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“This was just a ploy to get me into one of your hideous jumpers, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Potter said with a cheeky grin. “It looks good on you.”
Draco snorted, looking down on himself once more. It was like he was wearing a tent. Potter was about his height, and while his shoulders might have been a bit broader, it didn’t explain why he was choosing to wear clothes that looked like they could fit that half-giant, Hagrid.
Draco’s eyes roamed Potter’s face, his torso…Now that he thought about it, it looked like Potter had put on a few pounds. Good. The thought that his Muggle relatives had starved him still made Draco want to scream. But Potter looked healthier now and Draco suddenly felt weirdly grateful for that.
“Are you still in touch with your Muggle relatives?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
“Let’s not talk about that anymore. Let’s change the subject,” Potter said, wearily. No, Draco wanted to say, we’re talking about this, but Potter’s tortured expression pulled at his heartstrings. He nodded, trying not to be too obvious about watching Potter as he cut into the pot roast.
“Oh,” he blurted as he swallowed his first bite. “This is…good.”
Potter’s face immediately lit up. “Did you just give me a compliment?”
Draco snorted, distracting himself with another bite. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Potter hesitantly lifting a forkful of pot roast to his mouth. His heart gave a little jump when Potter started to chew. He never would have thought watching someone else eat could feel that satisfying. Was that weird? Probably.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Potter said. “Doesn’t your mother want you to move to France?”
Draco let out a humourless laugh. Oh, the discussions they’d had about that.
“I’m just curious,” Potter added.
“Looking for a way to get rid of me?” Draco quipped, even though he felt a little stab to the chest. Potter getting sick of him was such a horrible thought.
“First of all, it’s not like France isn’t just a portkey away,” Potter said in an amused tone. “Second, I’ll admit, I’m…not too mad you didn’t move to France with your mum.”
Huh. Was he saying—
“So why didn’t you?” Potter asked.
“It would have looked like I’m running away,” Draco responded. “Not that I blame mother, but I just…I just wanted to stay,” he shrugged.
“Not taking the easy way out,” Potter said with an approving nod. “I think that’s admirable.”
Irritation flared up in Draco and he was just about to snap at Potter, when he added, “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
That…sounded…genuine. But…He was glad? What did that even mean? Draco felt so confused, he grabbed at the air, instead of his wine glass. Which was empty. Because he had destroyed the wine. Ugh! Potter couldn’t just say something like that. Especially not while they were having a candlelight dinner, which Potter had prepared himself! That was just—
“But are you thinking of moving there in the future?” Potter asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Ha, I don’t think my fiancée would approve of that,” Draco snorted. “She doesn’t like—”
There was a loud bang as Potter’s cutlery hit his plate. What was—
Oh. Fuck. Fuck!
“You’re engaged?”
They stared at each other in silence while Draco hoped Potter wasn’t able to hear his erratic heartbeat. He should have stayed away from Potter. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have—
“You’re engaged,” Potter repeated. Only, this time, it didn’t sound like a question. “I can’t believe this.”
Draco pressed his lips into a tight line.
“You’re fucking engaged!”
Draco startled. Why was Potter getting so mad? Yes, Draco had kept his engagement a secret, but there was no reason for him to—
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Draco was surprised at how hurt Potter sounded.
“It’s not official, yet,” he said, trying to collect himself.
“Oh, of course!” Potter threw his hands in the air. “Were you seriously going to string me along until I read about it in the paper?”
“You don’t read the paper,” Draco retorted.
“Draco!” Potter suddenly seemed livid.
“What!” Draco snapped. Potter had no right to get mad at him. He wasn’t the one with the inexplicable, tedious crush! But…what was it he had just said? ‘String him along’? Surely, he wasn’t implying—
“What exactly was the point of this, then?” Potter asked, gesturing around. Draco wasn’t sure if he meant the dinner or…their friendship?
“You were the one who wanted to be friends,” Draco pointed out.
Potter raked his fingers through his hair, causing it to look as if he’d just been out flying. “Then you—You don’t—”
Don’t what? What was he trying to say?
“I guess I’ve been…reading the signs wrong.”
Signs? What signs? Was…was Potter saying—
“Let’s just, um, forget about this.”
Draco blinked. Did Potter mean this conversation? This evening? Everything? Whatever he meant, Draco didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to curl up in his bed and die.
“I just remembered, I was supposed to firecall mother this evening. I better get going before it gets too late.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Potter said. Draco almost shivered at how cold and distant his voice sounded.
“Thank you for dinner, it was—” He broke off, having no clue how to end that sentence. Potter refused to look at him which, thankfully, made his flight a little easier at least.
Unfortunately, Potter’s stony expression, averted from Draco’s gaze, was all he could think about as he lay awake that night, unable to find any rest.
Saturday, 1 March 2003
