harry himself really didn't have the foggiest idea about how a credit card really worked, but he did know about them. He'd been wrapped up in the wizarding world since he'd been eleven, after all, so he never really had gotten the chance to understand how those things worked. That wasn't to say that he didn't know about them, though.
Dressed presently in jeans and a green jumper, Harry knocked awkwardly on the door to Andrew's...whatever this was. A house was definitely not this. He hoped he had the right place and not some ridiculous hotel. Though, Andrew was some kind of Duke of England in the real world. Something like the fifth or sixth person in line for the British throne, something like that. Harry guessed it meant his importance, and it was almost laughable if he could tell the Dursley's that he knew British royalty from the future. They'd probably die on the spot. With that image in his mind, Harry knocked on the door again, wondering how the night would progress at all.