Someone To Grow Old With

Draco Malfoy turned, examining himself in the mirror. He was going to be late to dinner, but for some reason he couldn't tear his eyes off his reflection. Is it my fault that I am the most gorgeous person alive? he asked himself. I think not!

He evaluated his reflection, contemplating his own beauty. It was so hard to decide what he should wear to dinner--his new pouty, male-model expression, or the carefully-cultivated and timeless Slytherin sneer. The Slytherin sneer went best with the green-and-silver robes, but he was dying to try out the pout. Such dilemmas!

Some people just have it so easy, he thought bitterly to himself. There were boys like Potter, who could be trampled by an angry hippogriff and dressed in clothes four sizes too small, and still manage to look absolutely and positively sexy. Draco's type of beauty, however, had to be carefully pampered for full effect. But boy was it worth it. He could out-beautify Potter any day.

Ready at last, he floated down the stairs of the common room. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting there, staring at a chess board. Every once in a while one would seize a chess piece and swallow it whole, at which the other would shove the other pieces to the floor and they'd have to start all over again. Draco gave them his best scornful expression (the beauty of it was lost on them), and the three set off, Crabbe and Goyle shuffling behind Draco.

I am so pretty, thought Draco, preparing for his grand entrance to the Hall. He ran through his mental checklist one last time- hair, robes, subtle hint of Blush For Men to add color and accent his beautiful cheekbones- all perfect. He flipped a perfectly manicured hand and Crabbe and Goyle pulled open the doors. He strode through the entrance, ready to bask in the glow of his admirers--

--and nearly fell over backwards when he realized their attention was not on him. Instead, every neck in the hall was craned towards the Gryffindor table. He forced himself to look towards it, although he feared he would suffer blindness from the horrible color combinations that decorated it. Someone really should do something about those awful colors.

He turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Everyone's eyes seemed to be focused on one figure--Harry Potter. Or rather, what bits of him they could see. He seemed to be surrounded completely by pretty girls.

Blaise Zabini straddled his lap, her robe thrown back around her shoulders to reveal a blouse that gaped open suspiciously low and a skirt that barely covered her thighs. She practically screamed 'whore', Draco thought contemptuously. Plus, everyone knew that pastels were a spring color, and here it was November. He detested girls with no fashion sense.

The next girl, Parvati Patil, was sitting on the table in front of Harry. She appeared to be spoon-feeding him and giggling like an idiot. Behind her, fighting for his attention, was Cho Chang, who kept throwing back her head and letting her hair spill over her shoulders in what she obviously thought was an attractive pose. Sorry, honey, thought Draco smugly, but with that eyeliner, you're not even a contender. More and more girls, representing all the Houses, crowded around Harry. It was positively frightening.

For a brief moment Harry's head popped up above the crowd of girls, and threw a desperate glance around the Hall, pleading for help. Neville, Dean, and Seamus, along with an assortment of other Gryffindor boys, were doubled over, laughing at his distress.

"Ladies!" Draco called out expectantly. No one moved, and his voice faded away into the sudden silence. Pansy Parkinson (whose shoes, Draco noticed, were so last season) began to nuzzle Harry's neck in a rather disturbing way. Draco was completely bewildered.

"What's happening?" he hissed at Crabbe.

"Harry and Herm- Hermi-"

"-Ione," finished Goyle, thus saving Crabbe from having to labor over a two-syllable word. Crabbe shot him what was probably a grateful look (it was hard to tell with those piggy eyes) and continued.

"Broke up."

"What?!" Draco exclaimed. Crabbe and Goyle wiggled their tiny ears in frustration and began muster up the brainpower to start again.

"Harry and-" Goyle began, slowly, arduously, as though each letter pained him.

"No!" Draco shouted in exasperation. "The 'What?!' was meant to express my surprise and shock, not to cue you to start again!"

Crabbe and Goyle shuffled large feet, clearly not understanding. "Oh, just go- go jump off the balcony or something, you big half-wits," Draco snapped. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off obligingly, and Draco silently fumed. Calm yourself, he thought. Inhale. 1...2...3...4...5. Exhale. 1...2...3...4...5. Remember, losing your composure is never sexy, he repeated to himself like a mantra.

He looked for Hermione. Her usual place at the Gryffindor table was overrun by hormone-driven teenage girls (who obviously had somehow mistaken Harry for Draco--it was the only explanation!). He spotted her down at the far end of the table with her head in her arms, sobbing. A redheaded girl--Ginny? and the Weasel were sitting near her, comforting her and throwing the occasional dirty glares over at Harry.

It was all far too much for Draco. With Harry out on the market now, there was a high possibility that he would be losing the majority of his fans. How could this be? He was a Malfoy; he was not meant to endure failure. Frowning, he stalked out of the Great Hall and went off to find somewhere he could sulk.

About twenty minutes and several unsuccessful sulking-places later, he ended up in the library, in the darkest corner. A single glare sent a Hufflepuff couple fleeing in search of a more private place. He flung off his robe, posed for a second to reveal his incredibly stylish trousers and shirt, then threw himself into a chair and prepared to have a long and dramatic sulk.

It was difficult, as someone was crying behind the bookshelf. Draco rattled it. "Shut up!" he said. "Some of us are trying to sulk!"

"Sorry," said a voice, and Harry's face peered up between the rows of books. "Oh," he said, rather dismayed. "It's you."

"Who'd you expect? The Pope?" asked Draco. He was aware that it had been a miserable comeback, but he was too busy sneering. He wished someone was here to photograph this moment. The lighting was exactly right, giving him a dangerously lovely sort of look, and the sneer set it off perfectly. Oh, where was that idiotic Colin Creevey when you really needed him? he wondered impatiently. He took out his rage on Harry. "Crying, are you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, and he didn't appear to be too embarrassed about it. "Er- you know, about Hermione and all, of course. I've only just managed to get away from all those idiotic girls who think I'm interested, and having you turn up just makes things better. Come to torture me endlessly?"

"As if I had nothing better to do than sit here and torture you," Draco scoffed. There was a moment of awkward silence. "Actually, I really don't have anything better to do," he said thoughtfully. "Shall we commence?"

"Let's hold it off for a while until I pull myself together. I've been tortured quite a bit already," said Harry, laughing hollowly. "I told her it was over, and then everything happened so fast. First, Hermione threatens me with a slow painful death involving a fork and a bag of cement, then she gets all weepy and storms off, then all her girlfriends rush up to me in this huge horde and repeat the same procedure and then Ron yells at me for being such an insensitive bastard and storms off to comfort her. I don't know why he's so upset. I mean, it's so obvious he's madly in love with her. I'm really doing him quite a favor. I think he's upset because he thinks I've done something stupid like got her pregnant even though we've both denied it. And she's all upset because she thinks I loved Cho all along and am going to run back to her." He exhaled slowly, not looking at Draco.

"You're not going to?" Draco asked. He moved to sit across from Harry, maintaining a wary distance, feeling only a twinge of regret that the perfect photo opportunity had been destroyed.

"No," said Harry. "Cho's...really not my type. We dated for three months and I think I about spent all my parents' money buying her everything she wanted."

"Mm. She's a bitch."

"Dated her?"

"Nah, just slept with her. It was during my fourth year, when I had this idea in my head that if I could shag every girl in school then I'd be made King or something."

"Did you?"

"Turns out there's some idiotic rule that you have to have noble blood to be King or something. Talk about a whole year wasted."

Another moment of silence passed. "So," Draco said uncomfortably. "Why did you two break up?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know why," he said after a small pause. "I kind of regret it, but I'm also really glad it's over. Everyone was just so obnoxious about it, always telling me that they knew we'd end up together in the end. She was already planning our wedding and what our kids would be named and everything, and I don't know--I'd never even thought about staying together after school. It was all too much for me. I guess I just freaked. Now I don't know what to do."

"Why do anything?" Draco asked curiously. "Live the single life, like I do. It's a hell of a lot more fun. Plus you can sleep with as many girls as you want and feel no remorse."

"It's fine for now. But what about later, when you're out of school?" Harry asked, looking directly at him for the first time. "Don't you want someone to grow old with?"

"When I grow old, I shall kill myself," Draco declared. "I mean, honestly. How am I expected to live with wrinkles?"

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Just like a Malfoy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, feeling wounded.

"Ah, nothing."

"No, really!" Draco felt himself suppressing an urge to fling himself at Harry. It was that smile--there was something so infuriating and appealing about that smile--oh, what the hell.

Harry said something, grinning, but Draco wasn't listening. He lunged at Harry, laughing, shoving him to the ground, and Harry rolled over, knocking Draco off. He hit a bookshelf and heavy spell books began to rain down on the two as they wrestled playfully. It did not occur to either of them how odd the whole situation was; neither could seem to think very clearly.

Suddenly, Draco found himself sitting on top of Harry, his hands entangled in the other boy's dark hair, green eyes meeting silver ones. Both were breathing heavily, and beads of sweat were forming on Harry's forehead as he stared at Draco. Draco was painfully aware that there were only a few layers of cloth separating their bodies; he could feel Harry's body heat radiating through his clothes. Harry's mouth twitched up into a confused smile, and instinctively, Draco leaned forward. With a sharp intake of breath, Harry's lips met his.

The kiss might have lasted a minute, or an hour; it was impossible to tell. Harry tasted like a combination of peppermints and rain and innocence, and Draco pressed himself down harder, drunk on the taste of Harry. A second later, he became aware of what he was doing. He flung himself away from Harry, panting. Harry sat up, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "I'm sorry," Draco said, looking away. "I don't know what- what happened-"

"Do it again," Harry whispered, shyly, hesitantly. Draco gaped at him. "Kiss me again?"

And he did, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. They clung together with a sense of desperation, ending up on the floor, holding each other so tight it was hard to breathe, and yet somehow managing to remove any clothes that kept them separated, kissing frantically as though there would be no other chance. Then Harry was crying again, whispering Draco's name through his tears, and Draco was crying too, rocking back and forth in the dark corner of the library, and both were so filled with intense and conflicting emotions that all they could do was hang on top each other.

When at last they separated, exhausted, Draco was resting his head on Harry's bare chest, his eyes half closed. They sat for a long while, contemplating what they had done, feeling peaceful and sleepy all at once, unconcerned about being caught. After a while, Draco stirred, and mumbled, "Yeah."

"What?" Harry asked, one arm around Draco, fingers trailing through silvery-blonde hair.

"Yeah," Draco said again. "I do want someone to grow old with."

Harry smiled at him, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. Draco barely had time to smile back before Harry was leaning towards him and their mouths were meeting once more, and Draco's one last fleeting thought before he lost himself was that this was the first time he had ever believed someone else might be more beautiful than himself.