Title: What Happens in the Cloakroom… Part 3
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG (for this part)
Length/Word Count: Series, 1,086 words (for this part)
Warnings/Content: None
Summary: Harry and Draco collide. And then they collide again.
Notes: Third installment in what will hopefully be four parts. Unbeta'd so please forgive and/or point out any typos or errors I might have missed. Thanks!
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.

Link to Part 1
Link to Part 2


What Happens in the Cloakroom… Part 3

Harry’s eyes skimmed over the enormous ballroom. He told himself he wasn’t looking for anything--or anyone--in particular, but his gaze did pause each time he fell upon blond hair.

Not blond enough....too old...eugh no.

“Harry?”

A poke to his arm brought him back around to his companion for the night. Her eyes were sparkling in mischief.

“Looking for someone in particular?” Hermione sad. Harry quickly shook his head no.

“More punch,” he said, though his goblet was half full. He drained it in one swallow and excused himself with a mumble.

As he was weaving through the dance floor, his eyes still scanning, though he assured himself he was just being observant, practicing his Auror training to keep his skills sharp, a warm body collided with his own.

“Oh god, sorry--oh hey, Malfoy--Draco.”

Draco was even more stunning now that Harry could study him close-up, his blond hair falling elegantly over one eye as he straightened. Harry’s fingers itched to push it back, perhaps tuck it behind one ear, maybe let his thumb linger and stroke the line of his cheek.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “We should probably move. Unless we plan to start dancing,” he said, gesturing to where they stood still in the midst of several waltzing couples.

“Is that an invitation?” The words had come without thought, but Draco’s eyes widened slightly, a faint pink blooming over his cheeks, and Harry just couldn’t seem to regret his momentary loss of proper brain function.

“Right.” Draco laughed, just for a moment, but it was the first time Harry’s heard him do so without the harsh edge of mocking. “Like you’d really dance with me in front of your friends--everyone.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” A nervous energy raced through his veins, but Harry closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist. Draco’s grey eyes were flecked with blue, so faint Harry had never noticed before. Of course he’d never been this close to Draco before. Not face to face, chests pressed together; he swore he could feel Draco’s heart pounding as fast as his own.

Draco turned his head, breath ghosting over Harry’s cheek and Harry shuddered.

“Just don’t step on my feet, Potter,” Draco said, but there was no bite to his words. And slowly, they begin to move.

~

While not as busy as the pre-Christmas rush, Diagon Alley was still filled to the brim with shoppers taking advantage of the post-holiday sales and children still on their break from Hogwarts dashing through the streets. Draco snuggled down into his scarf and weaved in and out of the throng, thinking it might have been a better idea to owl-order his supplies no matter how much longer it would have taken, when he found himself smack against a hard chest. It was an oddly familiar feeling. 

He looked up to apologize and dart around the man, and found himself face to face with Harry Potter. Again. 

"Hi," Potter said. He was wearing a ridiculously ugly jumper with a large loopy H etched in gold thread, and yet still the wanker had the audacity to look good. Cheeks flushed with cold, eyes bright with his smile and even his unruly mop of hair looked merely nicely tousled. "I suppose the option of a dance isn't appropriate this time, is it?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco feigned innocent, but he remembered that moment as if it were etched in his memory as deeply as that stupid "H". 

"You know--the other night, at the party, you-"

"Yes, that's right," Draco said. He took a breath, then two, and Potter was still just standing there, staring at him.

"Well," he said. "I should-"

"Right," Potter replied, though he didn't move. Draco side-stepped him and in an instant, Potter reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait-"

Draco paused, turned, looked down at where Harry gripped his outer robe and back into Harry's eyes. No, Potter. Potter's eyes. Potter released him with a sheepish smile. 

"Sorry," he said. "It's just...I've been meaning to owl you."

"Owl me? Whatever for?"

"You know...because of that night. What happened. I-"

Draco coloured red. He'd rather hoped Potter had forgotten all of the messy details in the haze of alcohol, but clearly that was not the case. "No need. We were both drunk. Our judgement was not exactly up to snuff."

"Oh..." Potter looked like a kicked puppy and for a moment, only a brief moment, Draco regretted his words. "Well. If it makes a difference. I wasn't drunk. Strictly punch for me, but...if you-"

"Yes, Potter, but the punch was spiked. Surely you've realised."

There was a light of hope that entered Potter's eyes. Draco found it distracting. "So you only had the punch as well?"

"Yes, but...what does that matter?"

"Nothing." Potter's lips were sliding to a smile again and Draco was growing increasingly unnerved. "You should come."

The heat that had flared and died on his cheeks only a moment ago was back with a vengeance and his mouth went dry. "What?"

"To the party. Gah, that was rubbish. I'm sorry. I only meant-" Potter was babbling, tripping over his words like a firstie. It was oddly adorable. "I wanted to invite you to the New Years' Party. At my flat.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but inside his pulse was racing. It was quite annoying, and he told himself to calm down. It wasn’t as if there was anything special about being invited to a party, no doubt at some dismal hovel Potter called his home.

“Parkin--I mean, Pansy’s coming. You know, she and-”

“Yes.” Draco’s lips pursed before he could help it. Pansy and Weasley had been ‘an item’ since that dreadful Yule Ball, and Draco had been forced to spell his ears closed several times in order to spare himself all of the gory details. Pansy did like to share a bit too much. “I had no idea she had such dismal taste.”

“Come on, wasn’t she mad about you in school? Her taste can’t be that bad.”

Potter’s eyes were sparkling. Draco did his best to ignore how his stomach jumped at Potter’s words.

“Yes, well...I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Potter said. He reached out and squeezed Draco’s arm, and somehow Draco couldn’t manage to pull himself away.



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