Apples and Oranges [Drarry] ✔

Chapter 6: Tried and True

"It was a strange time. I knew it wasn't real – these meetings, these places. The magic of them was in the intention and ours was nothing if not artificial. But sometimes, in these hazy pockets of time, I would forget.

The light, the food, the music – it would dazzle me. And he would look me in the eyes, and I'd feel myself blush, and the world would simply... melt away. But like clockwork, my brain would whisper, this is like a movie, this is too good to be true.

And I'd remember. We're pretending. We're pretending to pretend. And falling for real was the last thing I came here to do."

– Apples and Oranges by Francis Gallagher

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Harry is both surprised and unsurprised when he receives a letter scant hours after leaving Draco at Grimmauld. He had been expecting some sort of acknowledgement for the gesture, but he didn't think it would happen sooner than their next date-not-date.

Another surprise is the change in routine – is it a routine if there are only two points from which to create a pattern? – because instead of waiting for Harry to man up (or lean into his impulses) and contact him, it's Draco who asks for them to meet. On Saturday. Tomorrow.

And it also looks like the universe is playing in Draco's favour. His invitation to buy Harry dinner is so easy, casual – perfectly slipped between the lines of polite gratitude. Two birds with one stone – an invitation to their... fake-date and a thank-you dinner all at once. It isn't at all like inviting someone to go to a planetarium or to a ballet – those challenges fall only on Harry's shoulders. Only Harry has to struggle to sound sincere but not awkward or weird or ridiculous.

Harry, of course, accepted the invitation as quickly as he could pen a letter (which was quicker than anything he'd ever written in the context of the Hogwarts curriculum because, unlike Hogwarts, the DMLE doesn't care if anyone uses a fountain pen to write as long as the ink is fast-drying and non-erasable – via magic or otherwise).

Some thirty hours later – give or take – he finds himself brushing his teeth for the third time in an hour and forces himself to put the toothbrush away. He's suddenly nervous – without reason – and he needs to calm down.

He lets the water run cold. He splashes some on his heated face. Most of his ends up all over the front of his shirt. His one cool, casual, muggle shirt for a muggle restaurant that he is picking because Draco said he'll take care of the bill if Harry took care of finding something edible. And Stellina's is safe. He's been there dozens of times. Everyone there knows him and his friends. He has no reason to be nervous.

Except now he has ruined his shirt – it's linen, it does not take gracefully to drying charms – and he's almost running late because of the teeth, and he is yet to style his hair. He has all the reasons to be nervous. He is on an edge of a great big panic.

"Wear this."

Luna. Darling Luna. Lovely Luna. Saviour of the night.

She pushes a shirt through the door cracked open. It's nothing he would usually choose himself but it's not awful. It's lilac in colour and its only eccentricity are the small dark blue embroidered stars on each of the cuffs. The blue matches his jeans – unsurprisingly because the shirt is Luna's pick and Luna never lets him down.

He takes it. Puts it on. He ruffles his hair to its 'just-been-shagged' perfection. He questions his life choices. He exits the bathroom.

"How do I look?", he asks, arms splayed wide to the side.

Luna tilts her head. "Sweet."

Harry blinks. Then shrugs. He gives her a smile. "Sweet will do. Thanks. See you later."