@drarrymicrofic | prompt: modesty | wc: 400
The first time, Harry thinks it’s political glad-handing as Malfoy chats to the Undersecretary of Some Boring Thing Harry Can’t Remember at a Ministry banquet.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Malfoy.”
The second time, Harry’s certain Malfoy is trying to curry favour—when had he ever been so demure about his academic pursuits?
“Thank you, William, but I think I can do better. I have much to learn.”
The third time, Harry’s absolutely positive that Malfoy’s fucking with him.
“Oh, come on,” Harry groans after the diagnostic charm fails for the fourth time in a row.
“You could ask for help,” Malfoy says, not looking up.
“Know anything about diagnostic charms?” Harry asks, sarcastic. They both know Malfoy’s better at charms.
Malfoy removes his goggles with a pensive expression. “I’ve been known to dabble. Show me what you’re doing.”
By the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth times, Harry’s committed to tripping Malfoy up.
“Hey, you’re good at potions, right?”
“I have a few skills, yes; what do you need?”
“Would you say you’re a well dressed bloke?”
“I suppose I have some sartorial charms, if one cares for such things. You clearly don’t.”
“Yeah—d’you brew a decent cup of tea?”
(It was perfect, the tosser.)
By the twentieth time, Harry’s at the end of his patience.
“Malfoy, you still play quidditch?”
“Well … probably not as good as you.”
Harry makes an aggravated sound. “What is up with you?”
Malfoy raises one perfectly manicured brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“This fucking humility thing!”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Malfoy looks unimpressed.
Harry folds his arms. “You any good at arithmancy?”
Malfoy flares his nostrils. “Terrible, as you well know. And a sore loser.”
“Capable, what is your point?”
Harry has an idea. It’s perfect. He smiles, sharp and cutting; the little wrinkle in Malfoy’s brow deepens. “How are you in bed?”
Malfoy’s mouth falls open. For a long moment, he stares, his cheeks going pink. Then, he smiles, devious, and steps forwards. Leans in close.
“Oh my God,” Harry gasps as he rolls over, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. “Oh my God.”
“To answer your question,” Draco says, running his hands through Harry’s hair, “I’m exceptional in bed.”