Monday Evening
18 May 2009
Harry's POVAt 19:53, I found myself standing nervously outside a room at the Henrietta Hotel in Muggle London, which struck me as a rather nice place for this sort of thing.
I took a deep breath, rolled my head to crack my neck a bit, then raised my hand to knock. He'd said 20:00 sharp, after all.
Less than a minute later, my night came crashing down around me.
Thanks, Hermione.
This Grindr app was your worst idea ever.
***
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
I would have recognised that voice anywhere, even if he hadn't been standing right in front of me, face aghast and twisted into the customary sneer he seemed to reserve just for me.
"Malfoy?" This couldn't be happening. "The fuck."
I shoved my way past him and into the room, heading straight for the minibar.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
"I need a fucking drink," I growled, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, quickly unscrewing the cap, and jerking it up to my mouth to take a sip.
"Really, Potter, you can't drink that from the bottle, you uncouth brute," Malfoy scolded me, grasping the bottle mid-sip and taking it from me gently. "Would you prefer it neat or on ice?"
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Neat, or on ice?" he repeated.
"... just give me some whiskey," I muttered, not really understanding his question.
Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Do you want your whiskey at room temperature or with some ice, you sodding idiot?"
"Oh. Erm. I suppose some ice would be nice," I clarified, then watched as Malfoy reached out to grab two rocks glasses and placed a giant cube of ice in each.
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