Author's Note: Just a little something for fun. I got all of the following pick-up lines online, and I thought they were all pretty hilarious. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Characters are J.K. Rowling's; the only thing that is mine is the ridiculous plot.
"Ow! Zabini, you clumsy oaf. Watch it!"
Draco wrinkled his nose and pointedly dusted himself off while glaring at Blaise, who had just stepped on one of his custom-made onyx leather loafers for the third time since they'd left the common room for breakfast. Honestly! If it had been one mistake, he might've let it slide with a stern warning; two, a little revenge would have to be arranged, but three times? The negligent git was truly asking for it today. And of all days! This was Draco's favourite pair, and he was so not in the mood to negotiate.
"It might do for you to learn how to walk correctly, you prat," he snapped, with a succinct venom. "And how about you put that fucking phone away and face me with proper respect?"
Unfortunately for Draco, Blaise didn't even blink, obviously too enthralled with the device in his hand Draco had so angrily referred to. Draco glared at it intensely, hoping to burn a hole in it. What did Blaise call it again? Oh right, a Blackberry. But why? It wasn't a delicious fruit. Muggle-made items were so strange in that way—why not just call it what it is? Blackberry, his father's regal arse. Ridiculous.
"Hello? Did you even hear me?" Draco practically yelled. "I was just about to verbally whoop your arse!"
"Hm? What was that? Oh, sorry Draco," Blaise said, nodding his head a little. "Can we do this later? I'm a bit preoccupied right now."
Draco almost growled. "Yeah, so am I," he mumbled sarcastically. "Planning your slow and agonising demise."
No response. Draco sighed loudly and decided not to antagonise Blaise further, as it would obviously do no good. Blaise had been glued to his new muggle phone ever since they had come back to Hogwarts for their unofficial Eighth Year, when the school had started encouraging students to own that sort of rubbish—i.e. cell phones, laptops, pencils and denim jeans. Personally, Draco thought the staff was overdoing it. Wizard-Muggle Unity, whoop-de-doo—but look what it was doing to the students! He shot another disgusted look at the engrossed expression on Blaise's face. Preposterous.
Draco sighed and put his thumbs in the pockets of his new denims. All right, so he could admit that not all muggle things were a complete atrocity. Denims were rather comfortable, and they complimented his already fantastic arse quite nicely—and no, he wasn't being vain, he'd actually seen many a swooning teenage girl (and occasional bloke) ogle it at some point or another. He wasn't going off on just assumption; it was fact. Still, it wasn't as if he was going up and down the corridors shouting 'Muggle Tolerance!'—he had a reputation to uphold. Draco stole yet another biting glance at Blaise, who still wasn't looking at him. His reputation also hindered him from hexing the living daylights out of his bastard best friend as well. Pity.
It was only after they had entered the Great Hall and taken their regular seats at the Slytherin table that Blaise had begun to acknowledge Draco's existence. The boy laughed loudly and pointed at his phone before giving Draco's shoulder a rather hard shove. "Merlin, Draco!" Blaise exclaimed. "You've got to read this tripe. It's hilarious!"
Draco gave him a dry, somewhat injured look. "Oh, so now you want to talk to me?" he asked. "I'm honoured, truly."
Blaise grinned brightly, ignoring Draco's sarcasm and pointed lack of interest. But of course the blatant ignorance was on purpose, as no Slytherin was that daft. "Oh, quit your moping," he said. "Look, I've gotten onto this muggle site—"
"Oh, muggles! You should have told me that before! How fascinating! Do tell!"
"Let me finish, you arse. It's this muggle site that has loads of ridiculous pick-up lines to use on anyone for any occasion, and they're brilliant. Just read them."
Draco didn't look at the lighted screen that Blaise had pushed at his face, instead raising an eyebrow and giving the boy a sly smirk. Well, since he wasn't allowed to mope, he might as well start a little something. "And for whom might you be looking up pick-up lines for, my dear friend?" he asked.
Blaise shot him a quick glare but otherwise ignored him, opting to continue rambling on about the story of how he'd come to discover the website instead of responding. Finally, a human reaction! Draco only chuckled. Blaise had had a crush on Seamus Finnigan for over a year now, and he knew that Draco knew that. But then again, almost everybody knew that except for the Gryffindor dunderhead himself, which was absolutely incredible, because christ, Blaise wasn't a subtle bloke at all. And Draco liked to poke a bit of fun at him for it from time to time. Honestly, what sort of sappy bastard pined after Gryffindors anyway? Especially one of the densest of the bunch—Finnigan was high in the ranks of the 'Potter' hierarchy. Honestly. The thought was just laughable in itself.
"...anyways, I thought that perhaps we should try them out sometime. You know, experiment with them," Blaise finished, before giving Draco a bit of an expectant look.
Draco stared back at him blankly. "Um, sorry?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I said, I've found a particularly hilarious list of pick-up lines for blokes like us to use," he said. "We should give them a go."
Draco frowned. "Blokes like us?"
Blaise gave him a knowing smirk.
Draco sighed. Git. "Well, you've got Finnigan to use them on, but who have I got? None of the simpletons in this school fit any of my criteria for a perfect match."
He wrinkled his nose in disgust and glanced around the table at the others. He'd rather do a dance with a House Elf at a family reunion than date any of the available Slytherins in his year... even Nott, who'd Draco might have had a mini crush on in fourth year. Besides, he'd already wined and dined (literally) every other Slytherin that was worth a second look in this place. So no... And there was no way that he was going for anybody outside of his own House. His eyes flicked over to the Gryffindor table where he caught sight of Granger and the Weasel mooning all over one another as a bedhead-sporting Potter chewed on a piece of toast rather obnoxiously and laughed at something Schlongbottom had said. Ew. Ew. Why were all Gryffindors so... revolting? It was bordering on barbaric. Draco shuddered.
Blaise shrugged after what seemed like a millennium, as if sensing Draco's reluctance to extend his boundaries. "Maybe you haven't been looking in the right places," he suggested. "You have to open your mind to different possibilities, Draco. I mean, you could essentially have anybody you want in the entire school. You know you could."
"That's not completely true. And you know that I don't want just anybody, Blaise."
"All right, fine." Blaise rolled his eyes. "You're a picky bastard, I know, whatever. The point is, you've been spending all of your nights lately hunched over library textbooks and grumbling about how boring everything is. Use a few of these bad boys and you might find something interesting to do. Perhaps even someone."
Draco snorted. "Yes, because a few stupid pick-up lines is going to help me find somebody worth my time," he replied mockingly.
Blaise grinned. "Who knows? Maybe it will."
Draco had been reading his daily potions text in the library when Blaise stomped in; the git effectively created a huge distraction by sliding into the seat across from Draco and slamming his bag on the table with an echoed bang. Draco looked up at him sharply, hoping that his expression would make the other boy go away and leave him alone. It didn't. Hm. The little shit was getting bolder by the day, to Draco's extreme irritation. They stared at each other for a few moments in silent challenge.
Finally, Draco cleared his throat. "Can I help you?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice like acid.
Blaise ignored his tone and nodded cheerily, as if Draco had just invited him to sit down for tea and sentimental small talk. "Yeah, actually, you can," he said. "Here's the pick-up line for today." He shoved his damned phone under Draco's nose.
Draco made a huge show of closing his book and putting it on the table in front of him before glancing down at the phone. He might as well humour the crazy prat, maybe then he'd leave faster. Draco scanned it briefly, then frowned. "Uh, all right. This is stupid. So what?"
"So find a bloke and tell him that!"
Draco lifted his chin. "How do you know that it's a bloke that I want to pick up?" he asked. "Perhaps I feel like fucking a girl tonight, you don't know."
"Please." Blaise scoffed knowingly, "We both know that you fancy men over women. Besides, I heard you this morning—no man that wants a woman would spend that much time in the shower making all that noise."
Draco coloured and scowled down at his hands. Damn those shower walls for being so thin! He would have been more careful, but it wasn't as if he stood around listening on the other side in case of the other blokes hearing him experiment. He had just figured that they wouldn't notice. Who did things like that anyways? Blaise, evidently. Draco tried to control himself by taking a deep breath. He loved his friend to death, but gods! Sometimes he just wanted to strangle him!
"Maybe I was wanking," he muttered.
"You could've been," Blaise agreed, his smirk growing with satisfaction, "but you left your 'Bad Boys of Quidditch' calendar stuffed under your pillow this morning, so I doubt it—Mr. July has got rather nice legs, hasn't he? Pity that Snitch wasn't a bit farther to the left... Anyway, about this bloke—"
Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Wow," he muttered. "Look Blaise, I don't feel like picking up some poor sap today, all right? I've got that Potions exam to study for. It's tomorrow, if you didn't remember."
Blaise pouted. "Come on! I know for a fact that you always finish your studies a week before every exam, you brag about it all the time, so don't try to pull that 'study' shit on me. Besides, I already did my line today, so it's only fair."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "When did you do yours?"
"This morning. I asked Finch-Fletchley if I could have his number, because I lost mine. Brilliant, right?" Blaise chuckled. "These fucking Muggles. Who knew that they were so clever?"
"Finch-Fletchley?" Draco frowned. "I thought you were going to ask Finnigan?"
"Ask me what?"
Draco turned sharply and noticed Finnigan standing by a nearby bookcase; he'd obviously just been searching for a text there. The Irishman's eyes were slightly narrowed as though he wanted to be suspicious but didn't know what for yet. Such a typical Gryffindor. Draco's eyes now flicked over to Finnigan's left. And he had company... Potter and Weasley were both perusing the shelves for books, both seemingly oblivious to the situation. But they wouldn't be for long, especially with the way that Finnigan was staring Draco and Blaise down.
Draco gritted his teeth. Fuck! He should have thought to be more quiet, especially discussing a topic like this. He flushed slightly at the idea of any of the Gryffindors hearing about his pathetic love life and pickup lines. Gods, how mortifying. No matter how much he loved Blaise, he wouldn't hesitate to murder him right then and there if Potter and the Weasel had somehow heard that Draco liked to stick things up his arse in the shower. Also, how was he supposed to explain to Finnigan that they were discussing him because Blaise had a big fat crush on him? Now that wasn't his problem. Draco turned around calmly and looked at his friend with raised eyebrows. Slytherins were infamous for their cool, collected charm—Blaise was typically not an exception to that. Except when it came to Finnigan.
Blaise's already dark skin was ten times darker with the flush that was creeping up his neck. His eyes were wide with panic. Draco snorted. Smooth. "Oh, hello," Blaise stammered pathetically. "Seamus, er—Finnigan! We weren't talking about you. Right, Draco?"
Predictable. Draco pursed his lips. Thanks for dragging me into this, Blaise. You're a pal. "Sure," he muttered. "Not talking about you at all."
Finnigan frowned. "Malfoy, I heard you say my name."
"He didn't say your name," Blaise said quickly. "He said... uh... 'again'! Like, Fin... Again. Didn't you, Draco?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell," he muttered.
Unfortunately by now, the aforementioned two-thirds of the Bravery Bunch had finally caught onto the situation. Weasley was now stalking over, a blazing light in his blue eyes, and Potter trailed after him—it was obvious that neither of them had any idea what was going on or if there was even a problem in the first place. Draco snorted a little. Always quick to conclusions, Gryffindors. Draco sat back and waited for the wrath of the Weasel first. He even folded his hands together in a show of absolute patience.
As predicted, Weasley stomped right up to him and glared, as if it were his fault that Finnigan had been eavesdropping on his conversation. "Stop talking shit to Seamus, Malfoy," he accused hotly.
Draco raised his hands up in defence, letting the curve of his lips fall into a sort of mocking smirk. Now, he could politely tell Weasley that he hadn't even been part of the conversation. Or... "Slow down there, Carrot Brain," he sneered. "Why don't you stash those atrociously large meat claws away for another time, hm? You've got nothing on me."
Weasley's face turned a bright red at the insult, confirming Draco's carrot comment. "Why, you little son of a—"
"What did you just call him?" Finnigan asked belatedly, turning to Draco.
"Hey Seamus, I like your shoes," Blaise blurted out.
Finnigan beamed at him now. "Thanks, Blaise."
"Seamus!" Weasley roared.
Draco laughed. "Hey Weasel, the 1500's called," he taunted. "They said that you can keep their tattered, dirty, peasant robes."
Weasley charged forward. "Malfoy, I am going to shove your—"
Potter suddenly stepped in front of him and blocked the way. Draco was slightly disappointed, because he probably could have used Weasley's incessant rambling for later blackmail. Why did Potter have to ruin all things?
"Ron, don't," Potter mediated quietly. "Just let it go." He glanced over at his other friend. "Seamus, are you all right?"
As if just realising he'd been the cause of an unneeded altercation, Seamus blinked and nodded. "M'fine, mate. Thanks."
"Good." Potter now tugged at Weasley's sleeve gently to pull him away and gave both Draco and Blaise a small nod before turning his attention back to the bookshelf, as if nothing had happened. Draco scowled at the side of his head.
"What do you know, Potter?" Draco sneered halfheartedly. He really didn't feel like messing with the Gryffindor when the boy wouldn't even throw him an insult as bait. He resisted the impulse of raising his eyebrows in surprise. Except, really, it wasn't a surprise that Potter was backing down. He'd been doing it a lot nowadays, throwing Draco off like that. What, was Saint Potter finally changing his temper tantrum ways? Was this his final 'fuck you' to Draco and his friends? ... If so, it was working.
Draco sighed. It was sort of depressing, actually. Bothering Potter had been one of his very favourite pasttimes as an adolescent—he'd created some of his most prominent memories from slews of heated arguments and fights with the fiesty Gryffindor—but there was no pleasure in the act anymore. Potter had become somewhat indestructible after the war, personality-wise, and Draco had quickly lost interest in the game. But, after eight years of taunting and teasing, it only seemed like the natural thing to do. So, Draco continued to taunt and tease. But with less vigor, of course... like he had said, it was depressing.
Potter, remaining true to his newly calm state, shrugged carelessly without turning around. "I reckon I don't know much," he agreed. "Come on guys, let's go. I don't think we'll find what we need here. Maybe Hermione has the notes."
He grabbed Weasley's arm and started to pull him away, with Finnigan trailing not far behind. Before the Irishman could get very far, however, he turned around and gave Blaise a quick wave good-bye, as if apologising for thinking that Blaise had done or said something wrong. Blaise returned it with an embarrassing amount of excitement, and Draco couldn't help but smirk a little before ducking his head to hide it from his friend lest he got a scolding.
When Draco had collected himself and glanced up to tease Blaise mercilessly, he found the other boy already recovered and staring at him with a calculating glint in his chocolate-coloured eyes. "What?" he questioned with suspicion, all humour and teasing gone from his tone.
"You should go ask Potter this," Blaise replied, motioning toward his phone. "Your daily pick-up line."
Draco gave him a weird look. "Why on Mother Earth would I do that? I hate him."
"Did you see the way that he brushed you off just now? Weren't you talking about how tired you were of Potter ignoring your antics last night?" Blaise raised an eyebrow knowingly and held up his phone. "Because I can guarantee you that he wouldn't ignore this. It'd be interesting to see how he'd react, you guys being old enemies and all... And it would be absolutely hilarious."
Draco flared a little, loathing the look of mischief that had appeared in Blaise's eyes. No fucking way was he subjecting himself to utter humiliation by asking Potter, of all people, stupid muggle pick-up lines that he didn't even want to use in the first place. He'd throw himself off the Astronomy Tower ten times before doing something so absolutely ludicrous. How dare Blaise even suggest it?
"I'm not here for your entertainment, Zabini," he growled.
Blaise smirked in challenge. "What?" he taunted. "Are you afraid that he'll reject you?"
Draco started in his chair at the suggestion before shaking his head insistently. Merlin, Blaise had acquired a lot of fucking nerve lately. "Excuse me? You have no right to throw such accusations at me. I just don't feel like it, all right? Maybe another time."
Or another person. Any other person, in fact. Weasley, even. Anyone but Potter. Draco would choose Weasley over Potter for the stupid pickup lines any day, because at least he knew that the redheaded oaf would just hex him and be done with it. With Potter, Draco couldn't be so sure, especially with the newfound neutrality the Boy Wonder was working. The thought was a little daunting.
Blaise leaned back lazily. "No, I'm pretty sure you're just scared."
Draco gasped, scandalised. "Am not!"
"Potter has never frightened me and he never will!"
"Well then, prove it! I dare you to ask him every pick-up line on this website!" Blaise declared. "If you don't, you'll have to do my Potions assignments for a whole month."
Draco's jaw dropped in disbelief, but he snapped it shut instantly and sneered at his friend instead. Dares were like rites of passage in Slytherin: refuse to complete one and you were out and done for. Namely, social suicide—Draco might as well just throw himself off the Astronomy Tower anyways. He gritted his teeth murderously. If Blaise believed that he was going to get an easy win out of Draco this time, he was so wrong. Draco was an expert on Potter, and he had been for almost eight years now. Now that he thought about it, telling the Gryffindor prat a few innocent pick-up lines surely couldn't hurt him. Oh, it was so on.
"Fine!" he snarled, shoving his seat back with a dramatic slam and stomping off.
He was halfway out the door before he realised that he'd forgotten his bag and books, but he knew that it would look rather ridiculous for him to turn around and retrieve them, so he didn't. Fortunately, he heard Blaise chuckle and pick them up for him before following him out, so Draco continued to stamp his feet noisily without another thought until he reached the common room.
That night in the Great Hall, Draco picked at his food fretfully and glanced up at the Gryffindor table, as he'd been doing at regular intervals for the past ten minutes. This time, he caught sight of the object of his thoughts laughing with Granger and stuffing mashed potatoes down his throat. Draco bit his lip as he watched Potter's Adam's apple bob up and down when he swallowed the potatoes. It was quite fascinating, really. Potter had a pretty throat—nice skin and clefts in all the right places. Why had Draco never looked at it before? I wonder what it'd be like to see Potter's Adam's apple bob if he sucked my—
"Oi, earth to Malfoy! Pass the rolls, will you?"
His head snapped up as he noticed an annoyed-looking Goyle staring at him impatiently, his large hand held out as if expecting a roll to just drop out of the sky and fall in his grasp. And knowing the dense boy well enough, he probably did. Draco shook his head.
"Oh, er, sorry," he muttered absently, picking up the platter and handing it to the other boy without rebuttal.
Blaise elbowed him roughly. "You didn't even chastise him for speaking to you like that," he remarked. "What's on your mind, lover boy? Worried about tonight's festivities?"
Draco rubbed his side and glared at him. "No," he snapped, but he glanced quickly at Potter again. Pretty throat. "I'm entirely prepared at the moment, actually. It's no big deal."
He picked up his fork and pointedly stabbed at his meal to show the other boy that he was indeed calm and collected. Which he was. Obviously. Like he said before, there was no way that he would be scared of anything Potter-related.
Blaise smirked. "All right. Then go do it right now."
Draco almost choked on a rather large portion of steak. "N-now?" he asked.
"Yeah. Since you're so ready."
Draco cursed his fantastic lying skills. "Well… Fine."
He got up slowly and tried to appear casual sauntering over towards the Gryffindor table, as if he did it every day, even though people were starting to gawk at him and whisper. He curled up his lip at them, baring his teeth slightly in warning. Gods, it was like they'd never seen a person walk over to another table before. Granted, it was him, and he was walking over to the Gryffindor table, but they still had no right to stare at him. Bloody idiots at this school, honestly.
After what seemed like a million years and hundreds of curious eyes of walking, Draco finally reached the area where Potter was sitting. He took a deep breath and approached the boy's back. Potter was still inhaling food, as though he hadn't noticed the slight change in atmosphere caused by Draco's arrival, and he was clinking his silverware against his plate rather loudly as he ate. Draco rolled his eyes. Potter was so oblivious. How charming. No really, it kind of was. Draco tapped the boy's shoulder, feeling somewhat apprehensive all of the sudden.
"Excuse me, Potter?"
Potter turned around and his surprisingly stunning green eyes widened at the sight of him standing there. "Malfoy?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"
Draco bit his lip. "Can I have directions?"
Potter stared at him, now completely bewildered. "Er, what? To where?"
Draco felt himself growing warm. "To your heart," he mumbled.
"I... wait, did you just—?"
"Yeah, me too. Nice talking with you, Potter."
Face still burning, Draco turned quickly on his heels and speed-walked back towards the Slytherin table, utterly mortified by the stunned look that had appeared on Potter's face. Blaise was cackling and slapping his knee while the rest of his Housemates watched him in perplexity. Draco sat back down in his seat and stared at his plate, hoping that the movement would indicate his reluctancy to discuss the matter and therefore make them cease to do so. But as they were Slytherins, the motion was ignored.
"Why did you go over to the Gryffindor table?" Goyle questioned.
Nott nodded. "Yeah, you got trouble with Potter again?"
"Did you go over there to mock him, Draco? Why didn't you bring one of us for back-up?" Pansy asked.
"I don't need back-up to insult my own rival, Pansy," Draco sneered suddenly. "And will you all just shut the fuck up? I had to ask him for an assignment, that's all. A homework assignment. Nothing special."
The rest of the table exchanged weird looks before shrugging and going back to their dinners. Draco sighed in relief, now using the distraction to frantically rack his brain for damage control. He hadn't said anything loud enough for anyone besides him and Potter to hear, right? Well, perhaps a few of his buddies around him may have heard, but he doubted that they would go around spreading that. Besides, nobody would believe them. He silently cheered in victory, because as far as he knew, he was rather safe from utter humiliation. The worst of the nightmare was complete.
Blaise grinned wickedly at him, ruining the moment. "Did you have fun, dear?" he whispered.
Draco shot mental daggers at him with his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?"
"More or less," Blaise contemplated briefly. "Oh, and wait until tomorrow's line, it's even better!"
Draco groaned and slammed his head on the table repeatedly, to the shock of his Housemates again. Apparently, his nightmare was far from finished. It had only just begun.
Over the next couple of days, Blaise had given Draco the most atrociously cheesy and romantic pick-lines he'd ever heard of to say to Potter. They were awful. It was painfully obvious that Blaise was choosing them specially for him, because each time, the git cackled harder than the previous. But really? "Was that an earthquake or did you just rock my world?" "Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?" Draco was aware that old-fashioned romance was a quickly dying phenomenon in the Muggle world, but those were just wrong.
Draco had to admit, however, the few wizard ones that he had received were a lot more interesting, and he'd actually enjoyed those a bit. For example, "Baby, do you play Quidditch? Because you certainly look like a keeper" and "Not even Obliviate can get you off my mind" had been some of his favourites so far. They were actually clever. Still, he had been disinclined to say Friday's line, because even when Blaise had physically forced him to inform an equally embarrassed Potter that they didn't call him "Head Boy" for nothing, he'd been blushing hard enough to make a Weasley proud. And that was saying something.
Of course, Potter was obviously quite baffled and surprised by Draco's random come ons, but Draco had avoided the awkward explanation by hiding from him until the next time he had to give him another line. Because really, what was he supposed to say? That he had been dared by Blaise to give his rival a bunch of stupid pick-up lines, only to actually find himself enjoying the process of giving them to him? Draco would never admit it to anybody out loud, but as the days went by, he'd grown less and less mortified to tell Potter the cheesy pick-up lines. It was sort of... fun. And to be honest, he actually liked the expression of puzzlement that appeared on Potter's face whenever he walked up and came onto him, the faint blush that stained Potter's cheeks when Draco would lean in and whisper it in his ear. It was inevitable, now that he thought about it. The sexual intent of some of those pickup lines were bound to work on somebody, and if not Potter...
Draco frowned and shook his head. Wait, what?
Then, choosing to ignore the sudden burst of mixed emotions, he grinned to himself as he thought of his next pick-up line of the day on his way to Potions—this one was really going to give the Boy Who Lived a run for his money. Draco was smiling like a maniac in high spirits as he sauntered down the corridor to class. He could hardly wait to see the look on Potter's pretty face when he talked to him today; to watch the emerald-green of those eyes brighten, the pink of his cheeks deepen, the edges of that pouty mouth quirk upwards... Not that Draco was looking that closely, anyway. Those were just things that he had happened to notice. But just as he was "happening to notice" Potter's admittedly fit arse, a familiar, nasally voice snapped him out of his thoughts and back into reality.
"Happy about something, Malfoy? Ruined some poor little First Year's day, have you?" It was Weasley, of course, with his stupid freckled face looking quite triumphant as a result of his amateurish jab. Honestly.
Draco glanced over and gave him a condescending look. "Yes, I did, and it was great fun," he remarked sarcastically. "You should try it." He shoved past the redhead to get farther away from him and closer to his best friend (though said best friend seemed to be nowhere in sight by now. Damn him.)
"Or perhaps you're just thinking about how much you fancy Harry?" Weasley called out after him. Several students turned and looked at Draco questioningly as he stopped walking and made a sharp turn. What? How did Weasley know about... He cleared his throat. Nothing. Know about nothing, because there is nothing.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he sneered back.
Weasley laughed a little too knowingly for Draco's taste. "You think you're so secretive don't you, Malfoy?" he mocked. "Well, you've forgotten that I'm Harry's best friend, and he tells me everything! Those little chats you've been having with him aren't exactly—"
"Shut up, Weasel!" Draco yelled, pulling out his wand as a threat. His eyes darted around nervously at the crowd that had started to form around them in interest, hoping that none of them would pick up on Weasley's words and start to analyse them. Oh gods, this could be bad. This could be very bad.
Weasley's eyes flashed heatedly and he made a move to pull his wand too. "You're not better than me, Malfoy," he declared. "And you're certainly not good enough for Harry!"
Draco pointed his wand at Weasley's chest. "I said, shut up!"
Weasley narrowed his eyes and raised his wand too, but suddenly, Potter ran up out of nowhere and held him back. "Oi, Ron! What are you doing?" he asked, glancing up, as if he'd just noticed Draco standing there with a wand and a murderous glint in his eye. Potter blushed automatically. "Malfoy!" he exclaimed breathlessly, stepping past Weasley and walking towards Draco. "Put down your wand, will you? I'm sure Ron didn't mean whatever he said."
Draco eyed him. "Run along, Potter, this doesn't concern you."
Weasley snorted. "Right," he remarked sarcastically. "Except it always concerns Harry when it comes to you, Malfoy, doesn't it?"
"Stuff it, Weasel," Draco hissed. "Seriously."
Weasley glared back, but he put his wand back in his robes. "You're lucky that there's a crowd, otherwise I'd have to hurt you."
Draco scoffed. "As if you could."
Potter interrupted by clearing his throat. "Actually, Malfoy, could I talk to you for a moment?" he asked. "In private?"
Draco shot one last warning glare at Weasley, and then stowed his own wand away in his robes. He glanced around at the growing crowd of students, who were watching them with more intensity now that Potter had arrived. Well, Draco wasn't about to give them a show or anything. "I'm afraid I can't, Potter," he replied airily. "We'll be late for class."
"It's worth it," Potter urged.
Draco's breath caught at the earnest expression on the other boy's face. What was going on? His heart fluttered stupidly and he silently told it to stop, because Slytherins did not flutter and for godsake stop it right now! "No… I can't," he muttered. "I'm not ruining my perfect attendance record for your barmy little Gryffindor games. I'm leaving."
"Please, Malfoy, why have you—"
Draco rolled his eyes and interrupted him by leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "You don't have to say Accio to make me come, Potter," he hissed.
He tilted his head down, letting his breath ghost across the nook of Potter's pretty throat just enough to cause the boy to shudder visibly. Draco smiled wickedly, leaning back and walking away as fast as possible while the distraction was still fresh. Ha ha! He'd actually gotten away from this one! But Potter had seemed to snap back to reality when Draco moved.
"Wait, wait!" he protested. "You can't just—"
Draco ignored him and ducked into the classroom just as class started, leaving Potter to fend for himself. And he had to hide a grin behind the palm of his hand when Potter slinked in about fifteen minutes later with rumpled robes and ever-tousled hair. Gods, how priceless. He seriously loved these pick-up lines.
"What do you mean, there's no more?" Draco demanded, his hands planted on his hips as he glared down at his best friend lounging on the couches of the Slytherin common room.
Blaise sighed and raised an eyebrow. "You've finished your dare and used all of them on the website," he reminded him. "I mean, if you would have just slowed down and used them once a day, or once a week—"
"Well, I can't change it now!" Draco pouted. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Not my homework, that's for bloody sure," Blaise responded bitterly, letting his quill drag across the paper that he was currently working on in front of him. Draco only gave him a look, and Blaise shook his head. "Look, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that you actually enjoyed giving Potter pick-up lines..." he paused. "And since I know better, let's just cut to the chase."
"Well, I..." Draco paused and bit his lip.
Those pick-up lines had been like his security blanket, but now he wasn't so sure, since they had led him to this. They'd started out as a dare, but something had changed—when it had, he didn't know. He only knew that every time he was around Potter, his heart started to pound loudly in his chest and in his ears and he couldn't stop staring at him and wondering. And when he wasn't around Potter, he was dreaming about him. Like a silly, lovesick girl. Like a sappy bastard. How messed up was that?
Blaise, sensing the reason for his hesitation, spoke softly. "You could just talk to him," he suggested. "Like a normal person."
Draco frowned. Could he? He didn't know whether or not he could handle having an actual conversation with the boy without one of them attempting to strangle the other. What if he made a fool of himself? It was highly likely that he might either mock Potter or drool over him, and both options were a huge no. He sighed. Wasn't it just a while ago that he'd scoffed at Blaise for having a Gryffindor crush? Now Draco had one too. Karma was a big fat bitch. What had these stupid lines done to him?
He shook his head at Blaise, who was still patiently waiting for him to speak. "I don't know," Draco said. "I mean, I'll probably fuck up and make a complete arse of myself somehow. Don't I always, anyways? Gods. I hate it."
Blaise grinned. "I've never seen you this bothered about anyone else before... It's always Potter. Years and years of bother all because of Potter. I suppose that this little crush you have on him was long overdue, eh?"
Draco flushed. "I don't have a—oh, fuck you! Just give me more of those pick-up lines. I need them!"
Blaise cringed away from him. "Gods, you're addicted. It's like those pick-up lines are crack to you."
"Never mind. But honestly, you've got to get it together. You're never going to get him if you keep acting like the complete psycho you are."
Draco raised an eyebrow. Well, there was no reason to hide the fact from Blaise now, let alone himself. So he might have a bit of a thing for the Boy Who Lived. Obviously, the pick-up lines had forced him to see Potter in a completely different light. So what if Potter was a little bit attractive and sometimes almost funny? Big deal. Now the real question was, what was he going to do about it? He almost snorted. To be honest, probably nothing. Maybe he'd throw a few more nasty insults at Potter daily to get a good look at his face, but that's it. Why waste his time otherwise?
"I don't think that there's a chance of me getting him anyway, Blaise," he remarked. "Despite my psychotic nature, as you have so helpfully brought to point, Potter would still never agree to it."
Blaise gawked at that. "But you're Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! So act like it and tell the goddamned Gryffindor how you feel!"
Draco frowned. "Actually, I think you've got that switched around. That's more of a Gryffindor thing to do, not a Draco Mal—"
"Just do it, you hypocritical fuck!"
"All right, fine. Merlin, you're a bully sometimes."
Blaise smirked and crossed his arms victoriously. "Thanks," he said. "Now get on with it! Dinner's in ten minutes, you've got some plotting to do."
Draco rolled his eyes and started towards his dorm room, half-grateful for his friend and half-annoyed. "Prat," he muttered.
Blaise just smirked again.
Draco walked into the Great Hall edgily, his fingers clenched in tight fists at his side as he glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Potter hadn't arrived yet. Perfect. This would give him more time to practice—not that he'd been practicing very well up until now, since he'd been a complete mess back in his room not only five minutes ago. Okay, get it together. He could do this. It was just Potter, right? Fuck.
"Potter, I fancy you," he muttered softly under his breath. No, no, gods. That was repulsive.
"Potter, I think you're fit," he tried again, before shaking his head in exasperation. Equally nauseating. Perhaps I should try something more like the pick-up lines. He might think I'm joking. That would be a relief.
"Hey Potter, you're a Gryffindor, right?" he muttered. "So let's get spontaneous."
Draco shrugged. Awful, but it would have to do. If all else failed, he could just play it off as if he were pulling another one of those ridiculous lines. Potter was certainly daft enough to believe it at this point.
"Malfoy!" Draco glanced up at the sound of his name and was surprised to see Potter standing by the Slytherin table, as if he were waiting for Draco to arrive. Had he been? "Hey, Malfoy, over here!" Potter called again. Apparently so.
"Potter," Draco greeted back as casually as he could, while sliding into his chair. "Can I help you?"
"I was just wondering if I could sit with you today." Potter cleared his throat and motioned to the curiously empty seat beside him. "If that's all right, I mean."
Draco's jaw dropped in shock. What the fuck was Potter playing at, trying to sit at the Slytherin table? Did he have a death wish? Despite the instinctive 'NO' ringing in his head, however, Draco nodded slowly, as to which Potter beamed and took the seat. Draco tried not to wriggle around. Malfoys don't wriggle. Malfoys don't get anxious. He couldn't help it—he was in uncharted territory! Not only that, but Draco's Housemates were all staring at the two of them as if they'd each grown another head, and Draco didn't even have enough wits to glower back at them. He glanced over at Potter's handsome face and tanned skin and looked down, flushing. Maybe he was growing another head. Gods, what was Potter doing? Didn't he know that everyone was staring at them?
"So Potter, why are you here?" he asked smoothly, hoping that the other boy couldn't hear his heart thudding like a thunderstorm in his chest.
Potter didn't seem to detect his discomfort. He piled food on his Slytherin encrusted plate as if he did it everyday. "You know, the Hat was originally going to Sort me into Slytherin," he remarked. "I just decided maybe I should give it a go."
Draco knitted his brows. How come he'd never known that? Shouldn't that have been in Potter's biography or something? ...not that Draco had read it or anything. "Why are you in Gryffindor then?" he asked, genuinely curious now.
Potter looked at him. "To be honest, I didn't want to be in the same House as you," Potter said easily, grinning. "You were a right arse, you know."
Draco managed to swallow down a bite of stew before responding. "You weren't so charming yourself," he muttered, almost under his breath. He'd nearly forgotten that they were supposed to hate each other. So for the love of Merlin, what was going on right now? Why was Potter sitting here? Why did Draco want him to sit here? And how the hell was he expected to keep up a normal conversation with the prat? Ah, small talk. He had to make small talk. Draco wanted to smash his head into a wall.
"So um… do you have a favourite colour?" he asked now.
Potter stared straight into his eyes. "Grey," he declared. "And yours?"
Liar. Draco knew for a fact that Potter's favourite colour was green; he'd overheard Potter telling Lavender Brown in Second Year. Draco frowned. Why was Potter lying? Was he trying to flatter Draco by complimenting his eyes? Well, it wasn't going to work (really). Draco bit his lip, trying not to appear too dazzled by Potter's own shimmering emerald eyes. "My favourite colour has always been green," he said.
Potter smiled at that. "Interesting," he replied.
Draco pursed his lips. "Slytherin green, of course."
They were silent for a while again. Draco inwardly cursed himself for being such an awkward git. Most people would think he'd acquire the suave, smooth-talking skills his father had always owned but truthfully, Draco was quite incompetent when it came to anything but sneering and taunting. Especially when it had to do with Harry Potter—one Harry Potter who had recently taken the prime focus of Draco's brain. Gods, everyone was still staring at them! Damn it all. He tried again.
"What about your favourite animal?"
Potter didn't hesitate. "A stag."
Draco sipped his pumpkin juice nonchalantly. They seemed to be getting somewhere, at least. "Oh, like your Patronus?"
"If you touch me in the right place, I'll expecto my patronum all over you," Potter whispered suddenly.
Draco almost choked on his drink. "Excuse me?" he spluttered.
"You're excused, Malfoy."
Draco thought he saw a hint of a smirk hidden on Potter's pouty lips and his mouth almost dropped in disbelief. Well, I'll be damned. Potter was flirting with him! He was interested! Wait, was he? There was only one way to find out. Draco started to grin slowly. "Are you trying to come onto me, Potter?" he asked.
Potter's eyes glittered. "Is it working?" he countered.
Draco was grinning fully now. Well, well, well. Two could play at that game. "Did you just cast Petrificus Totalis, because I think I just got a stiffy," he said abruptly.
Potter snorted in a loud manner, causing many students to stop pretending that they weren't listening and tune into their conversation with interest. "Have you heard of Platform 9 and ¾, Malfoy?" Potter asked, wriggling his eyebrows. "Because I can think of something with the same measurements."
"Wanna ride my broomstick?"
"I must have had some Felix Felicis, because I think I'm going to get lucky tonight."
"Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
"One night with me and they'll be calling you Moaning Myrtle!"
"Hey Potter, Hagrid's not the only giant on campus, if you know what I mean."
Potter gasped and began to laugh so hard that he started choking violently on his food, and Draco tried not to laugh as well by covering his mouth. He was certain that his face was bright red at the moment, but he almost didn't care. "My Parseltongue can make your snake respond in a whole other language," Potter countered after a while.
Draco smirked, his face still shaking a bit from holding in laughter. "Do you want to go to the Shrieking Shack?" he asked. "We could do some shrieking of our own…"
"I'm not wearing my invisibility cloak, but do you think I could still visit your restricted section tonight?"
Draco bit back a smile. Damn, Potter was actually rather clever and quick. Who knew?
"Going to bed anytime soon?" he asked, leaning in closer. Potter's eyes widened like saucers when Draco's nose almost brushed his. His voice lowered to a breathy whisper. "Do you mind if I... Slytherin?"
Potter's mouth hung open a bit, and he looked rather confused and dazed for a moment following the line. Draco paused and shifted around tensely after he realised that Potter wasn't saying anything. Had he gone too far for the Gryffindor? He hadn't thought so. He'd imagined that it was quite clever actually, seeing as he was a Slytherin and they were sitting at the Slytherin table and oh, it was too far, wasn't it? Gods, he was such an idiot. Potter probably didn't even swing that way.
"Potter, I didn't mean to—mm!"
Before Draco could finish, Potter launched himself into Draco's arms so forcefully that they almost fell backwards—but Potter's hands appeared on Draco's waist as he held him close and pressed their mouths together, kissing him hard. Draco was frozen for a moment, but then his eyes fluttered shut and he wound his arms around the other boy's shoulders, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of tousled hair in the process. Honestly, Draco didn't care who the hell saw them—he'd been waiting for this too long to stop. Fuck everyone. Let them look.
"Gods, everything you say is such a turn on," Potter whispered against his skin. "Do you know what those lines did to me?" He didn't wait for an answer, pulling away from Draco's lips and starting down his jaw without missing a beat. Draco tried not to gasp as the other boy continued to go lower and lower, showering small, heated kisses all over his face and throat. It was a few minutes before Draco even thought of their shocked peers surrounding them. But even as they broke apart, Draco couldn't keep the huge grin off his face. Potter smiled too, leaning against Draco's shoulder and resting his head there, as if waiting for someone to comment on what had just happened.
"Bloody fucking hell!" Draco heard Weasley exclaim across the room.
"Draco!" Pansy squealed, sounding like a mix of scandalised and excited.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Granger said, smiling weakly.
"I never wanted to see the day, let alone that," Snape sneered.
Of course, Dumbledore's eyes just twinkled.
Blaise was clapping his hands together and shaking his head, but it seemed more like he was applauding himself for a job-well-done rather than for either Draco or Potter's sake. "Well, well, Draco," Blaise said, smirking. "If Potter were a Dementor, you wouldn't have to become a criminal to get his kiss, eh?"
Draco grinned when Potter flushed slightly and cried out, "Oh yeah, what about you? You've been whomping your willow for Seamus ever since Sixth year—yeah, I know all about it! We all do. How about that for criminal, Zabini?"
Blaise coloured immediately and Draco almost guffawed out loud. Nobody had ever had the guts to speak to Blaise that way (except for himself, of course), so trust Potter to do it. Draco knew right then that Potter was actually perfect for him—even in the many ways that he seemed not to be. They were so compatible that it was almost disgusting. Why had he not realised it before? Had it really taken a few pickup lines for him to see that?
"Hey Blaise!" Finnigan yelled from the Gryffindor table. "Whaddya say you and me go find the Room of Requirement together? I've got something you might require."
Blaise lit up and winked at him. "Oi, Finnigan, you interested in making some magic together?" he shouted back. "My wand is at the ready!"
Draco laughed and watched as both Blaise and Finnigan got up and starting running towards the door together amidst loud cheering, whooping, and laughter throughout the Hall. It seemed nobody noticed as Draco smiled at Potter and kissed his forehead with a tenderness that surprised even himself. Well, who would've guessed it? Those damned pick-up lines worked after all.