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Title: Chapter 16: In Which Draco Has A Visitor With Some Interesting News
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling and associates are the legal owners of these characters and settings. I am writing for pleasure not profit
Warnings: None?
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Wordcount: 869
Summary: Harry and Draco are colleagues, who become friends who become... A simple love story about two not so simple boys.
Author's Notes: This is my first Drarry fic, and also my first Drarry series... obviously! I hope I'm doing it right. This fic is also available on AO3 Enjoy!

Chapter One
Chapter Fifteen

“So you like Harry,” Weasley smiles as he steps through the front door of Draco's flat. Draco frowns at him, his heart pounding in his chest, his fingers numb, wondering how Weasley found out where he lives. Weasley looks at him for a moment, his eyes shining before moving past Draco and walking into the living room.

“Please, by all means, come in,” Draco mutters and he hears Weasley snort.

“Sure, mate,” Weasley calls and Draco sighs, practically hearing the laughter in Weasley's voice. He closes the door and walks through his own home to find Weasley sitting in his chair, looking at a very expensive bottle of whiskey. "Do you ever drink normal stuff?" He asks before putting the bottle down of the coffee table. Draco leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look bored. He's getting worse at that.

“Yes,” he drawls, silently congratulating himself for at least sounding bored, “I drink 'normal' stuff when we go to the pub. But at home I like to drink something of quality.” Draco raises one eyebrow and Weasley stares at him, a small smile playing in the corner of his lips. Draco rolls his eyes and draws his wand, Accioing two bottles of butter beer from the kitchen. He places his wand on the coffee table next to the whiskey and catches the bottles as they fly into the room.

“Thanks,” Weasley takes the offered bottle and uses his wand to open them both, vanishing the two lids. Draco smiles at him and take a sip before folding into the sofa. He crosses one long leg over the other and stares at Weasley, trying to figure out what the fuck he's up to. For a moment they sit in silence, looking at each other and drinking. In the end Draco cracks.

“Why are you here?” He groans. This must be how Weasley is so good at interrogating potential suspects. Harry is awful at interrogation, so it's clearly Weasley who gets people to talk. Weasley grins and places the bottle on the floor where he can reach it without stretching.

“You like Harry.” Is isn't a question. Draco feels the heat of a blush rise in his cheeks

“Oh really?” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eye. Weasley’s eyes follow his hand and Draco's stomach twists. Fuck, no. Weasley can read people like a fucking book. Draco reminds himself not to tug at his hair.

“Yup,” Weasley nods, “don't you think so?” Draco takes another swig of his butterbeer and tries to think about it, which is difficult since he’s been ignoring it for… well for quite a while.

“Why do you think so?” Draco tilts his head to one side, something he’s seen Harry do a million times when he wants to deflect a question. Weasley smirks and Draco curses himself. Of course he’d know that move. He and Harry basically live in each other’s pockets. They certainly live in the same house.

“A few reasons,” Weasley holds his long fingers out, counting off on each one, “you blush whenever Harry looks at you. You put up with my ridiculous family to spend time with him. You freaked out when Harry got hurt. And lastly, and I think most importantly, Hermione thinks so and the day that woman is wrong about something is the day that Voldemort comes back.” Weasley’s blue eyes pierce into Draco and he feels his stomach tighten, bile rising in his throat. Well, fuck.

“That doesn’t mean anything…” Draco whispers and Weasley snorts.

“Sure it doesn’t.” Weasley picks his bottle back up and takes a gulp. “He likes you too, y’know.” Draco’s chest expands, his head going light, the back of his neck prickling. He stares at Weasley and Weasley looks around his living room, completely ignoring the panic attack that Draco is having.

“How do you know?” Draco says finally and the smile on Weasley’s face tells him it was the wrong thing to say. Of course it fucking was.

“Because I’ve known him since I was eleven years old." Weasley leans back in the chair, his legs slung over one arm, longer and thinner than Draco's, and closes his eyes, “and he looks at you the same way he looks at a new broom, or a treacle tart.” Draco lounges on his sofa and downs the rest of his butterbeer. Harry likes him. No. Not true. Although now he thinks about it he does sometimes get the feeling that Harry is flirting with him. It’s those times when he flirts back, thinking, maybe… maybe it could happen.

But it couldn’t. Because he’s Draco fucking Malfoy and he’s Harry fucking Potter.

“I don’t think so…” Draco shakes his head and Weasley groans from his place.

“Fine. The reason I fucking know he likes you is because I seem to spend at least an hour every day sitting with him as he complains that you haven’t made a move. So fucking make a move or I’m going to kill him.” Weasley snuggles down into the chair a bit more, looking pleased with himself, Draco staring at him, not sure what to say.


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