Drarry Oneshots

En Anglais, s'il vous plait?

'Harry, you need to mingle. You can't just lurk in the corners all evening.'

Harry sighed. 'Mione-'

Hermione gave him a Look. He sighed again and left the little buffet table he was hiding behind, stuffing his face with cheese and pineapple to avoid striking up a conversation with anyone. Trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible, Harry made his way to the middle of the crowded room. Perhaps he'd go and talk to Dean and Seamus; the drunk Irishman and his boyfriend were always a source of amusement.

Spotting Seamus' distinctive, shaggy head, Harry squeezed between people talking in twos and threes, all with delicate champagne flutes clasped daintily between their fingers. Harry clutched his own tighter, determined not to spill it.

He had barely made any progress whatsoever when he bumped into someone. A tall, blond someone. The man in question turned slightly, a startled expression on his aristocratic features. Harry was already spewing apologies, but the man's eyes widened slightly and he blushed.

'Salut.' He said with a smile. As soon as the word had left the fair-haired man's mouth, he blushed darkly, shutting his eyes for the briefest of moments. Harry was confused.

'Um, hi? Sorry, I didn't spill anything down you, did I?' Harry was quite anxious. He really was very handsome, and he didn't know him well enough to predict how he would react; the man had only transferred to this branch of the business a few months ago.

'Non, c'est assez bien.'

Harry didn't understand what the man was saying at all. It was quite loud, all of Seamus' parties were, but he really didn't have a clue.

'Um, well, nice talking with you. I've got to...' He rather awkwardly waved goodbye and fled away, embarrassment staining his cheeks a vermillion hue. Downing his flute in one, Harry made a grab at another – full – glass from a side table.

As he slotted himself into a conversation with the rowdy Irishman, the cringe-worthy encounter was lost from Harry's mind.

***

A few months passed, and Harry only saw the taller man in passing. He smiled at him in hallways, but they didn't really interact. All he really knew about him was that his name was Draco Malfoy. Harry thought it was a beautiful name, one that suited the regal man perfectly.

He was at a work do now, celebrating something or other, and Hermione and Ron were notably missing, leaving Harry to his own devices. This was considerably more sedate than Seamus' get-together had been, and Harry thanked that for the ability to actually think.

Spotting a familiar blond head above the crowd, Harry steeled his nerve and approached his elusive coworker. Clearing his throat, Harry gently brushed against the man's arm until he had his attention. The blond's eyes widened dramatically.

'Bonsoir monsieur.'

Harry furrowed his brow. That was definitely not English. He hadn't studied any type of language since before his GCSEs, but even he knew that monsieur was French for mister, or sir. But surely the man could speak English; he had to, to be hired by the company. After speaking, the man had once again blushed, like he had at Seamus' do, and was awkwardly biting his lip and staring at the ground in a very endearing way.

'Um, hi. Draco, right? I'm Harry.'

His cheeks darkened further. 'Enchanté.' Then he shook his head, eyes widening in a classic sign of what the hell was that?

Harry blushed in return. He figured it didn't literally mean enchanted to meet you, but it was still a lovely way of greeting someone. Before he could try to strike up a more engaging conversation with the taller man, he mumbled some excuses that also didn't sound English, and melted into the crowd.