Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt Brave
For @amandarin-orange721 who tagged me asking for the last sentence I wrote. Here’s a bit more than that.
So, apparently, Harry had a type. Surprising no one but himself, he liked them sarcastic, blond, slender-built, taller than he was (though not by much!), so infuriatingly clever they could win any argument, even against Hermione. All sharp edges ready to cut, especially with a single word: Potter. And oh, how he’d been cut. He liked them posh, more precisely, with a Wiltshire accent. A little mean, yes, but the longer Harry examined this type of his, the more he realised that sharpness was only a knee-jerk shield for vulnerability.
“I can’t have been that bad?”
Harry made a pained sound.
“Oh, true. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. Even if you like him now, of course it was that bad.” Ron sighed and patted Harry’s head. Harry’s face was burning red, buried in the sofa cushions.
“Tough luck, mate. Well, at least now you know.”
He really didn’t know what had happened. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about his silly crush on Malfoy, but there they were, standing in Malfoy’s lab, talking over the evidence from the crime scene Harry was in charge of. And Harry had been so spellbound by all of him that, instead of demonstrating competence at his job, he’d opened his mouth and asked him out.
The words had left the lab in complete silence.
“Clearly there’s something wrong with him, clearly, if he can’t see what a catch you are!” Always loyal Ron.
“I say forget him. Plenty of ferrets in the… ehm… sea?”
How was Harry supposed to get through this? Obliviate? No. Too messy. Ron was in the kitchen, opening beers. Well, that was one solution.
“Come on, Harry. So you finally found the courage to ask Malfoy out, and he said no. Not the end of the world,” Ron said, handing him a bottle.
“He didn’t say no,” Harry mumbled.
“What?”
“He didn’t say no,” Harry repeated, distressed.
Harry might have laughed at Ron’s expression if he weren’t so busy dying inside.
“He didn’t say no! Harry! This is the end of the world, you understand! Bollocks!” The panic in Ron’s voice was palpable.
Merlin, this day. Harry’s insides were a bubbling cauldron, ready to explode.
Ron practically sprinted to Harry’s closet, yanking out sad grey garment after sad grey garment.
“Bloody hell, Harry. We have to go shopping!”
“What? No!”
That was not what this day needed.
“You’ve got nothing to wear on this date! This is Malfoy. Get up!”
Well, true.
With great reluctance, Harry hauled himself off the sofa.
“Of all the ferrets in the sea,” Ron muttered, already composing a letter to Hermione to explain why he’d be late for dinner.