They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Thirteen - Harry's First Date

Harry Potter was going out of his head.

It was Christmas day, and Harry had excused himself after the feast to prepare for his evening out with Blaise. He went directly to his room and stared around blindly in a panic. He had no idea what to do tonight on his- his- He had no idea what to do tonight. He couldn't even say the word 'date' to himself. And he wasn't due to call on Blaise until much later. He had hours left to panic.

And panic he did.

He had no idea at all about how this was supposed to happen. The Ministry didn't hand out pamphlets on A Wizard's Guide to the First Date. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope for the best.

He frowned as that phrase crossed his mind. Lumping himself with the Chudley Cannons was the last thing he wanted to do. Good grief, he was a Magpies fan!

Elan had given Harry a set of weights for Christmas. Perhaps now would be a good time to break them in. He locked the door. He unfastened the front of his robes and studied himself in the mirror.

"You don't have a bit of fat on you, dear," the mirror said. "Those shoulders are defined too."

It was all due to his summer exercise regimen. With nothing else to do while locked up, he had worked out as best he could. He would have to start doing that again.

For now, though, he picked up the dumbbells and began counting his curls. He made sure to work both arms equally as Elan had cautioned him.

When he'd worked up a good sweat, Harry stopped and wiped his brow. He glanced at his watch and groaned when he saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. He put down the weights and started doing push-ups.

He eventually collapsed to the floor with heaving breaths. Sweat poured off him. Why in Merlin's name hadn't he changed out of his robes? The fabric felt sticky and confining against his skin. With a groan, he rolled over and sat up. When he felt steady enough, he continued up to his feet. He grabbed his bath things and staggered out of the room for a wash.

The hot spray of the shower restored his vigour, and he actually felt quite good as he turned off the water and towelled off. He stuffed his dirty robes into the laundry chute and returned to his room, where he stared in dismay at his selection of clothing. The last time he'd gone to see Wand Smasher, he'd worn black robes. But it was Christmas. You couldn't wear black on Christmas. Green. Yes, green was good. Green was a Christmas colour.

There was a knock on his door.

"Yes?" he asked, and he winced as his voice cracked.

"It's Draco. May I come in?"

Harry finished fastening the robes he'd picked out. "Just a minute."

He opened the door to reveal Draco leaning casually against the frame. "How come you're taking so long to get ready?" he asked in an insulting tone of voice. "Are you trying to impress Blaise by trying to be handsome?"

"At least there's hope for some of us," Harry riposted. "Others are doomed to look like you."

"That would be funny if it was funny."

"Don't you have something better to do than bother me?" Harry wished his best mate didn't take such a pleasure in winding him up.

"There's nothing I'd rather be doing," Draco promised him. "Are you going to kiss her?"

Harry hadn't yet told Draco about last night. He didn't want to talk about it now either.

"Why don't you go fly a broom?"

Draco grinned at him with poorly contained glee. "Thank you again, Harry, for giving me your old broom. It was the best Christmas present a chap could have. I'll be sure to make the team next year!"

"You're welcome. If you're going to fly, Draco, fly in style."

"Spoken like a bloke who flies a prototype."

Harry successfully kept the conversation turned away from his impending date with Blaise. The two boys talked mostly about Quidditch (the Magpies were once again leading the hunt for the English Cup). Harry was just naming his pick for Player of the Year when the clock chimed half past six o'clock. Draco chuckled as Harry jumped out of his skin and onto his feet.

"Harry, relax. You know Blaise. Nothing's going to be any different."

Harry wanted very much to believe that.

Draco clapped him on the shoulder, wished him luck, and went to have another go on the Nimbus 2000. Harry went to the sitting room and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

"Villa Zabini," he spoke into the green flames. He knelt down and stuck his head into the fire.

It was very dizzying, with bright lights flashing all around him like a fireworks display. When the spinning stopped, he leaned forward a tad further and poked his head through the grate.

"Hello?" he called out. "It's Harry. Blaise, are you there?"

"Harry!" Blaise bounced up from the chair she was sitting on and hurried over to the fireplace. "Mother, I'm leaving now!"

"Wait just a minute, missy!" Mrs. Zabini came into the room and reached the fireplace in only a few powerful strides. She knelt down and took Blaise by the chin, turning her face to the light. "Good, no make-up. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"You take good care of my daughter." She shook her finger towards the fireplace. "I want you two back here the moment that show is over, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"Blaise, be careful."

"I will, Mother."

Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace. He rubbed at his eyes and stepped back as green flames suddenly sprang up and Blaise emerged from the Floo.

"Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hey, yourself."

"How was Christmas?"

"It was wonderful. Yours?"

"It was great. You should have seen Draco's face when he unwrapped his broom."

"His father got him a new broom?"

"No, I gave him my old Nimbus."

"Ah, so there are some things he'll accept as hand-me-downs," Blaise giggled. "Where is the great prat, anyway?"

"He's gone flying. Keeps raving about how he's going to try out for the team next year."

"He's mad."

"I know," Harry admitted. "But you'll never convince him of that."

She giggled again. "I wouldn't even want to try."

Harry nodded.

The conversation died.

They stood there for a few moments in silence. Butterflies were fluttering around in Harry's stomach. For no reason at all, he felt himself start to blush. Blaise smiled at him. He smiled back at her, feeling incredibly goofy and giddy.

"We can go in just a minute," she said, breaking eye contact and rummaging in her pocket. She pulled out a small bag. "I just need to do my make-up."

Harry was shocked. "But your mum-"

"Isn't here. I'll scrub it off before I go home, but I want to look pretty!" Blaise's declaration held a note of challenge. She also had a determined glint in her eye.

Before he could even think about it, Harry blurted, "But you are pretty."

Blaise blushed and turned her head. "Oh, stop it," she said -- more to herself, he thought.

"I'll be right here waiting."

While Blaise ducked out to the bathroom, Harry took several deep breaths to clear his head. He meandered meaninglessly about the room.

The sitting room of Malfoy Manor was lavishly decorated with expensive furnishings. The chairs and sofa were all of a rich brown leather. The floor was hardwood and covered in thick rugs. The fireplace through which they would shortly be passing was the focal point of the room. He noticed all the fine details with a nodding respect for the artisan.

"Nervous, Harry?" Elan's voice made Harry jump. He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy peeking around the corner. "I was, first time I took Jamie out."

Harry suddenly wished desperately that he had time to hear that story. "Any advice?"

"Just be yourself. That's what caught her interest in the first place. Pay for the drinks, smile a lot, and say lots of nice things to her. Don't worry. You'll do great, I'm sure."

"That makes one of us," Harry said with a wry laugh.

"I expect that Harry will conduct himself with perfect dignity, Elan," Mr. Malfoy said, joining the two boys in the sitting room. Mrs. Malfoy was only a step behind. "Unlike some, whose performances I could recall."

Elan's face grew wary. "I've always been discrete, Father."

"The train station is hardly discrete," Mr. Malfoy observed dryly.

"That was Jamie, not me!" Elan sounded defensive. "She hadn't seen me for months!"

Mrs. Malfoy turned to face her husband, stepping closer to Elan. "And who could blame her? I don't." She kissed her eldest's cheek. "We have a fine son, Lucius."

Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "She's a silly girl," he declared with finality. "The sooner you're rid of her, the better."

"I'll break up with Jamie when I choose, Father," Elan said. "And besides, what's wrong with showing affection?"

"In private, nothing." Mr. Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you will, Elan. So long as you remember your responsibility to marry pure and carry on the family line, I don't suppose it much matters. I just wish you would consider the politics of the situation."

"Father," Elan said calmly, "I understand more about politics than I think you realize."

Mr. Malfoy peered at his eldest son with an inquisitive expression. "My love, would you excuse us, please? I think Elan and I need to have a father-son chat."

"Of course, darling." Mrs. Malfoy gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I wanted to talk to Harry anyway."

"Be safe, Harry," Mr. Malfoy cautioned.

"I will."

"And have fun!" Elan ordered him as he left the room. Mr. Malfoy put his arm around his son's shoulders.

Harry grinned.

"Are you excited, Harry?" Mrs. Malfoy inquired. She took a seat on the chair closest to the fireplace.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"I don't know what sort of etiquette you learned from Muggles, Harry," and by her expression, she didn't think they had much to teach, "but I feel it's important that you know a few things about pureblood society and how it is expected that a gentleman will behave." Though her voice was mild, the piercing look she was giving him immediately grounded his attention. She had the same posture that he'd seen from his professors.

"Yes, ma'am."

"At this show, I'm given to understand that there will be older children there. I know they will be doing things that are not appropriate. Do not take that as a sign that you are also free to engage in similar behaviour. This is your first date with a young lady, so you may hold her hand if she gives permission." She stressed those last four words.

"Holding hands," he repeated, nodding his head.

"You will open doors for her, you will pull out her chair, and you will pay for her drinks."

"Yes, ma'am."

"When the show is over, you will both immediately Floo back here. If you have acted the gentleman, Blaise may be so generous as to allow you to kiss her goodnight. More than a few seconds is inappropriate." Every syllable of the last word was pronounced.

Well, he'd already blown that rule.

"You are going to see a musical performance, not engage in- in- public displays of affection. Accord yourself with dignity, please."

"Don't embarrass myself?" he suggested.

"Yes," Mrs. Malfoy agreed with a sharp nod. "As Professor Snape would advise you, remember that you are a Slytherin. Remember that people will be watching you."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said again.

Any further advice was interrupted as Blaise came back into the room. She smiled keenly at Harry, who felt his knees wobble. He said goodbye to Mrs. Malfoy and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

"Club Cave on Mountainside!"

Harry must have been getting used to Floo travel, because he was barely dizzy as they came out of the fireplace. He looked around and saw that the "fireplace" was really nothing more than a large fire pit. They were ushered into a line of people who were filing into the cave. Already there was music playing; Harry knew from his communique with Mr. Podgourney that Wand Smasher had a lesser-known band playing before them.

They waited patiently in the queue. The girl collecting money at the counter looked bored to death, and she said, "Four Galleons. Seven for the pair of you."

"Harry Potter. I'm on the list for Wand Smasher."

It was at that point that things started to get out of control.

The girl stared at him in disbelief. Harry could almost read her mind. Surely the great Harry Potter wasn't standing in front of her. The noble Harry Potter couldn't possibly want to go out and see a show. The very real Harry Potter tried not to snort with mocking laughter. He was out on his first date with a pretty girl and had direct access to the band; this could be the best night of his life, and he wasn't about to let this bint ruin it."

"I said, I'm on the list," he repeated slowly.

The girl shook herself out of her trance and muttered an apology. She buried her face in some documents she had before her, scanning down the parchment with her finger. "Potter," she said under her breath, still not sounding as though she believed it.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Yes, here you are!" She handed him two squares of thick parchment that glittered and flashed with glowing runes. "Go on in." So they did.

Harry heard her say as they moved away, "That was Harry Potter!" He rolled his eyes. He would be lucky to not get mobbed tonight.

"I'll protect you," Blaise laughed when he expressed as much to her.

"Why don't people understand that I'd rather be left alone?" he asked almost plaintively. "I'd rather have my mum and dad than have them gawking at me."

"You cannot change the past, Harry. All you can do is try to cope with the present in a responsible fashion while utilizing your gifts as best you can. Let them gawk."

Blaise was always one for deep thought. Even if she did giggle a lot with Pansy, Harry thought she was very smart and very wise. While he didn't suppose he would ever come to enjoy his fame, perhaps it would be best if he learned to deal with it.

Just then, Harry spotted someone he knew. "Mister Podgourney!" he called out.

The man's head snapped around, and his eyes lit up when he saw Harry's waving hand. He hurried over and bowed slightly. "Mister Potter, good evening." He turned to Blaise. "Young lady, I am Sydney Podgourney, manager for the renowned band Wand Smasher, and I am your host tonight."

"Blaise Zabini," she replied in a clear voice. "A pleasure, sir."

"If you'll both follow me, I'll take you backstage."

Harry walked next to Blaise as they pressed further into the cave. The manager led them down a side tunnel where he waved a badge at the burly-looking security wizards. They uncrossed their staves and continued their surveillance.

The tunnel came out into a big room filled with couches and cushions and chairs. Large boxes of equipment were piled in the corners. Five familiar faces of the members of Wand Smasher lit up with smiles as they caught sight of Harry.

"Lads, it's wee Potter, come to see us play," Edgar announced in his easy brogue. He stood up and offered Harry his hand. "So glad to see you."

"Thanks for inviting me," Harry said with a nod. "This is my friend Blaise."

"Lass, I'm Edgar, and these are my guitar players, Agatha and Emma." The lead singer sounded as proud as he would be about showing off the sun.

"Hi!" the two girls waved. They were wearing matching costumes, though Harry could not tell what they were supposed to be, nor could he fully justify saying that they matched. The patterns were the same, but the colours were different. Emma's costume was dominated by fluorescent yellow, while Agatha was bedecked in fluorescent purple. Each also had an explosion of her colour in her very wild hair.

"The lads, Kevin and Stan. They've got mashed potatoes fer brains and gravy fer blood, but they've got hearts of pure gold."

"Edgar, I didn't know you cared," Kevin, the drummer, who was wearing a red tunic with flames drawn on it. Harry spotted a few runes embroidered on the cloth and would have bet a Galleon that at some point tonight, Kevin would be on fire. Good thing he'd shaved all his hair off.

"He doesn't," Stan replied. The bass guitarist looked quite fierce with his black mowhawk (which was squared-off) and his face painted with evil-looking symbols. "He likes us only for the sweat of our brow."

"I do," Edgar insisted. "I know I ride you guys pretty hard sometimes, but look at where we are! Look at what we're doing! Harry's little friend Tim has all of our albums and couldn't wait to meet us. I remember that kid. You should too. You should think of him every time you step out on stage to play, because he might be in the audience. He might have come out to see you play, and you owe it to him and all the other kids like him to play your bleeding soul out. If you think otherwise, now's the time to let me know."

Emma groaned for an extended moment. "He's not saying that, Edgar," she said, making it sound as though the lead singer were a blithering idiot. "He's saying that you're a slave driver and that we all would like a break every now and again."

"We have breaks."

"Who decides them?"

"I do." Edgar sounded genuinely confused as to what the problem was.

"New rule, I decide when the breaks are," Emma declared. "Edgar, you're no longer in charge."

"As long as I'm talking with the right people, I'm in charge," Edgar said right back in the same tone of voice. "Now behave. We have guests."

Emma blew a raspberry at Edgar and turned to Harry. "Glad to see you've helped Slytherin hold on to the Quidditch Cup. We never got a formal introduction. Emma Ruthven, ninety-two Slytherin. Your first year was my last."

"You seem different, somehow," Harry said dryly, looking at the costume.

She laughed. "Yeah, can you see old McGonagall's face if she saw this? Think we could tell her it was a Transfiguration accident?"

"That colour is too repulsive to be an accident. Someone had to do it on purpose," Blaise jutted in before Harry could answer.

"Thank you!" Emma smiled. "I did it myself! Zabini, was it? Wasn't there a girl a few years behind me named Zabini?"

"My sister Jamie. She's on her last year now."

"Nice kid. A bit on the romantic side, but there are lads who like that sort."

A waiter came by, floating a tray of bizarre drink concoctions next to him. He passed out the large glasses to the band and sighed when he saw Harry and Blaise standing there.

"Get'choo summat'?"

"Do you have Butterbeer?" Harry asked.

"Aye."

"Two."

"Aye." He looked at Blaise. "You?"

"No," Harry interrupted, feeling stupid. "I meant one for me, one for her."

"Aye." He shambled off, his empty tray floating behind him.

Harry felt mortified by the waiter's mistake. He should have said that they would each have a Butterbeer.

"How's the tour going?" Harry said to Edgar to cover his embarrassment.

"It's great! We play every other night, and every place has been packed. We 'ad this one show in Birmingham, an' this girl climbs onto stage in the middle of Emma's solo, shucks her shirt off, throws it in the crowd, throws herself at me, and tries to put 'er lips on me."

"Oh gosh!" Blaise gasped. "What happened then?"

"All I can say is that it's a good thing I didn't have me hands full with an instrument, that's for sure. I caught the bint, told her to put some clothes on, and levitated her back out into the crowd." Edgar seemed as pleased as punch with himself.

"And a damn good thing he did," Emma growled, "because I was about to smash her over the head with my guitar!"

"That would not have been a good way to end your solo," Agatha commented.

Emma scoffed. "Are you tapped? It would have been bloody marvellous to do that. The crowd would have loved it. No Irish tart puts her hands on my boyfriend!"

"Needless to say, Emma is not in charge of public relations," Edgar said to Blaise with a straight face.

"I just play," the lead guitarist said, tilting her nose up in the air just a smidgen and tossing her hair back.

"Good," Agatha said as she stood up. "Because it's time to play. We're on in about ten minutes. We'd better stretch."

"You're right, Ag," Edgar agreed. He also rose to his feet. "Let's grab our gear and get ready to Apparate." He turned to Harry. "Sydney will get you to Vee-Eye-Pea. You can get from there out onto the main floor if you want to thrash with the crowd. We'll be back here after the set for a bit of a break, and then again after the the second bit."

"Go get it done," Harry said solemnly.

"Right oh."

Sydney led them down to the VIP area. Several other people were present, but Harry and Blaise were the youngest by far. What sort of attention they would give the Boy-Who-Lived he didn't know, but he didn't want to discover it either. He said a small prayer that his scar would stay covered tonight.

It was probably a futile hope. He was no doubt going to get mobbed if that girl at the ticket counter kept running her mouth. And oh Merlin, what if Edgar said something? That worried him enough to keep fairly close to the entrance to the restricted area.

When the band Apparated in with a stunning explosion of purple and yellow fireworks, Harry danced a lot but didn't get out of control like some of the other folk did. Blaise was laughing and smiling and dancing and jumping with him as Wand Smasher played on and on, absolutely ruling over the crowd's emotions with the jams and lyrics.

When they took intermission, Harry and Blaise hurried backstage and found the band toasting with a bottle of bubbly. They obviously knew they sounded great. They were surrounded by well-wishers. Harry waited politely by the sides. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Intermission was over in an instant, and the crowd exploded with energy once more. The big finale caused nearly deafening cheers and shrieks and whistles. The flames that engulfed the stage vanished, taking the band and all the gear with them. The stage was left whole and unharmed.

Harry knew that they would never get through the crowd waiting to use the Floo network. He and Blaise sat quietly on one of the couches backstage while people rushed here and there, to and fro, carrying this, hauling away that. It was quite a fascinating process to watch. Everybody seemed to have a job to do, and once that job was done, there was another. Everyone had certain responsibilities and was trusted to get it all done in an orderly fashion.

At least that was what was yelled by the man in charge when he saw one fellow lifting more than he could handle. "Why aren't you levitating them?" he demanded angrily.

"I didn't score well enough on the insurance test," the fellow snapped back. "I'm just lending a hand. I don't see you levitating anything or even working at all!"

With those fighting words, the worker turned and continued to haul equipment and instruments out of the area.

"Wow," Blaise murmured to Harry. "That was brave."

"Stupid, maybe."

Before much longer, Edgar and Emma came up to say their goodbyes. Harry noticed they were holding hands tightly. He grinned to himself and stood up.

"Did you enjoy the show, Harry?" Emma asked.

He nodded. "You were outstanding. Fifty points to Slytherin! Per song!"

She beamed at him. "Ah, he's a little charmer, I see. Well thank you for coming. We normally play to an older crowd, but it's good to get a few young trendsetters into the music as well. All part of my cunning Slytherin plan, you see."

"Of course."

"Lass, it was a real pleasure that you came tonight," Edgar said to Blaise. "Do get home safe. I hope to see you out at another show. I'll have a song I write just for you, love."

Blaise blushed prettily. She nodded to Emma and took Harry's arm as they headed for the now-available fire pit. Blaise took a small pouch out of the cuff of her robes. It turned out to be Floo powder, and she offered Harry a pinch. He took it, but let her go first."

"Malfoy Manor!" Blaise vanished into the flames.

"Malfoy Manor!"

As he stumbled through the Floo, Harry tripped over the edge of the fireplace and crashed to the floor like a klutz. Oh great, now Blaise was going to think he was completely disaster-prone.

He climbed sheepishly to his feet and stood staring at the floor. "Oops," he said, wishing he had his father's invisibility cloak handy.

Blaise did not giggle. She didn't even smile. She leaned in and peered up into his face inquisitively. "Are you hurt?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"No!" Harry said too loudly. "I, uh, was dizzy from the Floo."

Blaise nodded. "It wouldn't do to twist an ankle. I can't get even the basic Healing Charm down yet."

"Well it is a third year spell," Harry pointed out. "Late third year, at that. You might be one of the best in our form, but I don't think many of us stack up well against the upper students."

"They're not all as good as that," she said dismissively, waving her hand. "I might not be able to cast the Charm, but I bet I can score higher on the written."

"Yes, you probably could."

"And I'm getting better at Defence," she continued. "I really like Professor Lupin. He's the best we've had. He really knows his stuff."

"Even better than the time Professor Snape took over?" Harry asked slyly. It was a running joke in Slytherin that Professor Snape was the best at everything.

Blaise giggled. "No, not better than Professor Snape. I'd love to see him teach Transfiguration someday. I'd love to watch those vulgar Gryffindors have to perform to his standards with that subject."

"'Transfiguration is very dangerous magic. All evil Slytherins who do not like being called evil Slytherins will lose lots of house points while I merely do not speak of the lapses of my own House,'" Harry piped in a falsetto voice.

"Harry!" Blaise mock-protested. "How can you imitate the staff so poorly? That'll be five points from Slytherin for bad acting."

Harry made an awful face at her. She giggled some more and made a face back at him. He grinned, and she smiled back at him. He made a face again.

"Harry!" she laughed, reaching up to tousle his hair. That made him suddenly feel very warm.

There was a long, quiet moment. Harry's throat was unexpectedly very dry. He wanted to speak, to break this silence.

"It's late," she half-whispered. "I still need to scrub off."

"It's this way."

"Going to protect me from the nasty ghosts and goblins?" she teased him.

"Of course."

Blaise studied his face for a moment. "I believe you would."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He turned and led the way to the bathroom where Blaise took a few minutes to remove all evidence of the make-up she'd worn that night. When she was fresh-faced again, she emerged with a smile. His return grin felt goofy.

"I had a good time tonight, Harry." Her voice was sincere. "Thank you for asking me to go with you."

"It was a lot of fun." Harry couldn't ever remember such a stupendous time. Well, there was that other show he'd gone to, but this event put that show to shame.

She leaned in and pressed her lips briefly to his. Harry closed his eyes just like Blaise had. Her lips were very soft. He cupped her chin very gently with one finger -- one of Elan's suggestions -- and almost jumped out of his skin when she squeaked.

Almost as soon as it started, it ended. Blaise pulled away and took a moment to compose herself. She didn't look at Harry. "I should go."

Harry could only nod mutely. She walked in front of him back towards the fireplace. "Villa Zabini!" she said into the roaring green flames summoned with a pinch of Floo powder.

She turned to face him again. "See you at New Year's."

"New Year's."

And she was gone.

to be continued...