𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 2008

Toast for Two

Title: Toast for Two
Author: dracofiend
Team: Fanon
Prompt: The Hierophant
Wordcount: 8152
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Summary: Harry is tired of eating toast for two.

It had flown into Harry's face on a spectacular gust—all crisp edges and sharp corners until Harry yanked it off, turning away from the still-swirling wind.

"Oh, good lord, oh my," came a breathless voice from behind. "I am so sorry about that, I've been having the most terrible time with these today, the wind, my goodness—it's just taken the—well, wind out of me, so to say."

Harry handed the rogue flier back to the man—somewhat shorter than him, with wide abstracted eyes and wind-flipped hair. "No worries," he said, ducking slightly to avoid the incoming blast.

"Thanks very much," the man was saying in the same rapid fashion, "I suppose it was an unlucky day to be passing these out!" Harry offered a polite smile as the man babbled on; he was turning away when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Hang on!" The man leaned in closer, cocking his head. "You should keep this." He pushed the flier back at Harry.

"Uh, no thanks," Harry answered, promptly leaning away. But the flier was already crushed into his palm and the man was darting into the wind, hair blown back.

"You could use it!" the man called over his shoulder. "Believe me, I know!"

Harry shrugged and looked around for the nearest bin—obviously the guy was one of those insistent flier-hander-outers who probably couldn't face the fact that his promotional materials were better off chucked. He spotted one across the street and headed for it, his mind already back on David, and their second date. Maybe he should've gotten something, a tiny gift—he'd convinced himself earlier it'd be too much, too soon—but he really liked David. A sharp metallic rattling cracked through the air, and Harry glanced over to see the florist's hanging sign swinging hard in the wind.

He stuffed the flier into his robes and hurried over. Flowers would be nice—and if David thought it odd, Harry decided he'd laugh it off as a joke.

+++++

"Don't worry too much—look, I'm sure you'll meet someone soon." Hermione's head bobbed encouragingly amidst the orange flames.

"Yeah," Ron piped up, thrusting his face over. "No need to hurry, right? Because you know"—he dropped his voice to a stage whisper, which was difficult to hear through the fire—"looking at eighteen million napkin patterns is not that fun."

Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed Ron in the ribs.

"What?" he protested. "I liked the cake part!"

Harry laughed, trying not to sound tired. "All right, guys. I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow, yeah?"

Ron and Hermione were still loudly discussing the virtues of various wedding preparations—interrupting themselves to call out cheerful good nights to Harry—when he put out the fire. Harry rubbed his face and rose from his knees, then went to the closet to get out of his clothes. He was emptying his pockets and dumping his robes to the floor when he found the crumpled flier from earlier that day, before the disastrous date with David. Harry flattened out the paper, frowning unthinkingly at it, replaying the hesitant and apologetic words David had used.

Sorry, he'd begun, and Harry had known by the look on his face. He'd seen that exact same expression hundreds of times before. At least, that's what it felt like. I ran into my ex the other night. Or, I don't think it's working. Or even worse, It's not you—seriously, it isn't...it's me.