Pas De Deux (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Three

Harry managed to make it through until the next morning without talking to Malfoy again. Sure, Malfoy talked to him consistently. But as it was all twaddle. Harry was safe to ignore it and not have it impact his work.

But the day after the Zabini incident, Saturday, found Malfoy once again sat with Harry in the auditorium. However, for the first few hours he was strangely quiet. He only moved to stretch and roll his still-bandaged foot, and only spoke regarding the performance, and that wasn't even to Harry. He offered advice to both Lockhart and Trelawny regarding staging and execution as well as calling out to several of the dancers with opinions on their performances.

Remarkably, almost everyone accepted his notes without question. Zabini got snooty and tried to argue back once, but Malfoy just shrugged and told him he was right, so Zabini could either listen or not. Malfoy didn't care.

Zabini listened.

Malfoy really knew his onions. Harry found himself sympathising with him being immobilised with his injury. He honestly did live and breathe dance.

But Harry was still fuming at being mocked by both Malfoy and Zabini. Zabini he could just roll his eyes at and go back to treating like a formal work colleague. But Malfoy...for a second Harry had really felt a connection between them. To have Malfoy scoff at him and explain he was only looking out for his own selfish needs made Harry feel like a fool.

The trouble was, Malfoy seemed to have worked out he'd seriously fucked up.

"Potteeer," he whined sometime around half past ten. He leaned over the arm rest; the spare seat between the two of them again. "Potter, come on. It's no fun if you keep on punishing me. Does it really matter if I was protecting myself if I helped you out too? Potter. Harry."

"I'm working, Malfoy," Harry said. He pushed his glasses up and resolutely ignored the way hearing Malfoy call him 'Harry' made him feel.

"No, you're not," Malfoy said in a sing-song voice. He dropped his head back and made a popping noise with his lips. "You're doodling cartoons of fish, I can see."

Harry ground his teeth and held his notes closer to his chest, unwilling to admit Malfoy was right. "What do you want?" he asked instead.

"Coffee," Malfoy said. "And not the shit stuff they have in the kitchen backstage. Let's go to the independent place over the road. They do positively sinful pastries in there too."

Harry glanced over to see Malfoy wiggle his eyebrows at him. Harry's heart swooped, but he determinedly stomped the feeling down.

"You want me to go get you a coffee?" he asked incredulously.

Malfoy huffed and sat up straight, looking Harry dead in the eye. "Stop it," he said. "Look, maybe I said it wrong, but I care that Zabini didn't fuck you over, all right? You're a nice guy who doesn't deserve that. I'm not a..." He waved his hand back and forth and rolled his eyes. "Fluffy sort of person. Feelings are messy and unnecessary half the time. So it's just easier for me to explain things more clinically. Yes, your capacity to be the best stage manager for my production might have been hindered if Zabini humiliated you in front of everyone. But..." he pulled at the edge of his thumbnail and huffed again. "I'm not actually a monster. I intervened because I didn't want to see you get hurt. But," he added loudly, "seeing as you're such a precious flower and took it all so damn personally, I would like to buy you a coffee to apologise." He batted his golden lashes at Harry and gave him a cheeky grin. "Please."

Harry's heart contracted. When Malfoy put it like that, what he'd done didn't sound so bad anymore. Besides, he actually wasn't doing anything at that precise moment. "Um, okay," Harry said.

Malfoy's face broke into a large grin. "Excellent. I can't carry coffee with my crutches." Harry's eyes went wide, but before he could scowl, Malfoy burst out laughing. "I'm kidding. Sort of. I can't carry much in fact, but if I just wanted a mule I'd send someone random. Have some faith I actually want to spend some time with you. Come on, and try and keep up."

He winked as he gathered up his crutches. Harry bit his lip and rose to his feet at as well. He was still apprehensive as to what Malfoy really wanted, but he was willing to give him a chance.

Malfoy wasn't kidding; he was actually pretty damn fast on those crutches as he sailed out of the auditorium and into the theatre lobby. "Have you been off your feet before?" Harry asked, impressed as he looked down at Malfoy's feet.

Malfoy threw him a grin when he glanced back up. "Why, Harry? Are you trying to get me on my back?"

Harry blushed. God damn it. Not only was that the second time Malfoy had called Harry 'Harry' when Harry was determinedly trying to keep him 'Malfoy' and not 'Draco' in his head. But his head was spinning with the back and forth on all these sexual inuendoes.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry managed to mutter. But that just made the bastard laugh.

"Okay," Malfoy said firmly as they stepped out into the cool, fresh air. "I have a request – two, actually – if we're going to be friends."

"Who says I want to be friends?" Harry said guardedly before he could think.

But Malfoy apparently didn't take it as an insult. In fact, he laughed again. "I do," he said, smugly. The git. "So, request number one: you have to let me tease you, otherwise it's simply no fun and all."

Harry arched an eyebrow at him as they walked down the road, the traffic trundling along beside them as pedestrians in thick coats gave Malfoy and his crutches a wide birth.

"And number two?" Harry asked. He didn't want to commit to anything yet by agreeing to Malfoy's first demand.

Malfoy gave him a half smile. Harry's heart wanted to flip like it had when Zabini had given him a similar sort of smile. But that had been fake and this one was probably more to do with Malfoy's own amusement than it was flirting with Harry.

"Request number two is that you call me Draco," Malfoy said.

The wind whipped up his silvery blond hair and had already given his cheeks a slight pink tinge. Dear lord, he was beautiful.

Harry swallowed any physical reaction down. "What's wrong with calling you Malfoy?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "Nothing," he said capriciously, like it was an inside joke Harry wasn't privy to. "I'd just like you to call me by my first name."

Harry glanced over at his companion, who wasn't so much hobbling as gliding down the pavement. They were almost at the coffee shop. A petty part of Harry wanted to dig his heels in, because it was safer to call Malfoy by his surname than his given name. But the other half of him was fizzing with excitement that Malfoy – Draco – had bestowed such an honour on him.

"Fine," Harry said, trying not to smile. "Draco. You win."

Draco beamed and wiggled his shoulders without missing a swing of his crutches. "Excellent. Thank you kindly. Now, to answer your question: no, this isn't the first time I've rolled an ankle. I've pulled and sprained most of the muscles and limbs on my body over the years. That's how I know this isn't too serious." He batted his eyelashes innocently at Harry again. "But I do still need a handsome, strapping man to carry my very heavy coffee back to the theatre for me."

Harry scoffed but he also smiled back at him. "Of course you do," he said. He pushed the door open and held it for Draco to enter the coffee shop. 'Handsome'? Harry dismissed the word before it could take root in his brain. Draco probably called all the guys that. It wasn't anything special.

But Draco paused when he was face-to-face with Harry. "See," he said playfully his gaze flicking up and down Harry's body. "You're my hero."

Harry tried very hard not to let his heart run away of its own accord. Draco was just flirting. He flirted with everyone, didn't he? And he'd already admitted he wasn't above looking out for Harry if it got him what he wanted. Keeping Zabini from fucking Harry saved the production for Draco. So giving Harry the come-on now was just his way of saying thank you for enabling him to take his coffee back to the theatre.

Right?