I'll Play Your Game

Chapter Fourteen

Perhaps Harry should have predicted that Ron and Hermione would be suspiciously hard to get ahold of the next day. 

He went into work defeated, after half an hour of trying their Floo.

"How was your holiday?" Zylphia asked, when he slouched through the front door of the shop ⁠— in his glamour, thank you very much.

"Fine. Good. Great."

"Uh-huh. And why are you so mopey then? Did something happen?"

"No." Harry scuffed his foot against the floor in front of the counter, and twisted the ends of his scarf in his hands. "Just…I'm just stupid and I'm gonna mess everything up and—"

"Wait, wait. Start at the beginning, please. What are you going to mess up?"

"This...everything with Draco. And I know you told me so, and I know I should've said something at the beginning, but I didn't and now I'm stuck and I'm afraid to tell him, but I have to, but he's gonna hate me."

"What are you so afraid but so obligated to tell him, then?"

Harry huffed. "I'm in love with him, which you already knew, which you knew months ago apparently, because apparently you can read me better than I can read myself."

Zylphia leaned back in her chair. "I see. And so why are you so afraid of this then?"

"Because he obviously doesn't, and this whole thing has been under a false pretence because I wasn't actually supposed to feel anything for him and that changes the context of everything, but I still didn't say anything!"

"Ah. That. Do tell me how it's obvious he doesn't feel the same way."

Harry bit his lip. "It just…it just is, okay."

Zylphia sighed, and picked her accounting book back up. "Well, if you're certain. I hope you're done with all this doom and gloom soon enough — you already know my thoughts on the matter, and talking things through like honest adults does tend to be the best solution, but obviously I can't control your life."

"I'm going to. I am, really. Just...I'm scared and I can't help putting it off."

"Hmm. Well, if you don't mind, please ask Draco if he's planning to come over for New Years as usual. We didn't know if you two had plans or something, and he's ignoring Rodya's owls still. Tell him to stop being rude whilst you're at it, too — they're beginning to get hurt, and I'm sure none of us want that." She gave him a hard look, and then paused. "You're, of course, welcome too," she added. "I don't think you and Rodya have properly met."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, of course. That sounds great, actually. I'll have to double-check with Draco, but I'm sure we'll be there — we don't have any other plans that I know of."

He wasn't sure quite how he was supposed to convey the steely expression on Zylphia's face when he told Draco to open the backlog of letters on his desk, but he was sure he'd figure out something. And besides, the New Years get-together did sound like fun.

It was only several hours later that he realised.

Fuck. If they were supposed to be going to this New Years thing and it was a tradition of Draco's, then he couldn't just ruin it by confessing right before it!

"Hey Zylphie?" He called from the back room.

"...Yes? Is there something you need?"

"Do you, um...I can come in tomorrow and Sunday. To make up for the holiday."