Giving In
A part 2 to An Accounting that I accidently wrote based on a comment to the piece on AO3... Harry's POV
After more than two years of Malfoy saying good morning to him every day as they arrived at the Ministry and Harry resolutely ignoring the smarmy bastard, Malfoy threw him a curve ball.
He caught a glimpse of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye, prepared for the usual curt, “Good morning, Potter.”
Instead he heard a dulcet, “Bonjour, Monsieur Potter,” delivered with a perfect French accent, before Malfoy melted into the crowd.
The French lasted several days before he switched to German. The guttural language still somehow sounded melodic coming from Malfoy’s posh mouth.
Next came Japanese. Harry had to look that one up once he got to his office.
The next few months brought a flurry of different languages. He’d just got used to the international flavour when Malfoy switched it up again.
“Top o’ the morning to ya, Potter!” The lilting Irish accent was incongruous with the pristine three-piece suit and impeccably groomed git. Harry almost smiled.
That started the cavalcade of accents, each one slightly more ridiculous than the last. Three months in, he was hastening his steps and ducking his head to hide his smile until he was in private. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge that Malfoy was not only wearing him down but making Harry actually want to talk to the slimy prat.
When the owl showed up with Malfoy’s latest letter on Friday after work, they arrived every three months like clockwork, Harry didn’t immediately burn it like he normally did. Instead, he tossed it on the table, glancing at it repeatedly while he made his dinner.
Hermione’s voice in his head urged him to open it. She, against all odds and any prediction Harry could have ever made, had become friends with Malfoy. She insisted the wanker was reformed.
Once sat down with his pasta and a glass of pinot noir, Harry sighed and opened the letter.
Dear Potter,
As I assume you are not opening any of these letters, I say whatever I please in them now.Who does not acknowledge a greeting? Over nine hundred times now. NINE HUNDRED, Potter. I understand that you hate me; you have every right to hold on to that until the end of time. But would a nod, or a simple “Fuck off,” be too much to ask?I am aware that my desire to have a civil conversation with you is too much to hope for, much less anything more. And yes, I want more, I want everything. I want to take you on a date and kiss you goodnight. I want to walk into the Ministry with you holding hands. I want to sit next to you at pub night with our friends. I want to make you dinner and watch you dance around the kitchen. I want to stay over and kiss you good morning.
And yet, as hope springs eternal and all that, I will ask.
Potter, will you meet me? Coffee? Tea? Wine? Dinner? Swords at dawn? The choice is yours.
Yours, in hopeful waiting, Draco L. Malfoy
Harry read the letter twice. Drained his wine. Refilled his glass and read it again.
He was tempted to burn it. Had his wand in his hand.
Instead he finished his second glass of wine and let that nudge him into getting a fresh piece of parchment. His buzz was starting to abate when he eventually located an unbroken quill, and had vanished completely by the time he’d discarded several empty inkpots before locating one with a bit of black sludge at the bottom.
So it was with a clear head and unsteady hand that he wrote,
Malfoy,
Fine. Seven p.m. tomorrow. La Rogue on Diagon.
HJP
Harry was deliberately late. He wasn’t proud of it but couldn’t make himself not do it either, he was giving in, not giving up after all.
The majority of the dinner was spent with him glaring at Malfoy over delicious food while Malfoy apologised, then, when Harry didn’t respond with anything more than a grunt, antagonising, and when Harry didn’t rise to the bait, giving up and just being himself. Only then did Harry engage in the conversation.
Malfoy was funny, in a dry, sarcastic way. He was also incredibly smart, well read, and, as it turned out, caring and thoughtful.
He asked about Harry’s hobbies, his charity work, and about his godson.
At the end of the evening, when Malfoy had asked to meet again, Harry found himself agreeing.
Two weeks of almost daily outings made it clear that they were dating. Harry made him wait another two before acknowledging it.
When Malfoy had asked him to move into his flat, Harry had instead suggested that Malfoy move in with him at Grimmauld. The old Black estate liked having him there. So did Harry.
Harry had already picked out a ring when Malfoy proposed.
As he stood, being fussed over by Mrs Weasley before taking his place at the front of the church, he wondered if he should start calling his soon-to-be husband by his first name.
