Tomorrow Still Comes
A HariPo oneshot
Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. This pairing was discovered by my buddy, Morghen, so please give her a little mention if you write them! Thanks! It is one of many of Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings, most of which you may find in Mor's and my forum, "Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings Fan Stories," found here (Just take out the spaces!): http : / forum. fanfiction. net/ forum /Mew_and_Mors_Weird_Pairings_Fan_Stories /76194 / Read, review, and enjoy! And check out and join the forum FUN! Note: For Mor, who's an awesome twinnie. -w-
Post-war, life couldn't be worse. Especially when you came from a family of Death Eaters.
Draco Malfoy graduated without much. He could barely do anything to finish his schooling. He had no marriage offers, despite his mother's futile attempts. Oh, he tried Astoria Greengrass—and where did that get him? Ah, yes. Draco managed to knock her up and one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy later, he still didn't know what to do with himself.
Meanwhile, Harry bloody-Potter was living the high life. Though, if Draco were being honest, he didn't hold it against him. Growing up, Draco had had everything and Harry had had nothing. Now the tables had turned and Karma had made her decree.
Draco Malfoy was bound to get only one thing out of growing up: a slowly receding hairline.
As for the rest of Harry's clan, they, too, had it made. Sure, the eldest had been what, scratched by Greyback? And one twin had been hurt and the other had been killed. But they still managed to make the most of it. And Draco…
Draco was watching the Chudley Cannons, of all the blasted Quidditch teams. The Chudley fucking-Cannons.
Once, he'd loved going to Quidditch matches. The Ballycastle Bats, the Holyhead Harpies, Puddlemere United—he'd loved them all and had loved even better the "backstage" passes his father always seemed to have. But nowadays it felt as though no team was clear of any ties back to Potter and the Weasleys. The Bats had Johnson-Weasley, the Harpies had the original Weaslette, and PU had Wood—who had just married Gabrielle Delacour, who was the sister of Fleur who was the wife of William Weasley and mother to three more Weasleys.
Sweet Salazar, it drove Draco bloody nuts. Of all the teams, the Cannons couldn't have been a worse choice. Though, judging by today's game, they'd improved with new blood. They'd hired new recruits at the start of the season and were showing promise, but that didn't mean they weren't still the Cannons. Their new Seeker, in fact, had caught the Snitch too early when his team was trailing by thirty points. And worst of all, that didn't seem to bother him.
"Conrads," Draco barked after the crowd died down and most of the pitch emptied.
A dark-haired man ten years Draco's senior spied him and grunted. "Malfoy."
"What's with your Seeker?"
Devon Conrads sighed and turned to him. Conrads was the Cannons' Captain, and Draco knew Conrads hated that the Malfoys had been chummy with the Cannons' new owner. As such, Conrads rarely got the chance to tell Draco to piss off. "He's new and cocky and thinks he's the shit."
The blonde wizard stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Hey, don't get pissy with me just because he didn't listen to you earlier."
Conrads snarled and gripped the handle of his Beater's bat more tightly. "What's your deal, Malfoy? You think you can 'talk some sense' into him?" He snorted. "Don't make me laugh."
"I'd just like a word with him."
He eyed Draco distastefully but eventually stomped off, probably realizing it was better to keep Draco happy to keep the team owner happy.
Draco turned and spotted some of the players doing tricks on their broomsticks, so he walked over to them. A blonde boy—probably one of the newbies—was hanging upside-down by the crooks of his knees. "You're good," Draco commented.
The wizard stared blankly at him before lifting his legs and scaring his teammates by somersaulting back to the ground. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Well, that's obvious."
A vein twitched in Draco's jaw. Who did this kid think he was?
"Louis, don't taunt him," one of the other players, a tanned man, said in a hiss.
"It's fine, no harm done," Draco said. He'd sworn to himself since the day Harry had saved him from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement that he'd try to change. And hey, every once in a while, Draco managed to be pleasant. But this kid was pushing it.
"Can we help you?" Louis asked impatiently.
"I was just—"
"Look, we're good on groupies, gent," Louis interrupted.
"Louis, knock it off!" the same tanned man stated.
"Come off it, Curt, and go practice swinging your bat." Louis shrugged out of his cloak and tossed it at Draco, smirking. "There. I'll sign it after the season's over. It should fetch a pretty Knut by then."
Draco narrowed his eyes at the slender male. How dare he speak to him like that! Draco had been about to give him a piece of his mind when he heard Conrads yelling behind him.
"OI! WEASLEY! Get yer butt over here!"
"Fine," Louis answered and he exchanged glares with Curt.
A cold shiver ran down Draco's spine. Had Conrads really meant…?
"Oh, never mind," Conrads said as he pulled up on Draco's side. He nudged Draco in the shoulder. "Here's our Seeker, Malfoy. Louis Weasley, prat extraordinaire." Conrads rolled his eyes. "Have at it, then."
Draco couldn't believe it. He'd been to all of the Cannons' first three games this season and not once had he glanced at the Seeker's name and position number on his back. Of course, the Seeker was fast and it was often hard to follow him. But Draco felt like a right idiot for not listening to the emcee any time it was announced that Weasley had once again caught the Snitch.
Obviously any advice-giving was out of the question. Draco had said a proper hello and then politely excused himself, knowing Conrads was giving him a funny look.
But the blonde wizard couldn't help it. After so many years of being up to his ears in Weasels, Draco knew he had to draw the line somewhere. Even if Louis did need to know that he needed to work on braking and turns. Oh, and Louis should keep an ear out for the score, too. Not to mention that Louis needed a serious attitude adjustment.
Draco shook his head as he settled into a chair at home. As usual, Narcissa was out. He didn't even remember her saying where she was going, but since his father had managed to escape too much punishment after the war and "found mutual affections" (i.e., love) with Daphne Greengrass, Narcissa pretty much did whatever she pleased. She and Draco lived off old Black family money, even though Lucius rarely touched the Galleons they had when the three of them had once been a family. Either way suited Draco fine; even if he could find the get-up-and-go to get a job, he doubted anyone would hire him once he wrote "Malfoy" on the application. And it wasn't as though he could fake an identity these days…applications were spelled to prevent that in this day and age.
So he returned his mind to Quidditch. It really was an awful set up, the only pleasure left to him in life being ruined by Weasleys.
The wizard sighed, listening to the quietness of his home. They didn't even have a house-elf anymore. So Draco was alone.
This is a stupid idea, the gray-eyed man internally scolded himself when he went to the next Cannons game.
It's not as though you have anything better to do, a nagging voice goaded.
Yeah, well, Draco hated being reminded of that.
He took his usual seat off a little to the left of the center of the pitch. It vaguely occurred to him that betting on the match might make things a little more interesting. Then again, Draco didn't like losing money very much.
Regardless, his blood pounded in his ears as he listened to the emcee announce the Cannons: "…and Beater Curtis Jordan. Last but not least, Seeker Louis 'Flewy' Weasley!" Draco groaned. The kid already had enough notice for a nickname? And "flew-y"? Really?
The other team—Draco had forgotten the name already, since they were a newly formed group—started off with the Quaffle. Instead of making a mad dash for the Cannons' hoops, one of the opposing Chasers performed a sort of zigzag throughout the field. It was actually quite unpredictable, so the first ten points of the match when to the visitors. The Cannons didn't seem fazed, as this was their home turf.
For a good forty or so minutes, the teams tossed the Quaffle around and one of the opposing Beaters was sent to the medics' care after taking a Bludger to the small of her back. Draco winced at that and when another Bludger clipped Conrads, but Conrads was all right.
The Cannons were doing fairly well, always staying fifty points ahead. Draco admired their Beaters for keeping Louis trouble-free. Then again…
Louis was trouble himself. For a large chunk of the time, he'd been sitting on his broom, just watching the game. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head—and then, in a split second, his hands were white-knuckling his broom and he went speeding off into enemy territory.
While the emcee brought everyone else's attention to the Seekers, Draco himself narrowed his eyes, searching for the Snitch. Merlin, he was out of practice. Well... He fidgeted in his seat. Okay, so technically his father had bought his way onto the team…but he'd been able to stay on a whole year!
He forgot about the past as Louis slowed down. He'd definitely misplaced the Snitch, and so did the other Seeker.
At the same time, the emcee's and everyone else's interest returned to the rest of the game. "And that's another ten points to the visiting team! If the Cannons don't have their wits about them in time, they'll be overtaken! It's a tie game, folks, and it's anyone's game now."
Draco could see Louis Weasley blanch. So apparently Quidditch did mean something to him. His brown eyes were darting around the pitch, but he remained right where he was, nothing but his head and eyes moving.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the Snitch.
It was flitting near the Cannon's top goalpost, rather like a Flitterby moth to a flame. The Snitch was innocently, tauntingly hanging around the post.
He didn't know what made him do it, but Draco got to his feet, not realizing the rush of blood in him was his heart pounding. He—by some Salazar-forsaken power—locked eyes with the little git. Then his gaze drifted to the Snitch's location…and Louis was off and away.
Just as quickly as Draco had jumped up, Louis zoomed away and the next thing they knew, the bleachers erupted in a mix of cheers and boos, for Louis had caught the Snitch.
With a final score of three hundred-seventy to two hundred-twenty, the Cannons had done an excellent job today. Conrads did not even glare his boys off the field, and Curtis Jordan did not chide his teammate. Speaking of which…
Louis had hovered over the field a while after the game, and Draco, too, couldn't move, finding himself instead rooted to the spot on the bleachers. Abruptly, the Seeker flew over to him. Neither of them could really speak.
"So," Louis croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of use during the match.
"So," Draco echoed, and he cleared his throat. "Hrmm. I don't suppose that counts as, err, 'tampering' with the game, does it?"
Like sunshine breaking a new day, a knowing smile appeared on Louis' face, and he laughed. "I won't tell if you won't."
Draco felt a smile grace his own, warming features. Louis was a lot better when he wasn't being such an insufferable prat. "Deal."
A silent beat passed awkwardly before Louis said, "Well, I think I owe you one."
Louis nodded, a blush blooming out of the top of his orange robes and climbing up his neck and cheeks and ears up to his blonde hair. "For the win. And for, um, last time."
Draco blinked and then snorted with gentle laughter.
"I'll still sign that robe, I swear!"
Louis insisted they grab a bite to eat at a favorite haunt of his—the Graces Three—in Hogsmeade.
When Draco asked about getting there, Louis stared at him, agape and a little prattish again. He replied, "Haven't you ever border-hopped?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Agh... You Apparate to the edge of the country you're in, step over the border, and then you can Apparate to anywhere in the latter country. It's how to bypass the International Apparition laws."
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "And you go around telling anyone how to do this?"
Louis shrugged. "Nah. But it's faster than flying a broom all the way to Scotland."
The Malfoy agreed and they made their way to the Graces Three without problems. Outside of Hogsmeade, Draco eyed the castle in the distance, something curious coming to the tip of his tongue. "How old are you anyway?"
"Eighteen, almost nineteen, actually."
"A year younger than my son," Draco stated.
Louis nodded. "That's right…," he thought aloud. "You're Scorpius' 'Weekend Parental Unit.'"
Draco's face reddened. "Scorpius' what?"
Louis stared at him, realizing his mistake. "Oh, sorry…! I kind of knew Scor at school. And, well…"
"I take it he let it be known that we don't have the best of relationships," Draco said through gritted teeth.
Louis gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't think I ever heard him say he hates you."
That did little to smooth things over. Draco did like to see Scorpius when he could; even though Scorpius had been unplanned, Draco didn't consider him a mistake. It was why he had wanted shared custody with Astoria. But perhaps the time Scorpius had spent with his father was too little and the time spent with his mother was too much.
"Oi, snap out of it," Louis griped, smacking Draco in the arm. "Hey, a nice cup of tea and a half sandwich and you'll be fine. Promise."
Draco eyed him as he pulled open the tea room's door. "You're really not that hungry, huh?"
"Are you kidding? I'll eat all the éclairs I can get. The tea and the half sandwich's just for you." Louis smirked. "So don't think too badly of yourself as a dad. Remember, you're a Cannons groupie."
"Ah, yes, that reminds me. You're game could use a little work." They sat down and teacups appeared before them. Louis dashed up and grabbed several sweets off the pastries trolley and then returned. "Did you even hear a word I said?"
"You honestly think you could help?" Louis raised his eyebrows.
Draco pursed his lips. "Perhaps not. But I might be able to give you some pointers."
"Did you ever play?"
"Erm, sort of."
The younger male smirked. "You didn't, did you? You're just showing off."
"I did play, but only for a year. And I was the Slytherin Seeker."
"Go figure, considering you're a Malfoy." Louis smudged a bit of icing on his mouth and grumbled, fumbling with his napkin. Draco dropped his eyes to his tea.
"Well, let's at least hope your next game goes as well as today."
An impish looked graced Louis' features. "Ha... That mean you'll be there?"
Draco gave him a look, feeling a little warm in the tearoom. "It's not as though I've anything better to do."
Louis paused, and when he next spoke, his voice was hard again, as though his attitude toward Draco had not changed at all. "Nope, I suppose not." They spent the rest of their lunch in silence.
Inside, that same nagging voice from before was cursing at Draco.
Even though Louis had reverted a bit to his old self, he was slightly better about his interactions after that one lunch with Draco. He actually took to pausing at Draco's seat at the end of each game, asking for thoughts and opinions. As Louis seemed to be taking the pointers to heart, his game bettered. As his game bettered, Louis appeared a little happier.
As Louis appeared a little happier, Draco felt…more at ease. He wasn't much involved with any of his old school gang, and he hadn't really taken time to make new friends since. His sole focus after the war was to hold on to the life Harry Potter had rescued.
So far, so good.
Louis added to that when he asked Draco to come to practices every now and then. "You don't have to come to every single one, but you'll get a better idea of what I'm dealing with when it's not a real match."
"Conrads is going to chew you out," Draco stated.
"Let him. You're friends with the owner, aren't you?"
Draco frowned. As pleasant as things had been in only a few short months, he was sure Louis didn't quite understand. "Louis... Don't you know who I am?"
"Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater," the shorter wizard replied as they walked around the Cannons' empty field. Everyone else had gone home long ago. "If it hadn't been for Uncle Harry, you and I wouldn't be talking right now."
The gray-eyed man grimaced. So. Potter had told the family about that.
"That's not a biggie, not really," Louis mumbled. "I mean, we're all jerks at some point, aren't we?"
He had to agree, and somewhere in the back of Draco's mind, it occurred to him that he and Louis were alike. Jerks and prats one day, insane Quidditch fanatics the next. Or something like that.
It had felt a little strange, having Louis just blurt out that he knew Draco had been a Death Eater. But Draco got the feeling Louis either didn't know the rest of the story or, if he did, he didn't care. Louis was very full of himself.
In a way, though, it was…nice. Nobody had just looked at Draco and told him it was fine. He even remembered Blaise and Pansy having been a little frightened of him once he'd been Marked. But even now, with the tattoo gone, Draco wasn't really "dangerous"—at least, in Louis' eyes.
And those eyes always seemed to follow him. On anyone else, Draco would've thought Oh, brown eyes. But with Louis, with Louis... Draco sighed as he watched Louis toss the Quaffle around with Curtis, whom Louis had informed him was a mutual friend of his and his Cousin James'.
A vein in Draco's jaw twitched and he lost his train of thought when Curtis ruffled Louis' hair and Louis swatted at him. Louis shouldn't have his hair ruffled. It looked better when it was wind-blown.
Probably sensing Draco's glare, Louis looked his way and grinned. Draco's heart jumped into his throat.
And then, the inevitable finally hit him.
Draco got up without another thought—honestly, how could he be thinking these things?—and quickly exited the stands via the stairs. He had just made it outside the field when he heard light footfall behind him.
"Hey, wait! Draco, wait!"
Of course. That only worsened it—it had never been "Mr. Malfoy" or anything else. Just "Draco." Always "Draco." Why wouldn't Louis show him some respect? Merlin, he really was some kind of rebel!
"Draco!" Louis huffed and caught his arm. "Hey, mate, what's with you today?"
"It's nothing," Draco lied. "I—forgot something I had to do today."
"Bullshit," Louis spat. "You never have anything to do, and you never forget anything."
"You don't know that."
Louis closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. "But I know you. I know you hate schedules except for the Quidditch season. You can't stand looking disheveled. You have no job—which does and doesn't bother you."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to," the smaller wizard remarked exasperatedly. "Draco, what part of human relationships don't you understand? Not everything has to be said. And it's okay to be read like an open book sometimes."
Draco stared at him. Louis had this penchant for being poignant and prickly at once; it was rather endearing. But at that thought, Draco tensed and clenched his jaw. He really had to leave.
"Fine, be a twat," Louis added when Draco still said nothing. "But I expect to see you at my next game. If you aren't—well, I'm sure you know how many in my family are Aurors. I'll head the bloody search party myself." He stomped off then, and a few minutes passed before Draco left, too, for home.
Could he even stomach the thought?
Would it be that much worse if he admitted it?
Should Draco even try to classify what he was feeling?
A week and a half later, the jelly toast on Draco's tongue was tasteless and sickening. He'd had such a hard time with anything upon his realization of his growing attraction to one Louis Weasley.
That was it. It was Louis Weasley. Louis, being male. Weasley, being…well, a Weasel.
Draco downed a cup of black coffee as his face burned. Surely he was wrong? Surely he hadn't correctly named that flip of his insides and leap of his heart?
There was so much wrong surrounding the idea. Louis was a young wizard, one of countless blood-traitors—and a half-breed, Draco noted, remembering that Fleur Delacour was part-Veela—a selfish prick, an arrogant dick, and much, much too young for Draco who wasn't even interested in wizards.
But then how could he explain the attraction to Louis?
It's not about liking wizards, his conscience told him. It's about liking a person, sheesh.
When put that way, it was no wonder he and Pansy had never done anything much and Astoria had only been a good, one-time lay.
Draco sighed as he dragged himself back upstairs to his room to dress for the day. As it was winter still, it was cold and he needed a sturdy, warm cloak if he were to watch today's Chudley Cannons match.
Behind the cloaks of black, black, brown, gray, black, and more black, something orange was blaring from the back of Draco's closet. He grasped the sleeve and tugged on it. It was Louis' cloak from their first encounter.
Draco hanged his head as he dressed. He'd just never be able to escape Weasleys, would he?
The match was perhaps the Cannons' most spectacular yet. Opening at a whopping seventy points behind their opponents, the Cannons put on a stunning performance.
Conrads deflected several Quaffle shots in succession towards the end of the game. Curtis and the other Beater tag-teamed the Bludgers, more than using them to the Cannons' full advantage.
But the most miraculous move came when Louis not only caught the Snitch to win the game but caught it right in front of the other Seeker's nose—literally. And smack-dab in the middle of the other team's side of the field, no less.
Draco leapt to his feet with the others in the stands, clapping and cheering for the magnificent win. All his mixed feelings aside, Louis truly was a great Seeker, and the Cannons were lucky to have him.
The stands poured out slowly, and Draco stayed in his seat with a Heat Charm in place. He watched as Louis and his teammates reveled in their win, and several of the guys clapped Louis on the back, with the exception of Curtis' shoulder-hug. Louis positively beamed at him…and Draco's happy feeling sank just a bit.
Jealousy is a gray-eyed monster, his conscience taunted.
You mean "green-eyed," he mentally corrected.
Yeah, right. Sure I do.
Draco left the bleachers and took his time walking over to Louis. It was funny to him, considering that months earlier he'd done the same thing—only to have a robe thrown at him. But this time Louis didn't scowl upon seeing him. Instead, a content smile was toying with his lips, which were pinker than usual from the cold temperature. Draco shook himself to banish those kinds of thoughts from the front of his mind.
"That was epic," Louis chirped.
"Good to know you're plenty proud of yourself," Draco said with a smirk.
Louis scrunched his nose up at him. "I'll see you later, Curt," he told Curtis as the tanned man and the others disappeared into the locker-room.
He couldn't help it; his right eye twitched whenever Louis said Curtis' name. "Do you and he have plans?"
"What? Oh, not really. Curt, James, and their old friend, Troy, were planning on having a little reunion tonight and they said I could come, but I haven't made up my mind yet." Louis snorted. "Why? Do you want to come, Draco?"
"No, of course not."
"Good. I was hoping not. Shall we go out tonight then?"
Draco spluttered, his cheeks crimsoning. "Beg pardon?"
"Dinner, I mean."
Louis stopped walking and eyed him. "Hey, Draco."
"… It's snowing."
On instinct, Draco looked up, his small grin returning to his face. "It is. It's quite pret—" He had looked down again when Louis had surprised him by pressing their lips together, a gentle spot of warmth on a cold, cold day.
It was certainly unexpected. Louis came at him like a veteran, his mouth leading the way in a kind of dance. He tilted his head and stood on his tiptoes, all the while skillfully slipping his tongue into Draco's mouth.
Draco moaned, swallowing him whole. So much for pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, especially when Louis cupped the back of his neck and started kissing his jaw. Louis moved his mouth slowly, tantalizingly to Draco's neck, where he began to gently suck at the skin.
An alarm blared in Draco's head, though, all his worries crashing down on him like a bucket of Black Lake water to the face. He shoved Louis away and looked anywhere but his face.
"…I thought it's what you wanted," the slim blonde muttered.
"It's—you shouldn't—I don't—" Draco straightened up, searching within himself for the confidence his father had used to show. "You should never to do anything just to please others, Louis." He knew that from experience.
But the look on Louis' angry face made him immediately regret those words. "Funny—I thought I was being my usual, selfish self." He backed away, taking one last look at Draco before turning on his heel and going into the locker-room.
Good Merlin. What had Draco done?
"I'm thinking of going to France for the Easter holiday. Do you want to join me?"
Draco squinted at his mother over his cup of coffee. "What? France? What's in France?"
Narcissa put The Daily Prophet down and sniffed at her son's appearance. "Really, Draco. A five o'clock shadow, on a Malfoy man?"
"I ask, what's in France?"
"Fun. Excitement." She finished the eggs on her plate and picked up her water. "Mrs. Zabini and Mrs. Parkinson invited me along."
"Ah, the mothers-in-law. Then you should go, don't include me."
Narcissa frowned and cupped her cheek, staring at him. "You rarely went out of the house, then you suddenly were gone every couple of days. Now you're a recluse again. Draco, I might not have been able to stand your father through a war, but one thing I've always cared about is you."
Draco shrugged. "I'm fine, Mother."
She narrowed her blue eyes.
"I simply…had something to entertain me. Now it's gone." As the words fell from his mouth, his tongue felt heavy. The truth dripped from his tongue like molten lead.
Narcissa sighed. "All right. I trust you to tell me when things are upsetting you." The witch stood, gray hairs unnoticeable in her white-blonde coif, and straightened her robes. "Well, I'm off to France, then. Probably for a week or two. I'll owl you when I'm on my way back." She kissed Draco's cheek and hugged him from the side before leaving the room.
A gloomy feeling washed over him and settled in his stomach. Draco got up and left the dishes for later, choosing instead to go back up to his room. He walked out onto the balcony, the sun's rays falling on his skin.
After Louis, such warmth felt alien.
Draco sighed and leaned on the railing. Behind him, within the recesses of the manor, he heard Narcissa call, "Draco!"
"What?" he hollered back.
"A message for you!"
"Send it up, then!" Good lord, the bloody woman had always been good at interrupting his thoughts. He loved his mother, he honestly did, but that didn't change the fact that she was his mother. Mother—what a meddlesome creature!
He heard the door slam and he turned around, waiting for the parchment to come zooming into his hands. Instead, he met a pair of brown eyes and a snarky grimace.
"Hullo," Louis said curtly.
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but no words came to mind. He dropped his eyes to the floor before turning back to the balcony.
Louis took a few short steps to join him by his side. "Your mum let me in." He paused. "Good to know I passed. I lied, saying I had to deliver a message to you, but I think she was giving me the fifth degree, just with that scrutinizing gaze of hers."
"Please…," Draco stated. "No jokes about me still living with her at my age."
Louis grinned then. "It's fine. I still live with both my parents, and my older sister, though she's not home as much as usual anymore…" His words trailed. "I'm sorry, I lied again."
"What, about your family?"
"No, I really do have a message for you." Louis shoved Draco's arm to get him to look at him. "Draco, you haven't been to one game or practice since our kiss."
Draco's face flushed. When Louis called it "their" kiss, it made it seem so…actual. True.
"Don't go telling me you thought I was a piece of tail and then chickened out."
"I most certainly do not think that. Merlin, I've never really thought of anyone that way…!"
"So you do talk." Louis smirked somewhat triumphantly. "Then what is it?"
"I don't…like you," Draco muttered.
"Uh-huh. I could see you falling a mile away. Eyes always on me. Your body language shifts when it's just us, did you know that? And your eyes turn a shade darker when Curt's around—oh, jeez, you aren't jealous of him, are you?" Louis laughed. "Draco, Curt's got Troy. 'Sides, I don't think anyone's ever stared at my lips so much, consciously or not," he finished, leaning on the railing next to the other blonde and raising his eyebrows.
Draco closed his eyes and hanged his head. "You can't—I dunno—you can't expect me to be okay with this. I've…"
"Never felt this way towards a bloke?"
"Never felt this way towards anyone," Draco corrected. "And then there're your feelings to consider, as well."
Louis groaned. "Why is it that in every love story one person thinks the other doesn't return his feelings? Cripes!" He pushed Draco's shoulder to get him to meet his face. "Draco... I didn't mean to be a git that first time we met."
Draco snorted, but a tiny smirk touched his lips. "I can be the same way myself."
"What can I say? I'm not very Weasley when compared to my cousins and sisters," Louis stated with a shrug. "But two things make me Weasley: I go after what I want…and I can blush up to my ears."
"I'd actually taken note of the latter."
Louis shook his head, reddening. "My point is that—oh, bloody hell, I hate this mawkish crap—I..." He sighed. "Ithinkitwasloveatfirstsight."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"I think…," Louis drew out, "…it was…loveatfirstsight."
Draco frowned. "Seriously?"
"On the good name of Sirius Black, seriously." Louis exhaled. "I don't hang out with just anyone, Draco."
"My teammates? Not really off the field. I don't hang out with much anyone, really. But…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Have you ever really looked in a mirror, Draco? Do you know what magic your gray eyes are capable of?"
Draco blinked and blushed. He'd never been complimented so sincerely before.
"I knew what I saw in those eyes…I liked." The younger wizard straightened up, face still red, and shoved a ticket at the object of his affections. "This is for the last game of the season. We didn't qualify for the championship, but we've still a game to go. So you better be there." He finally glanced at Draco. "And you better be nice to those feelings I know you have for me. Stop beating them up and telling them they're horrid."
"What did I tell you before? You don't have to say it for me to get it, Draco." Louis gripped his shoulder and backed off. A minute later, Draco heard the front door close again.
One more chance, Draco thought the following month, the day before the Cannons' last game of the season.
He'd give his feelings one more chance. He'd give Louis one more try. And if his nagging feeling wouldn't settle, then Draco would give up all love for Qudditch if Louis would be happy and only friendly again. When they didn't add in any romance, they got along well as mates.
Of course, once anyone added in the romance factor, "friendships" were never the same.
Just think—Louis. That's all. Just Louis. No "Weasley," no nothing—only Louis. It was a smidge of reassurance, but it bolstered Draco enough to open the manor's front door so he could do some grocery shopping.
Draco blinked. Damn, Louis had bad timing.
Louis scuffed his shoe on the ground. "May I, uh, come in?"
"What happened to 'come to the last game'?" the Malfoy blurted.
Louis pulled a face. "So I'm impatient, so sue me." His expression softened. "I…couldn't wait, not really."
Draco stepped aside and closed the door behind the young male.
"I've been going nuts."
Louis frowned and gave him a look. "I mean, I've been going nuts, hoping you'd come to terms with your feelings."
"You haven't, have you?" Louis sighed. "I figured, considering you still didn't show up to practices…"
Maybe Louis was right. Maybe that was answer enough, not going to see him at all... Draco nodded. "Actually, while you're here, let me grab your robe."
"Oh." Louis' frown deepened. "Right."
Draco jogged back upstairs and rummaged in his closet. He hadn't realized Louis had followed him, but it wasn't much of a surprise when he turned around and passed the orange cloth to him. "Here."
"Ah, looks the same as when I threw it at you." Louis' eyes lingered on the fabric. Then he startled Draco by looking up at him again. "Is it you?"
"Do you have a problem with yourself?" Louis looked at him earnestly. He expected an answer.
"I…" Draco opened and closed his mouth several times. "I…dunno."
"I think you do." The Weasley shook his head. "Remember when you asked me what I knew of you? Yeah, I know you had been a Death Eater. I know you'd almost been friends with Uncle Harry. I know you were the one that called Aunt Hermione a Mudblood. I know you wanted Buckbeak dead for scratching you. I know you were part of that stupid Inquisitorial Squad, you sent Uncle Ollie's and Aunt Ange's friend Katie that cursed necklace, and you begged for mercy in the war."
Draco's temper flared to life. "Gee, when put that way, you seem to be an expert on such an outstanding guy!"
Louis tossed his Cannons robe on the foot of the bed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I told you few things make me Weasley. So why do you feel as though the only thing you are is Malfoy?"
The older man's eyes widened. "…what?"
"All this time we've spent together, I've never seen you as 'Malfoy.' You're 'Draco' to me."
Draco shook his head and looked away. "That's just it—you don't know me, don't know what I've done."
"Then give me your side of the story," Louis insisted, stepping forward. He placed a hand on Draco's left arm.
His struggle was starting to crumble, and he could feel it come down brick-by-brick when Louis kissed him again. As before, Louis' mouth move with his and he forgot all else with Louis there, beside him, melding into him…his.
Yes, Louis was his. How could he ever try to convince himself of the opposite? Louis was right—he wasn't all Malfoy. But the one thing Malfoy about him was that when he found something he wanted, he grabbed a hold of it and didn't let go. He'd blame Potter later for softening him by rescuing him.
Louis was the aggressor as cloaks were dropped and clothes abandoned, but Draco did not mind. Louis was his and…frankly, he was Louis'. That would not change, even if tomorrow reminded him yet again of a sordid past that could never be Obliviated.
It became obvious Louis had done this before, but he was gentle. He even held Draco's arm close to him. His fingers traced the raised skin of Draco's left forearm. "Does it still hurt?"
The gray-eyed wizard frowned. "That is one thing I will tell you—it was like having him inside you, his blood coursing through your veins." Draco closed his eyes.
"Then I'd best clean him out of your system," Louis said, and then they were one.
At some point the next morning, Draco awoke. His body ached and his arse... Sweet fucking Salazar, Louis was not as slim as he appeared. No wonder he couldn't fly faster.
At the thought, Draco turned on his side—and frowned. The bed was cold and Louis was absent. Shit. Had he already screwed things up so soon? This has to be a record, Draco gloomily thought to himself. Then he rolled over on his other side and saw a pair of brown eyes he—well, fuck it—he loved. A bloody grin appeared on his face. That one, he'd blame on Louis' damned Weasley influence. Or maybe it was just the Louis influence.
"Hope your bum's okay," Louis began bluntly, that same old smirk on his face.
Draco scowled. "Great way to ruin the moment... Wait a minute—is that my cloak?"
Louis looked down at himself, holding up a baggy-sleeved arm. "Huh. This old black thing? Why yes, yes it is." He grinned and drew it closed. "It's quite nice. Mind if I keep it?"
"I do mind. What do I get out of it?"
"Well, I can still sign my Cannons' robe for you, but you're not going to want to sell it now."
Draco rolled his eyes and got out of bed, looking for something to wrap around his waist. "I like that black cloak, you know."
Louis blushed at the sight of him. "Then, erm, I'll get it back to you…after I've cleaned it…"
"For Merlin's sake—you didn't!"
"What can I say? You were delightfully sexy as you slept through the morning." Louis' face fell. "Oh crap. THE GAME."
"What do you mean, 'the game'? You just, in my cloak, eja—" Then Draco, too, blinked. "The last game!"
Ah, yes. Louis made it to the last game in time, but the Cannons' lost. Louis was complaining about being sore. Draco, meanwhile, groaned from the stands, unable to sit down.
Oh, tomorrow would be better. And so would the day after that.
ARGH. It can be a little bothersome, writing such long oneshots on my phone…. Then I forget to do other things…. And I can't immediately write other stuff. Not to mention scrolling down can be a bother.
But it's a happy bother when a story turns out like this. B)
Louco is delicious, Draco didn't have to be completely emo, Louis got to be the little prick that I love (*lol*), and I even managed a passing mention of two other M&MWPs for which I'd like cred if you used 'em (Daphne/Lucius and Gabrielle/Oliver). And Draco being forced, in a way, to like the Cannons…*lol*. -w- Note: The title comes from a song of the same name by Will Dailey—it's such a brainworm! Xo
And cookies if you recall where else I wrote my haunt, the Graces Three! B]
Thanks so much for reading—please review!