another drarry one-shot

Harry Potter Attempts to Flirt

Two years. That's how long Harry and Draco had been together. They lived in a cozy flat above a secondhand bookshop in Diagon Alley, shared a cat named Newton (who only liked Draco), and had somehow, against all odds, learned to navigate a relationship built on equal parts teasing and tenderness.

And yet.

"Mate," Ron said one evening over a pint, "you're rubbish at flirting."

"I have a boyfriend," Harry pointed out, sipping his butterbeer.

"Exactly," Hermione added. "You won already, but you've stopped trying."

"I try!" Harry protested.

"Harry," Ginny said dryly, "your version of flirting is telling Draco he looks 'less like a git today.'"

"...That's affectionate."

"No," Neville said, "that's bullying with a flower on top."

So Harry, in a very Gryffindor burst of energy (and after three more pints), decided he would flirt with Draco. Like, really flirt.

He woke up the next morning still determined, even if slightly hungover.

It began at breakfast.

Draco, sitting at the tiny kitchen table with the Daily Prophet and a spoon in his mouth, barely looked up when Harry walked in.

"Morning," Draco mumbled.

Harry leaned on the counter, adopted what he hoped was a suave expression, and said, "Has anyone ever told you you have devastatingly attractive elbows?"

Draco froze.

Then blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Very sharp. Very... elegant. Good angles."

Draco slowly lowered his spoon. "Have you been hexed?"

"Nope." Harry grinned. "Just appreciating my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend's elbows?"

"Among other assets."

Draco flushed immediately and tried to hide behind his newspaper. "You're being weird."

"Am I?" Harry walked behind him, leaned down, and murmured into his ear, "Because I was just thinking about how lucky I am to get to wake up next to someone who could model for Witch Weekly if he wasn't too busy being the cleverest man in the room."

Draco choked on his cereal.

"You're—you're—what are you doing?" he sputtered, ears burning pink.

Harry pulled up a chair next to him, now openly grinning. "Just saying what I think. You're hot. And smart. And I like the little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're reading something annoying."

"That is not flirting, that's psychological observation."

"It's charming."

"You're terrifying."

"And yet you love me."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his blush deepening. "Is this some kind of prank? Did Weasley put you up to this?"

Harry shrugged innocently.

Draco stared at him suspiciously for a full ten seconds, then shoved the newspaper toward Harry like a shield. "Stop that."

"What?"

"That face. That smirky thing. You look like you're trying to seduce me at breakfast."

"I am trying to seduce you at breakfast."

"I knew it!"

Harry chuckled, leaned over again, and kissed his cheek. "You're adorable when you panic."

Draco threw a piece of toast at him.

By the end of the day, Draco had flushed seven times, dropped his wand twice, and walked directly into a bookshelf at Flourish and Blotts because Harry had whispered something scandalous about his "perfectly kissable jawline."

That night, as they curled up on the couch with Newton sprawled across Draco's chest, Draco finally groaned into Harry's shoulder.

"You win."

"Win what?"

"This game you're playing. The shameless flattery. The flirtation. I'm a mess."

Harry kissed the top of his head. "I just like seeing you flustered. You're cute when you're all pink and prickly."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Draco huffed. "You're not supposed to know that."

Harry tilted his chin up with one finger, kissed him softly, and whispered, "Too late."

And Draco, still a little pink, still a little flustered, couldn't help but smile. 

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words: 600